QE CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS AIQZLES
 
 "Take my tip, old boy, make it up with the Gov'nor." Page 21
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 BY 
 
 W. B. MAXWELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " Vivien, " "The Guarded Flame, " ' ' Odd Lengths, ' 
 "Fabulous Fancies," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 H. B. MATTHEWS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 EMPIRE BOOK COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY 
 W. B. MAXWELL 
 
 Entered at Statitneri" Hall 
 Ml rights reserved
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 THE earliest recollections of Lizzie Crunden were full of 
 Hill Kise as something spacious and awe-productive, open- 
 ing out before you, leading you upward to thoughts of 
 grandeur and mystery. 
 
 She would wake and look at it from her bedroom window 
 of a summer morning, and childishly brood on the magnifi- 
 cence of the prospect it offered. A broad white road, empty 
 as yet, still sleeping in the summer sunlight ; with noble houses 
 on either side, carriage gates and broad steps, white may, red 
 may, yellow laburnum showing gaily over garden walls a 
 wide ascending vista closed by the stately trees in the grounds 
 of Hill House, where lived the great Sir John. This was 
 Lizzie's view of it, and Lizzie felt herself a happy, lucky child, 
 because papa's house stood fair and square at the bottom of 
 Hill Rise. 
 
 Papa Crunden was the most prosperous, solidly respectable 
 builder in all the town of Medford. To the awakening and 
 expanding intelligence of his little daughter, it seemed that 
 Medford, with its eighteen thousand inhabitants, formed a 
 vastly important city, and that papa in his own way was 
 a very considerable force. He was not illustrious and myste- 
 rious like Sir John Vincent of Hill House a gentleman, a 
 baronet, and what not else, vaguely, crushingly grand. But 
 he had his men; a small army of them; he had the place 
 they called "the yard," and the other places they called "the 
 works,'-' as well as this ample residence which was called 
 "home," or "King's Cottage." Certainly papa was not with- 
 out importance in the world's scheme. 
 
 No one could make light of him when he was displeased. 
 As, for instance, when he came in for the early dinner, 
 
 2131123
 
 6 HILL RISE 
 
 and, glancing at the clock, found that the early dinner 
 was late. 
 
 "Come, come !" he would say sternly and loudly. "What's 
 this?" and he would open doors and call through them: 
 "Mother! Mrs. Price! Jane! What the dickens are you 
 all thinking about?" 
 
 Then, while he stood in the lobby brushing the brick- 
 dust from his clothes, or stamped to and fro about the big 
 room, the household bestirred itself breathlessly. "Coming, 
 Eichard ; coming I" called mamma in her gentle, soothing 
 voice; Jane, the maid, clattered with the trays and plates 
 in the stone-flagged passage from the kitchen ; Mrs. Price, the 
 cook-housekeeper, bustling unseen, dished up at express 
 speed. 
 
 The big room was the one just inside the front door, and 
 it was used all the morning as Mr. Crunden's own official 
 room; through it you passed to the sitting-room and the 
 never-used state parlour or drawing-room. The custom was 
 to dine in the big room, but sometimes the custom was 
 broken and they dined in the sitting-room. It was this 
 occasional break of routine that led to the very funny thing. 
 When papa once was thus fussing and fuming, Mrs. Price 
 with a demure smile announced to him that dinner had been 
 on the table and getting cold for the last five minutes in the 
 other room. 
 
 If so, said papa, with a quick change of tone, it was no 
 reason why Mrs. Price should grin like a Cheshire cat. But 
 then he laughed heartily. 
 
 "Lizzie, my little fairy," he said, laughing, "I cried out 
 before I was hurt this time, didn't I?" 
 
 That was the merit of papa. He would be stern and severe 
 almost terrible and then in a moment cheerful and good- 
 tempered again. If he made your nerves shake, he did not 
 keep them shaking that is to say, unless he was really angry. 
 Then it was like an earthquake: the earth trembled. 
 
 In these happy days, however, he was not often really 
 angered. He was only holding people up to the mark, guard- 
 ing against slackness at home or at the yard. Mrs. Price, 
 as well as mamma, told Lizzie that her father was at heart
 
 HILL RISE 7 
 
 the kindest man that ever lived. And truly he was very kind 
 to Lizzie kinder, much kinder, than to her long-legged, 
 schoolboy brother, Dick. 
 
 He was seeking to hold Dick up to the mark, and already 
 beginning to fail. "Don't be a slacker, my boy," that was 
 what he said to Dick again and again. "Stick to it; put 
 your back into it, whatever you do." 
 
 When Dick came home for the holidays from the grammar 
 school at Brayton, papa welcomed him affectionately; but 
 then, too soon, he would ask troublesome questions. 
 
 "Well, my boy, I hope you've done better this term and 
 brought a good report with you. . . . Where is your report ?" 
 
 At the word "report" poor Mrs. Crunden always became 
 restless, talkative, and nervous. 
 
 "Don't trouble about that to-night, father ; that'll keep till 
 to-morrow, won't it? . . . Yes, I have seen it. ... Don't 
 look at it to-night. . . . No not what one could call really 
 good. But, father, it might well be worse." 
 
 Of course Mr. Crunden would not wait. He must see the 
 wretched document now, here, this very minute. 
 
 Then there would be an oppressive silence. The father 
 had laid down his pipe, was sitting in the candle-light at his 
 bureau solemnly reading; the son had plunged his hands in 
 his trousers pockets, was looking at the ceiling or making 
 facetious grimaces at his young sister; mamma, miserably 
 uncomfortable, was warning Dick by raised finger and moving 
 lips to refrain from impudence and to bear reproof patiently; 
 Mrs. Price, softly clearing the supper-table, was too brave to 
 hurry through her task and get safely away to the kitchen, 
 although she might think that a domestic earthquake was 
 coming. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Crunden at last, turning from the bureau 
 and facing his son ; "well, what have you got to say for your- 
 -self?" 
 
 "Oh !" said Dick, with real or affected carelessness, "they'll 
 never make a learned pig of me. They'd better give me up 
 as a bad job." 
 
 Then perhaps papa for a little while looked quite terrible. 
 He was a short, sturdy man a square block of a man, seem-
 
 8 HILL RISE 
 
 ing strong and hard as one of his bricks set on end. He had 
 stiff, grey eyebrows, a broad nose, and a stiff, short beard. His 
 dark hair had gone grey, but, although he was fifty, it re- 
 mained thick and strong still. When he frowned as he was 
 frowning now, his eyebrows made a straight bar, and, in the 
 shadow beneath, his keen grey eyes were almost lost. Yet he 
 was not really angry, even now in spite of the report. 
 
 Systematic, persistent slacking that was Dick's report 
 term after term. 
 
 This King's Cottage was a pleasant, countrified, old-world 
 house to find in a town. Mr. Crunden whose business it was 
 to know all about houses used to tell people that, in fact, 
 the cottage was here before the town. In the good old times, 
 when almost all the twenty-five miles between Medford and 
 London were covered by a royal forest, the cottage was a royal 
 lodge. In it lived one of the King's keepers or bailiffs. That 
 fact accounted for the name, and also for the spacious solid 
 offices as well as the big room. 
 
 "This room, sir," Mr. Crunden would say, "was employed 
 as a kind of a courtroom for trying the deer-stealers, and 
 I make no doubt myself what is now our kitchen was em- 
 ployed as a lock-up. ... I judge that by many signs." 
 
 The house had been added to and "messed about," as Mr. 
 Crunden said, again and again in modern days, but much 
 of the splendid old material remained. 
 
 "Look, sir, at those ceiling beams, and the span of the 
 hearth, or measure the thickness of this wall an internal 
 wall, mind you. We don't build like this nowadays. Give 
 me an order to put up a house like this, and I'd be frightened 
 to take the order." 
 
 If people exhibited any interest in these matters Mr. Crun- 
 den would show them the inner hall and the old oak staircase : 
 "Step this way, sir" marching the visitor through the 
 sitting-room where, perhaps, Lizzie and her governess were 
 busy with their books. "Now, sir, I'll give you my own belief 
 about that staircase. It's Charles Two or James Two, all 
 that woodwork is; and I believe it was taken bodily out of a 
 church. If you ask what church, I say the old church that is
 
 HILL RISE 9 
 
 marked on all the maps up to a hundred years ago, hard by 
 where St. Barnabas now stands. I judge that by many signs ; 
 and Mr. Cowling, the architect, he says he wouldn't care to 
 bet against it." 
 
 Be all that as it may, Mr. Crunden was not improperly 
 proud of his modest yet comfortable home, and little Lizzie 
 loved it. 
 
 Outwardly, it was white-walled, red-roofed, with deep eaves. 
 It had two front doors : the main door, which opened into 
 the lobby of the big office room, which carried the brass plate 
 "K. Crunden, Builder and Decorator" which, weather per- 
 mitting, stood open all the morning to admit all comers ; and 
 the small state door, which was approached by the tiled path 
 through the narrow strip of garden behind the white palings. 
 Here, at this second door, Mrs. Crunden's ceremonious visitors 
 knocked and rang and waited until somebody happened to 
 hear them and that was often a very long time. 
 
 Inwardly it was a house of varied charm, or so it seemed 
 to Lizzie and to Dick in these days. It was not too big, not 
 too small no room in it like another, full of surprises, 
 hiding-places; with quaint, old-fashioned furniture every- 
 where except in mamma's drawing-room. In that apartment 
 all was new chosen by mamma herself and it was all frankly 
 magnificent. 
 
 Behind the house was a perfect child's garden a long 
 garden between high walls, with good climbable, treasure- 
 bearing trees in it: such as the mulberry, the walnut, the 
 apple, and the pear; grass lawn, grass-grown paths; empty 
 potting-sheds, neglected, broken-down greenhouse all most 
 useful in childish games; fruit bushes turning to jungle, 
 flower borders gone to wild seed and profuse weed; in fact, 
 a garden unspoilt by too much gardener. And at the bottom 
 of it, the summer-house, from which one looked out at the 
 roofs, chimneys, and walls of Medford Town. 
 
 Above all else Lizzie loved their old, untended garden 
 when Dick was there to play with her. 
 
 As years passed, Mr. Crunden grew more stern rather than 
 less stern, and* yet he found always kind words for Lizzie.
 
 10 HILL RISE 
 
 Between her twelfth and thirteenth birthdays she had, as all 
 agreed, shot up surprisingly, and was now a tall child for her 
 years. Mamma gave scrupulous care to her costume, dressing 
 her wisely and well in brown frocks during the winter and 
 nice blue frocks with big white spots on them during the 
 summer. Black stockings went with the blue frocks, made 
 of cotton for weekdays and silk for Sundays. Mamma took 
 pride in these neat, attractive clothes, and papa was proud 
 of the pretty, graceful girl inside them. 
 
 "She has," said Miss Blackburn, the morning governess, 
 "quite the aristocratic air. Hers is a refined type of beauty 
 unusually so really and truly." 
 
 Miss Blackburn was nothing if not genteel. She had taught 
 in several of the best houses in Medford the Beaumonts', 
 the Granvilles', etc., of Hill Eise, and she offered this con- 
 fidentially flattering opinion with a tone of authority. Mr. 
 Crunden showed something of a wry face at the compliment, 
 and made allowance for what he termed Miss Blackburn's 
 buttering way. But, in sober truth, his daughter was a pretty, 
 winning child. Her brown hair was soft and wavy, making a 
 full, wide mane under the large ribbon bow behind; her 
 complexion was delicate, and the colour came and went 
 quickly beneath the smooth skin; her nose was long and thin 
 and straight; she had fairly marked eyebrows, and good grey 
 eyes with lots of childish fun always ready to shine in them. 
 Her manner to visitors was shyly caressing, and to her family 
 affectionately exacting. 
 
 "Never mind about her looks," said papa, rather gruffly. 
 "Does she mind her task, Miss Blackburn? That's what I 
 think about." And as he glanced at Lizzie, sitting out of 
 earshot, it was plain that he did think of the other things 
 also, though he might not confess as much. 
 
 "Fond of play, Mr. Crunden ; very fond of a game of play," 
 said Miss Blackburn. "But we must not complain." 
 
 "Stick to it, Lizzie," said papa impressively. "Stick to 
 it, my dear." 
 
 Lizzie at this period was already deep in the mysteries 
 of the French language an acquisition held in reverence by 
 papa. When Lizzie recited morsels of French after supper
 
 HILL RISE 11 
 
 Mrs. Price lifted her hands admiringly; and mamma nodded 
 and smiled, and continued to do so until the conversation 
 flowed on again in English. Mamma seemed a little shy of 
 French never wished to express a critical opinion. But Mr. 
 Crunden, one night, possessing himself of the lesson book, 
 silently and resolutely tackled the matter, and did not rest 
 before he had committed some French to memory. 
 
 Henceforth, when he passed through the room where sat 
 pupil and teacher, he would accost them facetiously : 
 
 "Well, Lizzie, my dear ! Oo-ay lar quizzineer ? Oo-ay ler 
 Shah? Oo-ay mong Shah-nore?" 
 
 His accent was lamentable, but he was understood both by 
 Miss Blackburn and by Lizzie to be asking for news of the 
 cook and the cat. 
 
 "Stick to it;" and he would laugh heartily. "Stick to it, 
 my little fairy. Among us we mean to make a lady of you 
 same as all the young misses in Hill Eise." 
 
 He laughed thus with Lizzie about French, but it seemed 
 that he had no laughter nowadays for other people and other 
 things. Why was papa turning moody and gloomy, and yet 
 more stern ? 
 
 It troubled her to think that father was troubled. It irked 
 her, who was so happy, to feel by instinct unhappy thought 
 in those she loved. 
 
 One day there came to her a sudden most dreadful fear: 
 that papa must be about to become what they called bankrupt. 
 This, as already she had gathered, was an enigmatical but 
 calamitous state into which builders were apt to fall. The 
 bankrupt condition was, it appeared, to the best of builders 
 what measles are to the best of children a thing not to be 
 avoided by personal effort; a thing for which you could not 
 properly be blamed. No such annoyance, however, threatened 
 Mr. Crunden. Mamma and Mrs. Price at once reassured her. 
 Papa had never been more prosperous than at present. 
 
 Middle-aged, beaming, hard-working Mrs. Price was a 
 cousin of the house as well as its "quizzineer," and no secrets 
 were hid from her. She was a valiant, modest creature, who 
 was servant always until you reminded her that she was a 
 member of the family. She never presumed; she went on
 
 12 HILL RISE 
 
 cooking for you, waiting on you, asking no questions, but if in 
 a moment you craved a confidential chat with a relative well, 
 there she was, ready to come along the stone-flagged passage 
 and enter the room as sympathetic cousin. No arrange- 
 ment could be more convenient or comfortable. 
 
 "Certainly not," said Mrs. Price, reassuring Lizzie, "your 
 father is as safe as the Bank of England." 
 
 What worried papa was merely Dick, and public affairs. 
 He was anxiously planning the career of his natural suc- 
 cessor, E. Crunden, Junior; and he was much occupied and 
 harassed by his duty to watch over the future welfare 
 of the town of Medford. 
 
 "Your father," said loyal Mrs. Price, "is the wisest, long- 
 headedest man on the Council, and they don't listen to what 
 he says as they ought." 
 
 He was Councillor Crunden if you gave him his full 
 title. Fancy ! 
 
 With a solid stake in Medford, he had wished for a seat 
 on the Town Council, had thought he could be useful at the 
 municipal board, and had offered himself as an independent 
 candidate to the burgesses of the lower Hill-ward. Now he 
 had obtained his wish; a Councillor's chair was his to sit 
 in, and he found himself quite useless. No one would listen 
 to him; he was constantly in opposition. Sometimes as on 
 this question of the new Town Hall he was quite alone; 
 a compact minority composed of Crunden. 
 
 The town felt that the time had come when it really must 
 build itself a grand municipal palace. Since Mr. Crunden 
 was a builder, one might suppose that his only anxiety would 
 be to secure this building job and build the Town Hall him- 
 self. But not a bit of it. He decried the scheme, stren- 
 uously maintained that no building was necessary ; these dingy 
 old tumble-down rooms at the corner of Market Street were 
 admirably fitted and altogether sufficient for the deliberations 
 of the town fathers; it was folly, vainglory, unworthy non- 
 sense to burden the rates with large and avoidable outlay. 
 Such narrow views were highly offensive to the dignity of his 
 colleagues, and, oddly enough, proved unpopular with the 
 rate-payers.
 
 HILL RISE 13 
 
 "I call that," said a rude and irate councillor in council 
 assembled, "I call that talking like a hedgehog. Any hole may 
 be good enough for some people, but it isn't good enough 
 for us." 
 
 This rude speech summed up public opinion, and was 
 widely applauded. Mr. Crunden, walking home from the 
 yard, soon had occasion to chase, or pretend to chase, a vulgar 
 urchin who had mocked him and called him "'Edge-'og 
 Crunden." If he offered himself to the lower Hill-ward 
 for re-election he would no doubt be heavily defeated. In- 
 deed, it was possible that burgesses might request him to 
 resign because he no longer represented their opinions cor- 
 rectly. 
 
 Mr. Crunden, walking through the streets to and from his 
 work, perhaps had bitter thoughts just now. His manner 
 hardened; but he was, as he had always been, extraordinarily 
 respectful in his attitude towards the gentry of the place. 
 This deference was characteristic; he was a plain man, with- 
 out pretension a successful worker, nothing more. In fact, 
 as to garb and aspect, he seemed seeking to stand below his 
 real station rather than above it. He wore, apparently in 
 all seasons, the same grey suit, and the square, black felt 
 hat that was a compromise between a topper and a bowler. He 
 touched his hat to most of the gentlemen they nearly all 
 knew him; or if a gentleman was accompanied by a lady, he 
 would step from the pavement into the road, and, taking off 
 his hat, show them his stiff grey hair. Seeing him thus, one 
 might have guessed that he was a superior sort of workman 
 say, a builder's foreman, perhaps, but scarcely the builder him- 
 self and an employer of much labour. 
 
 Yet, in spite of all this characteristic deference and courtesy 
 while abroad, he would speak now when at home very slight- 
 ingly of the union of great gentility and slender brains. The 
 gentlefolk had disappointed him. "How do, Crunden ?" they 
 said patronisingly, as he stood bowing or touching his hat; 
 but none stopped to pat him on the back for his sound com- 
 mon-sense about the Town Hall. 
 
 "Mother," he told his wife, "it was to them I looked for 
 support. They ought to have supported me. They'll all feel
 
 14 HILL RISE 
 
 it in their pockets, but they haven't the brains to see beyond 
 the end of their supercilious noses." 
 
 This, then, was father's trouble not much, as considered 
 by Lizzie. Mrs. Price felt sure there was nothing else 
 always excepting Master Dick and his career. But that would 
 come all right in the end; everything would be all right 
 was all right. So Lizzie worried herself no more. 
 
 Joyfully she cut and ate her birthday cake L. C. 13, in 
 pink sugar traced upon the white sugar by Pricey's deft hand 
 and plunged into her fourteenth year as happy as the days 
 were long: loving her home, gentle mamma, grim papa, and 
 dear brother Dick best of Dicks to her always, although, 
 alas ! to the rest of the world showing himself already as an 
 idle, good-for-nothing Dick. 
 
 Dick, who would not work to please father, would always 
 play to please her. By the art of make-belief that lay in 
 Dick he could turn common things to joy could make the 
 garden fairyland, the house a palace of delight. He was nine- 
 teen now, had done with the grammar schools, so she could 
 enjoy his society day after day without dread of term. 
 
 His education was being completed by Mr. Dowling, the 
 architect and surveyor. He went to the architect's office 
 every morning; and if only he would learn all that Mr. Dow- 
 ling could impart he would find such high-class technical 
 knowledge a source of strength and comfort when, very soon, 
 he entered his father's business. He came home for his 
 meals, and spared time from the architectural drawing for 
 games with his little sister, as well as for much loafing about 
 the town. 
 
 He wore smart, loud clothes, with gaily tinted shirts and 
 ties, looked quite the gentleman, and, as was soon known, 
 had been admitted into friendly companionship by some of the 
 real gentlemen. When he should have been stooping over his 
 board and scale, he had been seen lounging in the bar of the 
 White Hart Hotel with the idle, lounging sons of the gentry 
 from the Hill such as Mr. Charlie Padfield, and the puffy- 
 faced, whiskey-swilling Mr. Lardner, of Hill Rise. At last, 
 one day, he brought home with him his most splendid friend
 
 HILL RISE 15 
 
 a creature of another race, a dazzling presence Mr. Jack Vin- 
 cent, son of the great Sir John, from Hill House, who deigned 
 to be friend, or idle comrade, with Dick. And, after that day, 
 smiling, idle Mr. Jack came again and again. 
 
 Mrs. Price, housekeeper-cousin, lifted her hands in wonder 
 at his condescension. Mother was nattered and gratified. 
 Only father was sternly inimical to this friendship. 
 
 Lizzie heard him once, when her mother said the connec- 
 tion might be valuable: "Kubbish! No compliment, I tell 
 you. They all do it these young princes. They look below 
 them for hangers-on. It is them sinking, not our boy 
 rising." 
 
 "Oh, I can't see that !" 
 
 "Let people keep in their places, I say. They'll make a 
 bigger fool of Dick than he is already." 
 
 Lizzie had no qualms or care. To her, Mr. Jack was many- 
 faceted flashing perfection. He lounged in the garden; or, 
 lazily rousing himself, played with her better than Dick 
 even. It seemed disloyal to admit this, but it was a fact. As 
 an artist to make-believe, he began where Dick left off. If 
 he told you to walk warily through the thicket and keep 
 a sharp look-out for bears, and then sprang out on you, he 
 was a bear neither more nor less ; and glad were you by hard 
 running to escape unhugged. 
 
 When with words he wove a new game about you, realities 
 slunk away ashamed of themselves ; his fiction held the stage of 
 life. As, for instance, the wonderful, often-played game in 
 which he and "Lizzie were a pirate and his wife living for 
 many years in island fortresses, and Dick was a British 
 sloop-of-war and its captain and its crew. 
 
 He was a year older than Dick, and yet was quite devoid 
 of arrogance. He made nothing of his age or of all his visible 
 and invisible pomp and splendour. He had blue eyes, dark, 
 close-cropt hair, the slightest downy moustache, and the ready 
 smile that was like careless, profuse sunshine. If poor Dick 
 was fine of raiment, he was gorgeous. He had white flannel 
 waistcoats with brass buttons; his shirts were of all colours 
 of the rainbow; his ties were like the rainbow itself college 
 ties. He was a Cambridge undergraduate what Dick would
 
 16 HILL RISE 
 
 have wished to be also. He possessed a wonderful meerschaum 
 pipe that he smoked assiduously; and this, perhaps, was the 
 only thing about which he was ever serious. He would not 
 permit Lizzie to touch the bowl with her warm little paws ; he 
 nursed it tenderly in a silk handkerchief; and his bright 
 face was clouded by heavy trouble when he feared that the 
 pipe had been made too hot and then cooled too rapidly. At 
 the White Hart Hotel he drank whiskey and soda with Dick, 
 but at King's Cottage there was only tea to offer him. He 
 drank it contentedly, and seemed to like it and that was 
 more than could truly be said of Dick. 
 
 In these happy early spring days he would often come loung- 
 ing with Dick into the big room at tea time; and, no matter 
 what Mr. Crunden might say, Mrs. Crunden was proud to 
 welcome him. 
 
 "Pray be seated, Mr. Vincent." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Crunden. Here I am, you see, turned 
 up again like a bad penny. Sure you don't mind ?" 
 
 "Indeed, no. Pray join us at tea." 
 
 He praised everything quite sincerely. There could be no 
 doubt that life at the top of Hill Eise if splendid was mighty 
 dull. The hours for this young man were long and empty; 
 and he found difficulty in filling them. 
 
 "I love this room," he said, smiling graciously. "I do call 
 it such a ripping room." 
 
 "Oh, surely not," said Mrs. Crunden, deprecating, but in- 
 tensely gratified. "Very different from the rooms you are 
 accustomed to." 
 
 But that perhaps was just why he liked it. Anything for a 
 change. 
 
 Once Mr. Crunden happened to be in at tea and Mr. Jack 
 was told about the origin of the room and so forth. 
 
 "Courtroom, was it? What a ripping idea." 
 
 "Yes, sir, and what is more, our kitchen was once used 
 for the lock-up. I judge that, sir, by many signs." 
 
 Mr. Crunden always addressed him as "Sir," and was stiff 
 and hard in manner, although most respectful. He would 
 scarce sit down to take his tea with so august a visitor, but 
 stood, cup in hand, before the hearth. He seemed determined
 
 HILL RISE 17 
 
 to remember the visitor's high rank and station, even if his 
 family wilfully forgot them. 
 
 It must be confessed that Mr. Crunden cast a gloom over 
 these pleasant dawdling tea-parties. It was a relief when 
 father marched off to wind up the working-day at the yard. 
 Although dusk was falling, the room seemed of a sudden 
 brighter when father left it. 
 
 Dick, who had been sitting mumchance, found his glib 
 tongue again; Mrs. Crunden began to prattle gaily; and the 
 visitor soon set them all laughing. 
 
 Happy, silly hours, so dear to Lizzie. 
 
 In the candlelight they talked such utter nonsense, with 
 no one to check them unless it was Mrs. Price. But Mrs. 
 Price was absolutely captivated by the visitor's affability, and 
 gladly joined in all the fun. The visitor called her Pricey- 
 picey first behind her back, and then before her face. 
 
 In the candlelight and the fireglow they used to play a game 
 of cards that silly old muggins, but now a rejuvenated, glori- 
 fied muggins because lie presided over the foolish sport. He 
 would have them play the game with an unheard-of, prepos- 
 terous, yet enchanting, strictness as he said it was played 
 at the University of Cambridge. 
 
 "Muggins," he would cry, did one make the most trifling 
 blunder, and force one to accept a card in penalty. 
 
 "Muggins again, Pricey-picey." 
 
 "Lor', no. I done no wrong." 
 
 "Muggins you for not mugginsing me." Or, worse still: 
 "Muggins you for not mugginsing me for not mugginsing 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, 'tis a shame," Mrs. Price would expostulate. "You 
 all shuffle off your cards on me." 
 
 The object, of course, was to be rid of one's cards, get out 
 of the game, and escape being Mrs. Muggins. Mrs. Price 
 was always Mrs. Muggins left in alone at the end of the 
 game. It was a foregone conclusion : she had been fashioned 
 by nature for this fate and could not evade it. 
 
 Sometimes they had "How, When, and Where" after the 
 cards, and again Mrs. Price suffered failure. Her candour 
 seemed so great that she could not frame an equivocal answer.
 
 18 HILL RISE 
 
 If the word was Box and you asked Pricey-picey how she 
 liked it, she would reply, "With a strong lock, and large 
 enough to hold all my clothes." And then, if you please, she 
 would wonder how she had betrayed the secret. 
 
 But Mrs. Price's triumph came when they did the acting. 
 She it was who supplied the play, and taught the players their 
 parts with all the appropriate gesture and emphasis. It 
 was, it seemed, a pretty romantic drama that had never 
 been set on paper: it was legendary lore handed down by 
 nursemaids and governesses out of the dim past. Who could 
 have guessed that Mrs. Price would carry such a unique treas- 
 ure in her kind old head? 
 
 "Madam," acted Mr. Jack, with a tremendous air, "to you 
 I humbly bow and bend." 
 
 "And bow then/' said Mrs. Price, conducting the rehearsal. 
 "Now, Lizzie!" 
 
 Lizzie was the heroine, and she loved this acting: it was 
 the apotheosis of make-believe. 
 
 "Madam, to you I humbly bow and bend." 
 
 "Now, Lizzie." 
 
 "Nay, sir, I take you not to be my friend." 
 
 When the little play was at last acted through without 
 promptings, it was a huge success and completely carried 
 away the audience. Lizzie's eyes were shining and her face 
 was on fire with excitement. She loved acting : as soon as she 
 grew up she would go on the stage and be an actress. Mean- 
 time, she went to bed and dreamed about it happy, radiant 
 dreams. 
 
 Mr. Jack was just as nice, nicer if possible, next holidays 
 or vacation, as it ought to be called. He was pleased to see the 
 garden again, and to play in it, languidly, because of the 
 hot weather, with his "little sweetheart." That was the name 
 he gave Lizzie. 
 
 But many weeks before this long, long vacation was past, 
 trouble and pain began to brood over King's Cottage. Brother 
 Dick, who was in business now with his father, was doing far 
 from well at the yard; was doing very ill. He was unpunc- 
 tual, never up to time in the morning, despite of all efforts
 
 HILL RISE 19 
 
 made by Mrs. Price and mamma to rouse him. He stayed out 
 too late of night to be fresh and alert at a seven-o'clock break- 
 fast. His face looked pale and puffy like young Mr. Lard- 
 ner's face; his eyes were sometimes bloodshot; and his hand 
 often shook. Too often he had such a headache that he was 
 compelled to stay in bed till noon. Papa looked stern and 
 sad when these headaches were mentioned. Lizzie heard Mr. 
 Jack talking of the headaches to Dick, and urging his friend 
 very earnestly to "pull himself together and drop it." Drop 
 what? Lizzie wondered for a moment what he meant; then, 
 thought she understood. Drop staying in bed when one 
 ought to be up and about ! 
 
 Then came shadows deepening, taking the gladness from 
 her life. Dick was in disgrace that was why he now hung 
 about the house all day long. He had disgraced himself at 
 the yard was suspended. 
 
 Lying awake at night, she thought of it, cried over it. 
 From below came the sound of angry voices father's voice 
 was raised in hot anger ; and she lay trembling. Dick was in 
 trouble; mother was unhappy; the careless joy had gone 
 from life. 
 
 Then, as the autumn advanced, it seemed that all her little 
 world was tumbling into chaotic gloom. Mrs. Price told her 
 of things coming. Dick was to be given another chance. She 
 was to be sent to school. She must not make a fuss, because 
 mamma was so unhappy. 
 
 One afternoon, in the garden, she told Mr. Jack of her 
 almost unbearable distress. There had been no games to-day, 
 although the visits of Mr. Jack had become rare of late, and, 
 now that they had him, they should have made the most of 
 him. But they were without heart for play; they all three 
 sat disconsolately in the summerhouse, and, while the two 
 young men smoked their pipes, Lizzie looked out at the roofs 
 and chimneys, and thought. 
 
 It was as though Dick's disgrace was something visible, 
 palpable, far-reaching, all-embracing. It had spread out over 
 her and smiling Jack; it had stretched forth like a dull veil 
 all over the town of Medford. The sunlight seemed weak 
 and cheerless, as if shining through mist; the flag on the
 
 20 HILL RISE 
 
 top of the White Hart Hotel had lost its gaiety and bright 
 colour; the zinc dome of Selkirk's big drapery establishment 
 looked ugly and ominous ; the brick tower of the brewery, ris- 
 ing above the slate roofs near the river, was dim and vague 
 and terrible. Behind her the dry leaves from the walnut trees 
 fell or stirred on the path, with a faint crackling sound. It 
 was the saddest and most silent autumn day that she had 
 ever known. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Crunden, coming a little way down the gar- 
 den from the house, called to Dick. She wanted to speak to 
 him, it appeared, confidentially. Dick went to his mother's 
 call, and sullenly, with hands in pockets, walked by her side 
 to the house. 
 
 Then Lizzie told Jack of her pain. She sat on Jack's 
 knee, and, with her arms round his neck, sobbed out all the 
 trouble. 
 
 ". . . And and I don't want to go to school. I shall die 
 if I am sent away." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Jack, "you'll like it after a bit." 
 
 "Never," sobbed Lizzie. "But I must go because Mrs. Price 
 says it makes mother unhappy. And, oh, I am so unhappy ! 
 Oh, Jack can't you help us?" 
 
 "What can I 'do?" said Jack. "I'd do anything in the 
 world for my little sweetheart." 
 
 "You do really love us ?" sobbed Lizzie. "That's not make- 
 believe, is it?" 
 
 "Of course it isn't." 
 
 Mr. Jack stroked her soft hair ; with his silk handkerchief 
 dried her wet eyes; with kind, consoling words endeavoured 
 to bring her ease of mind. She was in fact easier for his 
 sympathy; and, ere Dick joined them again, a smile of hope 
 flickered about her trembling lips and through the final in- 
 stalment of her tears. 
 
 "I would do anything," said Jack fervently, "for you and 
 poor old Dick." 
 
 "Would you?" said Lizzie. 
 
 "Yes, my little sweetheart." 
 
 "Then, will you marry me when I'm grown-up ? I'd like to 
 know we were going to be married when I am grown-up."
 
 HILL RISE 21 
 
 This proposal made Jack laugh, but he immediately prom- 
 ised to do what was asked. 
 
 "All right. If you grow up quick enough, I will." 
 
 Further discussion of this grand plan was prevented by the 
 return of Dick. His was a most ungrateful and embarrassing 
 task. Father was expected to be home for tea, and Mrs. 
 Crunden had reason to apprehend that if father found Mr. 
 Jack here, he would be upset that, forgetting the laws of 
 politeness and the deference which habitually he paid to high 
 social position, he might even invite the illustrious visitor to 
 cease honouring the house with visits. Father was firmly 
 persuaded that the friendship of this young prince had a 
 large share in unsettling Dick and rendering him averse to 
 honest toil. 
 
 "So I/' said Dick, flushing indignantly and with gloomy 
 scorn for his parent, "am commissioned to ask you to go. . . . 
 There's manners for you. They may well call him 'Hedgehog 
 Crunden.' ' ; 
 
 Mr. Jack, picking up his straw hat and putting away his 
 pipe and pouch, reproved Dick for sneering at his father. He 
 quite understood Mr. Crunden's feelings; he was not in the 
 least offended. 
 
 "Your Guv'nor," he said, "thinks I put you off your work. 
 That's why he bars me. . . . But you might tell him, old 
 chap, that I have given you the best advice I could ;" and he 
 got up and stretched himself. "I have, haven't I? Though 
 I'm such a lazy beggar myself, I know work's a good thing. 
 I admire it, if I don't do it;" and he smiled at Dick and 
 clapped him on the shoulder. "Take my tip, old boy; make 
 it up with your Guv'nor, and drop you know what." 
 And smilingly, but very kindly, he bade adieu to Dick's little 
 sister. 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Lizzie," and he kissed her. "We shan't 
 meet again now because we are both wanted at school." 
 
 And that was the end of his last visit. 
 
 Then came tragedy. 
 
 It was only a few nights afterwards. Dick was out at 
 supper time. Father waited supper for Dick; would not let
 
 22 HILL RISE 
 
 them start the meal till half an hour had slowly dragged by. 
 Then the silent meal began in heavy gloom. Mamma's face 
 was white and sad; her eyes were ever on the door; Mrs. 
 Price had slipped out by the kitchen entrance, was trotting 
 down the road to look for Dick. 
 
 To-day Dick had returned to the yard, had been given his 
 other chance. To-night, as mamma knew, his father had wished 
 to speak kindly to him, to put heart into him, to implore 
 him to stick to it, shove his back into it, and make them 
 all proud of him. At the friendly evening meal, in the pleas- 
 ant candlelight, there was to be reconciliation, drawing to- 
 gether of bonds, oblivion for past offence, affectionate trust 
 in future peace. That was the programme; and Dick had 
 missed his cue, had failed to appear when the curtain had 
 risen upon the homely little scene. 
 
 The delayed supper was done. Very little food was chok- 
 ingly sufficient to-night. Mrs. Price, following Jane into the 
 room, by secret signals made known to mamma that her quest 
 had been fruitless. In flat tones she asked her usual question : 
 
 "Shall we clear away the things?" 
 
 "No," said Mr. Crunden ; "leave his place. Leave the food, 
 but make the table tidy. He ought to be sharp-set by now." 
 And Mrs. Crunden had a wan smile of gratitude for father's 
 enduring kindness. 
 
 Then at last Dick came lurching in Dick and not Dick 
 thick of speech, glassy of eye, wanting no supper. 
 
 There was a most dreadful scene instead of the planned 
 reconciliation between father and son. Lizzie was hurried 
 away, taken up to bed by Mrs. Price, tremblingly aided to 
 undress, told to cease sobbing and to pray for better fortune 
 while from below came the sounds of the voices mother's, 
 father's, brother's voice grief, anger, and drunken folly in 
 chorus. Even Mrs. Price, within sound of that chorus, could 
 not say now that things would come all right in the 
 end. 
 
 Very early in the morning Dick came into the bedroom, 
 woke Lizzie, and kissed her tear-stained face. 
 
 "Good-bye, Lizzie," he whispered. The grey dawn was 
 creeping into the room; all was shadowy and vague, includ-
 
 HILL RISE 23 
 
 ing Dick himself it seemed to her like a most horrible 
 dream; but she clung to him, in a frenzy of love and fear, 
 to hold him with her. 
 
 "Good-bye, dear. I have had enough of it. Father showed 
 me the street door last night but I wasn't in a state to see 
 it. I'm all right now I can steer my way through it 
 now. . . . Tell mother not to worry or make a fuss. I'll 
 write to her as soon as I am settled." 
 
 She clung to him, but he gently unloosed her arms and 
 again bade her good-bye. 
 
 "Go to sleep, Lizzie but don't forget my message. Tell 
 your mother not to worry." 
 
 As in a dream he went from her; leaving her sobbing and 
 shaking in the grey shadows, with the cold, cheerless day- 
 light feebly fighting the shadows. The sun would never really 
 shine again. Dick had gone from them forever. The wide 
 universe was crumbling into ruin, was falling into chaos, 
 all about her little bed. 
 
 Then Lizzie went to school, at Eastbourne; and exactly 
 what Jack had foretold came to pass after a bit she liked it. 
 
 When she returned for the first holidays, Dick had not come 
 back, and her mother was ailing. Mr. Jack never visited the 
 house now, and Mrs. Price could give no authentic news 
 of him. He was a creature of another race, who had de- 
 scended from a cloud-girt mountain and returned through 
 the cloud to the eternal sunshine on the mountain top 
 regretted by those who had been privileged to see him very, 
 very much regretted by Lizzie. 
 
 Doomed, unhappy Dick never made his peace with an out- 
 raged, disappointed father. He never pulled himself together ; 
 he never "dropped it." Mr. Crunden was only waiting for 
 time to bring back the truant. He only desired penitence, 
 acknowledgment of wrongdoing, a prayer for pardon, and 
 he would have forgiven the culprit. But Dick must make 
 the first move. Mr. Crunden was obdurate here: no tears 
 from the mother could wash away his purpose. "Let him 
 have his lesson. It's our only chance of doing anything with 
 him. When he's had his lesson, we can start fair."
 
 24 HILL RISE 
 
 Time, however, would not help them. It seemed that in 
 the cruel world-school that Dick had entered, there were two 
 headmasters Life and Death. It was Death, and not Life, 
 that completed miserable Dick's lesson. A letter from a Lon- 
 don hospital told Mr. Crunden to cease hoping that he would 
 ever have what his own father had an E. Crunden, Junior 
 to carry on the business. 
 
 Lizzie, at Eastbourne, was instructed to dress in black. 
 Mrs. Price, conveying the grievous tidings, said that Lizzie 
 must wear black for a year. But in fact she wore it much 
 longer: for three long years. She was motherless ere the 
 appointed time of mourning for Dick was fulfilled. 
 
 "Lizzie, you must be brave," said red-eyed, broken-voiced 
 Mrs. Price; "you must be brave now for your poor father's 
 sake. You and him is all there is left in the world, and you 
 two should be all the world to each other." 
 
 "I'll try," said Lizzie, sobbing and gulping and trembling. 
 "He'll keep me with him now, won't he? He'll let me stay 
 here now?" 
 
 "No, my dear," said Mrs. Price, "he wants you to go on 
 with your learning finish all your grand education like 
 and not feel the sadness of this house." 
 
 "Oh, I'd rather stay with him." 
 
 "No, my dear, you must do as he says. You'll help him 
 best later nothing can help him now. He'll be winding up 
 his business completing of all his jobs and then retiring." 
 
 Thus Mr. Crunden went about his day's task as of old a 
 hard, silent, grey man, who had a strip of crape round the 
 sleeve of his old grey jacket, who had a band of black cloth 
 round his square felt hat. Outwardly that was the change in 
 him. Something of a hedgehog he seemed perhaps to the 
 town of Medford, even while his grief was new. 
 
 And Lizzie, leaving the house of woe, went back to her 
 classroom, text-books, and synopsis-writing, to the walking 
 exercise, the dancing lessons, the romping games, the chatter- 
 ing nonsense of the Eastbourne seminary. She was heart- 
 broken: if she lived to a hundred, she could never be happy 
 again. Sorrow had almost snapped the strong thread of her 
 existence, or so she thought.
 
 HILL RISE 25 
 
 But the soft sea wind blew over her head, aiming now here r 
 now there, to the East, to the West, to the North; and it 
 carried her thoughts with it, and left them as it dropped 
 to rest, now here, now there. The seasons glided, changing 
 as they passed her. Things that seemed dead sprang to life 
 again: all that was old faded, dropped away, vanished; and in 
 its place was freshness, strangeness, newness. Nothing was 
 permanent, durable, retainable: not even the glamour of & 
 favourite novel, the admired fashion of a hat, the reflection 
 of one's face in the glass. 
 
 One day the girls walked far by the shore, and shivered 
 as they gazed at the stranded ship. There were the bare 
 masts and torn shrouds slanting upward from the fierce 
 waves, to tell them more plainly the tale they had already 
 heard of death and disaster. That was a winter walk. 
 
 They came along the shore again, to the same point, and 
 saw no trace of the wreck. The sea was glassy silver, sparkling 
 into fire where little lazy ripples broke beneath the sunshine; 
 above the smooth sands and the smooth water, white birds 
 were soaring, flapping, turning. The birds might have been 
 the spirits of the drowned men there was nothing else to 
 tell one of the old tale. That was a walk in summer. 
 
 Lizzie, thinking of it, thought of her wrecked home, of 
 the storm of grief and horror that had swept over her happy 
 childhood's home. 
 
 She remained at the seaside school till she was eighteen, 
 till she was a pretty and immensely erudite girl, with many 
 rare accomplishments as well as a kind heart, with really 
 charming manners and only one bad secret habit not perhaps 
 uncommon with girls of her age the habit of day-dreaming. 
 
 It chanced that on her last journey from school an old 
 acquaintance was in the train. At a place where the train 
 stopped just outside Eastbourne, a militia camp had broken 
 up ; the platform was full of soldiers officers and their men, 
 in uniform. And this tall, sunburnt officer saying good-bye 
 to the others was Mr. Jack Vincent. She looked at him, and 
 for a moment was in doubt; then she was quite sure. He 
 passed the carriage window and glanced in at her, but he did 
 not recognise her did not remember her. Even at Medford
 
 26 HILL RISE 
 
 station, when they were both pointing out their luggage to the 
 porters, he failed to recognise his ancient playmate. 
 
 She blushed faintly as she realised that he had altogether 
 forgotten her. But then she blushed deeply as she thought 
 that no doubt he had also forgotten her most impudent pro- 
 posal. Thank goodness for that. It had been a dreadful 
 thing to say even for a child of fourteen.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 VIEWED from a commercial standpoint, the town of Med- 
 ford was sluggish as its little winding river and sleepy as 
 the gentle southern air. Though so near London only 
 twenty-six miles by the railway, which did not go straight 
 there was about it nothing of the hurry, push, and bounce 
 of London. A black-coated throng came out of it every morn- 
 ing, and as clerks, etc., went to work in London to spend 
 their energy there; and in the evening they came back to 
 Medford to sleep. A drowsy torpor seemed to hang over 
 its trade and its business life, although, in fact, the place 
 was not unprosperous. Eents were not low and rates were 
 very high, yet people paid both contentedly. There was no 
 staple industry, but the success of such shops as Selkirk's, the 
 big draper's in High Street, indicated considerable buying 
 power ; the brewery down by the river was a thriving concern ; 
 and, on the flats beyond, the concrete works and the two or 
 three brick-and-tile yards kept hundreds of hands employed, 
 and sent away large consignments of their stuff both by 
 water and by rail. 
 
 Socially considered, the town divided itself after the man- 
 ner of so many English country towns into those who lived 
 on the hill and those who lived" on the low ground. Coming 
 from the railway to the river bridge, you passed through the 
 worst and the oldest quarter. Here were narrow streets, lanes, 
 and courts; backways and blind alleys; dirty wives in door- 
 ways, and dirty children in the gutter. If you paused on the 
 bridge, you could see on your right brewery buildings, ware- 
 houses, and modern workmen's dwellings; on your left, the 
 backs of the houses in High Street, sheds, store-places, etc., 
 with here and there an old garden and a slimy wall and steps 
 above the slow stream. Thence onward, through Bridge 
 Street, you went uphill. On your left lay High Street, the 
 
 27
 
 28 HILL RISE 
 
 Market, the White Hart, the Town Hall, etc. On your right 
 there were at first cottages, then common little villas, then 
 terraces and parades and crescents of superior villas the 
 new red-brick area of respectability, if not of real gentility, 
 from which came forth the black-coated London toilers. Then, 
 on either hand, were larger, more imposing villas and houses, 
 with fussy architectural ornaments, pepper-pot turrets, cu- 
 polas, loggias, large gates, and miniature carriage sweeps. 
 Here resided gentry. Then, in a moment, you had the wide 
 meadows behind Hill Eise the Lawn Tennis, Croquet, and 
 Archery Club, its smooth lawns, basket chairs, and thatched 
 cottage and tiled veranda. Then, with a sharp turn to the 
 right, you were in Hill Eise itself ten noble detached houses 
 on either side ; and at the top the walls, gate, and trees of Hill 
 House, with nothing beyond it but open country : the stretch- 
 ing common land, the flagstaff, the golf links, and the beech- 
 woods and hazel copses and deep sylvan recesses owned by 
 the Crown, and let to Mr. Wace, the brewer, for the 
 shooting. 
 
 In truth, the hill was nothing worth boasting about. The 
 Golf Clubhouse was exactly eighty-seven feet above the river. 
 But the eminence was sufficient for its purpose to keep peo- 
 ple in their proper places. The higher you lived up the hill, 
 the higher you stood socially. Sir John Vincent lived right 
 on top at Hill House and he was highest of all. As to Hill 
 Eise, just below Sir John even numbers to your left, odd 
 numbers to your right although the ground rose, one might 
 perhaps say that the social plane was horizontal. The people 
 of Hill Eise would not admit any differences; they were the 
 aristocracy of the place. 
 
 Hill House and its ten acres belonged to Sir John, and all 
 the twenty houses below him ; while all the park-like meadows 
 behind the odd numbers belonged to the Dowager Countess of 
 Haddenham. Behind the gardens of the even numbers was 
 the breezy, open common a pleasant sunlit expanse speckled 
 with sheep in their white woollen coats, and with golfers 
 in their red flannel jackets, and all this belonged to the 
 Crown. Thus one had on either side of the houses a wide 
 belt of green to guard one from encroachment by the vulgar
 
 HILL RISE 29 
 
 town. It was really aristocratic if you came to think of it: 
 The three landowners were the Sovereign, the Countess, 
 and Sir John. No wonder the hill thought something of 
 itself. 
 
 It was pleasant to have a countess for your landlady, and 
 the privilege was appreciated. She lived far away in her 
 midland county, and no one ever enjoyed the sight of her 
 or speech with her. All business was done in the grandest 
 style through a London firm of solicitors, who sealed their 
 letters, printed the agreements, never raised your rent, saw 
 that the property was kept up at my lady's charge, and were 
 only particular that you sent the quarter's cheque promptly 
 when, after a dignified delay, you received the official notice. 
 It was a pleasure to deal with such people. Old Mr. Garrett, 
 of No. 5, himself a retired solicitor, could tell you about 
 Messrs. Firmin & Firmin: of the weight and splendour of 
 such a firm, who acted for half-a-dozen other great clients 
 as well as for the Countess Dowager. 
 
 No difficulties were ever made. You had merely to ask for 
 what you wanted in a proper and becoming manner. New 
 bath, new kitchen range, new paint and wallpaper from roof 
 to cellar rthese were slight favours habitually craved when 
 you sent in your prompt cheque: favours granted almost as 
 a matter of course by any humble clerk in the great solicitors' 
 office. For instance, when the select and successful Tennis 
 Club was founded, no question was raised as to the propriety 
 of granting the use of the rich grazing ground behind the odd 
 numbers on the easiest, practically nominal, terms. The 
 noble landlady, indeed, without being approached on the 
 subject, transmitted through her deputies a handsome dona- 
 tion towards the cost of levelling the fields from which she 
 was renouncing future profit. 
 
 When things seemed to demand discussion when tenants 
 had a fancy for structural changes or additions there would 
 come down, for suave debate, Mr. Abinger. He was a sort of 
 splendid surveyor or steward not really a gentleman, but 
 just like a gentleman, known to all tenants as "Mr. A.," 
 welcomed by all, and entertained hospitably by all. Indeed, as 
 he drove up in his fly from the station and turned into Hill
 
 30 HILL RISE 
 
 Else, one might say there were twenty hot luncheons wait- 
 ing for him. 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Abinger," the tenants would say. They were 
 all the same in their welcome to Mr. A. Warm-tempered 
 Admiral Lardner, haughty Colonel Beaumont, old Mrs. Pad- 
 field, who was a very difficult lady, Mrs. Granville, Mrs. Page, 
 etc., they all made much of Mr. A. ; meeting him in the hall, 
 ordering servants to take his overcoat and rug and umbrella, 
 ushering him forthwith to the dining-room. 
 
 "Sit ye down, Mr. Abinger. Not a word of business till 
 you've had a snack of lunch. You must be famished after 
 your journey. No hurry about my little affair. I know I am 
 in good hands. I leave the decision to you absolutely. I'll tell 
 you what I wish, and I won't press it. But I believe you'll 
 decide that what I am asking is not unreasonable." 
 
 On several occasions this magnificent steward lunched with 
 Sir John at Hill House; and twice or thrice even had the 
 honour of sitting at meat with Lady Vincent. Although, 
 of course, Sir John was not a tenant, it seemed fit that he 
 should entertain Mr. A. He was the owner of the adjoining 
 freehold the next big landowner (omitting the Crown), the 
 man of rank highest and nearest to the exalted rank of the 
 Countess. 
 
 And doubtless Sir John talked pleasantly enough to the 
 guest keeping his proper distance, yet throwing over light 
 bridges of conversation to enable Mr. A. to advance and retire. 
 Mr. A. never forgot, never presumed. 
 
 "How is her ladyship, Mr. Abinger?" 
 
 "Wonderful no other word for it. I was down at Bur- 
 roughclere last week," and Sir John would nod his head 
 as though he were familiar with Burroughclere, Lady Had- 
 denham's majestic country-seat, "bitter bleak morning 
 but there was my lady in her pony-carriage to meet me at 
 every turn. 'Mr. Abinger/ she said, 'I like to see for my- 
 self. I don't like giving things up.' ' ; 
 
 "Ah, well, Mr. Abinger," this would be after fitting com- 
 pliments for conveyance to the aged Countess when oppor- 
 tunity offered, "these old ladies are like creaking doors : they 
 hang on."
 
 HILL RISE 31 
 
 And then perhaps Sir John told Mr. A. about that most 
 notorious creaking door, his old cousin at Bournemouth. 
 Everybody knew about her. When she died, her money would 
 come to Sir John. It was all settled: she couldn't leave it 
 away from him, hut she could keep him waiting for it 
 and she did so. She was deplorably afflicted a dreadful 
 paralysis. First she lost the use of her feet, then of her 
 hands, etc. 
 
 "Heaven knows," said Sir John, "I would not hasten any 
 one's end or wish any one out of the way for the paltry 
 money. But poor old dear! I ask you what pleasure can 
 she have in life?" 
 
 Lady Vincent, the kindest of women, would agree would 
 be constrained to own that neither life nor paltry cash could 
 be of much value to poor dear cousin Harriet, though she 
 still clung to both. 
 
 Young ladies at the tennis, opening large eyes as they talked 
 of Sir John's cousin, said the money was anything but 
 paltry. 
 
 "I do call it rough luck on Sir John." 
 
 "But he doesn't want it. He is rich enough already. He 
 must be very rich." 
 
 "Yes; but it is nice to become richer however rich you 
 are." 
 
 "What could he do with it?" 
 
 "Anyhow, young Mr. Vincent could spend it. He could 
 marry and have a fine establishment of his own. He is old 
 enough to do that." 
 
 "I don't believe," said a young lady with wistful eyes, "that 
 Mr. Jack will ever marry." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't believe he is fond of girls." 
 
 One could not blame these young ladies of the Hill for 
 the wistfulness in their eyes or the tone of deep respect in 
 their voices when they came thus to speak of money: because 
 throughout Hill Eise there was not much ready cash, and 
 nearly all that there was fell into the hands of the sons and 
 little enough was left for the daughters.
 
 32 HILL RISE 
 
 The heads of families were gentry neither more nor less. 
 They based on this proud title all their pompful pretensions, 
 and never asked the world to believe that they were secret mil- 
 lionaires. Mr. Garrett, although a solicitor, was a man of good 
 family; Dr. Blake, who practised medicine, was extremely 
 well-connected; these were the only two residents tainted with 
 damaging derogatory professions, and on the plea of good 
 birth they were pardoned. For the rest, there were Admiral 
 Lardner, Colonel Beaumont, Major Meldew, Captain Sholto, 
 and so on; Mrs. Granville and Mrs. Padfield. and other 
 widows ; the three Miss Vigors, who made a joint household of 
 No. 10, and who were so religious that if you wished to see 
 them your better chance would be to seek them rather in the 
 church of St. Barnabas than in their own home, etc., etc. all 
 gentlefolk from No. 1 to No. 20. 
 
 There were many sons and daughters; every house 
 possessed its second generation except, of course, the house 
 of the Misses Vigor to carry on the good Hill traditions. 
 The Hill Eise girls had a splendid style of their own, a 
 manner and tone which might be imitated by the rest of 
 the community, but which could not be reproduced. They 
 ran in upon one another from house to house; they called 
 each other by their Christian name; they were really one 
 large family though not under one roof. 
 
 They were neglected, almost ignored, by their brothers; 
 but they had their own little sports the golf, the tennis, 
 rides with Mr. Banker the riding-master, and, one may sup- 
 pose, their own little love affairs, which culminated one out 
 of each five hundred in orange wreath and organ music: 
 a real Hill Eise wedding with red cloth, beadle, and police- 
 man at St. Barnabas', with all the town girls hurrying up 
 the hill to see the rare and brave sight of the Hill Eise young 
 men in toppers and black coats, with Sir John and Lady 
 Vincent driving down from Hill House in the victoria and 
 pair, cockaded coachman and footman in white gloves on the 
 box-seat. 
 
 They were happy, high-spirited girls in spite of brotherly 
 inattention; and they could reflect that they had all other 
 girls in the universe beneath Hill Eise to look down upon.
 
 HILL RISE 33 
 
 Beyond this comforting reflection, perhaps from year to year 
 the dominant thought of their lives was Selkirk the old- 
 established fashionable draper. Proud as they were, they 
 might all have been described as the slaves of Selkirk: they 
 brought him all the pennies they could scrape together. If 
 uncles or aunts promised them a present, they pleaded to 
 have it in coin. You see, they wanted something to take 
 to Selkirk, and Selkirk would not exchange a cuckoo-clock or 
 a Macaulay's Essays for his tulle veils, motor hats, and gauze 
 clouds. 
 
 They did not realise that they were slaves, and yet could 
 plainly see that their neglectful brothers suffered from a Sel- 
 kirk bondage. Dr. Blake's son, Mrs. Granville's son, Geoff 
 Garrett, Tommy Page, and the others, too, openly carried 
 on with the shop-girls. The shoppies from Selkirk's some- 
 times insisted upon a parade in public places with their ad- 
 mirers, made good their claim to dog-cart drives, a trip to 
 London for the pantomime, or other expensive treat beyond 
 the ambition of mere sisters. The young ladies of the Hill 
 well knew about these philanderings of their brothers and 
 friends' brothers. The young men had a most dreadful ex- 
 pression: All right. "I say. Is Lottie" or Florrie, as the 
 case might be "is Lottie all right ? I wish you'd tell me, be- 
 cause I don't want to waste my time. Is she all right?" It 
 may be surmised that from the point of view of strictest 
 propriety all right meant all wrong. 
 
 The high-spirited young ladies of the Hill knew also of 
 this odious phrase, and used it, amongst themselves, aptly 
 and effectively. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," said one of them, after the Tennis Club ball, 
 "don't talk about my sitting out with Captain Biddulph! I 
 had to ask him to conduct me to my mamma. He went on 
 as though he was under the impression that I was 'All 
 right.' " 
 
 Then the Hill young ladies giggled for ten minutes. 
 Amongst themselves they were great gigglers. 
 
 The Hill Rise young men the sons of the widows espe- 
 cially were born loafers. They seemed lazily but supremely
 
 34 HILL RISE 
 
 content to loaf through life : they wished they were immortal 
 and could go on loafing forever. 
 
 Their parents felt that there might be a loss of prestige, 
 but there would certainly be a great economical gain if they 
 would go away and work even at common trades. But they 
 never did work of any kind. For this reason they were de- 
 barred from entering the army or navy because of the 
 examinations. They rarely tried they always failed, to 
 pass an examination. Sometimes, when one of them loafed 
 into difficulties, entanglement of small debts, excessive con- 
 viviality, altercations with the local police, etc., Hill Eise 
 made a gigantic effort and packed him off to the other side of 
 the world Australian sheep-walk, California garden, Cana- 
 dian ranche, the farther away the better. But, before you 
 could look around, he was back again. "I have arrived," he 
 wrote from the distant goal, "though have not yet shaken 
 down. I cannot say I am eaten up with this place, in spite of 
 all their gas about it." Then, ere his comrades had fairly 
 missed him, he once more joined their ranks. 
 
 "Who do you think I met just now coming out of the 
 White Hart ? Old Val ! Yes looking as fit as a fiddle and 
 jolly glad, he said, to be safe home in dear old Medford." 
 
 They loved Medford. Away from it they pined; nostalgic 
 longings made them restless and uneasy even during the 
 course of a day in London, and they found it painful to wait 
 for the appointed return train. It was never the last train 
 of all. When safe in Medford they felt at peace : time and the 
 years could not touch them; the long, easeful, loafing days 
 glided by and there was no need to count them. 
 
 In heart and mind they never grew up. They were young 
 men always with the boyish immature thoughts unchanged, 
 the youthful foolish cravings never satiated. The very young 
 men played games golf, cricket, lawn tennis, even croquet. 
 The older young men watched the games. They had not 
 become weary of games. Only laziness made them onlookers 
 rather than performers. But for the fag of the thing, they 
 would have been willing to spin tops or blow soap-bubbles. 
 When it came to loafing they were all one old and young 
 boys together.
 
 HILL RISE 35 
 
 Thus, indolent, good-natured Mr. Vincent of Hill House 
 the prince of the loafers was getting on for thirty. Mr. 
 Page and Mr. Granville were under twenty. Mr. Lardner, 
 of the puffy, white face, who had thrice suffered eclipse in a 
 home for young gentlemen who take too much whiskey and 
 soda, was forty. Yet his diurnal bliss was unabated as with 
 slow footsteps he sauntered towards the railway station to 
 procure an illustrated sporting paper, paused as of yore at the 
 familiar corner in High Street to wave his hat to the upper 
 window where Selkirk's work-girls stood grinning, or sat him- 
 self down in the railway refreshment-room and gulped his 
 favourite beverage. Mr. Eidgworth was nearer fifty than 
 forty ; he was red and fat and bald ; he knew the meaning of 
 gout and rheumatism ; and yet, at sight of two well-powdered, 
 drab-complexioned, draggle-tailed chorus girls of a Z com- 
 pany newly arrived, he would start from the tobacconist's 
 counter against which he had been lolling and sally forth 
 in pursuit with all the keenness of callow youth for the 
 stale old cheese. 
 
 "Marked 'em down," he would report, when in half an hour 
 he returned to the tobacco shop to resume his chat with the 
 tobacconist and another lolling customer. "Marked 'em down 
 to their diggin's No. 3 Bridge Terrace. I don't say they're 
 all right. That I can't say. But," added Mr. Eidgworth, 
 who was old enough to know so very much better, "but I 
 mean to follow it up. Let's you and I go to the theatre this 
 evening eh, dear boy?" 
 
 They used the tobacconist's shop almost as a club, and pre- 
 ferred it to the real club on the other side of the street. 
 This was, in fact, a dingy, uninviting mansion. The plate- 
 glass windows were suggestive of the tanks in an aquarium; 
 the brown-metal gauze across the lower part of each window 
 looked like the water in the tank; and the club members were 
 just like stupid old fish coming against the glass while you 
 watched. No, the young bloods did not bother themselves 
 to belong to this stupid tankish establishment. Eudd, the 
 tobacconist, and the White Hart Hotel were the clubs for 
 them. 
 
 Between Eudd's and the hotel they had the very best part
 
 36 HILL RISE 
 
 of High Street to stroll through. Here they were indeed 
 cocks of the walk; the Medford constabulary saluted them; 
 male shop assistants staring out of shops admired and studied 
 the tilt of their straw hats, the cut of their flannel trousers, 
 the colour of their ties and washing waistcoats; while shop 
 proprietors on doorsteps respectfully, sycophantically greeted 
 them: "Good-morning, sir"; "Fine morning, sir"; "I hope 
 I see you well, Mr. Granville," etc. 
 
 In the reverential greeting of High Street and its curtly 
 condescending acknowledgment, one could measure all the 
 social gulf between the Hill and the town. 
 
 But at the White Hart these sons of the Hill were con- 
 tent from ancient usage and customs to narrow the divid- 
 ing distance ; and in billiard-room and bar-parlour would meet 
 the more important townsmen and hold commune with them 
 in a patronisingly friendly manner. 
 
 The White Hart was the best, the only real, hotel in Med- 
 ford. It was an old, spacious house, very slightly modern- 
 ised. On either side of the pillared porch there were white 
 posts and chains to protect the shrubs that stood in green 
 tubs; there were flower-boxes to all the windows on the 
 ground floor, and the pavement was formed of queer little 
 stones instead of the usual flags, in order to show that from 
 time immemorial it had belonged, and did now belong, to 
 the White Hart and not to the public. At one end of the 
 house there was a modern bar, with a separate entrance 
 to the street, and a grand terra-cotta front; but above 
 this new ornamental work the musty old bedrooms were 
 unchanged. 
 
 The fine old panelled hall, the broad staircase and passages 
 were dark and gloomy even at high noon, but behind the 
 hall there was a better lit, glass-screened bar-parlour or land- 
 lord's office: a most pleasant lounging place, if one had the 
 freedom of it with, moreover, some delightful small inner 
 rooms, from which the two Misses Drake, Ethel and Mildred, 
 daughters of mine host Bob Drake, would emerge to supple- 
 ment and aid Miss Granger, the manageress. Here, in the 
 bar-parlour, were issued orders to the stable-yard ; here were 
 set on slate and transferred to ledger bookings of flies; here
 
 HILL RISE 37 
 
 bills for bed and board, dinners and luncheons were hastily 
 made out, etc., etc. When the young men came in here, they 
 felt it was like going behind the scenes of the hotel. They 
 knew they must be in the way, and that made it the more 
 pleasant. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Padfield, if you'll get off of those books 
 you are sitting on, I'll enter this account. . . . Let you help 
 me? No, thanks. . . . Oh, go along, do. ... Yes, I 
 dare say." 
 
 The loafing sons of the Hill would wander from the hotel 
 proper when Miss Granger, Ethel, and Milly began to pall 
 and through devious passages, and a service door that bore 
 in white paint the word "Private," admit themselves to the 
 .modern bar; and, if it was empty, would chaff and rag the 
 younger barmaid. 
 
 Visitors, tumbled from the sky apparently, thought all 
 these lounging young men were the idle, noisy sons or nephews 
 of mine host. They thought, too, that Mr. Drake must be 
 both a very kind and a very foolish man to encourage so 
 much idleness. But did it matter what they thought infernal 
 outsiders ? 
 
 Staying visitors were few "bagmen" chiefly, with aimless 
 wanderers who did not know what they had come for, and 
 Americans carrying guidebooks, piously determined to see 
 every town in England before they went home again. There 
 was no thriving business here, and yet the White Hart seemed 
 to be a paying concern. Anyhow, it had been going for two 
 hundred years: it could hardly stop going now. Profit, per- 
 haps, came from the incredible number of whiskeys and sodas 
 absorbed by its regular patrons; from auctions which were 
 often held on the premises, as well as political meetings and 
 dinners; and from the large room upstairs which was used 
 always by the Medford Ancient Lodge of Freemasons, No. 
 3215. 
 
 Behind the house there was a garden with well-filled her- 
 baceous borders, a basin for water-lilies and gold-fish, a sun- 
 dial, bowling green and the river, with a rotten old landing 
 stage, a crazy skiff, and a leaking punt ; in which, if you were 
 mad, you might adventure upon the muddy, sluggish stream.
 
 38 HILL RISE 
 
 It was said that the Misses Drake did so adventure, by moon- 
 light, with banjo and escort. 
 
 The Hill Eise young men, supported by Mr. Vincent of Hill 
 House, on summer afternoons, would condescend to drink 
 whiskey and soda in the garden with representatives of the 
 town, and sometimes with them play a game of bowls. Mr. 
 Crunden, the retired builder, bowled above the average. Mr. 
 Dowling, the architect, was a flashy but inaccurate player. 
 Alderman Hopkins was passionately fond of this sedate sport, 
 and might be relied on to deliver a useful if not brilliant 
 bowl. Charles, the headwaiter, bringing out the drinks, 
 now and then was called on to make up the party, while 
 the billiard-marker, playing some young ass in a stuffy 
 billiard-room, would peer out of the window and envy the 
 bowlers. 
 
 Charles looked all right in the dark coffee-room, but most 
 lamentable in the sunlight on the lawn. His white shirt was 
 frayed and soup-stained; his black trousers were patched and 
 threadbare; his black coat was shiny and greasy from long 
 wear. When chaffed about his clothes, Charles ever had a 
 ready, good-humoured retort. 
 
 "Disgrace, are they?" said Charles to Mr. Tommy Page. 
 "Well, that's a disgrace you young gentlemen might rectify. 
 I'm not too proud to accept of an old dress-suit from any 
 of you or I'll buy one from you. I'll give you a better price 
 than old Gregory down Water Lane. Verb sap. I ain't 
 joking," said Charles good-humouredly. 
 
 After this friendly manner, Mr. Jack Vincent one drowsy 
 summer afternoon played bowls with two townsmen. Mr. 
 Jack was, as it were, the prince and chieftain of all the 
 loafers, and yet was not truly of their organised band. When 
 he appeared, all tacitly admitted his overlordship. He was 
 above them really, not of them. Hill Eise could not claim 
 him, and Medford could not always retain him. He had been 
 much away amateur soldiering, sojourn in London, Conti- 
 nental travel even, but now it seemed that he was home for 
 good, settling down, putting on flesh, growing more and more 
 languid. He took no exercise beyond riding his horses or, 
 Sir John's horses, and all female Medford peeped forth
 
 HILL RISE 39 
 
 and admired him as he rode by. He was greatly admired 
 by the ladies. 
 
 He was as fine a big, indolent young man as you could 
 wish to see. Dark and sleek of hair, with small moustache 
 and lazily kind blue eyes, he had a pleasant, easy manner with 
 all the world. In this respect he was markedly different from 
 his companions: they could condescend and be pleasant 
 enough when it suited their convenience, but he constantly 
 gave one the idea that Hill and Town were all the same to 
 him, that social distinctions were rubbish, that one man was 
 as good as another until he proved worse and so on. That 
 was the impression of his secret thought that he often conveyed 
 by his affability. 
 
 With his straw hat tilted over his nose, hands in the pockets 
 of his blue flannel jacket, he strolled by the hotel sun-dial, 
 while the bees drowsily buzzed among the flowers, and the 
 occasional pop of a cork, or the click of billiard balls, 
 or the rattle of wheels on the river bridge, were the only 
 harsh sounds to disturb the lazy peace of the White Hart 
 garden. 
 
 Presently Mr. Bowling, the architect and surveyor, came 
 down the path and made bold to challenge him. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Mr. Vincent. Will you give me a game 
 at the bowls?" 
 
 "Have a drink," said Mr. Vincent ; "that's less trouble." 
 
 "Well, I don't as a rule drink between meals, but I will 
 join you. It is uncommonly warm to-day. I'll go and fetch 
 Charles." 
 
 "Oh, don't do that," said Mr. Vincent, as though unwilling 
 to see any one exert himself needlessly. "Give a shout for 
 him. D'you mind? . . . Just shout again. . . . Well 
 done. He'll hear that." 
 
 And Charles came out, received the order, and soon re- 
 turned with his little tray and glasses. 
 
 "I wouldn't mind playing a four," said Mr. Vincent. "Do 
 you mind playing, Charles? . . . That's a sportsman, 
 Charles as you always are. . . . But who'll make us up? 
 No, we shan't be able to play, because we haven't got a 
 fourth."
 
 40 HILL RISE 
 
 "Don't say that, sir," said Charles. "I see Mr. Crunden 
 on the stairs just now, carrying up some of the Masonic fur- 
 niture to the lodge-room it's lodge night. I believe Mr. 
 Crunden would play, sir." 
 
 "Then go and ask him." 
 
 "I don't scarcely like to," said Charles. "He might think 
 it a liberty, coming from me and he takes one up so short, 
 Mr. Crunden does." 
 
 "Then, would you mind?" said Mr. Jack, languidly appeal- 
 ing to Mr. Bowling. "You ask him." 
 
 "You ask him," said Mr. Bowling. "He'll be pleased with 
 the compliment of you asking him, and he'll come. If / ask 
 him, he'll very likely say no." 
 
 Thus urged into action, Mr. Jack languidly strolled back 
 to the house, and, standing on the gravel terrace outside 
 the coffee-room, shouted upwards to one of the big windows 
 on the first floor. 
 
 "Brother Crunden! You up there? Brother Crun 
 den !" 
 
 "Well, what is it ?" and Hedgehog Crunden showed his grey 
 head beneath the raised sash. 
 
 "B'you mind coming down and making us up? Want to 
 play a foursome at bowls." 
 
 Mr. Crunden gave a grunt, scratched his short grey beard, 
 and hesitated. 
 
 "You and I against Charles and Brother Bowling. That 
 ought to be a pretty good match." 
 
 "Well," and Mr. Crunden grunted again, "I'm agreeable." 
 
 There was nothing very agreeable in his tone or aspect; he 
 merely meant, of course, that he would comply with the re- 
 quest for his company. 
 
 The sides were constituted as Mr. Jack Vincent had sug- 
 gested, and a coin was at once spun into the air. 
 
 "'Arf a moment," said Charles, "before we begin a bob 
 a corner, I suppose." 
 
 "I do not care to bet," said old Crunden sternly. 
 
 "All right," said Jack Vincent, "I'll carry you." 
 
 "I prefer not to bet either," said Mr. Bowling. 
 
 "Very good," said Charles ; "I'll carry you." And he turned
 
 HILL RISE 41 
 
 to Jack: "That's half a dollar for you or me now hanging 
 on this contest." 
 
 Then the little friendly game began. 
 
 When the pastime of bowls was exhausted, Mr. Vincent, 
 summoning all his energy, prepared to go slowly homeward. 
 But ere he shook himself free from the White Hart he looked 
 in at the modern saloon bar. 
 
 This was a lavishly decorated and upholstered apartment, 
 upon which "mine host" as the local newspaper never failed 
 to call Mr. Drake had spared no cost. He had made up his 
 mind to do it in tip-top style and obtain something up-to- 
 date, Al London standard. It almost dazzled one by its 
 flash and glitter absolutely no stint in carved mahogany, 
 marble slabs, bevelled looking-glass, nickel fittings, tessellated 
 pavement, mosaic wall-panels, frescoed ceiling, red-leather 
 divan, etc. 
 
 "I say to you, Mr. Drake," declared Alderman Hopkins, 
 on an informal visit of inspection, "you have given us some- 
 thing that is a credit to you and a credit to the town." 
 
 The only person who perhaps did not entirely approve was 
 Mr. Dowling, the architect. His professional advice had not 
 been asked, and at first he looked on these metropolitan 
 splendours with a prejudiced eye. However, Mr. Drake 
 mine tactful host took an early opportunity of putting him- 
 self straight with Mr. Dowling. 
 
 "I haven't come worrying you over this," said Bob Drake, 
 "because it isn't, strictly speaking, an architect's job. Be- 
 neath you no real art in it. Just a catch-penny trick-out 
 that these London firms supply by the dozen. But I hope I 
 need not say no slight intended to be passed on a brother 
 mason and townsman. No, sir; if I ever rebuild the hotel, 
 there is only one man in England I shall go to for the design 
 and that is Mr. Dowling." 
 
 "Say no more, Mr. Drake. I own I was just a wee bit hurt 
 by being left out in the cold. But what you have just said 
 removes any little soreness and is a very handsome compli- 
 ment." 
 
 "Your due, Mr. Dowling."
 
 42 HILL RISE 
 
 Mr. Drake, it may be added, did not intend, and never 
 had intended, to rebuild the White Hart. 
 
 Jessie Barter, the junior barmaid, was quite young and new 
 to her work. She had been in Selkirk's, the draper's, until 
 an unpleasantness had occurred, and then she was "called to 
 the Bar." That was a joke of the young gentlemen. The 
 real bar-governor was stout Emily, a big, jolly woman of forty- 
 five or more, who came on duly late in the afternoon, and who 
 could manage a crowd and maintain discipline. She wore 
 black silk at night, whereas Jessie, her junior, wore a stuff- 
 gown. The young men always asked Jessie when she was 
 going to take silk, but she did not understand what they 
 meant. 
 
 In general company she seemed afraid of the gentlemen's 
 jokes, not knowing when they would go too far. She was quite 
 devoid of repartee. She liked an empty saloon, and to sit 
 on her stool reading her Mignonette novel. If a gentleman 
 ame in then, she would find something to say for herself. 
 
 Big Emily was a thorough good sort, and could really keep 
 order. At her age she was ripe for a highly seasoned anec- 
 dote, but would stand no nonsense before the girl. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Padfield," she would say roundly, "that's 
 enough, please. Moderate your tongue kindly, or go outside 
 and wag it in the street. You'll find some one out there that's 
 fond of dirt." 
 
 In this staunch manner she guarded the young lady under 
 her chaperonage, and prevented indecorous conversation from 
 reaching those youthful ears. She never relaxed her care, al- 
 though privily she held a poor opinion of Jessie, and had 
 already detected her to be rather a little puss. 
 
 Auburn-haired Jessie was all alone with her paper novel 
 now, when Mr. Jack entered through the service door. She 
 laid aside the pamphlet and looked up with a smile. 
 
 "What," said Jessie, rising, "can I give you?" 
 
 "You can give me a kiss," said Mr. Vincent. 
 
 "Oh, you shall have that. But I mean what d'you want to 
 drink? Scotch and soda, as per usual?" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Vincent, "it must be a very small one 
 if I do. My dear Jessie just a small one."
 
 HILL RISE 43 
 
 "Puff, puff, too?" inquired Jessie, as she put the 
 soda-water bottle into the patent cork-extracting machine. 
 "Want a cig? There; I'll light it for you. There. Saj 
 ta 
 
 "Now you're happy." And Jessie gave a little laugh. "I 
 wished you to smoke, because because I've got something to 
 say to you, Jack." 
 
 She was a good-looking girl, slim, and trim of figure in 
 her severe black gown. Hdr bronze-coloured hair was quite 
 pretty, and grew prettily about her white forehead; her skin 
 was naturally white, and her lips were red and well-shaped; 
 she ought to have been a really attractive girl, but somehow she 
 was spoilt by her rather cold bluish-grey eyes. Perhaps it was 
 in her eyes that large Emily had read the secret of her being 
 at heart a puss. 
 
 "Look here, Jack," said Jessie presently, "you don't like 
 me not as you used to like me, Jack. You know you don't. 
 It makes me very wretched. Yes, it does." 
 
 "What nonsense," said Jack, suppressing a yawn. "My 
 dear girl, who could help liking. you?" 
 
 "You did like me once." 
 
 "I do still." 
 
 "I wonder !" and Jessie twined her white fingers round the 
 silver-plated lemon-squasher, held her head slightly on one 
 side, smiled, and spoke shyly, slowly, hesitatingly. "Jack, if 
 I was to call on you to prove it?" 
 
 "I thought I'd done that." 
 
 Jessie flushed, gave the squasher a sharp squeeze, and spoke 
 faster. 
 
 "Don't talk foolish, Jack. What I mean is if I was to ask 
 you to do me a great favour to help me by doing me a real 
 service." 
 
 "We'll, I'd do it if I could." 
 
 "I wonder I wonder if you would! You would certain 
 sure if you really liked me." 
 
 Jack Vincent yawned again. 
 
 "What is it, Jessie?" 
 
 "Oh, it isn't now. But perhaps later on I'll pluck up 
 all my poor little courage and ask you."
 
 44 HILL RISE 
 
 "All right;" and Mr. Vincent was on the point of leav- 
 ing the saloon. 
 
 "Jack!" cried Jessie, very reproachfully. "Aren't you go- 
 ing to take your kiss?" And she stretched forward above the 
 liqueur decanters. 
 
 "My dear Jessie, I beg your pardon. I don't know what 
 I was thinking about." And he came back and gave her a 
 perfunctory embrace.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WHEN Lizzie Crunden left school her father had definitely 
 retired from business. It had taken a long time to wind up 
 his affairs, to withdraw his capital from bricks and mortar, 
 dispose of his yard, stock in trade, etc., and lapse into private 
 life. But now on Lizzie's return, he had been completely out 
 of business for two months. 
 
 He had retired wisely. In Medford the builders' trade had 
 fallen to nothing. The town had settled down sleepily, and 
 seemed content with its present size and importance. There 
 was, in fact, no possibility of continued expansion. All the 
 open ground had been covered with the modern red-brick 
 villas. No more ground was available. There were left only 
 the Crown woods and common, and my Lady Haddenham's 
 land ; and these, it went without saying, would never be avail- 
 able for building enterprises. Any chance big job, such as 
 the new wing to Wace's brewery, or Selkirk's domed halls, 
 always went to some interloping London firm. It was the 
 hour to stop work, fold your hands, and sit tight on your 
 savings. 
 
 Lizzie, on this last return from Eastbourne, found some 
 slight changes at King's Cottage. Nearly all tokens of an 
 office had gone from the big room; the brass plate had been 
 taken from the outer door, and the screw-holes had been 
 plugged and retouched with paint in so good and workmanlike 
 a manner that no stranger could guess the plate had ever 
 been there. Lizzie's bedroom was newty and prettily painted 
 and papered; and poor mamma's never-used drawing-room 
 was bare and empty. Mr. Crunden had sold all the carefully 
 chosen furniture to Councillor Holland, of Holland Brothers, 
 in Bridge Street. It reminded him too painfully of the 
 gentle, kindly helpmate he had lost. 
 
 "You see, Liz, what I meant. I couldn't have borne it 
 
 45
 
 46 HILL RISE 
 
 to come into the room and find all the. things the same and 
 her gone. I haven't been in not twice in these four years. 
 It'll be your room now, Lizzie, and it shall be done to your 
 taste." 
 
 But Lizzie was in no hurry always put off the considera- 
 tion of a fresh furnishing scheme, and the room remained 
 empty. 
 
 He was proud of his daughter, and he asked her quite seri- 
 ously if the house was good enough for her. 
 
 "I am well-to-do. I can afford a better house a much 
 better house if you wish it." 
 
 "Oh, no," cried Lizzie. "I wouldn't live anywhere else for 
 worlds." 
 
 "Wouldn't you, my dear? Well, I do like the old place 
 myself." 
 
 He was obviously gratified by receiving this assurance that 
 King's Cottage was not only good enough for him but good 
 enough for his well-educated daughter. 
 
 Then, tentatively, he proposed that some well-educated 
 matron or spinster should be engaged as lady-companion for 
 Lizzie. 
 
 "I have been thinking of it, Liz. Doesn't it seem to you 
 the right thing? I mean a real lady like Miss Blackburn, 
 if she was free not to teach you, my dear, but to live here 
 with us and go out for walks with you." 
 
 But Lizzie said no most emphatically, and papa seemed 
 once more gratified, and immensely relieved. Nevertheless, 
 lie conscientiously argued the question. 
 
 "Sure it doesn't seem right to you?" 
 
 "Eight to have some stupid stranger always between us! 
 Oh, dad, it would be simply odious. You would hate it as 
 much as I should." 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Crunden at last, "I should abominate 
 it. But I'd gladly support anything that was right and proper 
 for your sake." 
 
 Lizzie's bright eyes filled with tears as, linking her arm 
 in her father's, she walked with him in the old garden and 
 talked with him thus. The garden was no longer a wilderness ; 
 trees had been severely pruned, the grass was shorn, new gravel
 
 HILL RISE 4T 
 
 was on the trim paths, and flowers were coming on nicely in 
 the now weedless beds and border. The summerhouse was 
 gay, and a trifle sticky with new paint and varnish. 
 
 "I have spent a tidy bit of money out here in getting it 
 shipshape for you, Lizzie. Cleared away all those old shan- 
 ties;" and he pointed to the spot where the greenhouse and 
 potting-shed used to stand, or rather to recline, against the 
 garden wall. "I wanted the garden neat and natty for you, 
 Liz." 
 
 "You dear, kind old dad;" and Lizzie squeezed his arm; 
 and, while he told her about the gardeners whom he had em- 
 ployed, she glanced at him with a tender and loving studious- 
 ness. 
 
 "Not understanding garden work, I was at sea with them 
 three lazy, hulking dogs from Bradshaw's, and I believe they 
 imposed upon me. But I don't grudge it, Lizzie, if you are 
 pleased." 
 
 "Very, very, very pleased, father." 
 
 She was pleased with his affectionate thought for her hap- 
 piness, shown again in this as in everything else that he 
 said; and she was most grateful. Yet truly she would have 
 been glad to lose this strange garden and recover the old 
 garden of her youth. She had promised herself long hours of 
 novel-reading and day-dreaming in the wilderness of her 
 childhood's dreams. 
 
 Glancing at him, she noticed an increased greyness in his 
 beard, and white hairs that were new in the hair on his 
 temples. He looked older now that he had ceased working. 
 He still wore a grey, workmanlike suit, but it was perhaps of 
 a superior material than in the past, and there was no saw- 
 dust or brickdust on it. The blue-linen shirt and collar were 
 an innovation, and his watchguard was a leather strap with 
 a little silver buckle instead of the thin steel chain that she 
 remembered all her life. 
 
 It must have been a good school at Eastbourne because 
 with all the high-class learning there imparted they had never 
 taught her to be ashamed of her father. She would not have 
 changed him for the most ornamental father out of all her 
 romantic novels.
 
 48 HILL RISE 
 
 Mrs. Price, throughout Lizzie's first evening at home, was 
 altogether cousinly the affectionate, staunch relative of the 
 Crunden family. Her honest, wrinkled face beamed with 
 welcoming joy; she called Miss Crunden "my pet," flung her 
 arms about her, kissed and hugged her. 
 
 "Oh, my pet it does seem good to have you back for to 
 stay this time ! And, oh, my pet, to see you so fine-grown 
 such a tall, beautiful young lady, and yet for to know that 
 you're glad to see your poor old Pricey !" 
 
 Indeed Lizzie was glad to see her, and to feel the warmth 
 of this humble old cousin's welcome. 
 
 "A grand young lady you do look," said Mrs. Price, retir- 
 ing a few paces in order the better to admire the general and 
 combined effect of face, figure, costume. "There'll be heads 
 turning round all along High Street, Lizzie dear, when you 
 go down for the shopping." 
 
 But next morning every mark of cousinship had vanished. 
 Mrs. Price entered the parlour where Lizzie was sitting as 
 the cook-housekeeper, and nothing more. Grey, demure, sol- 
 emnly respectful, she laid down on the table a little pile 
 of tradesmen's books with a tin box full of labelled keys, and 
 folded her kind old hands. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie Miss," said Mrs. Price, as though reciting 
 a lesson, "I have brought the week's books which I kep' back 
 on Saturday to have in readiness and you will find there the 
 most of the keys. The linen cupboard, owing to a mistake of 
 Mary's, is not yet made up to the full strength as I should 
 wish to hand it over to you. Mr. Crunden has said he sup- 
 poses now it will be late dinner, and you would name the 
 hour. He said that must be for you to decide. He will lunch 
 heart}', and for him the late dinner will be in place of his 
 supper. Of a morning, would you wish me to come in here 
 for the orders or would you come out to the kitchen?" 
 
 Lizzie at first had not understood, but now it was plain 
 that Mrs. Price's recitation conveyed the formal giving-over 
 of supreme command. 
 
 "No, no," said Lizzie; "I couldn't. No, Pricey, you old 
 dear, I leave it all to you." 
 
 Mrs. Price was frankly delighted. She had always loved
 
 HILL RISE 49 
 
 her Lizzie, and now she adored her. Her hands trembled 
 and the keys clanked in the tin box as she gathered up the 
 insignia of domestic office. 
 
 "Not look at the books, even ? Won't you, dear ? Well, they 
 are a lot of bother, and they'll be there for you to look 
 at any time you choose. I'll not take liberties, Lizzie dear 
 Miss Lizzie, as I shall say henceforth and not forget that 
 you are the mistress of the house, though you trust me to 
 manage it for you." 
 
 So the household was conducted as of old by Mrs. Price, 
 with Mary the maid successor to Jane and Mrs. Gates, 
 the charwoman, wife of an old employee of Mr. Crunden's, 
 who came in every day. There was no fashionable modish 
 upheaval or introduction of tip-top society methods in honour 
 of the highly educated, prettily dressed, altogether ladylike, 
 young mistress. 
 
 Mr. Crunden gave his daughter a substantial dress allow- 
 ance, and begged her to dress handsomely. On more than 
 one occasion he reminded her that, although he was no longer 
 a money-earning man, there was no need for excessive econ- 
 omy. "Don't grudge yourself, Liz. If I seem to make a poor 
 mouth sometimes, it's just old habit but don't believe it. 
 I'm well-to-do. I'm quite well-to-do." That was a favourite 
 expression of his when he spoke of money. He took interest 
 in all new hats and dresses, and once or twice showed that 
 he had scanned the shop windows by offering a suggestion. 
 
 "At Selkirk's to-day, Lizzie," he said, thoughtfully scratch- 
 ing his beard, "I noticed a very natty, stylish, fashionable 
 hat." 
 
 "Dad," said Lizzie, smiling, "how do you come to know 
 whether it was fashionable or not?" 
 
 "I judge that by many signs," said Mr. Crunden, with 
 the utmost seriousness. "For one thing, it was put forward 
 in the window, and the card said, 'Straight from Paris' I 
 think that hat would suit you, Lizzie." 
 
 "What was it like, father?" 
 
 "Well, my dear, I should say full-size quite large and 
 handsome;" and Mr. Crunden bent his grey brows as he 
 sought for appropriate words. "Orange colour the main
 
 50 HILL RISE 
 
 part. And purple in the bows and et ceteras. There was a 
 bird, too what I judged to be a humming-bird or paradise 
 with roses and other flowers and some fruit. I think there 
 was a couple of bunches of grapes or cherries and " 
 
 "Father !" interrupted Lizzie, "How much ? That must be 
 too much for any hat." 
 
 "Too much?" echoed Mr. Crunden, not grasping what his 
 daughter meant. "I can't say what they were asking for it. 
 There was no ticket. But do not grudge the price, Lizzie, if 
 you wish the hat." 
 
 She did not buy the bird of paradise and its et ceteras, but 
 in due course and season she secured other and less gener- 
 ously furnished hats or toques from Selkirk's fascinating win- 
 dows; and her father was well satisfied with the result of her 
 unprompted taste. In the town, when he saw her, he looked 
 at her critically and then swelled with pride. She was as 
 much the lady as any one from Hill Eise. While wearing his 
 ordinary clothes he would not talk to her or walk with her 
 in the town, but he loved much on receipt of sufficient warn- 
 ing to dress in his best and escort her to the Church of St. 
 Barnabas, the sale of work at the Town Hall, the athletic 
 sports of the Medford Volunteer Battalion, or merely to sit 
 by her side during a quiet country drive in a one-horse landau 
 from the White Hart livery stables. 
 
 Once at least in each year he took her away for a pleasure 
 tour. Dr. Blake, the eminent physician of Hill Rise, had told 
 him that the air of Medford was enervating for youth. "I 
 send all my young ladies for a change of air one month 
 out of every twelve," said Dr. Blake. "Any other air, you 
 know ; different air that is the point." Mr. and Miss Crun- 
 den visited Cornwall, the English lake district, the seaside and 
 inland watering places, and stayed in brief state at the very 
 best hotels. Mr. Crunden, wearing a black frockcoat at 
 table d'hote, was unusually solemn and silent. Like a mother, 
 after the luxurious meal, he would watch over his daughter in 
 gaudy reading-rooms, noisy hotel lounges, where a band of 
 music deafened and annoyed him ; or in the big salon where a 
 corpulent conjuror produced bowls of goldfish from the wings 
 and tails of his dress-suit, while the conjuror's wife sat by
 
 HILL RISE 51 
 
 the salon with a plate which bore one of the conjuror's real 
 half-crowns and into which the departing audience, not taking 
 the hint, dropped sixpences. After such an entertainment 
 Mr. Crunden parted with his daughter at the foot of the 
 grand staircase, kissed her, blessed her in a gruff whisper 
 "Good-night, and God bless you, my dear!" and then with 
 alacrity stamped off to the hotel smoking-room, silently to 
 smoke the pipe for which he had been craving ever since 
 dinner. 
 
 On these holiday trips he was at once shrewd and simple,, 
 refusing to be "diddled," as he termed it, by extortionate fly- 
 drivers, guides, and itinerant curio-dealers, but giving bravely 
 in largesse to hall porters, headwaiters, and railway guards 
 who flattered him by obsequious attention. 
 
 He was chary of converse with fellow-travellers, although 
 gratified by the chattiness of undoubted ladies and gentle- 
 men freely exchanging small talk with his grey-eyed, brown- 
 haired, graceful companion. For the most part he preserved 
 silence; but when urbanely forced into speech, he exhibited a 
 natural common-sense that was well accepted by polite listen- 
 ers. It was only when unexpectedly he became of a sudden 
 too much interested in a discussion that he made a less favour- 
 able impression. 
 
 So it was, unfortunately, at the general table of a west 
 country inn, when the assembled guests talked about building 
 of all things in the world. Every one had been to see 
 the showplace of the neighbourhood, an ancient, ruined castle ; 
 and now a visitor, full of culture and curious lore, was pomp- 
 ously condemning the errors of the penny guidebook. Then 
 Mr. Crunden became too much interested. The whole fabric, 
 said the learned visitor, was of earlier date than that as- 
 signed. It was a composite construction giving plain evidence 
 of varied historic epochs. The gate and outer hall were Saxon 
 on a Eoman foundation; the inner court was Norman; of a 
 later date, but also clearly Norman, was the octagonal brick 
 tower, with the brick-faced hall. 
 
 "Stuff," said Mr. Crunden. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," asked the gentleman; "what did you 
 say?"
 
 52 HILL RISE 
 
 "Stuff!" said Mr. Crunden loudly and warmly. "I said 
 stuff to all the tale you've been telling us. Not a course of 
 that brickwork is older than Henry Seven or Henry Eight I 
 can judge that by a dozen different signs. To anybody who 
 has the knowledge, it's as plain as the nose on your face." 
 
 "Father/' whispered Lizzie, shyly, pulling the sleeve of his 
 black frockcoat. 
 
 "Let me be, my girl," said Mr. Crunden sternly; "I know 
 what I'm talking about." 
 
 Home again at King's Cottage after the holiday, it was 
 pretty to see Lizzie taking up the quiet, humdrum home life, 
 devoting herself to her father, trying to help him with his 
 correspondence, suiting all her hours to his. At home there 
 was no late dinner they kept that fashionable custom for 
 the holidays. Lizzie understood that papa's habits, founded 
 in the dim past, were so firmly established that he would feel 
 discomfort if he broke them. 
 
 He must breakfast early eight o'clock at the latest. 
 Then he went for his first walk. This was the hour when he 
 used to look in at the yard, and then trudge round and inspect 
 all work in progress. It was a settled habit. Wet or fine 
 was all one ; he could not have remained indoors between nine 
 and half-past ten. His second and longer walk was at two 
 o'clock, immediately after dinner. 
 
 In the morning, from about eleven, he sat at home as of 
 old in the room that had been his office. It was a pleasant 
 enough hall sitting-room now. The red-bound ledgers, etc., 
 had disappeared from Mr. Crunden's bureau; a Chippendale 
 cabinet had been brought in for balance and ornament, and 
 the late Mrs. Crunden's blue china looked well behind the 
 latticed glass ; on the broad mantelpiece there were only vases 
 and Mr. Crunden's tobacco jar no sample tiles, parquetry 
 blocks, and bath taps now. Two engravings of Medford 
 Bridge and Hill, as painted in the year 1817, now occupied 
 the space where auction bills used to hang and flutter. Glazed 
 drain-pipes, model plumbing devices, and pattern bell-pushes 
 had all been banished, and the dai's or raised floor of the 
 large bay window was now clear of all the wallpaper books,
 
 HILL RISE 53 
 
 rolls, and cuttings that used once to fill it. In the window 
 recess there was now a black oak table with a large bowl of 
 flowers, and a comfortable chair for Lizzie to sit in and look 
 out at the local aristocrats going up or down Hill Kise, while 
 father was amusing himself with his papers and letters. 
 
 Here in the past, from eleven to one, he used to polish 
 off his correspondence, frame tenders, make out accounts 
 in fact, transact his business. And now he made for himself 
 dilettante business. He had endless and innumerable trade- 
 lists sent to him still, and he went through them thoroughly, 
 en amateur. If in a list there was anything new and startling, 
 he would take up pen and write : "Touching those Ajax revolv- 
 ing cowls you advertise on P. 24 of catalogue just to hand, 
 would say that although retired am interested in such prob- 
 lems. . . . Should be glad, therefore, if, without trouble, 
 you could give me some further information. ... Do you 
 find your Ajax to revolve and stop down-draught where lofty 
 trees screen roof and chimney stack ?" Then, of course, Blank 
 & Co. snowed him up with cowl-literature. 
 
 He studiously read such journals as The Architect and The 
 Builder, and had appeared in the print of both. A modest 
 little piece of authorship would keep him busy for two or 
 three mornings. 
 
 "To the Editor. Sir: With regard to ridge slates, and 
 'Sceptic's' retort re water finding its way into the joints: 
 as a very old hand I suggest you will not yet do better than 
 employ lead-flashings; and if you wish to give an extra fillet 
 to the whole weather corner, you can . , ." etc., etc. 
 
 Then Miss Lizzie received papa's much-corrected MS. and 
 fair-copied it with her ladylike handwriting, and only very 
 rarely slipped in the transcription. It was in this very letter 
 that she slipped badly. Something had distracted her. Hill 
 Eise had drawn her gaze. A sound of horses' feet perhaps 
 caused her to look up, and she had watched Mr. Jack Vin- 
 cent ride home to Hill House on his prancing bay. Any- 
 how, she made her dreadful mistake of putting "fillip" for 
 "fillet." 
 
 The editor allowed it to pass. "If you wish to give an 
 extra fillip to the corner" no sense at all gibberish !
 
 54 HILL RISE 
 
 Mr. Crunden was deeply mortified, but not unkind to Lizzie 
 apologising profusely. 
 
 "Don't speak of it again. Let's forget it. I want to for- 
 get it. ... I dare say no one will notice." 
 
 And no one did. 
 
 One day was very like another, and when that can be said of 
 days, months soon roll themselves into years. Sheltered by the 
 thick old walls of King's Cottage, time seemed to stand still, 
 and yet it glided away. 
 
 When papa took his second walk, Lizzie usually took her 
 first. In the springtime and" early summer she was languid, 
 and averse to the long tramps across the common which Dr. 
 Blake prescribed for all young ladies who consulted him. 
 She would go out with a novel from Mr. Mees's circulating 
 library in Bridge Street, stroll up to the woods, and there, on 
 bench or bank, languidly rest and read. 
 
 Upon a bright May afternoon, as she strolled upward, Hill 
 Rise might have been a real hill, a mountain almost she felt 
 so languid. Hill Eise was looking its best ; the laburnums and 
 chestnut trees were in full-bloom; sun-blinds were out at 
 Nos. 6 and 8; this spring Mr. Abinger had been lavish with 
 new paint, pointing, and colour-washing on behalf of the 
 Countess Dowager. Seen behind the fresh green of the 
 foliage, every house looked spic-and-span and smart and clean, 
 as well as imposing and aristocratic. 
 
 Out of No. 12 came Miss Granville and Miss Page, faintly 
 pattering on rubber shoes, talking, laughing, swinging their 
 tennis rackets, as they hastened to the club grounds. They 
 stared hard at Lizzie as a town girl, who did not please them 
 for walking up Hill Rise in a burnt straw hat and blue 
 dress which they would not have been ashamed to wear 
 themselves. 
 
 "That girl fancies herself," said Miss Page to Miss Gran- 
 ville. "I talked to her at the Hospital Bazaar, but I suppose 
 she doesn't expect I'm going to nod to her ever afterwards." 
 
 "What next?" said Miss Granville. And they tossed their 
 heads and laughed as they went in at the club wicket. 
 
 Out of No. 11 came Admiral Lardner, red-faced, snowy-
 
 HILL RISE 55 
 
 pated, carrying a heavy croquet mallet. He was very old, and 
 short-sighted evidently, because he doffed his high helmet 
 to Lizzie, mistaking her for a Hill Eise girl. 
 
 Out of No. 15, where the two hired broughams were wait- 
 ing, came a whole luncheon party the eldest Miss Vigor, 
 the Vicar of St. Barnabas, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett, and Mrs. 
 Padfield, a wonderful old dame in party costume with vast 
 black bonnet, lace shawl, and purple velvet skirts. They all 
 stared at Lizzie. Opposite the white gate of Hill House she 
 paused before turning into the footpath which runs between 
 Sir John's garden wall and Lady Haddingham's meadows, 
 and leads you to the stile that "gives entrance for all well- 
 behaved persons to the Crown woods. 
 
 A gardener, in a noble, leisurely manner, was sweeping the 
 smoothly rolled gravel of Sir John's carriage drive ; the broad 
 grass border had been made like striped green velvet by the 
 passage to and fro of the pony-drawn mowing machine; 
 rhododendrons in bloom were flaming red patches between big 
 conifers those tall and stately sentinels guarding the ap- 
 proach to the white house which, though so near, was hidden 
 from the prying eyes of the public. A peep into the outer 
 splendour, and no more, could be obtained here by respectful 
 townsfolk. They must wait for one of Lady Vincent's chari- 
 table fetes, or church-fund garden parties, before they would 
 be able to pry any further. Then for a shilling in advance, 
 or eighteenpence on the day, they might go in boldly and see 
 all that there was to be seen. 
 
 As Lizzie, pausing, took her peep, there came the sound of 
 four iron shoes upon the gravel. A horse coming down the 
 drive ! She turned abruptly, hurried, almost ran, along the 
 footpath; and then paused again, and from the shadow be- 
 neath the garden wall looked back to the sunlit road. 
 
 A little girl trotted from the lodge or gardener's cottage, 
 held the gate open, and Lizzie, breathless after her short 
 flight, pressing a hand on her side to still the beating of her 
 heart, saw Mr. Jack Vincent, in white breeches and brown 
 boots, ride out on a beautiful grey horse. 
 
 Languidly she strolled on, and then, once again pausing, 
 gazed across the meadows at the sacred precincts of the
 
 56 HILL RISE 
 
 Tennis Club. There were high nets and wire fences to hold 
 in the bouncing tennis balls; the sunshine glittered on the 
 red tiles and golden vane of the club pavilion; men and 
 girls were lounging in the cool veranda; voices of energetic 
 tennis players rang out cheerily as they called the game; 
 there were wicker chairs with red cushions, there were tent 
 umbrellas furled and unfurled; there was sunlight, laughter, 
 fun it seemed a happy meeting-ground for gay, light-hearted 
 people. Presently, while she watched, the white breeches and 
 brown boots of Mr. Vincent reappeared. He had come riding 
 through another promptly opened gate, and, sitting at ease 
 upon his horse, was observing the skill or blunders of some 
 ardent croquet-players. 
 
 The club ground was, of course, open to members only. 
 But the woods were open to all the world; and to-day the 
 woods were lovely. The sweet-smelling hawthorns were like 
 trees after a snowstorm; beneath the slender beeches the 
 ground was a carpet of flowers; primroses, violets, bluebells 
 drove one back to the grass tracks for fear one should tread on 
 them. Butterflies hovered above shafts of rainbow light ; birds 
 sang, and from a distance came the lowing of cattle in the 
 fields by the river. 
 
 Lizzie sat on a dry bank, and read and mused and dreamed. 
 The woods might have belonged to her, or to the birds, instead 
 of to the Sovereign. No one came to disturb her. When she 
 roused herself and looked at her new watch, she was surprised. 
 The giver of the watch papa would be expecting her at 
 the tea-table. 
 
 As she reached the stile, she put her hand to her side 
 again and drew long, deep breaths. All the afternoon she 
 had been weaving her silly dreams, and now she was dreaming 
 still of quite impossible things. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Crunden, walking about the town as was 
 his wont, had contrived to fill in the hours without suffering 
 from ennui. He looked at the same objects every day, and 
 yet they always interested him. 
 
 There was the Town Hall which had cost him his seat 
 on the Council. It was a monstrously pretentious edifice: a
 
 HILL RISE 57 
 
 fine example of that style of architecture which is technically 
 known as "streaky bacon" red brick to represent the lean, 
 white stone for the fat and "Hedgehog Crunden" looked at 
 it almost every day with unutterable, wide-reaching contempt. 
 Sevenpence in the pound added to the rates for that! 
 
 There were all the houses scattered and in compact rows 
 which he had built for others, or for himself as a specula- 
 tion, to be sold as soon as finished to any one who would buy. 
 He looked at them long and hard, and each had its story 
 its intensely interesting story to tell him. He had been 
 lucky in nearly all his ventures; but some houses had gone 
 off quickly, while others had hung on hand, keeping him 
 awake at night before he got rid of them. Now he was clear 
 of brick and mortar investments, all his money safe out of 
 such precarious property, with only good, well-secured ground 
 rents and sound stocks and shares to lie thinking about when 
 he could not sleep. 
 
 He used to stand at corners steadily examining the state 
 of repair of buildings in which he had never held a stake 
 estimating rentals, or framing schedules of dilapidations, and 
 specifications for putting "the same" in a tenantable condi- 
 tion. Thus, mentally busy, he would loiter at the end of 
 a terrace that might well serve as a lesson to all ambitious 
 builders. This Eiver View, as it was called, had been put 
 up by old Selby, once the successful rival of the Crundens. 
 Fifteen solidly built houses which from the first were a dismal 
 failure. Nothing would make people live in River View. Ten 
 out of the fifteen houses were empty ; agents' boards hung out 
 like white flags of surrender and disgrace ; the town boys broke 
 all the windows; the heavens, spending their fury on roof 
 and gutters, filled the areas with water; and old Selby, a 
 white-haired, shaky scarecrow in threadbare black clothes, 
 passed his days imploring mortgagees for grace, arranging 
 overdrafts with bankers, praying friends and chance acquaint- 
 ance for a loan to keep up the fire insurance, etc., etc. 
 
 Not far from this most ruinous, pitiful Eiver View there 
 was something that Richard Crunden never passed without an 
 almost religious consideration. This was the brick archway 
 that led into his own yard. He had let the deserted yard
 
 58 HILL RISE 
 
 to Smithers, the dairyman, who was an unsatisfactory, un- 
 substantial sort of tenant. Mr. Crunden saw with displeasure 
 the dirty state of the paving, the injurious treatment of the 
 wooden gates and iron hinges; then, dismissing annoyance 
 from his mind, studied the wall with the arch. 
 
 It had been built by his father with his own hands. Dick 
 Crunden had admired it as a boy, and he admired it still, 
 for what it was an enduring specimen of honest, painstak- 
 ing, highly-skilled bricklaying. With a curious tenderness 
 and pride he traced the neat lap of the good English bond, 
 alternate rows of stretchers and headers till you reached the 
 fine-gauged work of the arch itself, the close joints, and the 
 beautiful rubbed bricks. He, too, in his time had set the line 
 and used the trowel learning his trade from the bottom, 
 although his father was a prosperous employer ; and he could 
 understand and appreciate all the great excellence of this 
 monument. 
 
 As he walked on again, he would think of the grandson 
 of the arch-builder of the boy Dick who had failed him. 
 For him work had been made so easy, and yet he would 
 not work. "Bring him back, father, . . . for my sake/' 
 
 "No, let him have his lesson." Hedgehog Crunden could 
 hear the pleading voice, could see the pale tear-stained face 
 of his loved lost wife. She was by his side now, he was 
 walking hand in hand with a ghost, when Mr. Sholto of Hill 
 Rise gave him a patronising nod; and he touched his hat 
 automatically, uttered a mannerless, absent-minded grunt in 
 acknowledgment of the "How do, Crunden?" 
 
 With any excuse, however flimsy, he would climb the stairs 
 to the first-floor office of Mr. Dowling, and enjoy a quiet chat 
 with that clever architect and good freemason. To-day he 
 found his excuse in the fact that the ground-floor shop, 
 hitherto occupied by young French the hatter, was empty, 
 with "To let" bills in the windows. 
 
 "Well, I am surprised," said Mr. Crunden "him coming 
 to grief after opening with all that flourish of trumpets. I 
 thought young French had money behind him." 
 
 "Not a penny, so it seems," said Mr. Dowling. "I haven't 
 got to the bottom of it yet "
 
 HILL RISE 59 
 
 "Eogers lost any rent ?" 
 
 "The half-quarter no more. Eogers took alarm from 
 something that came to his ears; thought Master French was 
 going to do a bolt. So he pops in a distraint, and that, you 
 may say, burst the bubble. Jones paid it off, bought the whole 
 stock, and they began moving it away to High Street four 
 o'clock yesterday." 
 
 "He was an arrogant young ass," said Mr. Crunden, 
 "French was; but I certainly thought he had money behind 
 him." 
 
 "What I wonder," said Mr. Dowling, "is who I'm going 
 to have under me next. I wasn't too fond of the hats, but 
 it may be cheeses and bacon this time." 
 
 "Why don't you take the shop yourself? Use it for your 
 drawing-clerk, and put all your framed plans on the wall." 
 
 "I only wish I was justified," said Mr. Dowling, opening 
 his hands in a deprecating gesture. "Things are very lifeless 
 just now dreadfully little doing." 
 
 Then they discussed the rent of the shop. Eogers, the land- 
 lord, always expected to get his sixty pounds a year because of 
 the choice position, close to High Street, close to the market, 
 close to everything. 
 
 "Sixty per annum needs a bit of making, Mr. Crunden, 
 as times go." 
 
 Mr. Dowling was a thin man of about fifty, with a shining 
 bald forehead, prominent but mild eyes, and a straggling red- 
 dish beard. He and Crunden were old allies who had done 
 much business together. He regretted the happy days when 
 Crunden used to come in warm from the purchase of some 
 odd little "cat-cornered" field, and, putting their heads to- 
 gether, they would work out a scheme for covering the 
 restricted area with the greatest possible number of snug little 
 villas. Now, although there was no business hanging to it, 
 he was always glad of a visit from Mr. Crunden and never 
 failed to greet him cordially. 
 
 "I believe you're right, Mr. Dowling as to the slackness. 
 I can't remember the place so stagnant. But, for all that, 
 you don't require to worry yourself." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Dowling, "I suppose I mustn't complain.
 
 60 HILL RISE 
 
 I've much to be thankful for. But, you know, I like to 
 keep moving. I like to be earning, not resting. I like to 
 feel independent." 
 
 Mr. Dowling would never starve. Mrs. Dowling, a large 
 and rich-dressed lady, had a modest competence of her own. 
 As the town generally understood, she was far from desiring 
 that Mr. Dowling should feel too independent. She had 
 wooed and won him somewhat late in life; on her side, at 
 least, it was a love match: she believed him to be a danger- 
 ously attractive man, and on more than one occasion had 
 allowed the world to note that he possessed in her a jealous 
 guardian as well as a faithful helpmate. 
 
 Even now, while the two old friends sat talking, she re- 
 minded Mr. Dowling of her loving concern for him. 
 
 "Excuse me," he said, when the telephone bell rang. "A 
 message from home, I think." Then, as he stood by the 
 instrument, he added gallantly : "A great comfort being con- 
 nected with one's home." 
 
 Mr. Crunden delicately withdrew to the window and looked 
 down into the quiet sleepy street. 
 
 "Is that you, my dear?" asked Mr. Dowling, with the re- 
 ceiver to his ear. "No," he continued very blandly, "I 
 fear that is impossible. . . . Yes, dreadfully pressed to- 
 day. ... In the thick of my work. ... I doubt if I can 
 get through it before eight o'clock, but I shall stick to it 
 and try to join you by eight o'clock. . . . Just so. Good-bye, 
 my dear," and Mr. Dowling briskly rang off. 
 
 Mr. Crunden, while he looked out of the window, was 
 faintly smiling ; but when he turned again and picked up his 
 hat, he was quite grave. 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Dowling. "Don't run away. What were 
 we talking about ? Sit down if you're not in a hurry. There 
 was something on the tip of my tongue but, for the moment, 
 it's gone. It'll come back. It'll come back presently."
 
 CHAPTEE IV 
 
 SLOWLY Lizzie Crunden was losing her natural gaiety 
 of disposition. 
 
 She loved her father, she loved her home; but outside 
 of King's Cottage she had neither friends nor companions. 
 Not one girl friend to confide in, to lean on, to use as a safe 
 reservoir for the discharge of bothering fancies, foolish fears, 
 and all girlish nonsense she suffered from her isolation. 
 
 She was superior in all things to the town girls. When 
 she went to the Town Athletic ground where some of the 
 tradesmen's daughters played games, she was horrified by their 
 vulgarity. "Oh, Lor', oh, Lor' !" they screamed with laughter 
 at the jests of the young men who played with them. They 
 sat upon the dusty grass and contorted themselves. "'Erbert, 
 will you be quiet unless you want to see me die o' larfing." 
 Lizzie was disgusted. It really seemed that old Crunden had 
 been too successful in making a lady of her. 
 
 The Hill girls considered her immeasurably beneath them. 
 She could find no friends on the Hill. She encountered the 
 Hill girls at charitable bazaars, and then they were patronis- 
 ingly familiar, and it was: "Come here, Miss Crunden, and 
 buy my embroidered cushion do, please." "Put into this 
 raffle, Miss Crunden." "Miss Crunden, look at this." But 
 they seemed unable to recall her face, much more her name, 
 when they met her anywhere else. They would only consent 
 to know Miss Crunden in the cause of charity. 
 
 Irene Hope, who tried to combine Town and Hill, offered 
 something like friendship ; but, too obviously, Irene's friend- 
 ship was not worth having. Irene was the daughter of Mr. 
 Hope, editor and proprietor of the Medford Advertiser. Per- 
 haps the dread power of the press was never better shown than 
 by the acceptance of Miss Hope in the best society ; or so Mr. 
 Hope thought. Irene took all the credit to herself. She was 
 
 61
 
 62 HILL RISE 
 
 a thin, squirming, large-eyed girl, who treated her hair with 
 soda and marked her eyebrows with patent pencils. She was 
 all sham, right through: voice, manner, thoughts a tight- 
 laced bundle of affectation. She always spoke of the Hill 
 Eise girls by their Christian names "Mabel Blake told me 
 Nell Granville says so," etc. She took riding lessons with 
 Mr. Banker the riding-master, and had his photograph in a 
 silver frame on her dressing-table at home. 
 
 Visiting Lizzie, she bragged about the Hill Eise Tennis 
 Club, into which institution she had somehow squirmed her- 
 self. Lady Haddenham, she told Lizzie, was the patroness; 
 Sir John Vincent was president; Jack Vincent was a vice- 
 president. There were ladies on a committee the selection 
 committee; but no ladies on the committee of management. 
 It was terribly select, of course. They had to pill candidates 
 connected in any way with trade. These might pass muster 
 on the playing field, but there was the annual ball you had 
 to consider. You could not very well admit them to that 
 and, of course, membership carried the right to attend the 
 ball and buy three additional tickets. 
 
 Not to braggart Irene could one talk of the heroes in one's 
 favourite books, or the splendid shadows in one's favourite 
 dreams. No friend here. 
 
 Lizzie thought often of her school friends. Many of these 
 were real ladies, owning papas who had big country houses, 
 and cousins whose papas were baronets or lords. But at 
 school there were no snobbish, painful doubts or difficulties. 
 It was a republic in which each was judged on her merits: 
 you were not called upon to plead forbears or coats of arms 
 in order to obtain justice. No one shunned Lizzie because 
 her father was a builder. Since her schooldays some of 
 these dear, real friends had written to her, but they were 
 scattered far and wide: she had never seen one of them. 
 They wrote affectionately, on the old equal terms ; but if they 
 ever came to Medford, they would find that Lizzie was socially 
 impossible, and then they, too, no doubt, would look down 
 on her. 
 
 But now, suddenly and unexpectedly, she stood face to 
 face with Sybil Goring, late of the Eastbourne Seminary.
 
 HILL RISE 63 
 
 "Lizzie Crunden, don't you remember me? Oh, I am so 
 glad to see you." 
 
 This was at the Circulating Library kept by Mr. Mees, 
 in addition to his famous stationery and fancy store. Miss 
 Goring had been invited to Medford by Miss Annendale, and 
 was now staying at No. 17, Hill Eise. As a stranger, she 
 would know nothing of the laws of local society. She rejoiced 
 in this chance meeting with an ancient classmate, prattled 
 freely and affectionately, and at once introduced Lizzie to 
 the proud Miss Annendale. 
 
 "Oh, yes, how do you do ?" said Miss Annendale graciously. 
 "You live at the white cottage, don't you? So quaint and 
 pretty I always admire it." 
 
 Miss Goring declared that she must, without delay, see 
 dear Lizzie's pretty cottage: she and Miss Annendale would 
 call one afternoon very soon. 
 
 "Yes," thought Lizzie, "she won't call. All the way home 
 Miss Annendale will be telling her about me and about papa. 
 Instead of coming, Sybil will write me a little note to say that 
 there were engagements she had not remembered." 
 
 But Miss Goring appeared to have a strong character, and 
 could not be shaken from her purpose, however unconven- 
 tional. If her hosts explained the nature of the solecism she 
 was bent on committing, she was not frightened. Perhaps, 
 deriving courage from distant cousins with handles to their 
 names, she heard all about the Medford social code, and pooh- 
 poohed its stringent regulations. Anyhow, she came to King's 
 Cottage and compelled Miss Annendale to come with her. 
 
 She was quite unchanged just the old school Sybil; and 
 she and Lizzie chattered as happily as though they had been 
 back in the schoolroom on a wet half-holiday. She asked 
 innumerable questions ; and suddenly, in the midst of laugh- 
 ing reminiscences, this bold Miss Goring abruptly declared 
 that Lizzie ought to belong to the Hill Eise Tennis Club. 
 Miss Annendale must arrange this. 
 
 Miss Annendale, startled by the suggestion, began to speak 
 with a drawl. She had been very polite courteous as a 
 young lady doing district visiting, admiring and praising the 
 cottage, always anxious to put the cottage folk at their ease.
 
 64 HILL RISE 
 
 "Oh, yes/ 7 said Miss Annendale, drawling, "but would Miss 
 Crunden care to join? Do you play tennis, Miss Crunden?" 
 
 "Of course she does," said Sybil; "and of course she'll join. 
 You must arrange it." 
 
 To poor Lizzie the suggestion was like the opening of a 
 guarded door, showing a glimpse of paradise no less. She 
 had no snobbish desire to be a swell, but simply felt a girlish 
 honest wish for amusement in pleasant company. Miss 
 Annendale was being nice and kind to-day; and Lizzie, 
 warmed by unusual kindness, was eager to believe that 
 a new era was beginning. Surely if Miss Annendale and 
 her friends could support Irene, one might venture to hope 
 and yet? It seemed too much to hope for. 
 
 Lizzie told her father of the honour that was to be thrust 
 upon her. Did he object to her being put down as a candidate ? 
 It was a very, very nice club, and she would love to be a 
 member. But what did father really think about it? The 
 subscription was two guineas, and there was an entrance fee. 
 But this was the real point and Lizzie in her excitement 
 entirely failed to force it adequately upon her father's atten- 
 tion: Dared one try to spring in one splendid bound from 
 the parlour of King's Cottage into the wired meadows almost 
 at the top of Hill Rise? 
 
 "Why not?" said Mr. Crunden, failing to see the point 
 clearly, only thinking of the subscription scarcely thinking 
 at all. "Why not, my dear ? I don't grudge the fees. I only 
 want you to have your pleasure." 
 
 Then Lizzie was all excitement. As had been arranged, she 
 wrote to Miss Annendale to say "yes, please"; thought of the 
 club, dreamed of the club, passed her wardrobe in review ; went 
 to Selkirk's and bought another blue washing frock with white 
 spots, very like but not exactly like her last blue frock, an- 
 other hat, etc., etc. ; and then waited in high and happy ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 Miss Annendale, solemnly charged by her departing guest to 
 get Miss Crunden into the club, did in fact make the attempt in 
 a half-hearted manner. The learned Dr. Blake was obtained 
 for proposer; and Miss Annendale seconded, but did not 
 canvass. "What has possessed you to do this?" asked lady
 
 HILL RISE 65 
 
 members. "I couldn't help doing it," said Miss Annendale 
 apologetically. "I was asked and I really couldn't refuse." 
 
 And so in due course Lizzie came up for election, and 
 was rigorously pilled. 
 
 Her eyes sparkled, her hands trembled with excitement, as 
 she opened the big official club envelope and pulled out the 
 secretary's letter. Then, as she read, her face flushed, her 
 eyes filled with tears. She was like a child disappointed of 
 its longed-for treat, loath to believe that fate can be so 
 unkind. 
 
 Old Crunden took the letter from her and read the formal 
 expression of the secretary's regret. He was cruelly huffed. 
 
 "Father, does it mean I am postponed or they won't 
 have me?" 
 
 "They won't have you because you are my daughter. 
 They're too high and mighty for us, my girl that is, for me. 
 You're all right as they know well enough but they can't 
 forgive you for being my daughter." 
 
 He, too, had flushed, and he brandished his arms excitedly 
 while he walked about the room. 
 
 After this rebuff, poor Lizzie became very languid. She 
 fell back on her books as her only friends. Walks tired her. 
 She was with her father all the morning, helped him as 
 much as she could, wrote letters for him whenever he would 
 accept secretarial assistance ; and for the rest of the day liked 
 to sit in the garden summerhouse, reading, looking out at 
 the roofs of Medford, thinking of the past and dreaming of 
 the future. 
 
 In many red-brick villas of the minor gentry on the Town 
 Athletic ground, and among the tradesmen's families as they 
 came from church and chapel, the story was told of Lizzie 
 Crunden's pushingness and the snub she had earned for 
 herself. 
 
 Miss Irene Hope, in her riding-habit, after a long ride 
 with Mr. Banker, called on Lizzie to commiserate. Miss Hope 
 was too sorry for words. 
 
 "If only you had consulted me," said Miss Hope, "I should 
 have given you a hint of what was coming. But I never heard 
 of it till it was over. I rather wonder you didn't ask my
 
 66 HILL RISE 
 
 advice after all I told you about the rules, you know. It 
 would have been so easy when one saw which way the wind 
 was blowing to get your name withdrawn in time, you 
 know." 
 
 "It is not of the smallest consequence," said Lizzie coldly. 
 "I don't in the least mind." 
 
 "Don't you ? Quite right, too. But for all that, I do wish 
 it could have been avoided. I don't suppose you have any 
 idea what a talk it has made." 
 
 "jSTo, I don't know and I don't care." 
 
 "One thing," said Miss Hope, "you can thank me for. 
 I have kept it out of the paper. I made papa promise that 
 not a line about it should appear in the paper." 
 
 Lizzie hit upon more than one crushingly contemptuous 
 reply to such mock sympathy but only after Miss Hope had 
 gone. At the time, she herself was crushed and without 
 crushing power. It was hateful to knew that all the world 
 was talking of her disaster. Once she asked her father if he 
 believed it had truly caused such a stir in Medford. But 
 Mr. Crunden would not speak of the affair again. He bristled 
 with indignation whenever he thought of it, but he would 
 not speak of it to Lizzie. 
 
 "What does it matter? Who cares! Let 'em keep to 
 themselves, say I. Keep out of our way and we'll keep out 
 of theirs." Then, with a touch of the old sternness, "Get on 
 with your work, my girl, and don't bother me about it 
 any more." 
 
 And obediently Lizzie attended to her light tasks helping 
 papa; but, as Mrs. Price said, she was very languid and list- 
 less. 
 
 "Don't you notice it, sir, yourself ?" said Mrs. Price. "List- 
 less-like. Not taking no interest in nothing. I notice it."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 How rich was Sir John Vincent? 
 
 It was perhaps only when one was comparing it with the 
 lesser establishments of Medford generally that Hill House 
 seemed such a palace and the state there maintained so court- 
 like. Butler and two footmen these dazzled eyes used only 
 to parlour-maids, and rendered calmly critical judgment im- 
 possible. The house was really of moderate size nothing but 
 a mere box of bricks to the mansion of Mr. Wace, the brewer, 
 five miles off at Eedmarsh: but the porch was palatial; the 
 ample hall had a black and white pavement; and in the 
 dining-room there were marble columns and a vaulted ceiling. 
 For the rest, the house was merely comfortable and pleasant 
 chintz-covered chairs, pretty china, flowering plants in my 
 lady's drawing-room and the morning-room, really shabby 
 old furniture in Sir John's library study; and yet the swift 
 impression given to all local visitors was of a most satisfying 
 pomp and splendour. 
 
 Through open doors one had a glimpse of her ladyship's 
 conservatory; through the big French windows one looked 
 out on smooth lawns, gay parterres, yew hedges, at mellow 
 walls of kitchen garden with glass roofs showing over them, or 
 at the small meadows and one or two of Sir John's Jersey 
 cows. There were ten acres in all, as visitors well knew; 
 there were at least five gardeners; there must be an odd man 
 indoors to assist Mr. Short, the butler, and his two footmen 
 in the brown coats and canary collars ; there were six or seven 
 horses in the stables, with coachman and groom in brown and 
 canary, and two, possibly three, helpers in shirt-sleeves and 
 belts. How much would it all cost to keep up ? To Medford, 
 completely and forever dazzled, fabulous wealth seemed 
 necessary. 
 
 Sir John himself shed forth dignity and importance. His 
 
 67
 
 68 HILL RISE 
 
 
 
 admirers and they were the entire neighbourhood said he 
 was the very type and pattern of a well-bred English country 
 gentleman. He always did the right thing, said the right 
 thing, without apparent thought or effort just naturally. He 
 was an ideal chairman of the bench of magistrates, of politi- 
 cal meetings, of hospital boards on all public occasions he 
 handsomely filled the most prominent post you could put 
 him in. 
 
 He was tall, thin, erect, with neatly-clipped grey hair, 
 well-trimmed grey moustache, a fresh healthy complexion; 
 and he looked so much younger than his age that he might 
 well have been taken for his son's brother. He was like Jack 
 Vincent except as to the eyes. Mr. Jack had his mother's 
 blue eyes, and the eyes of Sir John were brown. Lady Vin- 
 cent was placid in temperament, and Sir John was full of 
 restless activity. Born to greatness, doomed by his rank 
 to elegant idleness, he had made himself at least a busy 
 idler. 
 
 He was in truth quite free from "side" or swagger, and yet 
 you could not talk to him for five minutes without under- 
 standing that he was pleased, enormously pleased, to be Sir 
 John Vincent, Baronet, of Hill House. In the privacy of the 
 home circle he would sometimes with openness speak of "the 
 necessity of keeping up one's position," of the "things ex- 
 pected of one," etc. He would pish and pshaw when he read 
 a birthday list of honours, and found to his disgust that they 
 had again been making baronets. A pity, that. Too many of 
 us already. He loved his order; never failed to join societies 
 for the protection of the privileges of the baronetage, for 
 the exposure and punishment of spurious baronets, etc. He 
 was firmly of opinion that a fight should be made for the 
 ancient or pretended custom by virtue of which the eldest 
 son of a baronet might assume the style of a knight as soon 
 as he was twenty-one. 
 
 "Eh, Jack? You might be Sir John now. What do you 
 say to that?" 
 
 "Oh, I say one Sir John is enough in a family." 
 
 Mr. Vincent and his father were the best of friends, al- 
 though the father deplored the son's lack of interest in im-
 
 HILL RISE 69 
 
 portant matters. Very small things sometimes interested the 
 good baronet, and evoked immense energy and activity. Mr. 
 Vincent was inclined to a sort of languid facetiousness of 
 manner when speaking of, or talking to, "the Guv'nor." He 
 addressed him often as Sir John, with a quite amiable but a 
 mocking deference; and this sometimes caused annoyance. 
 Sir John was averse from making fun of serious things. 
 
 "Hallo, Sir John," Mr. Jack would say, coming upon his 
 father busy in the garden with a squad of labourers. "What 
 are you up to now?" 
 
 "I want to cut away that bank and fill up the ground 
 to the same level as far as the railings." 
 
 "What a lark." 
 
 "Jack, this isn't a chaffing matter. I have started, so I 
 suppose I must go on with it but it's more than I bar- 
 gained for: it'll be a deucedly expensive job." 
 
 Sir John, however rich he might be, certainly never said he 
 was rich. Indeed, he bewailed himself because of the con- 
 tinual drain on his resources, lamented the attacks upon prop- 
 erty by each new government, the enhanced cost of living, the 
 steady increase of wages, and the depreciation in value of 
 the safest investments. "I don't know what the world's coming 
 to. I am not chaffing, Jack. Standing expenses of our posi- 
 tion and so forth are always going up, and I can't keep 
 them down." 
 
 When Sir John indulged in this form of lamentation so 
 common with even the richest men he nearly always passed, 
 by a natural sequence of ideas, to the health or rather ill- 
 health of his afflicted old cousin. Miss Vincent poor dear 
 cousin Harriet lived at Bournemouth, surrounded with 
 nurses, doctors, and faithful maids. The accounts of her 
 state were more and more distressing. All her senses were 
 failing; one had to feed her like a baby, and her appetite was 
 voracious, though she could not enjoy Avhat she ate. When 
 the end came, all her money must go to Sir John. But the 
 end was such a plaguey long time in coming. 
 
 "It would," said Sir John solemnly, "be a relief to her 
 and I don't mind owning it would be a relief to me." 
 
 "Poor dear !" said Lady Vincent compassionately.
 
 70 HILL RISE 
 
 "Exactly," said Sir John. "Heaven forbid I should wish 
 to shorten any one's days if it wouldn't be a happy escape." 
 
 "How old is she now?" asked Mr. Jack. 
 
 "Cousin Harriet must be seventy at the least." 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing," said Jack. "She'll do another twenty 
 years if she goes slow and steady." 
 
 "I wish," said Sir John irritably, "you'd understand that 
 this isn't a chaffing matter." 
 
 Mr. Jack laughed good-humouredly. So far as he was 
 concerned, the old cousin might live to a hundred to a hun- 
 dred and fifty. They had more than enough already why 
 wish for more? Neither he nor his mamma troubled about 
 money or the management of the money. Sir John was 
 purse-bearer, manager, controller of the household. He acted 
 as steward for Lady Vincent, who had a private income of 
 seven hundred a year. She was well content to hand this over 
 to Sir John, and be saved all further worry. He acted also 
 as steward for Jack, who had no regular allowance. Sir 
 John paid Jack's bills, provided horses, saddlery, etc., and 
 supplied pocket money. Mr. Jack was, moreover, a sort of 
 floating charge on the butler's book. He appeared amidst 
 candles, plate-paste, odd jobs, and sundries in Short's weekly 
 records. "To Bates repairs to liveries, twenty-seven shil- 
 lings ; to telegrams eighteenpence ; to parcels three 
 shillings; to Mr. John one pound ten." If the total of 
 Short's book was heavy, one knew one would see frequent 
 entries of "Mr. John." It was an odd childish arrangement, 
 but it suited Mr. John, who was not oppressed by a heavy 
 sense of personal dignity. And the fact was : when you gave 
 him a regular allowance, he always exceeded it and you could 
 not keep him out of the book. 
 
 In Sir John's own room there were black tin boxes, shabby 
 old desks, and cupboards below the bookcases all full of 
 docketed letters, solicitors' papers, etc., a safe to hold still more 
 important papers, and a large writing table laden with an 
 extraordinary accumulation of documents, pamphlets, jour- 
 nals, etc., etc. Here, on certain mornings when he was not 
 busily employed in stable or garden management, he would sit 
 like a faithful house steward and tidy up. He had special
 
 HILL RISE 71 
 
 mornings for cheque-writing. "Sir John is writing of the 
 cheques," Short used to say magnificently to tradesmen calling 
 for orders. "I shall be taking them round this afternoon." 
 
 So deeply did the tradesmen respect Sir John that they 
 were as proud of being appointed purveyors to Hill House as 
 if they had received the Eoyal Warrant. Sir John paid them 
 in a splendid old-fashioned style with cheques on account 
 the noble old way which tradesmen love, which postpones the 
 sordid scrutiny of prices, which softens the ugly look of the 
 biggest items, and by the passage of time renders big and 
 small unassailable. 
 
 "Good-day to you, Brown," Sir John used to say in the 
 High Street. "Don't you want a cheque? Aren't I running 
 into your debt pretty heavily? Hadn't I better send you 
 fifty on account?" 
 
 "Thank you,- Sir John," said Mr. Brown, bowing and 
 smiling and rubbing his hands together. "Whenever con- 
 venient to you, Sir John and not before." 
 
 Mr. Brown did not, of course, mean to imply that he 
 thought it could ever be inconvenient for Sir John to part with 
 fifty pounds. He only meant that Sir John must not be 
 troubled to take pen in hand until there came round again the 
 hour, about which Short had often told them, for the writing 
 of the cheques. 
 
 Jack habitually endeavoured to hit off this auspicious hour 
 when he had it in his mind to do what he quaintly described 
 as "biting the ear" of his Guv'nor. 
 
 "While you are about it, Sir John, you might write me one." 
 
 "What ! Again, Jack ? Surely you are not run out again ? 
 I can't think what you do with money. You never seem 
 to be able to keep any in your pockets." 
 
 "No, I don't, do I ? It's a most extraordinary thing." 
 
 "Well, how much am I to give you now ?" 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't like to put a limit on you ;" and Jack would 
 smile genially. "I don't want much just something to rub 
 along with." 
 
 Then Sir John, caught thus holding the cheque-book open 
 before him, complied with his son's request. As he said him- 
 self, he would rather that Jack should come to him for petty
 
 72 HILL RISE 
 
 cash in the lump than that he should get it from Short in 
 driblets. 
 
 But now it seemed that Jack had come to his steward at a 
 wrong time, and the steward was making difficulties. 
 
 "I say, Sir John, d'you mind if I bite your ear for a 
 tenner ?" 
 
 "Upon my word, Jack, you really are insatiable." 
 
 "I only said a tenner. I suppose that won't land you in 
 the Bankruptcy Court ;" and for a moment or two Jack seemed 
 seriously offended by his father's protest. 
 
 "Don't talk bosh," said Sir John hastily. "A tenner's noth- 
 ing, of course but I am confoundedly pressed for ready 
 money just now. And what on earth do you want it for? 
 Give me your bills and I'll tackle them." 
 
 "It isn't a bill," said Jack. "But if you're as hard up as 
 all that, don't you bother. It's of no consequence." 
 
 "You shall have it to-morrow, Jack. I'll give you a cheque 
 to-morrow or next day at latest." < 
 
 "Thanks. But not if you can't spare it." 
 
 "Of course I can spare it. What's a tenner ?" 
 
 "Well, that's what I thought," said Jack, mollified and once 
 more smiling. 
 
 After this little conversation, Sir John, joining his wife 
 in the garden, talked to her rather dolefully about his old 
 cousin. 
 
 "Do you remember what Jack said one day not really 
 meaning it, but just pulling iny leg about Harriet lasting till 
 she was ninety?" 
 
 "Poor old dear !" 
 
 "Yes, exactly. But, do you know, it appears she is un- 
 doubtedly better than she was. I heard from Dr. Lacy this 
 morning. I wrote to say how anxious we were, and asked him 
 for an explicit statement. He says I have frightened myself 
 needlessly. Certainly no cause for immediate fear. Upon 
 my word," said Sir John, "I begin to think she will go on 
 to ninety." 
 
 "I suppose one can't wish it for her sake, but it does seem so 
 dreadful to wish anything else."
 
 HILL RISE 73 
 
 "It is what I have always said. These old women are like 
 creaking doors they just hang on. Look at Lady Hadden- 
 ham eighty if she's a day but, Abinger tells me, full of 
 vitality." 
 
 Lady Vincent, like her son, felt no craving for further 
 wealth. Only wifely regard made her wish that Sir John 
 might as soon as possible have another fortune to play with, 
 and enable her to persuade herself that cousin Harriet would 
 be happier out of the world than in it. 
 
 Her ladyship admired the energy of her husband, looked up 
 to him, respected him, was pleased to take his ideas and make 
 them her own. She was placidly content, thoroughly enjoy- 
 ing life, fond of her little charities, very fond of Jack with- 
 out any cares beyond occasional anxious thoughts for the wel- 
 fare of Jack. 
 
 She had no personal extravagance that demanded large 
 funds for its gratification. She dressed her grey hair in a 
 severe fashion, drawing it back in curlless bands above her 
 ears; and her costume was sober and sedate with rare touches 
 of grandeur such as sable stole, real lace scarf, big pearl ear- 
 rings, etc. She preferred the bonnet to the hat. Selkirk's 
 windows had no power over her; and if one did not know the 
 truth, meeting her as she went on charitable errands to her 
 poor sick people, one might have thought she was just any- 
 body the wife of the vicar. But to Medford she was always 
 grande dame aristocratic of feature, noble of mien, awe- 
 inspiring of manner. She was really the kindest of women, 
 and her whole face lit up with beaming kindness as she sat 
 in cottage parlours and listened to the troubles of her humble 
 friends or dependents. In general society, however, she 
 beamed much less frequently ; her mind was apt to wander at 
 tea and dinner parties, and when she lost the thread of the 
 conversation, she had a quite unconscious trick of thought- 
 fully studying the faces of those about her. This was dis- 
 concerting. Indeed, the most vivaciously prattling young 
 ladies in Medford would begin to stammer and soon be tongue- 
 tied when they found her ladyship's blue eyes resting on them 
 in thoughtful and, as it often seemed, not approving con- 
 sideration.
 
 74 HILL RISE 
 
 She always beamed when she looked at her son Jack. Then 
 one might plainly read in her eyes, kindness, love, and admiring 
 approval. He had been the most delightful baby, the prettiest 
 child, the most attractive boy ; and now he was the finest young 
 man in all the wide world. She believed in Jack, thought he 
 possessed immense natural ability, hoped vaguely that he 
 would one day rouse himself and achieve great deeds go into 
 parliament perhaps, be prime minister: do something grand 
 at last to show how right she had always been in her estimate 
 of his gifts and capacities. 
 
 Meantime, it must be confessed that Jack now and then 
 filled her with anxious solicitude. It was painful to think 
 that Jack had acquired a taste for low company. She liked 
 sick people in cottages, but dreaded healthy vulgarians walk- 
 ing about the town. This freemasonry was most regrettable. 
 A universal brotherhood with butchers, auctioneers, surveyors, 
 etc., was fantastic and dangerous. She wished that Jack 
 could have kept clear of such bonds. His Masonic duties took 
 him at all hours to the White Hart Hotel a very perilous 
 place. It was there that, as Admiral Lardner once said, the 
 awful pegging habit was learned. Lady Vincent shivered 
 in her comfortable bed when she thought at the same time 
 of that appalling Mr. Lardner and of her own son. 
 
 "Oh, Jack. Please don't. I wish you wouldn't do it," 
 implored Lady Vincent. 
 
 On her way to tea, she had come through the French win- 
 dows of the dining-room and found Jack at the sideboard 
 preparing a peg. He had just filled his glass with the de- 
 stroying mixture. The spirit decanter and the siphon told the 
 sad story. 
 
 "Only a very little one," said Jack, smiling. 
 
 "Oh, Jack ! It's a very big one and between meals. You 
 can't want it." 
 
 "Well, I somehow thought I did." 
 
 "And at tea time, too. You used to be so fond of tea." 
 
 "Well, yes. But the doctors scare you about tea. They 
 make out people overdo it with tea. Get their nerves wrong 
 with the tannin or something." 
 
 He was not in the least ashamed of himself exhibited
 
 HILL RISE 75 
 
 no embarrassment on being discovered in evil practices. He 
 stood with the well-filled glass in his hand, and smiled at 
 his mother affectionately while she lectured him. 
 
 It was the habit that terrified her, she declared. One 
 does a thing one day carelessly, but next day one is the slave 
 of custom, one cannot break the chain one has heedlessly 
 forged and so forth. 
 
 "For my sake, Jack, break the habit. If you knew how 
 unhappy it makes me to see you do it." 
 
 "Would it make you happy to see me not do it?" 
 
 "Indeed it would." 
 
 "Then be happy now. Watch me carefully. There is 
 no deception." 
 
 He had not yet taken a sip. With an affectation of solem- 
 nity he marched across the room to where one of Lady Vin- 
 cent's white azaleas stood in a blue china pot; and here he 
 poured the contents of his glass about the stem of the shrub. 
 
 "There! You see if this doesn't like whiskey and soda. 
 You see if it dies of it. You see after its innocent pick- 
 me-up it'll be a-growing and a-blowing as it never did 
 before. . . . Now perhaps you'll give me a cup of tea as a 
 reward of virtue." 
 
 "Oh, Jack, you have made me so happy." 
 
 "That's all right," said Jack, lightly but affectionately, 
 as, arm in arm, he and his mamma went to the morning-room 
 to drink their tea together. 
 
 "Will you be back to dinner?" asked Lady Vincent, when, 
 after a long sitting over the teacups, Jack was about to go 
 downtown. 
 
 "No. I'm afraid not to-night. I'm dining out." 
 
 "Will you be late?" 
 
 "Well, I'm afraid I shan't be very early." 
 
 Lady Vincent would not ask where her boy intended to dine. 
 Instinct told her that he was bound for the White Hart 
 and the Masons, but she did not wish to spoil her happy after- 
 noon by being quite sure about it. 
 
 It was in the course of this evening that Sir John looked up 
 suddenly from his Pall Mall Gazette and uttered many ejacu- 
 lations of surprise.
 
 76 HILL RISE 
 
 "Good gracious! Upon my word! Only speaking of her 
 to-day creaking doors and she was gone even then. Died 
 suddenly at noon." 
 
 "Oh, John, you don't say so! Oh, poor old dear." 
 
 Not unnaturally, Lady Vincent thought he was speaking 
 of poor cousin Harriet. But it was the other creaking door. 
 Lady Haddenham, owner of Hill Eise, was no more. 
 
 "We regret," read Sir John, "to learn of the death of the 
 Dowager Countess of Haddenham ..." etc., etc., etc. 
 
 "I wonder," said Sir John musingly, when he had recited \ 
 the short biographical notice "I wonder if it will make any 
 difference to our neighbours. I shouldn't think so. I sup- 
 pose it all goes to Haddenham and he wouldn't do any- 
 thing shabby like bumping up the rents. Mr. A. and Fir- 
 mins will see that everybody gets fair play. . . . No, I don't 
 see that it can affect our friends. But it affects me to this 
 extent. I really think I shall have to go to Burroughclere 
 for the funeral last mark of respect. I think they'll look 
 for me there don't you ?"
 
 CHAPTEE VI 
 
 JACK VINCENT wanted his tenner because he thought the 
 time had come when it would be well to give Jessie Barter a 
 jewelled bangle. 
 
 He had given many bangles to young ladies. If he and a 
 young lady had paid attentions to each other, he always 
 presented a bangle as a parting gift as a trifling souvenir of 
 kind thoughts, confidential chat, and whispered endearments. 
 A point was reached in all these little friendships when weari- 
 ness overtook him; and then he gave the bangle. He never 
 explained the inward secret sense of the glittering toy. Young 
 ladies thus decorated often thought that the bangle meant a 
 tightening of the pleasant bond, when in fact it meant a sever- 
 ance. Miss Daisy Dolfin, of "The Merry Girls" Touring 
 Company, would glance sentimentally at her wrist, and tell 
 dressing-room companions about Jack. "That was given me 
 by such a nice boy. Oh, he was a nice boy but I lost sight 
 of 'im." 
 
 Well, then, Jack thought that Jessie, the White Hart junior 
 barmaid, had earned her bangle, and that for his own comfort 
 the sooner he let her have it the better. With Sir John's cheque 
 in his pocket he examined bangles at Osborn's jewellery shop, 
 and then strolled on to the saloon bar for the purpose of 
 cautiously sounding Jessie as to which coloured stones she most 
 fancied. He had seen gold chain bangles studded with tur- 
 quoises, with opals, and with garnets; and he did not know 
 which to choose. 
 
 Jessie was extraordinarily quick in detecting what he was 
 about when he began to sound her. But she made Jack wish 
 that he had completed the transaction without advice or 
 assistance. She startled and embarrassed him by the business- 
 like way in which she took up the matter. 
 
 77
 
 78 HILL RISE , 
 
 "Dear old Jack, you do feel you owe me something, then ?" 
 
 "Of course I do." 
 
 He had the cheque in his breast pocket, and he felt he owed 
 her quite ten pounds. 
 
 "Then you make it all the easier for me to say. I did 
 hint at it didn't I? Only I was that shy I couldn't get it 
 out." 
 
 "You needn't be shy with me," said Jack, with an em- 
 barrassed smile. 
 
 "Then, Jack, for Heaven's sake, don't go and buy some 
 lovely, costly thing which I might never have the chance 
 of wearing to show it off properly but give me the money 
 instead." 
 
 "Oh! The money instead!" 
 
 "Yes, I do want it so bad and it'll come in the nick of 
 time. At this minnit a hundred and fifty would be the mak- 
 ing of me." 
 
 "My dear Jessie !" His hand had gone towards his breast 
 pocket, but now he drew it back. "Jessie you take my 
 breath away. . . . I'm afraid, I I really am afraid " 
 
 "I suppose you meant to tick it, Jack and not pay ready. 
 But cant you manage it ? I want it that bad and you're the 
 only person I can turn to " 
 
 "My dear Jessie! One-fifty! Frankly you have opened 
 your pretty mouth so much wider than I expected " 
 
 "But you couldn't get what you've described for much 
 less." 
 
 "Couldn't I ? That's all you know." 
 
 "A hundred ? Jack, you did mean to give a hundred ?" 
 
 "No, my dear Jessie,, I'll be hanged if I did." 
 
 "Fifty?" 
 
 "No; not half fifty." 
 
 Then, squeezing the lemon-squasher and leaning forward 
 across the bar, Jessie urgently begged for financial support. 
 She and a friend desired to start a shop. 
 
 "What shop?" 
 
 "The dressmaking. Jack, I'm sick of this work. It don't 
 suit me and I don't suit it. Certain sure there'll be an un- 
 pleasantness with Emily. She has a down on me, and sooner
 
 HILL RISE 79 
 
 or later will get me bundled out. Do, do be a dear and help 
 me. ... If you haven't got it, you know it is but to ask 
 Sir John." 
 
 "On my honour," said Jack, "I could no more bite my 
 Guv'nor's ear for a hundred and fifty than I could fly." 
 
 "Sell one of your lively horses. The one with the long tail 
 would fetch all that." 
 
 "Oh, no, he wouldn't. Besides, the horses belong to the 
 Guv'nor, not to me." 
 
 Jessie turned her back, leaned her elbow against the bevelled 
 mirror, fetched out her handkerchief, and wept or pretended 
 to weep. 
 
 "My dear Jessie, don't don't. Oh, please don't." 
 
 "I can't help it," sobbed Miss Barter. "If if you aren't 
 good for even fifty pounds at a pinch I think you've treated 
 me very cruel." 
 
 i 
 
 Jessie's friend, with whom the shop was to be started in 
 partnership, was a Miss Walsh. At first Jessie thought noth- 
 ing of the idea, but gradually Miss Walsh had inflamed her 
 with an enthusiasm akin to her own. 
 
 "You bring in a hundred and fifty capital, and it shall be 
 share and share alike. You can't say I'm greedy but I want 
 you, Jessie, and no one else. We were always pals and you 
 say you hate your job at the hotel. . . . Well, it's to take or 
 leave, but it's a little gold mine I'm offering you." 
 
 "How on earth could I get a hundred and fifty pounds ?" 
 
 "That's your affair, not mine," said Miss Walsh. "But 
 I know I'd get it quick enough if I had your advantages." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Jessie, with an indignant 
 flush. 
 
 "Oh, nothing wrong," said Miss Walsh. "Heaven forbid. 
 But I mean you could get it out of the gentlemen that comes 
 to the bar just in a friendly way. What's the use of such 
 opportunities if you don't use 'em? All the money of the 
 town, so to speak, is walking in and out before you all day 
 long." 
 
 "They'd laugh in my face." 
 
 "Not they. You could say you'd pay it back. Gentlemen
 
 SO HILL RISE 
 
 will always give a helping hand to a girl who can make her- 
 self agreeable and yet respects herself." 
 
 Miss Walsh was a hard-featured, black-haired young woman, 
 aged thirty-three, in the mantle department at Selkirk's. For 
 a long time she had been making ready for the campaign, 
 preparing lists of Selkirk's customers and correspondents, 
 obtaining all sorts of secret intelligence as to credits, trade 
 discounts, etc. She was on an excellent footing with many 
 representatives of the wholesale houses, enjoyed the confi- 
 dence and esteem of two of Selkirk's buyers, had walked out 
 with one important member of the staff for eighteen months 
 and pumped him dry of information. She was ready 
 now. 
 
 "I don't want no more delay. I want to open before the 
 summer's over;" and with growing excitement she talked 
 to her friend. "I want you, Jessie, to be in it. I need you 
 along with me if only for your appearance. I'm getting 
 passy I need a young partner. . . . 
 
 "Fail ! Why should we fail ? Given the proper situation, 
 we shall never look behind us;" and she described all her 
 "views, poured out her trade philosophy. 
 
 "It's tone we'd bank on, Jessie the chic style. Old Sel- 
 kirk's of course have the regular maxims small profits and 
 quick returns quick turn over and all the rest of it. Our 
 policy will be just the reverse. Few customers for we can't 
 hope for a many but let them be the pick of the basket, and 
 we'll knock sky-high profits out of 'em. . . . 
 
 "Consider those Hill Rise girls alone. Suppose you catch 
 one, you catch whole boiling. I count them at twenty-five for 
 any good line. A new scarf, a jabot, or a feather boa ! Well, 
 you sit down and write to one of them ask for a visit merely 
 to be shown something new. A nouvoty! I can hear those 
 girls talking now while I'm telling you yes, me talking back 
 to them. 'But I could get this at Selkirk's for a quarter 
 the money!' 'Oh, I think not not quite the same thing. 
 This is not on the market. It is a line made to the order of 
 Cerisiers, and by special favour we have obtained the over- 
 plus. 
 
 One could not stop Miss Walsh when she was once off.
 
 HILL RISE 81 
 
 If one spoke a word, she dodged round it, and rattled on 
 faster than before. 
 
 "Don't tell me they wouldn't snap at it! That's the only 
 way I'd bother my head about the Hill Eise lot. It's Mrs. 
 Bowling and such as her as would ,put down the big 
 money. . . . 
 
 "Chic style I'd just have Roles et Modes over the shop. 
 I doubt if we best put up our names at all but have them 
 on the billheads and letters. I'd have lithographed letters 
 thick paper and coats of arms all across the top. Not the 
 King's! I ain't sure but what they drop on you if you try 
 that game. But I'd have the Czar's and the Austrian Em- 
 peror's. You don't tell me the Czar's coming over to inter- 
 fere with us." 
 
 "Would you say we made for the Czar?" 
 
 "I wouldn't say anything let 'em think what they 
 pleased." 
 
 Jessie was carried away at last. An interview with Miss 
 Walsh was like having your fortune told by a gipsy. You 
 could not listen to Miss Walsh without believing that she was 
 right in what she said : that it would all come true in the end. 
 
 Miss Jessie sat in her place behind the bar, musing on the 
 Walsh plot. Her Mignonette novel was neglected. She could 
 not read: her mind wandered always, and would only rest 
 in Miss Walsh's wonderful phantom shop. The weeks were 
 flying. Miss Walsh would not wait forever. She would seek 
 for another partner. 
 
 "Mr. Bowling ! Well, you are a stranger. We don't often 
 see you, Mr. Bowling." 
 
 It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and Mr. Bowling, 
 the architect, had come to the saloon in the hope of obtaining a 
 snack of late luncheon. It was long past the regular luncheon 
 hour when townsmen sat on high stools before the bar and 
 munched hard-boiled eggs, sardines, thin slices of sausage, and 
 so forth. The cane-seated stools had been removed to the 
 far end of the saloon ; the hard-boiled eggs had been sent back 
 into the hotel to be used up for salads ; the French bread had 
 all returned to the coffee-room. Nevertheless, Jessie wel- 
 comed the late-comer ; spoke down a tube, summoning dainties ;
 
 82 HILL RISE 
 
 with a graceful dive came under the bar flap to bring a 
 stool with her own white hands ; laid out a neatly folded nap- 
 kin in a word, she speedily made Mr. Bowling comfortable. 
 
 "Too bad/' said Mr. Bowling, seated and munching "too 
 bad to give you all this trouble." 
 
 "No trouble, Mr. Bowling. Or a trouble I like taking. 
 Which ought I to say?" and Jessie with her head slightly 
 on one side, smiled sweetly. 
 
 "Oh, come. Oh, ah. What a nice way of putting it," and 
 he rolled his head, and laughed as much as he could while his 
 mouth was full. 
 
 Jessie, with her elbows on the marble slab just in front 
 of the napkin and plate, with her fingers twined beneath her 
 chin, regarded Mr. Bowling fixedly. 
 
 "Are you aware, Mr. Bowling, what nice eyes you have?" 
 
 "Oh, come ! Oh, ah !" 
 
 "Very nice eyes. Tell-tale eyes, I call them. Just a pair of 
 tell-tales!" 
 
 Then Jessie begged permission to try a litle experiment 
 in eye-reading. Mr. Bowling was to think of the past or of 
 the future, and Jessie proposed to tell him which he was think- 
 ing of. This trick, in fact, had been taught her the night 
 before by a commercial traveller, who said the pupil of the 
 eye contracted for the past and expanded for the future. 
 The bagman had experimented successfully with big Emily's 
 honest brown eyes, but could make nothing of Jessie's cold 
 grey-blue stare. 
 
 "Mr. Bowling, you are thinking of the past." 
 
 "So I was. Try again." 
 
 Mr. Bowling tittered complacently. He was enjoying the 
 test as much as his lunch. 
 
 "Oh, the past." 
 
 "Yes. He-he-he. My thought was in the past." 
 
 "There! What did I say? Tell-tale eyes." 
 
 "Well, that's the first time I ever heard it;" and he laughed 
 gaily. 
 
 "Go on with your lunch. Then you shall have a cig." 
 
 Just then the telephone bell behind the bar rang sharp 
 and clear. Mr. Bowling started violently.
 
 HILL RISE 83 
 
 "What's that? Any one asking for me?" 
 
 Jessie, at the instrument, shook her head. It was only 
 Mr. Drake, up the town, inquiring about the lemons. Mr. 
 Dowling, from force of habit, had wondered if it could be a 
 message from his home. Mrs. Dowling could not possibly 
 know that he was nourishing himself at the White Hart, and 
 yet, when the bell rang, he had instinctively thought of his 
 good, kind wife. 
 
 "Mr. Dowling," said Jessie, as presently she lit the visitor's 
 cigarette for him, "you know everything. Suppose one was 
 to go to a money-lender to borrow fifty pounds I suppose 
 he'd charge one something frightful." 
 
 "Sixty per cent." 
 
 "But if one could get a hundred percentage for the money 
 it might be worth doing." 
 
 "Oh, never. Money-lenders are the very devil." 
 
 "I suppose lawyers and bankers would be the proper peo- 
 ple to go to ?" 
 
 "Yes; if the security was all right." 
 
 "Mr. Dowling, you're a rich man suppose I was to offer 
 you a sort of investment that was also a great kindness." 
 
 "What sort of investment?" 
 
 "Fifty pounds." 
 
 "But I meant what in?" 
 
 "A shop." 
 
 "What shop?" 
 
 "The dressmaking." 
 
 The weeks flew by. Miss Walsh was impatient to throw 
 off the yoke and be her own master. She was looking about her 
 for premises ; there was a first floor and rooms above in Bridge 
 Street that might do. She wanted Miss Barter and no one 
 else. In Miss Barter she would have the young, attractive, ele- 
 gant shoplady that she had set her heart on. But one must 
 face stern facts. There are always as good fish in the 
 sea, etc. 
 
 "If," said Jessie, "I say I'll bring in a hundred, will you 
 let me off the other fifty?" 
 
 "No."
 
 84 HILL RISE 
 
 "Will you wait for it until after we've started?" 
 
 "No; I can't do that. When the chance comes, I must 
 grab it. I believe I could get more than I'm asking you from 
 the wholesale houses, but in that case I should be all alone." 
 
 Then one Sunday morning Miss Walsh, wild with excite- 
 ment, came bustling to Jessie. 
 
 "Now's our chance! Young French, the hatter, has gone 
 phut. His shop's free the very place for us. It's now or 
 never, Jessie." 
 
 Monday was a lodge evening at the White Hart ; and Jessie 
 was brooding over Miss Walsh's ultimatum, when the sound 
 of many footsteps roused her from deep thought to attend to 
 her duties. 
 
 "Wake up," said stout Emily at the other end of the bar. 
 "Look alive; here they come." 
 
 It was a company of the Freemasons at least half the 
 lodge passing from their heavy labours upstairs to some light 
 refreshment down below. In a minute the whole saloon was 
 full of the brethren. Glasses clinked and tinkled; corks 
 popped gaily, as Emily, with practised hand, opened the 
 soda-water bottles, while Jessie, less skilled, used the cork- 
 extracting machine; a cloud of tobacco smoke began to hover. 
 "Here's to you, Brother Granger." Chin-chin! "After you 
 with that match." "Your health, Brother Crunden." For a 
 little while the two barmaids were kept hard at work. 
 
 Soon, however, orders slackened; about Emily everybody 
 was served, and she herself was engaged in pleasant conversa- 
 tion. Old Crunden was standing at Jessie's end of the bar, 
 and presently it fell upon him to take up one of the senior 
 barmaid's duties and act as chaperon for the junior. Gruffly 
 and sternly he reproved a brother for his loose tongue. 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to tell a tale of that 
 kind before a defenceless girl." 
 
 No doubt, as a father, he thought of his own girl. To 
 subject maidenly innocence to brutal outrage the thought 
 of it made his blood boil. 
 
 "Didn't know she was listening," said the offender apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 Jessie, stooping over the extracting-machine, composed her
 
 HILL RISE 85 
 
 face and tried to look as if she had not caught the point of 
 the anecdote. 
 
 An hour later, when the saloon had closed and Masons, 
 after further mysteries upstairs, were filing out into the 
 street by the hotel door, Jessie, in her black straw hat and 
 neat jacket, timidly approached old Crunden, walked by his 
 side, and ventured to address him. 
 
 "Mr. Crunden sir. Forgive me, but but I want to thank 
 you. I was touched by your chivalry in protecting me from 
 insult/' 
 
 Mr. Crunden grunted. Perhaps he had no very high opin- 
 ion of Miss Barter, although with chivalry he had protected 
 her. But, perhaps as a father again thinking of his own girl, 
 he suffered Miss Barter to talk to him. 
 
 "So touched, Mr. Crunden, that I do wish to tell you " 
 
 And Jessie told him how greatly self-respecting barmaids 
 should be pitied. Every day in a nice barmaid's life was a 
 painful ordeal. She herself hated the life, and she wanted to 
 get clear of it. One's daily bread can be too dearly bought. 
 She wanted to work for her living, and earn money in a mod- 
 est little shop. She and another nice girl could set up shop 
 to-morrow if only they could borrow the capital. "But, alas ! 
 that seems impossible." 
 
 "What shop could you set up?" 
 
 "The dressmaking." 
 
 "And how much capital would you want ?" 
 
 "Fifty pounds," said Jessie briskly. 
 
 "Fifty pounds," said Mr. Crunden, "is sooner spent than 
 earned." 
 
 Painters and decorators were busy beneath Mr. Bowling's 
 office in the vacant shop lately occupied by Mr. French's hats, 
 now removed to High Street and there being sold "In liquida- 
 tion" as "astounding bargains" and "rare opportunities." 
 With white paint, yellow ochre blinds, golden tassels, with 
 'everything in best chic style, Robes et Modes was quietly and 
 unostentatiously thrown open to the high-class public; and 
 Jessie was gone from her place behind the saloon bar. 
 
 There was no vulgar blowing of trumpets such as that which
 
 86 HILL RISE 
 
 had preluded arrogant Mr. French's brief occupation of these 
 desirable premises. Yet the opening of Robes et Modes was 
 not unchronicled. The local press considered it a matter of 
 general interest. Mr. Hope gave the new shop a descriptive 
 send-off in the Medford Advertiser, and there were also a 
 few words about it under the heading On-dits in Mees's 
 Weekly Bulletin.
 
 CHAPTEE VII 
 
 BUT if Medford, in the dearth of real news, could take inter- 
 est in so small a matter as the opening of a dressmaker's shop, 
 it soon had news on the very grandest scale something to 
 startle it, to shake it, to drive away its midsummer drowsi- 
 ness. Within the memory of the oldest inhabitants, this 
 was the most astounding piece of news. Two months had 
 passed since the lamented death of the Dowager Countess 
 of Haddenham, when the thunderbolt came from a clear sky. 
 
 Hill Kise was for sale ! 
 
 Hill Eise, houses and land, was to be sold as a building 
 estate. One morning white bills were up, here and there, 
 in conspicuous positions on the gate of the Tennis Club, on 
 garden walls, at the White Hart stables. "Preliminary an- 
 nouncement," said the bills. "Sale by auction on the twenty- 
 second of July. Further particulars shortly." To citizens 
 gathered and whispering awfully, the bills seemed like a 
 declaration of war, like a proclamation of pains and penalties, 
 like the manifesto of a revolutionary government like what 
 not appalling and inexplicable. The Vicar of St. Barnabas 
 at once spoke of the bills as "the writing on the wall." 
 
 Day after day the excitement was intense. Hill Eise, the 
 time-honoured home of fashion and aristocracy, was in the 
 market. The stately peace of the Hill was to be broken by 
 the rough assault of the speculative builder. People could 
 talk or think of nothing else. 
 
 Sir John Vincent of Hill House talked about it without 
 cessation. His energy and restlessness were wonderful. He 
 wrote at once to Mr. Abinger, asking : Can this thing be true ? 
 Mr. A. mournfully replied that he feared it was too true. 
 But he knew nothing now for certain. He had been super- 
 seded after thirty-one years' faithful management of the 
 
 87
 
 88 HILL RISE 
 
 estate. Mr. A. thought if the new authorities could dismiss 
 him, they could do anything. Then Sir John wrote to Messrs. 
 Firmin & Firmin, demanding an explicit answer to the ques- 
 tion : Is it a fact that Hill Rise will be sold ? It was a fact, 
 said Messrs. Firmin, that Hill Rise would be offered for 
 sale. They could not, of course, promise that it would be 
 sold. 
 
 Then Sir John called upon all the tenants of Hill Rise. 
 Untiringly he passed from house to house, working up agita- 
 tion and horror. Meetings must be convened a series of 
 meetings in which gentry and tradesmen must join hands. 
 The corporation must assist; Government must be petitioned 
 to come to Medford's aid; heaven and earth must be moved 
 to prevent the desecration and ruin of Hill Rise. Sir John's 
 eloquence evoked promises of staunch support. Hill Rise 
 welcomed such a leader; all would fight under his banner. 
 Admiral Lardner, of No. 11, was unfortunately away in 
 Switzerland. But Colonel Beaumont, of No. 13, was here, 
 bursting with indignation. Mr. Garrett, of No. 5, would use 
 all his diplomatic skill; Mrs. Page, Mrs. Granville, and the 
 Misses Vigor would write circulars, get up a bazaar, do any- 
 thing Sir John told them to do. 
 
 "Beaumont," said Sir John, "it will be the very deuce if 
 we can't put a stop to it. Rows of confounded houses up 
 to the garden walls ! The end of the Tennis Club, the end 
 of privacy, the end of everything!" 
 
 "It must be stopped," said Colonel Beaumont. "Call a 
 meeting without an hour's delay." 
 
 "Yes," said Sir John, "we can't act too quickly. This 
 morning I saw a fellow measuring all along the meadow fence 
 one of those city-looking fellows fellow in a white hat and 
 a red tie just the sort of fellow to buy the estate. I believe 
 that fellow meant business." 
 
 Sir John, after explaining to the Hill the nature of the 
 threatened disaster, hurried off to explain it to the town. 
 He spent his days in the town, carefully explaining. He 
 talked to every prominent citizen he met; he allowed no 
 member of the corporation to pass by him; he talked to 
 every one who would listen because in a big public move-
 
 HILL RISE 89 
 
 merit you cannot have too many people on your side, and no 
 one, however insignificant, should be set down as without 
 influence. 
 
 Mr. Hope, editor and proprietor of the Medford Advertiser, 
 immediately took Sir John's view. The most important organ 
 of public opinion the only organ, as Mr. Hope always de- 
 clared was, therefore, on the right side from the first. 
 Mr. Hope, taking up Sir John's task, explained the matter, 
 as he said, urbi et orbi. Mr. Hope, in consecutive numbers, 
 delivered himself of some grandly dispassionate leading arti- 
 cles that were full of balanced sentences, well-reasoned argu- 
 ment, split infinitives, and foreign language. 
 
 "To fully appreciate the havoc on the Hill, the loss in the 
 town, one must visualise the result as a fait accompli. Delenda 
 est Carthago. . . . The Hill will be gone, the best residential 
 neighbourhood wiped out; the supporters of our trade and 
 the ornaments of our society will be driven away to enrich 
 and to adorn some rival town." The Medford Corporation, 
 said Mr. Hope, finally and emphatically in each article but 
 in different words, of course should itself purchase the es- 
 tate and thus avert its doom. Some of the meadows should 
 be converted into a public park and pleasure garden; the 
 houses, the club grounds, and all the existing amenities should 
 be preserved in statu quo. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Crunden, "if you had husbanded your re- 
 sources, you might perhaps think of giving the town another 
 recreation ground if you'd kept your money and not built 
 a Town Hall." 
 
 This was to Councillor Holland, who, with Mr. Bowling and 
 Mr. Eaton, after a walk up and down Hill Eise, had looked in 
 at King's Cottage. 
 
 "It's never any use, Mr. Crunden, crying over spilt milk," 
 said Mr. Eaton. 
 
 "I cried before they spilt it," said Mr. Crunden shortly. 
 
 Mr. Eaton was by nature a sharp-nosed, sandy little man, 
 and by profession a solicitor. He was newly established and 
 very pushing. By unwavering push he had created a busi- 
 ness; he was liked by the tradesmen; he hoped soon to enter 
 municipal life, and he affected the society of aldermen and
 
 90 HILL RISE 
 
 councillors, with whom he curried favour. He was perhaps 
 too fond of a joke to please everybody. 
 
 "Anyways," said Mr. Holland, "all that's ancient history. 
 And you can't blame me, Mr. Crunden. I wasn't on the 
 Council in those times." 
 
 "No, but you're on it now," said Mr. Eaton, currying 
 favour, "and a jolly good man for the place." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Eaton. Well, Mr. Crunden, I don't mind 
 saying I, for one, am doubtful if we can go so far as some 
 would have us about this park and the rest of it." 
 
 And then Councillor Holland told them that, in his opin- 
 ion, "all this Hill Eise excitement" was already abating. "The 
 affair" had been discussed at the Council last night, and the 
 feeling was for moderation, no blind launching out, no heroic 
 measures. 
 
 "I don't wish to see the old families interfered with," said 
 Mr. Holland. "I've always held that the upper gentry are 
 the backbone of Medford not so much for their own cus- 
 tom, but for the custom they foster in others." 
 
 "They haven't begun to foster me," said Mr. Eaton, grin- 
 ning facetiously, "but I hope they will some day." 
 
 "Between ourselves," said Mr. Holland, in a sententious 
 and judicial manner, "a good deal of 'umbug 'as been talked 
 about it." 
 
 "I haven't heard anything else talked," said old Crunden. 
 
 "A good deal of 'umbug ;" and Mr. Holland nodded his head 
 gravely. "A few 'ouses more or less is not to drive sensible 
 people out of the town. I call that talk so much 'umbug. And 
 as a tradesman with all his work cut out to keep his head 
 above water in these days of unfair competition of the London 
 stores and free deliveries, I say I don't want to further 
 'andicap myself no, nor 'andicap my friends by throwing 
 fresh burdens on the rates." 
 
 "Ah," said Hedgehog Crunden, with an approving grunt. 
 "Better late than never. In the end you'll all come round to 
 what I preached ten year ago." 
 
 "Yes," continued Mr. Holland, "keep the rates within 
 reason; that's my motto. Not," he added, with a laugh, "on 
 account of such rate-payers as you, Mr. Crunden, but 'umble
 
 HILL RISE 91 
 
 folk like myself as do feel the burden. It can't matter to you 
 either way. You're a rich man." 
 
 "Gammon!" said Mr. Crunden, not perhaps really ill- 
 pleased by this accusation. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Eaton. "Fact, Mr. Crunden is very warm; 
 red-hot." 
 
 It was a town custom to pay these compliments. Medford 
 citizens enjoyed being amiably teased about their richness. 
 And now the three visitors gave their host a thorough com- 
 plimentary teasing. 
 
 "You don't make a display, Mr. Crunden. You sit on it, 
 comfortable and secure." 
 
 "He lays on it," said Mr. Holland; "stretches himself out 
 at full length on it." 
 
 "We know," said Dowling roguishly : "you keep your money 
 liquid out of sight." 
 
 "But it's there all the time," said Mr. Eaton. "The town 
 knows it. That's why every one respects you, and are glad to 
 show their respect." 
 
 "Show their respect !" said Crunden. "No one touches his 
 hat to me not a man in the town." 
 
 "Don't they?" said Mr. Eaton. "I've seen the bank man- 
 ager bowing to you before all the bank clerks. He couldn't 
 bow lower to Sir John himself." 
 
 "He knows," said Mr. Holland; "what he'^ got safe in his 
 cellars all that liquid what Mr. Crunden 'as put by." 
 
 "I've put by enough for myself," said Crunden, "and 
 enough for my girl. Let it be at that." 
 
 "Just so. Miss Crunden may look high." 
 
 "She can't look too high," said Mr. Dowling gallantly. 
 
 "Lucky man as wins her." 
 
 "So he will be," said Mr. Dowling, with great gallantry. 
 "And apart from being an heiress." 
 
 "Oh, don't part her from the cash," said Mr. Eaton, be- 
 ginning to be very jocose. 
 
 "If I was unmarried," said Mr. Dowling, "I'd be always on 
 your doorstep, Mr. Crunden." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Crunden, with a touch of surliness, "but 
 you are married."
 
 92 HILL RISE 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Holland, "he is married." 
 
 "Very much married," said Mr. Eaton. 
 
 But now Mr. Eaton was being altogether too funny. Mr. 
 Bowling showed spirit; he drew himself to his full height, 
 and spoke sharply, and yet with dignity. 
 
 "What do you mean by that, Mr. Eaton ?" 
 
 "Oh, only a joke." 
 
 "It is not a joking matter, sir." 
 
 "Isn't it?" said Mr. Eaton. "I'm sorry to hear that." 
 
 Then Mr. Dowling was very angry. He told Mr. Eaton 
 that he was among other things an impertinent whipper- 
 snapper. 
 
 "There, there," said Mr. Crunden. "Come, gentlemen !" 
 
 "Mr. Eaton," said Councillor Holland, determined to cut 
 himself free of any part in the offending jest, "you ought 
 to apologise. You brought it on yourself. You've put your- 
 self in the wrong." 
 
 "Very good," said Mr. Eaton; "I do apologise. I meant no 
 harm, Mr. Dowling. . . . And now I think you might 
 withdraw some of your late remarks." 
 
 "I am satisfied," said Mr. Dowling, with really a fine ges- 
 ture of his open hand. "Since Mr. Eaton has expressed regret, 
 I can say no more." 
 
 But he withdrew nothing of what he had said already. 
 With another wave of the hand, as though to declare the inci- 
 dent closed, he turned and moved to the window. He had 
 shown much spirit and dignity. Old Crunden thought the 
 better of him for being loyal to his domestic hearth and refus- 
 ing to tolerate slighting allusions to the lady who occupied 
 such a large part of the hearth. 
 
 "Stay a minute, Mr. Dowling," he said, when the two other 
 guests were going. "Stop and have a cup of tea," he added 
 hospitably, after he had closed the front door upon Messrs. 
 Holland and Eaton. 
 
 "Well ; yes thank you." 
 
 Mr. Dowling, sitting in the pleasant window seat, soon 
 threw off all dignity, and chatted in calm and comfort. 
 
 "By the way," he said, "there's a bit of secret history from 
 the lodge. You'll be there to see Brown installed ?"
 
 HILL RISE 93 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you know, some of the brethren at the last moment 
 wanted to pass him over and put Mr. Jack Vincent in the 
 chair again." 
 
 "I can quite believe it and I know why." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because," said Mr. Crunden, "Brown is a hard-working 
 man and lives on low ground, and because Vincent is an idle 
 dog and lives on the Hill. They're all the same, Masons or 
 not they're like people under a spell." 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't say that. No, Brother Vincent has always 
 been friendly and affable. See how jolly he is over a game 
 of bowls." 
 
 "I've no quarrel with young Vincent. ... He used," said 
 Crunden, thoughtfully and slowly, "to come here as a lad 
 often with my son. He has talked to me more than once 
 about Dick." 
 
 "Yes, he spoke to me about him only the other day." 
 
 "I've no quarrel with Vincent," said Mr. Crunden. "If he 
 wastes himself on the wenches I don't mind. It's not my 
 business. He's civil enough the best of the bunch." 
 
 "And, idle or not, he does his Masonic work well." 
 
 "Yes," said Crunden, rather grudingly, "yes, there's some- 
 thing in Vincent, I believe; but it'll never come out. Sir 
 John'll take care of that." 
 
 "But, you know, there's great shrewdness in Sir John. He 
 was talking to me this morning " 
 
 "Oh, he can talk all right." 
 
 "He made me," said Mr. Dowling, "really sorry for him." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "All this Hill Rise upset bringing trouble and annoyance 
 on him." 
 
 "What does it matter to Sir John?" 
 
 "He stands the chance of seeing Hill House spoilt if they 
 come building all about it." 
 
 "He has ten acres round the house." 
 
 "But he'll lose the outlook into the meadows. Talking it 
 over he was with me half an hour and more I could see 
 he was quite alive to the business side of it. This sale may
 
 94 HILL RISE 
 
 knock a lot of value off his property as a residential place. 
 He made no secret of that." 
 
 "Oh, then he has his own axe to grind. I thought all the 
 fuss he's kicking up was mere busybodying." 
 
 Then Mrs. Price brought in the tea things. 
 
 "Tell Lizzie to come down to tea." 
 
 "Miss Lizzie/' said Mrs. Price, "asks you to excuse her. 
 She don't want any tea. She has the headache still, and 
 feels better keeping quiet in her room." 
 
 "My girl," said Mr. Crunden, as he poured out the tea, 
 "Liz has been a bit out of sorts lately. You don't know of 
 any better doctor than Dr. Blake, do you ?" 
 
 "Dr. Blake's reputation is very high," said Mr. Dowling. 
 "He attends my wife; and every one on the Hill believes in 
 him." 
 
 "Ah ! I think I shall have to call him in for Lizzie. But 
 the worst of Dr. Blake is this : if you ask him to come once, 
 he comes another dozen times without asking."
 
 CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 THE widespread excitement had abated. The town as a 
 whole had drowsily folded its hands, was ready to fall asleep 
 again. Mr. Hope, with all the weight and power of the 
 Advertiser at his command, could not stir the somnolent 
 Corporation. There had even been objectionable, inimical 
 On-dits in Mees's Bulletin: "On dit that certain parties are 
 raising a storm in a teacup" ; "On dit that Medf ord numbers 
 eighteen thousand inhabitants, and that the population of 
 Hill Eise is only one hundred and fifty-three persons all told" ; 
 and so on. 
 
 Mr. Hope used always to say that the Advertiser was the 
 sole newspaper published in Medf ord. But Mees, the stationer 
 and librarian, who was also a printer, issued a horrid little 
 sheet which he called "Mees's Weekly Bulletin." It con- 
 tained a list of "Books added to the Library," three pages 
 of local advertisements, some brief cuttings from London 
 periodicals, and half to two-thirds of a column of original 
 matter entitled On-dits. Old Mees, whenever in talk with a 
 customer he had heard rumour of a marriage, a carriage acci- 
 dent, an outbreak of measles, etc., would say to his spectacled 
 son, "We might make an On-dit of that"; and young Mees, 
 blinking behind his spectacles, accepted such material or 
 rejected it in accordance with his own highly-trained editorial 
 judgment. Mr. Hope never would admit that this four-page 
 Bulletin was a rival. "It is," he said, "a trade circular, not 
 a newspaper. The On-dits are neither journalism nor litera- 
 ture. They are beneath contempt." 
 
 Yet sometimes, as now, young Mees's On-dits were daring, 
 very daring. Certainly, as Mr. Hope confessed, Mees would 
 not have ventured to take such a tone about the great sale, 
 if the public had not manifested so much apathy. 
 
 There was apathy in Hill Eise itself. The younger genera- 
 
 95
 
 96 HILL RISE 
 
 tion refused to believe that the end of the world was com- 
 ing. The young men lounged about as contentedly as ever. 
 The girls still played tennis and croquet, and carried all 
 their money to Selkirk's or, rather, nearly all their money, 
 but not quite all. Some of it found its way to Robes et 
 Modes. Miss Walsh had recently sold twenty-one leaf-green 
 tulle ruffles a specialite the overplus of a new line sent 
 down from a certain smart London house. Wearing these 
 special ruffles, the Hill Eise young ladies felt gay of heart, easy 
 in their minds, and scarcely listened when parents discussed 
 the coming stroke of doom. 
 
 The fuller sale bills were now up all over the town. Mr. 
 Crunden, having met the bill-sticker, asked for one of the 
 white sheets, carried it home, and with a drawing pin fixed it 
 to the wall of his big room between the two engravings in 
 the place where such documents always hung years ago. 
 
 Coming back early one afternoon, he found Mrs. Price as if 
 spellbound before the new bill. 
 
 "Haven't you read that yet?" said Mr. Crunden, with 
 a grunt. "Or are you learning it by rote ?" And he grunted 
 again as he took off his square hat and brought out a bandana 
 handkerchief to mop his forehead. 
 
 It was an oppressive, airless day, very hot in the sun, and 
 Mr. Crunden had obviously returned in rather a bad temper. 
 Mrs. Price smiled, and spoke soothingly. 
 
 "You've had your walk, then?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Any news?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Price, in friendly, conciliatory tones, 
 "there's one thing with you you're regular as clockwork. 
 One can always tell your movements. Down by the yard, over 
 the bridge, and up the town as usual. . . . What did you 
 see to-day?" 
 
 "A lot of fools, as usual." And with a loud grunt, the 
 master went to his bureau and sat down. "Fools! . . . All 
 the town chattering about the sale." 
 
 "Well, it is a bombshell for the gentry;" and Mrs. Price 
 turned once more to the hill. "I can't get over it. I must
 
 HILL RISE 97 
 
 read it every time I come in." And she laughed good- 
 humouredly. " 'At the Mart, London ! On July the twenty- 
 second, at 3 P.M. precisely! By order of the Exe-cu-tors. 
 Forty acres Freehold ! Twenty noble residences ' " 
 
 "One of the noble residents Colonel Beaumont came 
 across the road and talked to me saw me all of a sudden. 
 'Oh, Mr. Crunden,' says he, 'what can be done to avert this 
 catastrophe ?' 'What's that, sir ?' 'The ruin of the town, Mr. 
 Crunden. If Hill Else meadows are built over, we shall all 
 leave in a body. Oh, I do think old Lady Haddenham has 
 treated us very bad/ 'How so, sir?' 'Why, in putting the 
 property up for sale to the highest bidder without any warn- 
 ing/" 
 
 "What did you say to the Colonel?" 
 
 "I said : 'Well, sir, as to that, selling to the highest bidder 
 is always done. It'd be a funny thing to sell to the lowest 
 bidder. And as to Lady Haddenham, she's dead, as I under- 
 stand. So we oughtn't to blame her for what's done when 
 she's in her coffin.' ' ; And then Mr. Crunden gave an imita- 
 tion of voice and gestures, which, if at all successful, proved 
 that Colonel Beaumont was a foolish, fussy, finnicking sort 
 of person : " 'Might have provided for the contingency, Mr. 
 Crunden. . . . Might have provided for the contingency.' " 
 
 "What did you say to that?" asked Mrs. Price. She was 
 genuinely interested and amused. 
 
 "I told him the best way to save their aristocratic neigh- 
 bourhood was for them to club together and buy the prop- 
 erty;" and Mr. Crunden gave a short, contemptuous laugh. 
 "They won't do that; they haven't the money in all the 
 twenty noble residences. If pride could buy it, they would." 
 
 "To be sure. They are proud." 
 
 "Yes. If s grand, such pride as theirs if you come to 
 think of it. Proud because they aren't in trade because 
 they are colonels who never fought a battle ; admirals who won 
 their rank after they'd left the service ; pensioners who never 
 did an honest day's work. I'll tell you something. I've 
 grown to hate them and their pride with their proud, tricked- 
 out daughters too proud to play a game of ball with my 
 girl."
 
 98 HILL RISE 
 
 "That was a shame indeed refusing of Miss Lizzie for the 
 Club." 
 
 "I hate their proud, swaggering sons, too! Loafers! 
 that's what they are. Idle, loafing, swaggering fools every 
 one of them." 
 
 "So they are," said Mrs. Price. "All except young Mr. 
 Vincent. He's different. He was always pleasant and kind 
 when he come here in the old days and he do look so nice on 
 his horse. It's a pleasure for to watch him ride hy. Leave 
 Mr. Jack out, and I'm all with you." 
 
 "I saw one of them to-day that Lardner the Admiral's 
 son, coming out of the Station, wiping his fat chops ;" and Mr. 
 Crunden turned again to the desk on the bureau. "I hate 
 that fellow most of all. It was copying him and his kind 
 that sent my lad to the devil." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mrs. Price, sadly and solemnly. 
 
 "When did these letters come?" 
 
 "Afternoon post. When you'd gone out not before." 
 
 "All right. Where's Lizzie?" 
 
 "In the garden, I think. She was here just now. 
 And Mrs. Price was about to go back to her kitchen 
 when she remembered that she had an important question 
 to ask. "Oh ! Is the Freemasons' dinner to-morrow or day 
 after?" 
 
 "Day after." 
 
 "Because I want to air your dress clothes. And will you 
 want 'em for that other affair the Hospital reception 
 on the tenth?" 
 
 "I don't know." Mr. Crunden looked round in grave doubt. 
 "I must ask Lizzie. I don't know. You see, there's no ques- 
 tion about day after to-morrow. It's our installation ban- 
 quet. Always dress clothes for that. We shall be busy in 
 Lodge till six o'clock putting the new master in the chair, 
 appointing his officers, raising two fellow-craft to the third 
 degree " 
 
 "Oh, dear ; oh, dear ! You mustn't tell me that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Mrs. Price, on the threshold of the kitchen passage, raised 
 a crooked finger and wagged her head in sly pleasantry. "You
 
 HILL RISE 99 
 
 mustn't," she said, "because I haven't been in the clock 
 case. I'm not the lady-freemason." 
 
 "Oh, you go on;" and for the first time in their conversa- 
 tion Mr. Crunden laughed heartily and good-humouredly. 
 Mrs. Price laughed also, and was going, but he called her back. 
 
 "I say ! Has Dr. Blake been here to-day ?" 
 
 "No, not for the last three days." 
 
 "Well, I gave him a pretty straight hint not to come and 
 see her so often." 
 
 Mrs. Price became very serious. 
 
 "Did you, sir? I'm sorry you done that." 
 
 "Why? She's better, isn't she?" 
 
 "She's very listless. She sits in the window, and hush! 
 here she comes." 
 
 Lizzie certainly entered the room with a slow footstep 
 and a listless manner. She was looking very pretty in her 
 sun hat and one of the blue frocks with the white spots; but 
 her face was too pale, and the shadows of the hat made the 
 orbits of her grey eyes seem too large and too dark. Some- 
 how she seemed all at once to have become thinner, taller, 
 more fragile. There was no gaiety in her face or in her voice 
 as she greeted her father. 
 
 "You have letters, father? Shall I do them for you? 
 I'm quite ready to do them." 
 
 While she spoke, she walked across to the window and looked 
 out. The faint sound of a horse's feet came from a little dis- 
 tance. Mrs. Price lingered, and was pretending to brush 
 some tobacco ash from the mantelpiece while she watched 
 her young mistress. 
 
 "One of Sir John's horses with a groom," said Lizzie, 
 turning from the window. "How badly grooms ride ! Trot- 
 ting the horse down the hill ! Mr. Vincent never does that." 
 
 Her father had vacated his seat, and stood with a letter 
 in his hand. Lizzie languidly sat down before the bureau. 
 
 "What can I do, father?" 
 
 "My dear, you can answer this for me. Invitation from No. 
 15, Hill Rise." 
 
 Lizzie looked up in surprise. 
 
 "An invitation ?"
 
 100 HILL RISE 
 
 "Very flattering invitation to subscribe half a guinea to 
 the district Nurses' Fund. Well, I don't grudge that. Are 
 you ready? . . . Dear Sir " 
 
 "Or 'Sir'?" asked Lizzie, picking up her pen. "Perhaps 
 'Dear Sir' sounds too familiar?" 
 
 "He calls me 'Dear Sir.' " And then Mr. Crunden spoke 
 testily. "Oh, have it as you like. Perhaps you'd better say : 
 'Sir, my father will be glad to lick your boots, because you 
 are a Major and live on the Hill and he is a retired builder 
 and lives halfway down the Hill.' ' ; 
 
 Lizzie turned and took her father's hand affectionately. 
 
 "Dad, how silly you are I I only meant I only meant 
 I'll write it just as you wish. . . . Any more letters after 
 this one?" 
 
 "Well, if it doesn't tire you, Liz;" and with his disen- 
 gaged hand old Crunden softly patted and stroked her pretty 
 hair. 
 
 "Oh, no. ... Yes, dad, I do feel rather tired to-day. 
 May I attend to it in the evening? I shall be all right 
 then." 
 
 "Very good. The evening will be time enough." 
 
 "Thank you, dad. I'll be in the other room if you want 
 me." 
 
 Lizzie put the letters together on the desk, got up, looked 
 out of the window again, and then, with slow footsteps, went 
 towards the parlour. 
 
 "There," said Mrs. Price very seriously; "you see. Lan- 
 guid, listless; not the girl she was." And with every word 
 Mrs. Price became more serious and solemn. "You can see 
 it for yourself. If I was you, I should take it as a warning. 
 She's all you have left to you. Don't neglect it. Kemember 
 don't make another mistake." 
 
 Mr. Crunden started. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "What I say." 
 
 'Is it your own thought, or an echo of something you once 
 heard?"' 
 
 "The thoughts are my own, the words are an echo. Yes - 
 I meant them for to be an echo."
 
 HILL RISE 101 
 
 Mr. Crunden walked over to the empty fireplace and took 
 his tobacco jar from the mantel-shelf. 
 
 "Well," he said, "you may go. And you may mind your 
 own business." 
 
 Left alone, he stood perfectly still, with the china jar in 
 his hands, thinking for a long time. As he stood thus, it was 
 as if the walls of the room had faded, as if the years had 
 rolled away, as if the past was showing itself, acting itself 
 before him. He could see dead faces, could hear dead voices. 
 He was standing here no longer. He was sitting upstairs by 
 a sick-bed. Mrs. Price, on the other side of the bed, had an 
 arm round his wife who was dying. The poor wife whom 
 he loved lay whispering, gasping, fighting for breath, while 
 she made him promise to guard and cherish the girl that was 
 left. He could hear the whispering voice: "Be gentle with 
 her. Kemember Dick remember. Don't make another mis- 
 take." Then, slipping from the chair to his knees, he prom- 
 ised. It was night the middle of the night and before 
 the dawn came she was dead. Well, he had kept his promise ; 
 there was no need for any vow ; for his own sake he had been 
 kind to the motherless girl. She was all of love that was left 
 to him. 
 
 Presently he replaced the tobacco jar. He had forgotten 
 that he intended to smoke a pipe. 
 
 "Well! Who's that?" 
 
 On this warm afternoon the front door was open. Some- 
 one had entered the lobby and was tapping on the wood 
 panels. 
 
 "Mr. Crunden are you alone ? May I come in ?" 
 
 "Is that you, Mr. Dowling ? Yes, come in, sir." 
 
 "I've got something to show you that will amuse you." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Look here." Mr. Dowling laid his billycock hat and his 
 umbrella upon the table, and extracted from his breast pocket 
 some neatly folded documents. "Particulars of the sale." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "An advance copy sent me out of compliment by Griggs 
 the London auctioneers," and Mr. Dowling unfolded the auc- 
 tioneers' printed papers, together with a coloured map, which
 
 102 HILL RISE 
 
 he carefully spread on the table. "When they see this up 
 there," and he nodded his head in the direction of the Hill, 
 "they'll be fairly panic-stricken." 
 
 Mr. Crunden came to the back of the table and glanced over 
 Mr. Bowling's shoulder. 
 
 " 'Hill Rise Building Estate/ " he read aloud. " 'Ripe for 
 development.' " 
 
 "They're a sharp firm Griggs. They know what they're 
 about/' and Mr. Dowling unfolded another map, and, in his 
 turn, read aloud : " 'Suggested scheme for laying out roads, 
 to secure the longest frontages' " ; and Mr. Dowling chuckled 
 admiringly as he looked at the plan. "I must say Griggs has 
 got this up very nicely." 
 
 " 'No restrictions of any nature/ " read Mr. Crunden, 
 " 'are imposed upon the land. . . .' Ah ! . . . 'To be sold 
 without reserve!' Do you believe that?" 
 
 "No; of course not." 
 
 "What reserve will they put on it ?" 
 
 "As a guess, forty thousand. Thirty thousand if they are 
 in a hurry to wind up everything." 
 
 Crunden grunted, and then read on again. 
 
 " 'An electric tram service would further open up this 
 charming area and throw it practically into the heart of the 
 town.' '' When he came to this point, old Crunden gave a 
 most scornful grunt. "Trams couldn't get up the hill." 
 
 "Why not?" said Dowling. "What is the Hill after all? 
 Look here," and he reached for his hat and spread the map 
 across the crown of it. "Here's the bridge. Well, your 
 tram swings round here up here up the new road. Say, 
 half a mile gradient not more than one in twenty at the 
 worst part. Of course, they could do it." 
 
 "Let 'em do it, then." 
 
 "But," said Dowling impressively, "you see what this 
 would mean to Sir John and the rest of them blue ruin." 
 
 "Well, that's their lookout. It won't keep me awake." 
 
 "But the town? How will the town like it now? No re- 
 strictions. That's a pill they weren't expecting. It wants 
 some swallowing. Cheap houses workmen's dwellings 
 anything you choose all over here over the Tennis Club
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 right up to Sir John's gates. Of course, it is Sir John who 
 stands to lose worst." 
 
 "Sir John's freehold," said Crunden, studying the map, 
 "is only the ten acres no more ?" 
 
 "No; but that's too much to see spoilt forever. It's a pity, 
 you know. Put yourself in his position. Hill House belonged 
 to his father, and his grandfather before him. He has always 
 been cock of the hill, with the best people for his neighbours. 
 Oh, I do say, I am sorry for Sir John !" 
 
 Mr. Bowling had been stooping so long over the table that 
 he felt stiff. He stood up, stretched himself, and then, begin- 
 ning to chuckle, stooped down again. 
 
 "I am honestly sorry that Sir John should have this annoy- 
 ance. It is a pity. Oh, it is a great pity! But," and Mr. 
 Bowling laughed and shook his head "but, upon my word, it 
 is a rattling fine development scheme. It's something big," 
 and he looked at the plan admiringly. "Something I should 
 like to handle." 
 
 "I don't doubt you would." 
 
 "I won't say that a purchaser mightn't burn his fingers. 
 But, if all went well, there should be a big profit hanging 
 to it a very big profit." 
 
 "Houses aren't wanted." 
 
 "They would be," said Bowling, with sudden enthusiasm. 
 "Oh, I should be sorry to see it done. But at thirty thou- 
 sand at thirty-five thousand I believe there's a fortune in 
 it. Forty acres! Where else can one get building ground? 
 This town has gone to sleep for want of room to expand in. 
 All those frontage plots would go off like hot cakes. With 
 luck, one would cover half the ground and get back the 
 purchase money and have all the rest clear profit wash one 
 hand with the other." 
 
 "Think of the cost of the new roads." 
 
 "I'd do them bit by bit. Look here. Begin here at the 
 outside. Eetain the Hill Eise tenants as long as one could. 
 Why, the rents of Hill Eise would keep one going." 
 
 "Cottages or villas?" 
 
 "Villa-cottages all under one roof down here. Then put 
 better-class semi-detached above thirty to forty pounds a
 
 104 HILL RISE 
 
 year. Higher up, take the corners and build one or two decoy- 
 houses just to start people. Oh, the ground would soon be 
 covered for one." 
 
 "I wonder if you're right?" 
 
 They were both poring over the map, with heads together. 
 The old builder was so deep in thought that he scarcely heard 
 a modest tap or two on the panels of the front door. When 
 the tapping was repeated, he spoke without looking round : 
 
 "Come in. I say, come in ! ... Mr. Dowling, I wonder if 
 you are right." 
 
 "I am sure I am." 
 
 It was Dr. Blake, the eminent physician, who entered with 
 a certain dignified shyness, which seemed to indicate doubt 
 as to how his visit might be received. Standing within the 
 threshold, he coughed. 
 
 "Miss Crunden?" 
 
 "What about her?" asked old Crunden, still not looking 
 round. 
 
 "I am Dr. Blake. I have come to see your daughter." 
 
 "Oh, all right, Doctor. Go in," and Crunden nodded to- 
 wards the parlour. "You'll find her in there." 
 
 "Thank you," said Dr. Blake, no longer shy, but huffy; 
 and, assuming all his professional consequence, he marched 
 across the room behind Mr. Crunden's back. 
 
 Then, at last, Mr. Crunden turned and came towards him. 
 
 "Doctor, I wasn't attending; I was thinking of something 
 else L. S. D. . . . I am anxious about my girl very 
 anxious. Don't neglect her case. I mean, don't consider the 
 expense." 
 
 "My dear sir. Really, my dear sir," said Dr. Blake huffily ; 
 and, opening the door, he went into the next room to find his 
 patient. 
 
 Old Crunden waited till he heard Lizzie speaking to her 
 physician; then he softly closed the door, turned, and, with 
 his hands in his pockets, stood staring before him as though 
 completely lost in thought. 
 
 Mr. Dowling, at the table, was running a graduated rule 
 over the plan. "Upon my word," he said, "there's a tremen- 
 dous length of frontage. By the way, has Sir John been to see
 
 HILL RISE 105 
 
 you yet ? He told me he was coming to ask for your support. 
 Did he call?" 
 
 But Crunden gave no answer. He was not listening. 
 
 "I say," said Dowling, raising his eyes from the plan. 
 "What is it, Mr. Crunden?" 
 
 "What?" And Mr. Crunden started, and took his hands 
 out of his pockets. 
 
 "What are you looking at ? Have you seen a ghost ?" 
 
 "No," said Crunden, "I heard the sound of a ghost's voice." 
 
 "Eh ?" 
 
 "My daughter in there. Her voice reminded me of 
 somebody else's. What were you sajdng?" 
 
 "Only asking if Sir John had been here yet." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, he intends to ;" and Mr. Dowling began to fold up his 
 papers. "Look here I'll leave these with you. You can 
 keep them if you like. I've got another copy. Griggs, in 
 fact, sent me two copies out of compliment." 
 
 "Thanks; but I've seen all I want " 
 
 "With regard to Sir John," said Mr. Dowling, taking up 
 his hat and umbrella, "you understand. I'm heart and soul 
 with Sir John. But if the worst comes to the worst, and the 
 land is to be built over " 
 
 "You'd like to have a finger in the pie." 
 
 "Well, I should," said Mr. Dowling, laughing. "Good-bye. 
 Very sorry Miss Crunden's still poorly. But you can't do 
 better than Dr. Blake. Hope he'll soon bring her up to the 
 mark. Good-bye." 
 
 Mr. Crunden walked about the room till the parlour door 
 opened again, and Dr. Blake reappeared. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 Dr. Blake carefully closed the door before he spoke. 
 
 "Mr. Crunden, you tell me you are anxious. I think you 
 are right to be anxious. . . . Miss Crunden is far from 
 well." 
 
 "What is it? Not not consumption what they call a 
 decline?" 
 
 "Oh, good gracious, no ! Oh, my dear sir, nothing noth- 
 ing of the kind."
 
 106 HILL RISE 
 
 "What is it, then?" and Mr. Crunden sat down by the 
 bureau and wiped his forehead with his bandana handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Dr. Blake shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands. 
 
 "Lassitude weariness. A little run down, shall we say? 
 This hot weather has been trying. It has tried many of my 
 patients. But I have no wish to alarm you. I only thought 
 it right to say that, in my opinion, your daughter does need 
 care and attention." 
 
 "Then let her have care all the attention you can give 
 her." 
 
 "My dear sir, I think you may trust me not to overdo 
 it. I will not come more often than I think necessary." 
 
 "No," said old Crunden, hastily rising from his chair, 
 "don't go off shirty like that. I mean, if I said anything 
 wrong in etiquette, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking what I said. 
 But I ask you now to come as often as ever you like." 
 
 "Oh, my dear sir;" and Dr. Blake shrugged his shoulders. 
 But his tone was quite bland. He could relish such very 
 plain talk better now that there was no third person present. 
 
 "Come every day," said Mr. Crunden, escorting the doctor 
 to the outer door, "if you judge by the signs it's neces- 
 sary. . . . Good-bye, sir." And then he called after the 
 doctor : "Come twice a day and I won't grudge it."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHEN fellow citizens, after the town fashion, told Mr. Crun- 
 den he was "very warm," they were much nearer the mark 
 than was usual with them while paying similar compliments. 
 Messrs. Holland and Bowling had, one might indeed say, 
 scored bull's-eyes when they said that Crunden was rich with- 
 out show his money solid and yet liquid safely put by, yet 
 easy to get at. 
 
 Old Crunden loved his garnered hoard: not as a miser, 
 for love of the hoard itself, but because it represented his 
 life's work. There was honest pride in the thought of it. 
 He was a builder by instinct and by habit, and he might think 
 of his fortune as the unseen monument that he had slowly 
 built up. All his toil had gone to the building of it. 
 Money, too, is power. Here all his energy was stored 
 his life's energy converted into another form. It was 
 latent energy now, but at any moment he could release 
 it and say: "This is the power that lay in me, Dick 
 Crunden." 
 
 He hated to see investments dwindle. Though he never 
 meant to sell, he hated to watch good stocks and shares go 
 down in value. He felt as if the shrinkage was in himself. 
 With each lowered quotation in the stock list, a little strength 
 had gone from him. And he regretted the slight loss of 
 power as a strong man regrets the least atrophy of his muscles 
 or waning of his nerve force. But such diminutions were 
 rare. On balance they vanished. One sound stock went down, 
 but another sound stock went up. The only real deprecia- 
 tion of market value was in the ground-rents originally cre- 
 ated by him and still retained. Ground-rents, as a premier 
 security, had steadily dropped in price during recent years. 
 Good provincial ground-rents once fetched nearly as much 
 
 107
 
 108 HILL RISE 
 
 as metropolitan ground-rents. In Medford they had brought 
 over thirty years' purchase; then, dropping and dropping, 
 twenty-five years became the usual figure ; now it was twenty- 
 three years, or even less. 
 
 "So long as you hold them," said the bank manager, "the 
 selling price is of no consequence to you, Mr. Crunden." 
 
 Old Crunden loved the deference and consideration that 
 he was always sure of in the manager's room of the Medford 
 District United Bank. He might walk in whenever he 
 pleased, and the manager was never too busy to talk and to 
 listen. It was no "How do, Crunden ?" in here, but "Be seated, 
 Mr. Crunden ; and in what manner may we have the pleasure 
 of serving you?" Perhaps of all the town the bank parlour 
 was the only place where Mr. Crunden felt he was dealt with 
 exactly at his proper worth. In here men were weighed by a 
 most unsentimental method: the man in one scale and his 
 money-bags in the other, and no longest pedigree or highest 
 social rank added sixpence to the man's weight. 
 
 But in these days his money was nothing to Crunden 
 less than nothing. His daughter was ill. 
 
 Dr. Blake had been quick to avail himself of the tardy 
 but handsome invitation. He came now to King's Cottage 
 every morning or afternoon. 
 
 "I want to see her gain ground," said Dr. Blake. "We 
 are not gaining ground as I should wish." 
 
 Dr. Blake often used the old-fashioned "we" when speak- 
 ing of, or directly addressing, a patient. He was big, clean- 
 shaved, grey-haired; wore a frockcoat and top hat; carried 
 eyeglasses, but rarely looked through them a physician of 
 the old school. He liked such maxims as "Festina lente" 
 "Nature is our best ally," "Prevention is better than cure," 
 etc., and the only modern characteristic in his practice was that 
 he employed few drugs. Thus he hurried slowly with Lizzie, 
 gave her no hasty draughts or powders, but came regularly 
 to ascertain if she was gaining ground. 
 
 "Well?" asked the father, with increasing anxiety, "what's 
 wrong ?" 
 
 "Nothing organically wrong. You may rest assured of that. 
 Lassitude, disinclination for effort."
 
 HILL RISE 109 
 
 "Shall I make her go away for a change? It's about our 
 usual time but she says she doesn't feel up to it." 
 
 "Allow us a week or two," said Dr. Blake, "and then we 
 may be glad of a change of scene ; but at present our lassitude 
 stands in the way." 
 
 He was using the old-fashioned "we," and meant, of course, 
 Lizzie's lassitude, not his. 
 
 We would not go out for walks, we would only loll in our 
 basket chair in the garden; drives in one of the White Hart 
 landaus gave us no pleasure ; we dreaded the fatigue of a hol- 
 iday tour, with its crowded tables d'hote, noisy hotel bands, 
 and talkative fellow-passengers in trains and on steamboats. 
 We seemed to care for nothing but to sit with an unread-book 
 on our lap while we brooded and dreamed. What was the mat- 
 ter with us? 
 
 Dr. Blake thought the liver was indubitably sluggish, and 
 suggested rides upon horses. 
 
 "Take up riding, Miss Crunden. Long, quiet rides over the 
 hills and far away do you all the good in the world." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Lizzie. "I can't ride and there's no one 
 I could ride with." 
 
 "Mr. Banker, the riding-master just the person. Banker 
 is a splendid horseman. I often send my young ladies with 
 him; and they tell me he's a very pleasant, entertaining 
 companion." 
 
 "Oh, no ; I should hate it." 
 
 "Very well ; we must try something else." 
 
 Why should she be ailing pallid, perceptibly thinner, with- 
 out joy in life ? Old Crunden's heart ached when he thought 
 of it and that was nearly always. He could think of noth- 
 ing else. Sometimes, as he thought of this trouble, his feel- 
 ing was akin to anger an angry revolt against the injustice 
 of fate. He had spared no expense; he had never grudged 
 her anything that money or love could buy; he had done all 
 that was humanly possible to earn for her health and happi- 
 ness. He had a right to look for his reward, and fate was 
 cheating him again: instead of gaiety, brightness, laughter, 
 was showing him pale cheeks, sad eyes, slow footsteps. 
 
 When people talked to him as he strolled about the town he
 
 110 HILL RISE 
 
 could not listen to them: he scarcely grasped the main sub- 
 stance of their chatter. Mr. Selby stopped him, and walked 
 with him a little way one afternoon. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, young Crunden. Goin' down town?" 
 
 This white-haired old man with the shaky hands and the 
 threadbare black clothes always called him young Crunden. 
 He was old Crunden to every one else ; but he had been young 
 Crunden, working for his father, .when Selby was prosperous 
 and the chief rival of Crunden senior. 
 
 "They tell me," said Selby, "some Londoner's going to buy 
 the Hill la-'and." 
 
 "I dare say." 
 
 Crunden habitually avoided the old man, who could talk 
 of nothing but his troubles, and who depressed one's spirits on 
 the brightest day by the maundering recital of misery past and 
 misery coming. But this afternoon the spirits of the younger 
 man were so low that nothing could bring them lower, and he 
 made no effort to escape. 
 
 "Ah !" said Selby. "Yes Hill Eise la'and ! That's a rich 
 man's ta'ask. Such ta'asks are easy if you have the capital 
 of your own. Life's easy for the rich men, young Crunden 
 like a game of ca'ards. Ye can play bold and win if you don't 
 care whether ye win or lose. But they're cruel hard on ye 
 if you're working with borrowed money. The Bank has driven 
 some cruel ba'argains with me. . . . 'Tis all a question how 
 long I can hold out now. . . ." 
 
 Then Selby maundered on about his young wife and chil- 
 dren. He had been a rich man when he married for the 
 second time. "But I was fool enough to put my money back 
 into bricks and mortar. I had it out once, but I put it 
 ba'ack. 'Tis cruel hard on me young wife. I ought to give 
 her pleasures, and I can barely give her bread." 
 
 At a corner he pulled Crunden's sleeve and pointed down 
 the side road that led to River View, the terrace of houses 
 which he had built late in life, which from the first had been 
 a dismal failure. 
 
 "There, young Crunden there sta'ands my folly and my 
 punishment. I had no fear. I hoped it'd be a second Hill 
 Eise filled up with the best gentry and you know how it's
 
 HILL RISE 111 
 
 turned out. That's a rich man's ta'ask. I should never 'a* 
 touched it." 
 
 Crunden, not really listening, thinking of his sick girl at 
 home, walked with the old man as far as the bridge, and then 
 gave him a sovereign to be rid of him. 
 
 "Thank ye young Crunden. You were always a good 
 la'ad. I knew your fa'ather well." 
 
 Mr. Selby had no pride left. He was still the titular owner 
 of his disastrous Eiver View, but he would borrow five shil- 
 lings from the humblest citizen, would accept half a crown 
 as a present from the housemaid of one of his tenants. He 
 clung desperately to his ruinous terrace; from year's end to 
 year's end he struggled to avoid losing possession of it; the 
 smallest assistance in his struggle was welcome. You could 
 not offend him so long as you aided him. 
 
 Some days Lizzie seemed more languid, some days less 
 languid ; some days she seemed almost herself again ; but every 
 day day after day without fail Dr. Blake came to see her. 
 Then one day there was a sudden change to cooler weather, and 
 Lizzie seemed very much better. Dr. Blake said she had 
 gained more ground in twenty-four hours than in the last fort- 
 night. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mrs. Price to her master, "I begin to 
 think you'll have to give the doctor another hint and that I 
 was wrong to speak to you as I done and p'r'aps it was only 
 the heat after all." 
 
 "Do you think," asked old Crunden eagerly, "she's really 
 on the mend then?" 
 
 "I begin to think so. She says she's all right, and never 
 was wrong. She says it's him that worries her coming and 
 asking so many questions cross-examining of her." 
 
 But then, almost immediately, Dr. Blake did something 
 extraordinary and unexpected. He dismissed himself. He 
 had been treated handsomely by Mr. Crunden, and perhaps 
 he was anxious to show that he, too, could act handsomely. 
 The patient, in this less oppressive weather, now walked, 
 drove, and had insisted upon writing letters for her father. 
 She was out for a walk when Dr. Blake paid his last visit.
 
 112 HILL RISE 
 
 "Really/' said Dr. Blake, "unless you summon me, I shan't 
 come again." 
 
 "Does that mean she is all right ?" 
 
 "Well, my dear sir, if we have not gained as much ground 
 as I hoped, we have certainly not lost ground. I wish I could 
 be of further service but I doubt if I can. . . . May I come 
 into the garden with you? I should like a few confidential 
 words." 
 
 Mrs. Price, after admitting the doctor, had not withdrawn. 
 She was listening openly, watching the doctor's face, hanging 
 on all his words. 
 
 "That good soul," said Dr. Blake in the garden, "is some- 
 what inquisitive. I have once or twice had a little difficulty 
 in getting rid of her when I wanted to hear the patient's own 
 account of herself." 
 
 "Just so," said Crunden. "She pokes her nose in. But 
 for why? Only for this, sir: she's fond of my girl. She's 
 very fond of Liz." 
 
 "I am not surprised at that," said Dr. Blake. "And your 
 Mrs. Price is an excellent good soul, I am sure. But I 
 wanted to speak quite freely. You know, in a sense, I have 
 been baffled by your daughter's case." 
 
 "Baffled?" said Mr. Crunden, with considerable testiness. 
 "If that's the way of it, surely you could have said that before 
 now." 
 
 "My dear sir, you misinterpret my meaning," and Dr. 
 Blake's smile was blandly tolerant. "Only quacks pretend 
 to master every case they meet. Well, this is a case which I 
 have not completely mastered. Perhaps no doctor could have 
 mastered it." 
 
 "We might have given another doctor the chance, anyhow." 
 
 "Nay, nay, my dear sir; that is scarcely polite." 
 
 "I'm a plain man, sir," said Crunden gruffly. "If my 
 girl's sick, I want her sound; if she's sound well, there's 
 an end of it." 
 
 "Bear with me," said Dr. Blake urbanely. "I wish to be 
 of service to you. I am a father myself, you know, as well 
 as a doctor." 
 
 There was much kindness in his tone as he said this. He
 
 HILL RISE 113 
 
 seemed to drop his professional manner. He seemed deter- 
 mined not to be huffed. He was, of course, dismissing him- 
 self, not being dismissed by Mr. Crunden, and he had evi- 
 dently made up his mind to exit graciously. Eeally the 
 eminent Dr. Blake was not a bad old boy, in spite of his 
 pompousness, his medical maxims, and his very long bills. 
 
 "I repeat," said Dr. Blake, "I wish to be of service to you 
 both. As a doctor, I can say outwardly all is as it should 
 be but there is this lassitude. Lassitude at Miss Crunden's 
 age is a serious thing. By-the-by, how old is she exactly?" 
 
 "Twenty-two." 
 
 "So I surmised about twenty-two. A critical age always 
 a critical age. ... In our little conversations I have been 
 struck by your daughter's charm and intelligence." 
 
 "She's had a good education." 
 
 "Unquestionably. I may say not as a doctor as a father 
 Miss Crunden is a very charming young lady. I respect 
 and admire her. We all respect her." 
 
 Old Crunden snorted. 
 
 "You blackballed her for your tennis club." 
 
 "Not I, my dear sir. I proposed her. I was very sorry 
 to hear afterwards what had occurred. But now did it dis- 
 tress her make her unhappy ?" 
 
 "I told her," said Crunden proudly, "she oughtn't to care 
 two straws." 
 
 "Good advice. But then, you know, young ladies of twenty- 
 two are often fanciful they can't always act on good advice. 
 You say, however, she hasn't fretted about that?" 
 
 "No," said Crunden, after a moment's thought, "she 
 wouldn't be such a fool. No !" 
 
 "No; very good. But if some fanciful trouble oppresses 
 her well, I suppose she doesn't confide everything in 
 you." 
 
 "She's a sensible girl. If she wants anything, she knows 
 she can ask for it." 
 
 "Oh, very good. But I'll give you my conjectures it's all 
 they amount to just conjectures. I think your daughter is 
 unhappy a girl pining, as it were." 
 
 "Why should she pine ? For what ?"
 
 114 HILL RISE 
 
 "Ah ! I can't prompt you there. You can't make a guess ? 
 Nothing suggests itself to you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "When I said one is sometimes baffled by a case, I had this 
 in my mind. You know, there is a sickness that girls are 
 subject to which is not easy to diagnose." 
 
 "What sickness is that?" 
 
 "Love-sickness only a conjecture but, is she in love?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No unhappy love-affair? Not pining for some handsome 
 young fellow whom she knows you wouldn't approve of? Mr. 
 Crunden, I tell you fairly, if she is desperately in love sick 
 of love, as girls are sometimes that would at once account 
 for all the symptoms." 
 
 "No, it's not that. Can't be. We don't have young fellows 
 hanging about here handsome or ugly. Besides, my girl 
 has her head screwed on tight enough." 
 
 "Good. Then we must look out for some other reason. I 
 tbought I'd tell you what passed through my mind just to 
 offer a friendly hint which I hope you take in good part." 
 
 "I thank you, sir." 
 
 "Just a hint. You see, she has no mother to confide in. 
 I think if you can win her confidence, it may be well. En- 
 courage her to confide in you. Girls need a safety-valve; 
 girls are absurdly fanciful. I learned that at home in Hill 
 Eise, not in the hospital or lecture-room. Good-morning. 
 I shan't_come again unless you summon me."
 
 CHAPTEE X 
 
 IT was after tea, and Mary, the maid, supervised by Mrs. 
 Price, had just carried out the tea things. Old Crunden, at 
 his bureau, was trifling with the last number of The Architect. 
 Now and then a thoughtful frown brought his grey eyebrows 
 together and he glanced at his daughter, who sat in the win- 
 dow, absorbed by one of Mees's library novels. Mrs. Price, 
 with the white tablecloth gathered as a bag, had gone out and 
 shaken all the crumbs into the road. She made a practice 
 of presenting the crumbs to the birds both in summer and 
 winter, and the pretty birds, if they did not want the crumbs, 
 at least gave one an excuse for shaking the cloth in the pub- 
 lic eye. 
 
 "Lor'," she said, coming in again, "it's quite chilly. Going 
 to get some rain, I think." 
 
 "It is chilly," said her master. "Shut the lobby door, and 
 shut that passage door behind you, when you've done here." 
 
 Mrs. Price folded the white cloth, spread the ornamental 
 cloth, placed a vase of roses in the middle of the table., and 
 then retired to the kitchen. 
 
 "Lizzie !" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Put away your book, Liz, and come here." 
 
 And Lizzie obediently laid down the absorbing novel, and 
 came from the window. 
 
 "Get my pipe for me," said Mr. Crunden, pointing to the 
 mantelpiece, "and the jar. No ; I've my pouch in my pocket." 
 And Lizzie went over to the hearth. "Matches come, look 
 sharp ! I hate to see a girl crawl about a room. No life, no 
 briskness." Then, in a softer voice, Mr. Crunden asked : "Are 
 you tired, my dear ?" 
 
 "No, not particularly," said Lizzie. 
 
 As she offered the pipe and matches to her father, he put 
 
 115
 
 116 HILL RISE 
 
 his arms round her and spoke gently and most affection- 
 ately. 
 
 "Lizzie, my girl, what's the matter with you ?" 
 
 "Nothing, father; I'm all right." 
 
 "Then sit down with me here," he said cheerfully, "while 
 I smoke my pipe. I'm tired myself. . . . There." He had 
 pulled his chair round from the bureau and set another chair 
 by his side for Lizzie, and now he filled the pipe from his old 
 leather pouch. 
 
 "There ; now we're cosey." Lizzie, waiting till he was ready, 
 had struck the match for him, and he was puffing out little 
 clouds of white smoke. 
 
 "Liz, something has set me thinking of myself most 
 and of you, too. It's just this : Is there anything you fancy ?" 
 
 "How do you mean fancy?" 
 
 "Do you want horse-exercise ?" 
 
 "No, father." 
 
 "Dr. Blake let fall some remarks about horse-exercise, and 
 it has struck me how you spoke of Sir John's horses. Lizzie, 
 do you wish me to buy you a horse of your own or two 
 horses? I'll do it." 
 
 "Oh, no," and Lizzie took his hand and held it for a few 
 moments. "No, certainly not. But what an old dear you 
 are !" 
 
 "More dresses ? . . . More novels books of your very own, 
 Liz, a little library of the best books, eh? ... Another 
 piano?" 
 
 "No, of course not. You have given me everything." 
 
 "Fve done my best. Lizzie, I swear I've always tried to 
 do my best with your poor mother, with your brother, most 
 of all with you. Perhaps you don't know how much I've 
 tried." 
 
 "You've done everything, father." 
 
 "I've worked hard in my time and the work tells. I'm 
 weather-worn, rough-surfaced, but not really cross-grained, 
 Lizzie. I love you if I don't show it if I can't show it 
 as I ought. You know what they called me hedgehog? 
 "Well, I dare say they touched me off proper enough with that 
 name. But I love you most dearly."
 
 HILL RISE 117 
 
 "And I love you, father." 
 
 "I am proud of you." 
 
 "And I am proud of you." 
 
 "Gammon ! No gammon, my dear but you're not ashamed 
 of me. That's a great deal. I know that, and I am grateful. 
 I'm proud to think you have risen above me proud and 
 happy because you are like a lady, well-educated, able to hold 
 your own, in any conversation, with the best of them. . . . 
 I never spared the expense. But now I have been thinking 
 the money is all wasted if you are unhappy." 
 
 And Mr. Crunden put down his pipe on the desk, turned, 
 and stretched forth his hand. Lizzie had risen from her 
 chair. She went slowly to the window, and looked out. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "If I ever am unhappy, it is because you have done too 
 much for me." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "Father, will you believe I am grateful if I say it?" 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Then I wish," said Lizzie, with a sob, "you had spared 
 all the expense and brought me up as a working girl 
 never taught me to read and write, never taught me to dream, 
 but sent me out as a servant to work work work, with- 
 out time to dream, as I do now all day long." 
 
 "What do you dream of?" 
 
 "Utterly impossible things." 
 
 "And your dreams make you unhappy ?" 
 
 "Miserably unhappy sometimes." 
 
 "Ah !" 
 
 Lizzie sobbed again, wiped her eyes hastily, sniffed once or 
 twice as she put her handkerchief away; and then came back 
 from the window and laid her hands on her father's shoulder. 
 
 "Father, I oughtn't to have said it. Don't notice what I 
 said. I am very grateful, really." 
 
 "Sit down. Listen to me: I have made one great mistake 
 about your brother Dick." 
 
 "You didn't understand him." 
 
 "And he didn't understand me. He despised my work. 
 But I blame myself. He was led astray by others. Well, I
 
 118 HILL RISE 
 
 might have saved him. I let him go. I wanted him to have 
 his lesson, and then come back and we'd start fair again. . . . 
 I never thought of his dying before we could make it 
 up. ... I blamed myself. Lizzie, your mother blamed me. 
 It broke your mother's heart she was never the same after- 
 wards, and she told me on her deathbed to be careful with 
 you. . . . That's what I've been thinking of very often 
 lately your poor mother's words. I promised her I'd do my 
 best." 
 
 "You've been too good to me." 
 
 "Now, what are your dreams? If they're impossible, 
 they're beyond me; if not, I'll spend my last penny to make 
 you happy. ... I can't say more. . . . Why don't you 
 answer ?" 
 
 Lizzie had turned away her head. She pushed back her 
 chair and was about to get up again. 
 
 "No," said Crunden sternly; "stop where you are! You 
 are all I have left; you and I must understand each other. 
 We'll have no more mistakes. Tell me the truth. What are 
 you pining for?" 
 
 "Father I can't tell you." 
 
 "And I say you shall." 
 
 He had spoken very sternly, even roughly; and now he 
 stood over her and grasped her wrists to hold her in the 
 chair. 
 
 "Father don't please ?" 
 
 "Is it love ? Show me your face ! Is that it ? Sick of love 
 are you? Well, don't be afraid. Answer me!" 
 
 She had brought her face down to his hands and would not 
 raise it. 
 
 "Father, let me go !" 
 
 "Answer me !" 
 
 "Then yes !" 
 
 "Who is it? Tell me the man's name." 
 
 0h I can't!" 
 
 "Who is it ? Answer me !" 
 
 She had begun to cry. He could feel her tears on his hands. 
 He stooped over her to catch the whispered words. 
 
 "Father, it's hopeless quite hopeless."
 
 HILL RISE 119 
 
 "That's for me to judge, not for you. Who is it? ... 
 What? I can't hear." 
 
 "Mr. Vincent." 
 
 Old Crunden dropped her wrists, drew back, raised his arm, 
 and shook a clenched fist above his head. 
 
 "Vincent ! Mr. Jack Vincent !" And he laughed bitterly. 
 "Why in the name of reason?" 
 
 "Because I can't help it." 
 
 "Why can't you help it? Why? Because he lives at the 
 very top of Hill Kise. Have you fallen under the spell, too ?" 
 And gesticulating violently, he walked about the room. "He 
 is idle, dissolute " 
 
 "No, no !" 
 
 "Good for nothing but because his father is a baronet;" 
 and old Crunden bowed low as if to an invisible presence. 
 "Because he rides a cock horse, kisses his gloved hand to 
 every wench he passes " 
 
 "No never !" 
 
 "Listen to me !" and old Crunden stopped in his furious 
 pacings. "He is one of those who set my boy wrong. If 
 he comes philandering after you " 
 
 "He doesn't." 
 
 "But you've been meeting him on the sly." 
 
 "Father!" cried Lizzie indignantly. "I haven't spoken 
 to him for eight years not since he used to come here with 
 poor Dick." 
 
 "When you were a child but you didn't fall in love with 
 him then?" 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 "You must be out of your senses. You must be mad." 
 
 "I only wish I was dead." 
 
 "There, there," and Crunden came back to his daugh- 
 ter's side. "Don't be a fool ; don't cry. Come, come," and he 
 sat down again and spoke very gently, "confide in me as 
 though I was your mother. Tell me all about it. It's non- 
 sense utter nonsense but it'll do you good to tell me." 
 
 "Father, I'm ashamed of myself to be so silly and you'll 
 never understand." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I shall."
 
 120 HILL RISE 
 
 "Well you don't know how good he is. Mother liked him, 
 Dick adored him " 
 
 "Worse luck!" 
 
 "He was a good influence for Dick. He tried to keep him 
 straight. He warned him against Mr. Lardner and all the 
 others." 
 
 "Oh, Lord !" 
 
 "And he was good to me bringing me sweets in boxes, 
 playing with me and Dick, acting things together and I 
 couldn't help loving him. No one could." 
 
 Mr. Crunden grunted loudly. 
 
 "So," said Lizzie, "after Dick was gone, and he never came 
 again, I worked him into all my dreams. You don't know how 
 girls dream they can't help it. The more I read and learned, 
 the more I dreamed. That's the worst of books they're so 
 unlike life. In books nothing makes any difference I mean 
 rank or wealth. Love bridges every gulf. . . . That's all, 
 father. Don't be angry. I'm not a fool really; it's only a 
 silly dream of what might have happened, quite naturally, 
 if if I had lived in Hill Eise." And Lizzie once more burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Old Crunden made a gesture of despair, got up, and walked 
 about again. 
 
 "I tried not," said Lizzie, drying her eyes and sniffing, "but 
 I'd no work to occupy me. If I'd only had work to do; if 
 you'd still been in business, and I could have really worked 
 for you as a clerk or bookkeeper real work all day long 
 I could have prevented myself. . . . But, father, it's nothing 
 at all a dream. You forced me to tell you. I wish I hadn't 
 told you." 
 
 "I'm glad you told me. And is that all about it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "On your honour, there's no more to it? No secret meet- 
 ings, no letters?" 
 
 "No on my honour." 
 
 "You've just been pining for my lord as he rode by your 
 window and dreaming that you were my lady!" And Mr. 
 Crunden endeavoured to laugh cheerfully. "Well, well ; what 
 next? Ha-ha! It is a good joke, really. You'll get over
 
 HILL RISE 121 
 
 it, my girl you and I will laugh at it together. There 
 there " 
 
 Just then the electric bell, ringing sharply, interrupted Mr. 
 Crunden's affected cheerfulness. 
 
 "Some one at the door," Lizzie whispered, as she rose 
 hastily. "I'll go;" and she hurried away to hide her tear- 
 stained face and red-rimmed eyes. 
 
 "Front-door bell," said Mrs. Price, coming in from the 
 kitchen passage. 
 
 Mr. Crunden put his finger to his mouth and crossed the 
 room on tiptoe. 
 
 "Wait ; I won't see any one," he whispered. "Say I'm busy. 
 No, best say I'm not at home," and he placed himself inside 
 the threshold of the passage. "Now answer the bell." 
 
 Then Mrs. Price opened the lobby door, and a voice was 
 heard outside asking courteously, "Is Mr. Crunden at home ?" 
 
 "Oh, Lor'!" said Mrs. Price, stepping back. "Oh, yes; at 
 home to you I'm sure if he isn't at home to any one else ;" 
 and she dropped a curtsey, drew back further to make spacious 
 entry for the august visitor, and in awestruck tones announced 
 his name and title. 
 
 "Sir John Vincent, sir." 
 
 "How do, Crunden ?" said Sir John, offering his hand. 
 
 "I I'm nicely, thank you, sir," said old Crunden, shaking 
 hands. 
 
 "Can you spare me a few minutes for a chat about this 
 most disturbing business?" 
 
 "What wha what?" old Crunden stammered. "What 
 you mean sir ?" 
 
 The visitor nodded towards the white bill that decorated 
 the wall. 
 
 "This most troublesome sale." 
 
 "Oh ah, yes, of course. Just so. ... Won't you sit 
 down, Sir John?" 
 
 The visitor was self-possessed, pleasant-mannered, easily 
 gracious ; he laid down his hat and cane, and with a quite un- 
 consciously patronising smile accepted the chair which the 
 host had pushed forward for him. The host was embarrassed,.
 
 122 HILL RISE 
 
 flurried, nervous; his grey hair was disordered, his face 
 flushed, his movements were awkward and abrupt. 
 
 "You, no doubt, have been thinking of Hill Eise ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; I have been thinking a lot about it." 
 
 Mr. Crunden said this over his shoulder. He had gone to 
 the parlour door, opened it, looked through into the other 
 room, and then closed the door again. Now he went to the 
 passage door, opened and closed that. 
 
 "I have, sir thought much." 
 
 "Won't you sit down also ?" said Sir John, very pleasantly. 
 "I come to you for help, Mr. Crunden. I am sure you will 
 aid us. I consider we are all threatened I mean the whole 
 town will suffer if we don't save Hill Kise." 
 
 "Do you think so, sir?" 
 
 "I do, indeed. I have been sounding everybody; all seem 
 agreed. This is a case in which the Hill and Town should 
 act as one man." 
 
 "And what should the one man do, Sir John?" 
 
 "Well," and Sir John looked rather blank for a moment, 
 "that's not so easy to say. The real way out of the difficulty 
 would be to buy the estate, put it in the hands of trustees, 
 and preserve it forever. Mr. Crunden, don't you think the 
 town ought to buy the property? Don't you think the cor- 
 poration ought to provide half the money at least?" 
 
 "Has the corporation the power?" 
 
 "They might dedicate a portion to the public make a 
 pleasure park of it. They could dedicate all the meadows on 
 the western side without injuring us," and Sir John put his 
 hand in his pocket. "Just glance at this," and he brought 
 out the auctioneers' catalogue. "Messrs. Griggs have sent me 
 an advance copy as a compliment." 
 
 "Yes, I have seen it." 
 
 "Really! I didn't know they had sent any others. . . . 
 Mr. Crunden, I make no secret : this scheme has frightened me 
 out of my wits almost. It is really too infernal." 
 
 "Looks worst on paper, p'r'aps." 
 
 "Mr. Crunden, can't we put our heads together and do 
 Bomething? Do help us with your weight and influence, 
 and your knowledge of business matters. ... I am trying
 
 HILL RISE 123 
 
 to get up a meeting. I am doing all I can, but time is so 
 short. Mr. Crunden, I make no secret. I am in earnest 
 bitterly in earnest when I say the thing is a confounded 
 nightmare to me. My dread is, we shan't be given time they 
 may sell by private treaty before the advertised date. . . . 
 Fellows have been down from London going over the ground. 
 There was a fellow with a red tie and a white hat, who meant 
 business sort of surveyor from one of these land com- 
 panies. I believe that fellow in the red tie meant to make 
 a reporting bid the minute he got back to London." 
 
 Mr. Crunden had again gone to the parlour door and 
 opened, then softly shut it. 
 
 "Sir, I think I might help you." 
 
 "Do like a good fellow." 
 
 "If I gave my mind to it, I believe I could work out some 
 plan." 
 
 "Yes, do, do." 
 
 "But, Sir John, I can't give my mind to it not now." 
 
 "Think it over, but remember, hours are precious." 
 
 "I can only think of one thing at a time, and I'm thinking 
 of myself now." 
 
 "Surely our interests are identical. You don't want the 
 place ruined." 
 
 "Sir, may I speak frankly ? May I speak my thought ?" 
 
 "By all means." 
 
 "I have very little interest with the corporation. They 
 went fierce against me when I opposed them building the 
 new Town Hall " 
 
 "A piece of extravagant folly." 
 
 "Just so ; but those who ought to have supported me, kept 
 me off the Council; they turned me out. The town thinks 
 naught of me." 
 
 "But the town knows you are rich." 
 
 "They don't know how rich I am." 
 
 "I congratulate you." 
 
 Mr. Crunden was nervously wiping his hands with his ample 
 bandana handkerchief. There were beads of perspiration on 
 his forehead, and a red glow rose to his temples as he made 
 his unusual boast.
 
 124 HILL RISE 
 
 "I'm a richer man than folk guess. I've worked hard 
 and I've done right well. . . . Sir, I follow your lead : I make 
 no secret. As a gentleman said to me the other day it was 
 Mr. Cowling he said I hadn't gone in for display kept 
 my money safe, out of sight, but it's there all right." 
 
 "I am sure," said the visitor patronisingly, but kindly, "you 
 deserve the respect of all. It is the men of your class who by 
 steady industry amass fortune, and who are wise enough not 
 to have their heads turned by prosperity, and " 
 
 "Yes, but I'm an ambitious man. I have great ambitions 
 tremendous ambitions." 
 
 "No unworthy ambitions, I am quite sure." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. There's my daughter. I'm ambitious 
 for her. Sir, I have worked hard to make a lady of my girl." 
 
 "Not without good results. She is a charming young lady." 
 
 "That's the very words of another gentleman who lives 
 in Hill Eise. It was Dr. Blake. Another gentleman, he said 
 my girl can't look too high. That was Mr. Dowling again. 
 He said it, and he meant it." 
 
 "Mr. Crunden," said Sir John, with unaffected kindliness, 
 "you are thinking of that unfortunate business at the Club. 
 I can assure you it was simply a rule that couldn't be 
 broken. It was in no sense an affront to Miss Crunden." 
 
 "Thank you. No tradesman's daughter! It was meant 
 for me. That's how I took it. Poor girl ! Her father stood 
 in her way. But her father can get out of her way when 
 the time comes." 
 
 "Crunden my good fellow, let me see what I can do. If an 
 exception can be made we'll make it. Is that what you 
 want from us ?" 
 
 "No; I want a thousand times more. I want your son 
 from you I want your son, Mr. Jack, for my daughter's hus- 
 band. That's my ambition." 
 
 For a few moments the visitor stared at his host in open- 
 mouthed surprise. 
 
 "I fear that ambition cannot be realised. . . . But you are 
 joking?" 
 
 "No, I'm not. . . . No, don't answer me now. Think 
 it over;" and the host leaned across the table and spoke with
 
 HILL RISE 125 
 
 extraordinary eagerness and intensity. "I know how it must 
 sound at first. Just a dream a mad dream old Crunden 
 gone out of his senses. But, sir, it's all right." 
 
 "Stop please! Has my son been foolish enough to rouse 
 hopes ?" 
 
 "No; never a word said. But he'll do it, if you ask him. 
 Why shouldn't he ? My girl isn't the sort to frighten a man 
 and there's money behind her." 
 
 Sir John laughed, and was about to rise. 
 
 "Keally, this is rather absurd. My son is over thirty." 
 
 "He'd do what you tell him. Please don't answer me now. 
 I ask you to think it over." 
 
 "Mr. Crunden what shall I say? We have very different 
 views for our son. When he marries, it will not, I think, be 
 for money, and it will be in his own walk of life that is, if he 
 marries with my consent." 
 
 "Don't answer me. Sit down, sir, and hear me out; then 
 think it over. Your lad's thirty more'n old enough to be 
 settled. What good's he doing loafing I should say, stroll- 
 ing about the town here? Where's he drifting, where's he 
 dropping to while he waits his turn till you are gone?" 
 
 Sir John pushed back his chair. 
 
 "Don't mind how I put it. Take the sense, not the words. 
 I'm in earnest bitterly in earnest. J Tis the wisest thing- 
 you could do for him. You say : Marry with your consent 
 suppose he doesn't ask it? S'pose he comes and tells you he 
 means to marry some barmaid at the White Hart, or a singing* 
 wench from the theatre. You can't stop him. Let him take 
 my girl. He'll get a girl who who'll love him with all her 
 heart when he asks her to do it and I'll move out of their 
 way. I won't disgrace them. Old Hedgehog Crunden will 
 disappear down the next hedgerow." 
 
 Sir John rose and stood, hat in hand. 
 
 "There! This is my offer, Sir John. I am bitterly in 
 earnest. Think of it don't answer. It's a fair bargain. Let 
 me have the son-in-law I've set my dreams on, and I'll save 
 Hill Eise. I can do it somehow. I'll do it for you, and I'll 
 settle twenty thousand in cash or ground-rents on them 
 two; and you shall settle Hill House, to come to them when
 
 126 HILL RISE 
 
 you are gone. There : that's the bargain. Take time to think 
 of it." 
 
 "Really, time is not necessary. I have explained that really 
 it can't be thought of seriously." 
 
 "No, no ! Don't answer." 
 
 The ease of manner and smiling self-possession of Sir John 
 had vanished. He had been vastly surprised, considerably 
 embarrassed; he appeared to make an effort to summon back 
 the unruffled presence of the great Sir John of Hill House, 
 chairman of public meetings, magistrates' bench, etc. But 
 the effort was not entirely successful; kind feeling, perhaps, 
 warred with outward dignity. 
 
 "Really," he said, "I must, at all costs, be explicit. Im- 
 possible. Your bargain is impossible. Mr. Crunden, we are 
 born with our prejudices foolish prejudices, it may be but 
 we can't shake them off." 
 
 "Think it over." 
 
 "I don't wish to be discourteous; but, if you can only help 
 us on these terms in the plainest words I would rather see 
 Hill Rise in the hands of the speculative builders." 
 
 "So, that's your answer?" 
 
 "Yes, that's my answer, Mr. Crunden." 
 
 Old Crunden pulled himself together, gave his head a shake, 
 and, before he spoke, moved towards the front door. 
 
 "Very good, sir. All right. That's over and done with. 
 Please forget what I've said. Please don't go away and 
 laugh at me." 
 
 "No," said Sir John at the door; "no, certainly not." 
 
 "I'd ask you humbly Sir John, as a favour, "never to 
 speak of it to any one. Not to Mr. Vincent himself." 
 
 "Not to him?" and Sir John hesitated. "Yes," he said 
 kindly. "Very well, Mr. Crunden, I'll respect your wish ;" and 
 he offered his hand. "Let's both forget all about it," 
 
 "Thank you," said Crunden, not seeming to see the offered 
 hand. "Let me open the door for you, Sir John." And he 
 stood by the door, bowing low, as Sir John passed out. 
 
 Lizzie, upstairs in her room, heard the front door shut, and, 
 looking out of her latticed window, saw the visitor walk across
 
 'I want your son, Mr. Jack, for my daughter's husband.'' Page 124
 
 HILL RISE 127 
 
 the road. She came bounding down the stairs, ran through 
 the parlour, and burst into the sitting-room. 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She was holding a hand to her side as though sudden fear 
 or haste had taken her breath away; her lips trembled, her 
 voice shook. 
 
 "It was Sir John, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, it was Sir John." 
 
 "What were you talking about so long ?" 
 
 "You." 
 
 "Father you didn't tell him? Say you didn't tell him !" 
 
 "I did my best. I asked for his son's hand in marriage, 
 and he refused." 
 
 "Father! How could you? Oh, it was cruel it was 
 wicked of you to betray me." 
 
 "I didn't betray you. Don't blame me." 
 
 "I think I shall die of shame. Oh, father! Don't you 
 understand what you've done? All the world will laugh 
 at me. If they knew, there's not a girl in the place -but 
 would point at me and mock at me. . . . And what will Mr. 
 Jack think of me when he hears ?" 
 
 "He won't hear and I kept you out of it in that sense. I 
 asked for myself." 
 
 "But Sir John will tell him and then he'll guess." 
 
 "No, he won't. Sir John promised not to tell him. Sir 
 John will keep his word."
 
 CHAPTEE XI 
 
 LIZZIE CRUNDEN" took to her bed, turned her face to the 
 wall, and wished that the bed had been her grave. At least, 
 she believed that she wished it. She whispered the words to 
 herself : "I wish I was dead. I only wish I was dead." The 
 wall was just before her eyes, in reach of her hand; and 
 with her finger she traced the outlines of bouquets and rib- 
 bons that repeated themselves again and again on the wall- 
 paper, while she lay thinking, thinking, thinking. At night 
 she stared with widely opened eyes through the heavy dark- 
 ness of the room at the lesser darkness outside the muslin 
 curtains of the window. And by night and by day hot shame 
 swept over her, in great waves, every time that she thought 
 of Mr. Jack. One thought especially made her like a swimmer, 
 struggling, drowning in a vast sea of shame. 
 
 It was the second time that she had proposed to Mr. Jack. 
 This was the thought that completely overwhelmed her. For 
 years now she had flushed hotly whenever she remembered 
 that as a child she asked Jack to marry her. That was a 
 thing even a child should not have done. And now that she 
 was grown up, her father, acting as ambassador, had done it 
 for her again. Mr. Jack, if he heard of the second diplomatic 
 proposal and could one hope that he would not sooner or 
 later hear of it? would immediately recall the first most 
 brazenly direct proposal. 
 
 Mrs. Price, with handkerchief, plain water, and eau-de- 
 cologne, could not take the throb from one's forehead; or, 
 with tea and lemonade, slake the fever of this dreadful 
 thought. Only one alleviation of torment was within the 
 scope of Mrs. Price. 
 
 "Pricey, keep Dr. Blake away. Don't let him be fetched. 
 If he comes here questioning me, I shall go out of my mind 
 or get up and commit suicide." 
 
 138
 
 HILL RISE 129 
 
 Such wild words frightened Mrs. Price sorely. 
 
 "Oh, my pet, we must fetch him if you ain't yourself. 
 You do seem worse than the headache should make you." 
 
 "It's only a headache and and a crisis of nerves," said 
 poor Lizzie, compelled to account for her trouble, and perhaps 
 achieving a lucky fluke in diagnosis. "Promise you'll keep 
 Dr. Blake away. At any rate, till to-morrow." 
 
 "It's on'y her nerves, sir," said Mrs. Price, downstairs, 
 with a long face. "And she'll be better to-morrow." 
 
 Lizzie thought of herself as a woman who had offered her 
 heart to a man, who had earned the reprobation of all woman- 
 kind even though the offer had been made unintentionally, 
 quite by accident. She thought of herself as grown up; yet 
 in truth she was only a child still. In spite of her twenty- 
 two years, she was childlike in feeling and sentiment; no 
 more a real "grown-up" than the young gentlemen of the Hill 
 than Mr. Lardner at forty, or Mr. Eidgworth at fifty. The 
 soft, enervating southern air had kept her, too, young and 
 foolish. But as she lay now painfully brooding over the 
 present and the past, it was as though her childhood was slip- 
 ping from her forever. This was the end of all her childish 
 dreaming. This was what her nonsense had brought : writh- 
 ing shame, shaking fear of public discovery and world-wide 
 disgrace. 
 
 What had her love been ? Nothing, really as she had told 
 her father vague smoke rising here and there from little 
 rubbish heaps of thought set on fire by careless fancies ; vague 
 fumes hovering over a lake of stagnant erudition; essence of 
 idiocy laboriously distilled from hundreds of trashy library 
 novels. Not Jack Vincent, the man himself, had been the 
 object of her desire, but a splendid impossibility; not a live 
 hero, but all the heroes in all Mr. Mees's novels rolled into 
 one moving, smiling shadow of a man. The real Mr. Vincent 
 had no power over her; she was only in love with his shining 
 ghost. That was her love, as it seemed to her now, and yet 
 she had been unable to hold it in safe-keeping. She must 
 needs babble of her folly. The craving to talk of it had 
 rendered her an incompetent guardian of her own secret. 
 
 Then she thought of her schooldays, and the schoolgirl
 
 130 HILL RISE 
 
 loves about which they all used to chatter. Every girl in the 
 school who had passed her fourteenth birthday was in love 
 with somebody the school doctor, the Eastbourne curates, the 
 Eastbourne riding-masters ; or, failing such handy local lovers, 
 just the actors, statesmen, soldiers, chosen from the revolving 
 racks of picture post-cards. One girl Edie Pritchard had 
 a hundred and twenty-three post-cards bearing the portrait of 
 a famous general. She could love none other ; and if nothing 
 came of it, if they should never meet, or he should be killed in 
 battle, she would live and die unmated. She said so herself. 
 Sybil Goring worshipped the music-master, a notoriously mar- 
 ried man, who came to impart expression to the elder girls 
 when Miss Metzler had given them executive force and ac- 
 curacy. "I worship him," said Sybil, not in the least hiding 
 her secret. "I would lie down before his feet and let him 
 trample on me. . . . Look out ! here he comes." And per- 
 haps, in an access of maidenly confusion, Sybil ran away from 
 her all-unconscious enslaver. 
 
 They talked of their loves, whispered as they trudged two 
 by two, were chaffed and teased about their loves; suffered 
 heart pangs one minute, enjoyed almond rock the next; and 
 in the end no harm came to them from the love or the sweet- 
 meat. Both were forbidden by the school authorities, but the 
 almond rock was the more dangerous of the two ; it woke you 
 in the night sometimes and made you seriously uncomforta- 
 ble, whereas a freely discussed love never yet kept a schoolgirl 
 awake. 
 
 Thinking of these matters, poor Lizzie Crunden reached 
 something like a calm analysis, and worked out her general 
 law. Love talked of vanished; like a volatile gas it floated 
 away in chatter and laughter, innocuously mixed itself with 
 the sunlit air, and produced no explosion. It was deadly and 
 tremendous only when you bottled it up too closely. If she 
 could have obtained girl friends for trusting confidence, she 
 would have been cured of Mr. Jack long ago. She was almost 
 bursting when her father sternly questioned her, and Mr. Jack 
 came gurgling out with a most lamentable expansion. 
 
 Well, she thought, she was cured now; but alas, at what 
 a cost!
 
 HILL RISE 131 
 
 Old Crunden came upstairs to see her once or twice while 
 the crisis of nerves still endured. He sat by the bed, patted 
 her shoulder, took her hot hand, and stroked it softly. 
 
 "Lizzie, my dear, don't let yourself down like this." 
 
 "I can't help it, father; I can't get over your telling Sir 
 John." 
 
 "Don't you worry about that; it was just between Sir John 
 and me. It won't go any further." 
 
 "Why did you?" 
 
 "I don't know. For half an hour I was under the spell 
 myself, I suppose. But I want to break the spell forever." 
 
 Another time Mr. Crunden, sitting by the bed, appealed to 
 Lizzie's pride and courage. 
 
 "Liz, my lass, don't lower yourself; get up and come out, 
 and show yourself to all the world by your father's side. I 
 want you by my side." 
 
 "I'll be better to-morrow. Then I'll get up and do any- 
 thing you tell me." 
 
 "That's right. I can't stand it your lying here all the 
 day. I want to see my girl bright and cheerful. Whatever 
 I have done, Liz, I did it for your sake. Don't blame me, but 
 help me. Show yourself by my side." 
 
 Then Lizzie promised to finish with her little crisis. She 
 would get up and be right; but, before resuming everyday 
 life, she wished to go away from Medford. 
 
 "Take me somewhere right away, father, where I can for- 
 get all about it." 
 
 But Mr. Crunden said that "after this upset" he felt he 
 could not go holiday-making. 
 
 "You should have come when I asked you, Liz, then all 
 this wouldn't have happened. I can't go now." 
 
 Yet he wished her to have the change of air and scene 
 spoken of by Dr. Blake. Could they not find some one to take 
 Lizzie? He would not grudge the expense of a lady-com- 
 panion. 
 
 Lizzie finally thought of an elderly Miss Fleming, who had 
 been a governess at the Eastbourne School. This lady, with 
 whom Lizzie corresponded, might act as chaperon. And the 
 lady jumped at the chance. She would take her well-remein-
 
 132 HILL RISE 
 
 bered, highly valued Lizzie Crunden for a fortnight to a most 
 delightful farmhouse on the north coast of Cornwall. 
 
 "Very good/' said Mr. Crunden; "let her come down here 
 to stay the night, and if I like the look of her, we'll arrange 
 it." 
 
 Miss Fleming, by sobriety of demeanour and by ladylike 
 conversation, at once satisfied Mr. Crunden that she was a 
 proper person for the charge, and with her Lizzie went away. 
 
 "Come back your old self, Liz," said her father, on the 
 morning of departure. "That's all I ask. . . . We'll be wiser 
 both of us henceforth. And perhaps I'll find some work 
 for you. You know what you said. If I give you real work 
 helping me will you do it with all your heart ?" 
 
 "Yes, I promise." 
 
 "All right, my lass. Good-bye. Come back your old self." 
 
 But this Lizzie could not promise. As the good swift train, 
 carried her westward to the land of yellow gorse, black rocks, 
 purple heather, she knew that her old self was gone, never to 
 return. She had taken to her bed as a foolish, overgrown 
 child; she had risen from it a responsible woman. No more 
 nonsense now ; she would eat plenty of Cornish cream, drink in 
 the strong, clean wind, harden her limbs with arduous climb- 
 ing and tramping; get thoroughly strong and well, and bring 
 home to father a wise, staunch, unflinching daughter. This 
 must be her task : to live down and expiate the follies of youth 
 by a blameless and steady middle-age.
 
 CHAPTEE XII 
 
 THE date of the sale had come and gone. 
 
 Nothing had issued from all the excitement and all the 
 meetings. The Town would not interfere; the Hill was not 
 ready with any definite plan of action. It was as though after 
 opening the campaign with energy, the commander-in-chief 
 and his generals, when the day of battle came, had no availa- 
 ble force to put into the field. One might doubt if a single 
 man went up from Medford to see what happened in the 
 Mart, London, at 3 P.M. precisely. Medford read in the news- 
 papers of the catastrophe. The property had been offered in 
 one lot, and knocked down for thirty-seven thousand pounds. 
 Was this a real bid, or merely the auctioneers buying in for 
 the owners? No one in Medford seemed to know for certain, 
 but the London newspapers said it was a sale. Local rumour 
 added that Sir John still active had heard from Messrs. 
 Firmin, who confirmed the newspaper reports. The auction- 
 eer's hammer had dealt a genuine knockdown blow; but the 
 purchase was not yet completed. Until the completion of the 
 purchase the solicitors must withhold the purchaser's name. 
 
 One afternoon of late August, Mr. Jack Vincent and a 
 friend discussed the position of affairs, and nothing could bet- 
 ter illustrate the frivolity, apathy, or cynical composure of 
 the younger generation than their words and their manner in 
 the presence of a nearly consummated disaster. 
 
 They were in the big dining-room of the Hill House. 
 Luncheon was done. Short, the butler, with Henry and 
 Thomas, the two footmen, in their brown liveries and canary 
 collars, was clearing the table. Peace, repletion, drowsiness 
 were in the warm air. Short, putting things away in the 
 great sideboard, and the footmen, stacking glasses and plates 
 on a wooden tray, moved languidly as dreamers who would 
 never awake, and paused to look through the open windows 
 
 133
 
 134 HILL RISE 
 
 across the sunlit lawn at two gardeners, who were amusing 
 themselves rather than working with the pony and the mow- 
 ing machine. 
 
 It was the best, the most quietly noble room in the house 
 everything about it old-fashioned, old-established, solidly per- 
 manent, from the double mahogany doors to the white busts 
 on black pedestals, the deep and immensely heavy leather 
 armchairs, or the huge coal-box by the fireless hearth; and 
 this afternoon the room was as a temple of well-guarded 
 repose. 
 
 Mr. Jack Vincent reclined in one of the armchairs, with a 
 foot on the marble jamb of the fireplace. Every now and 
 then he took the cigarette from his mouth and slowly and care- 
 fully blew rings and watched them float upward. He was in 
 riding breeches and continuations, and dress pumps. At 
 some time since his morning ride he had evidently attempted 
 to change his clothes, but, after taking off his gaiters and 
 boots, had renounced further effort. 
 
 Young Mr. Charles Padfield, dressed in dark flannels, sat 
 cross-legged on the chair he had used at luncheon, and also 
 smoked a cigarette, but blew no rings. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Charles lazily, "I must be off." Then, 
 without stirring, after a pause, he repeated the statement. 
 "Yes, I must be off." 
 
 Mr. Vincent, looking at the ceiling, did not take the least 
 notice of his friend's words. 
 
 "Sir," said Short, the butler, to his young master, "shall we 
 disturb you?" 
 
 "Eh? What?" 
 
 "We want to arrange the room for the meeting, sir;" and 
 Short waited for an answer. "If we begin moving the furni- 
 ture shall we interfere with you?" 
 
 "If you do, you'll hear about it." 
 
 Short seemed troubled by this reply. "But, sir " 
 
 "Oh, go on !" and Mr. Vincent laughed. "Don't mind me." 
 
 "Nor me," said Mr. Padfield. "I must be off, anyhow." 
 
 Contented with this permission, Short and his assistants 
 pushed the big table farther towards the window, began to 
 carry chairs and place them in rows behind the table.
 
 HILL RISE 135 
 
 "I must be off," said Charlie Padfield, "but I wouldn't mind 
 another glass of port. We left the decanter half-full;" and 
 he looked at the sideboard. "Disappeared!" 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, "Short finished that in his pantry." 
 
 Mr. Short stopped working immediately. 
 
 "As it happens, Mr. John, that ball's off the wicket, sir. 
 The port is in the pantry undrunk. But it won't be drunk 
 by you, Mr. Padfield. Her ladyship had bespoken it for one 
 of her invalids. If you wish to know her name " 
 
 "I don't." 
 
 "Mrs. Newboult." 
 
 Henry, the younger of the footmen, here interposed viva- 
 ciously. 
 
 "I wish I had Mrs. Newboult's complaint. On behalf of 
 science I offer myself for the port-wine cure." 
 
 "What you gassing about?" said Mr. Padfield. "No one 
 spoke to you." 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir." 
 
 "Short," said Jack dreamily, "what's the move now?" 
 
 "Only these chairs, sir, and we'll leave you in peace." 
 
 "I don't mean that. I mean the meeting. Who's com- 
 ing this afternoon?" 
 
 "All the influential people of the town, sir." 
 
 "Oh, we've had them before;" and Jack spoke more and 
 more dreamily. "Hill Eise is sold. Why don't they shut 
 up own they're beat, and make the best of it? ... We 
 are an effete, played-out aristocracy doomed to extinc- 
 tion." 
 
 "Exactly," said Charlie Padfield, "what I tell my mother : 
 Make the best of it. She won't own herself beat. Tries to 
 believe the sale was a trick to frighten her that it isn't 
 sold really." 
 
 "That," said Short gloomily, "was Sir John's hope all 
 our hope, sir. But that hope was dashed to the ground the 
 day before yesterday. Sir John had it direct from the 
 solicitors." 
 
 "Who was it ?" asked Jack. "The man in the red tie ? The 
 Governor swears it was some fellow in a red tie." 
 
 "The solicitors won't give the name till it's all signed and
 
 136 HILL RISE 
 
 delivered but they'll send on any offers. That's what Sir 
 John has called the meeting for." 
 
 "Short, will it matter? What's your own opinion?" 
 
 "Why, what do you think, sir?" 
 
 "I don't think about it." 
 
 "Devastation, sir, I call it. My opinion is Sir John's. 
 Strain every nerve to save something from the wreck ?" 
 
 "What wreck?" 
 
 "Why, this house along with the rest ;" and Short waved his 
 arm towards the windows. "How'll it be when you look out 
 over our garden at the backs of a lot of jerry-built villas ?" 
 
 "I shan't look. I shall look the other way." 
 
 "Exactly," said Charles Padfield again, "what I tell my 
 mother. Take it like a sportsman. If you're beat, never let 
 ? em see you mind." And with great deliberation Mr. Padfield 
 aimed his cigarette at the fireplace, and launched it. But the 
 cigarette, not reaching the mark, fell on the hearthrug. 
 "Jack !" and Mr. Padfield pointed helplessly. "Jack ! I say !" 
 
 Mr. Vincent, without moving from his chair, stretched his 
 right foot and pulled the burning cigarette to the safety of 
 the hearth. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," said Henry, the footman. Mr. Short had 
 left the room, and Henry, in the absence of his superior 
 officer, was always of a waggish turn. "Beg pardon, I'm sure. 
 That accident was my fault for not bringing you a ash- 
 tray. If Hill House had been burnt down, I should have taken 
 the blame on myself." 
 
 "You talk too much," said Mr. Padfield. "No one spoke to 
 you." 
 
 "Henry," said Jack, "what's your opinion about Hill Rise? 
 You are rather an ass." 
 
 "In that case, sir, my opinion can be of little value." 
 
 "Let's hear it for what it's worth." 
 
 "Silence," said Charlie Padfield, "for Henry Budd, an 
 alleged footman." 
 
 Henry, standing by the table, struck an attitude and appar- 
 ently tried to represent a typical public speaker, while Thomas, 
 the other footman, lingered by the sideboard and grinned 
 admiringly.
 
 HILL RISE 137 
 
 "Thus encouraged/'' said Henry, "I will rise to address this 
 influential meeting. I will state the whole of my opinion, 
 which is that the influential people of this town have made 
 laughing stocks of themselves. Ever since June they have 
 been saying what they would do next. It made me tremble 
 and perspire to hear them. They was going to eat anybody 
 as touched Hill Else. They talked as big as giants and what 
 has followed? It has just been sold over their heads, as 
 though they were so many mice. . . . Hear! hear! And 
 loud cheers. Now I will proceed " 
 
 "Oh, shut up !" said Mr. Padfield. "You aren't funny." 
 
 "P'r'aps," said Henry, "you aren't a judge, sir;" and he 
 glanced at Thomas, who was highly diverted. "I have the 
 better part of my audience with me." 
 
 Then there was some sharp give and take between Mr. 
 Padfield and Henry; but in this passage of wit Mr. Padfield 
 was so clearly worsted that he became angry, and with a red 
 face got up from his chair. 
 
 "Impudent ass ! Oh, you go to the devil !" 
 
 "Thank you, sir. P'r'aps you'll show me the way. Gossip 
 says you're on the road." 
 
 "That'll do, Henry," said Jack Vincent authoritatively ; and 
 he, too, rose from his chair. "Just go upstairs and fetch my 
 boots." 
 
 Henry was at once crestfallen and alarmed. 
 
 "All right," continued Jack. "You deserve to be kicked, 
 but I'm not going to do it. Only want to change my slippers. 
 I'm too tired to change my clothes;" and he yawned and 
 stretched himself. 
 
 "And you," called Mr. Padfield to Thomas, following Henry 
 out of the room ; "you fetch my hat, will you ?" 
 
 The boots and the hat were soon brought, but by the time 
 they arrived the energy of their owners had subsided again. 
 Mr. Jack began slowly to fill his pipe, and Mr. Charles, as 
 though in unconscious imitation, began to fill his. They were 
 thus engaged when Lady Vincent entered the room from the 
 garden. 
 
 "Your father not with you? I hope he is resting." 
 
 "Quietly getting up steam somewhere," said Jack; and he
 
 138 HILL RISE 
 
 pointed with his pipe at the table and the ranged chairs. 
 "Decks cleared for action." 
 
 "Oh, Jack, don't smoke a pipe in here ! You know all the 
 world is coming." 
 
 "All right," said Jack, and he put the pipe in his pocket. 
 
 "'Well, Lady Vincent," said Charlie Padfield, putting his 
 pipe away, "afraid I must be off." 
 
 Lady Vincent smiled politely. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Charles. Give my love to your mamma 
 but, of course, I shall see her later on." 
 
 "Afraid you won't. She's seedy or thinks she is." 
 
 "Oh, dear," said Lady Vincent, "how unfortunate! We 
 wanted her support." 
 
 Mr. Padfield, sauntering round the table, had nearly 
 reached the window when Jack called after him. 
 
 "Come back for the meeting?" 
 
 "I don't know," murmured Mr. Padfield. "I don't know;" 
 and then, as if unexpectedly sapped of all initiative, or too 
 much fatigued to go further, he slowly sank into a chair by 
 the window. 
 
 Lady Vincent, with her back to the window, was unaware 
 of this collapse. She had turned to her son, and her tone 
 became more confidential. 
 
 "Your father, Jack, is in a great state of mind about this 
 meeting." 
 
 "Is he?" said Jack. "He always is about such things. It 
 amuses him." 
 
 "But about this he is terribly in earnest more so than I 
 ever remember." 
 
 "You know, mother the prevailing idea seems to be that 
 the Governor is making a considerable ass of himself." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "From what people say" and as Jack lazily continued 
 speaking, he brought out his pipe and groped for the match- 
 box behind him on the mantelpiece "as far as I can gather, 
 the opinion is this: The fuss and chatter has gone on ever 
 since June all talking and threatening like giants. Don't 
 know what the Guv'nor and the rest weren't going to do. 
 Very well;" and he struck a match.
 
 HILL RISE 139 
 
 "Jack, don't." 
 
 "All right ;" and he blew out the match. "Well, then, what 
 happens ? At the advertised date, Hill Eise is jolly well sold 
 over their heads, as though as though " 
 
 "They were so many mice," said Mr. Padfield. 
 
 Lady Vincent started violently, turned, and spoke with 
 coldness. 
 
 "I thought you were gone." 
 
 "Yes, I must go." 
 
 And, as soon as Lady Vincent had turned her back again, 
 Mr. Padfield really did go. Very slowly rising, he passed 
 slowly out into the sunlight on the lawn. 
 
 "Your father's strong hope now," said Lady Vincent seri- 
 ously, "is to save the situation by buying back a strip of the 
 meadows a protecting belt four or five acres which would 
 really save us from the worst. We should still have the best 
 of the tennis courts and space to breathe in. That, after all, 
 is the essential thing. Don't you agree with me, Mr. 
 Padfield?" And, looking round, Lady Vincent started. 
 "He has gone. . . . Jack, that is a very worthless young 
 man." 
 
 "Yes, isn't he ? Just like the rest of us." 
 
 "Don't say that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I know you don't mean it, but it pains me to hear you 
 classing yourself with these vacant, foolish friends and 
 satellites." 
 
 "Do you count me a class all to myself unique?" 
 
 "I count always on your rousing yourself doing great 
 things one day." 
 
 Jack laughed and shook his head good-humouredly. 
 
 "It is only that, Jack just to rouse yourself. Take an 
 interest in life not let it glide by you. Be something more 
 in the world than our son," and Lady Vincent laid a hand 
 upon his arm, "our loved son." 
 
 "I am," said Jack, smiling and with affected pride. "I am 
 an ex-militia officer. Vice-president of the Lawn Tennis and 
 Croquet Club. Past-master of the Lodge 3215 of Freemasons. 
 Also a Buffalo but I don't reckon such small deer. And
 
 140 HILL RISE 
 
 some one told me the other day I was the most popular man 
 of us Hill-folk among all the townspeople." 
 
 "The townspeople," said Lady Vincent, "are beneath con- 
 tempt false patriots. Your father finds they have no real 
 backbone wait to see which way the cat jumps. The Mayor 
 Mr. Lovett on whom one relied, has been absolutely inver- 
 tebrate. That architect Mr. Dowling has rendered no 
 assistance." 
 
 "You are well-primed by the Guv'nor." 
 
 "Also that Mr. Crunden " 
 
 "Hedgehog Crunden!" 
 
 "Your father is highly incensed with him. He has refused 
 all assistance, and when invited to come to-day and help, even 
 at the eleventh hour, replied almost impudently that he'd 
 come to hear the speechmaking " 
 
 But Mr. Jack defended the character of old Crunden. To 
 his mind, Mr. Crunden was the best of the townies a good 
 sort, when you knew him. He also had words of praise for 
 Miss Crunden. She used to be the jolliest little child in the 
 world ; and now, he added, she had grown into a very decent- 
 looking girl. 
 
 "Very funny thing," said Jack. "I've only just twigged 
 which girl is Lizzie Crunden. She's that jolly nice girl that 
 wears the blue frocks. She looks as nice as can be and I 
 call it a beastly shame of our girls sitting on her and snub- 
 bing her " 
 
 "I am sorry for her," said Lady Vincent, not unkindly, 
 "but she brings it on herself. She is pushing." 
 
 "She has never pushed up against me/' said Jack. "I 
 haven't spoken to her for years." 
 
 "Why should you?" 
 
 "Because she's an old friend. I'd have spoken quick enough 
 if I had twigged she was the girl in blue." 
 
 "I am sorry for the poor girl," said Lady Vincent. "Of 
 course she is not to blame for her father and her position 
 is anomalous. But she should understand, and not push her- 
 self where she isn't expected. Then she wouldn't be snubbed." 
 
 "Poor Miss Lizzie! I think our girls want a jolly good 
 snubbing themselves;" and again Jack spoke in praise of his
 
 HILL RISE 141 
 
 humble friends. "Tell Sir John he is off the line about old 
 Crunden. He may take it from me the old chap's a trump." 
 Then, with a laugh, he added, "I am bound to stick up for 
 him." 
 
 "Why are you bound ?" 
 
 "Oh, we are brothers Masons to begin with; and fair's 
 fair. Mother, I'll tell you. He lent me fifty pounds the other 
 day!" 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 "I was in a hole stuck for money." 
 
 "But why," asked Lady Vincent, in consternation, "why 
 didn't you ask your father for it?" 
 
 "Can't you guess?" said Jack archly. 
 
 "He mightn't have been able?" 
 
 "The Governor doesn't like having his ear bitten." 
 
 "But Crunden ! Why did you ask him ?" 
 
 "I don't know. Pure fun. I wanted to bite somebody's 
 ear to that tune. You know what I mean ? Slang !" 
 
 Lady Vincent nodded her head earnestly. 
 
 "I met the old chap in the street. So I thought : What a 
 lark to try and bite the Hedgehog's ear! You might have 
 knocked me down with a feather when he said yes. He 
 walked me straight into the White Hart and wrote the cheque 
 in exchange for my I. 0. U." 
 
 "He must be repaid at once." 
 
 "Then the Governor's ear will have to be bitten after all." 
 
 "That is your only course. But don't upset him before the 
 meeting. He did not sleep last night." Lady Vincent was 
 greatly perturbed by what Jack had told her. To her the 
 acceptance of a loan from a common townsman seemed a 
 most dreadful occurrence : a presage or omen of future disas- 
 ters arising from that unhappy taste for low company. "Jack," 
 she said, "you have frightened me. Oh, Jack, pull yourself 
 together rouse yourself for my sake." 
 
 Jack had stooped to pick up his boots. He stood holding 
 the boots, and spoke lightly, but with great tenderness. 
 
 "Mother dear, don't you bother about me. I'm all right. 
 And don't don't turn against what is, after all, the work 
 of your own hands. You and the Governor have spoilt me. I
 
 142 HILL RISE 
 
 love you for it. But" and something of emotion sounded 
 beneath the light tones of his voice "but too late now as 
 to what you say. I wanted to do things my father wouldn't 
 let me. I had my dreams on bright mornings in spring- 
 time especially. Heard the whisper in the east wind we've 
 all heard it even that old rotter, Charlie Padfield: 'Wake! 
 Get up ! Put your boots on ! Do something !' . . . You 
 and my father didn't wish it. ... I turned over and 
 slept. . . . Too late a whisper can't wake me now." 
 
 He stood with a boot in each hand, smiling at his mother; 
 then sat down and kicked off one of his slippers. 
 
 "Oh, Jack," said Lady Vincent piteously, "you distress me 
 by saying but, oh, my dear boy, don't change your boots in 
 here. It is such a horrid habit, and you know how it upsets 
 your father." 
 
 "All right;" and even as he spoke, Sir John's voice was 
 heard outside in the hall. 
 
 "Jack ! Here he is. Don't let him see them." 
 
 "Eight-o." 
 
 And Jack hastily opened the large coal-box, put his boots 
 inside, and dropped the flap upon them. 
 
 "Don't upset him," said Lady Vincent. "I'll be back 
 directly to receive the ladies." 
 
 Sir John seemed extraordinarily nervous and fussy this 
 afternoon. Short, who followed, bearing inkstand, papers,, 
 etc., was unable, for a little while, to satisfy him as to arrange- 
 ments for the meeting. 
 
 "Show them all in here, Short, as soon as they arrive ; don't 
 keep 'em hanging about. That chair won't do. We want a 
 bigger chair for the chairman. . . . There. That's better." 
 
 "Yes, Sir John. Will you have the inkstand in front of you, 
 Sir John?" 
 
 "In front of the chairman's place. I may not be the chair- 
 man." 
 
 "Surely," said Lady Vincent, as she went out of the room, 
 "that goes without saying in your own house." 
 
 "Well, perhaps. Matter of form, but Short, another ink- 
 stand. And the sketch maps. The sketch maps." 
 
 "Yes, Sir John."
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 At last Short had put the table in order, and father and 
 son were left together. Sir John was still nervously fussing, 
 giving finishing touches, moving an inkstand two inches to 
 the right, smoothing a blotting pad. His son, jingling money 
 or keys in a trouser pocket, had a friendly, tolerant smile as 
 he watched him fussing. 
 
 "Well, Sir John! Beady for the fray? Thirsting after 
 their plebeian blood ?" 
 
 "Don't call me Sir John," said his father irritably, and 
 then he made plaintive appeal. "Jack, don't chaff to-day. 
 ' This is serious infernally serious." 
 
 "For the life of me, I can't see it's so bad." 
 
 "You don't understand;" and Sir John, as he turned from 
 the table, showed a face that was almost haggard. 
 
 "I understand," said Jack, "it's a gone coon the whole 
 thing. . . . But does that matter to us so much ? You have 
 all your own ground to ward off intruders." 
 
 "I tell you, you don't understand." 
 
 "No, but I'm trying to." 
 
 "I make no secret. If I can't get my new scheme through" 
 and Sir John glanced round as though to make sure they 
 were quite alone "I shall be utterly done. I know it was that 
 fellow in the red tie pig of a fellow he looked and if he 
 won't treat with us, and we can't raise funds to buy back some 
 of the land well, this place is ruined, and I am done." 
 
 "If the worst comes to the worst, why not sell it for what 
 it will fetch and buy another place ? The world is large." 
 
 Sir John sat down in the chairman's seat, and, with averted 
 eyes, busied himself in dividing the little pile of sketch 
 maps. 
 
 "Jack, I'll not make a secret of it any longer. I couldn't 
 sell the place." 
 
 "Why not? It's freehold." 
 
 "Yes; but it's mortgaged." 
 
 "Mortgaged?" 
 
 "Up to the hilt, as they say over the hilt, as it now 
 appears." 
 
 Jack came to the table, and sat down facing the chairman. 
 
 "Jack, I don't mind saying that I have muddled things
 
 144 HILL RISE 
 
 financially. But this sale coming like a bolt from the blue 
 was unexpected." 
 
 "Bolts from the blue generally are unexpected." 
 
 "It has fairly put me in the cart. All I wanted was 
 time." 
 
 "Time for what?" 
 
 "To pull straight, my dear fellow. I'll make no more 
 secrets, Jack. I have muddled things. When I effected this 
 mortgage, I pulled myself straight for the time but only for 
 the time. Of course, at the back of my mind, there was poor 
 cousin Harriet. Something that must come sooner or 
 later." 
 
 "But cousin Harriet has taken her time." 
 
 "Exactly. Heaven knows I wouldn't wish any one's time to 
 be cut short. But when a poor soul has lost the use of hands, 
 feet, brain it would be a mercy." 
 
 "And, may I ask, how long have you been outrunning the 
 constable ?" 
 
 "Years and years. The mortgage was to clean the slate, 
 and start fresh. And, you see, it was such a splendid mort- 
 gage. There's the pinch don't you see?" 
 
 "I can't quite follow." 
 
 "Well, I didn't muddle that. I really got too much. No 
 margin don't you know. The moment their security was 
 threatened by this sale, they had a revaluation and told me if 
 Hill Rise went to the builders, they must have their money, 
 or foreclose. ... So now" said Sir John, with a kind of 
 pallid, gloomy triumph, "you understand why I took the thing 
 up so strongly." 
 
 "Yes, I understand now." 
 
 "I've been at 'em hammer and tongs to give me time. 
 That's all I want. It would come right in the end." 
 
 "Would it?" 
 
 "Well, cousin Harriet can't last forever. That would set 
 me really straight. Even now, I can rub on if things work 
 out this afternoon. I've settled it with the mortgagee's solici- 
 tors that if we can obtain what I call a protecting belt, they'll 
 postpone foreclosure for a time at least." 
 
 "But if not?"
 
 HILL RISE 145 
 
 "They must reluctantly act on their valuer's report. Most 
 damaging report they showed it to me." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "It's all U. P. Jack, I make no secret of that." 
 
 "Well I'm hanged;" and Jack laughed somewhat bitterly. 
 "Dead broke ! Just when I wanted to bite your ear." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing. But I say do you mind my asking ? How 
 on earth have you got through your money ?" 
 
 "Keeping up appearances. I think you are quite right to 
 ask. But don't trot away with the idea that I have been 
 er playing the fool in any way. Oh, no. Just that our 
 position in the world. Not to drop it." 
 
 "That's it, is it?" and Jack got up and walked away from 
 the table. "Keeping up appearances as rulers of Hill House 
 astonishing the world with the magnificence of old Short 
 and Henry and Thomas ;" and he laughed again. "Our posi- 
 tion! Who knows, who cares outside this stupid town? 
 Who has ever heard of us ?" 
 
 "Don't take it like that." 
 
 It was curious how gradually the manner of Mr. Jack had 
 changed. His voice became firmer, harder, deeper of tone; 
 his careless smiles had gone ; he laughed shortly and abruptly. 
 Yet, in his few reproaches, there was no real unkindness. 
 It was all as between old comrades. 
 
 "Well, father, you have sold me. I can't help saying it 
 you've made a fool of me." 
 
 "But not intentionally. I confess I have muddled things." 
 
 "You have trained me as a fine gentleman, with this up your 
 sleeve and now I'm useless. . . . And I liked work really 
 always admired work would have worked if I'd been given 
 work to do. But you stopped me in all my ideas. Now, 
 what the deuce shall I do? What the deuce am I to do?" 
 
 "If if put to it. Only a suggestion ! I hate the notion of 
 it, Jack. You might do what the dukes do: look about and 
 marry for money even beneath you." 
 
 "There won't be any one beneath me when I'm in the 
 gutter." 
 
 "Don't take it like that."
 
 146 HILL RISE 
 
 "Anyhow, I couldn't do it even to get out of the gutter." 
 
 "No ;" and Sir John studied his son's face anxiously. "You 
 wouldn't have lent yourself to any alternative of that kind a 
 mercenary marriage?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I was quite sure you wouldn't. Well, I shall fight for my 
 scheme;" and Sir John picked up his pile of small sheets 
 and carefully distributed them round the table. 
 
 "The mater?" asked Jack suddenly. "Is her income all 
 free? Her seven hundred a year, or whatever it is is that 
 entirely free?" 
 
 "No," said Sir John, without looking round. "No, Jack. 
 No confound it. We are living on that." 
 
 "Well," said Jack firmly, "if the smash comes, and upon 
 my honour it seems likely, it means" very firmly "my 
 putting on my boots ;" and he stared resolutely at the coal-box. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "I'll relieve you of one burden. I'll go." 
 
 "Your mother," said Sir John, very busy with the little 
 sheets, "your mother wouldn't dream of it. I implore 
 vou " 
 
 "No. I won't stay and sponge on you and the mater any 
 more." 
 
 "Sponge ! My dear fellow !" 
 
 "But what the deuce shall I do? By the way, does the 
 mater know the state of the case?" 
 
 "Not a word of it." 
 
 "You've sold her as well as me ?" and Jack laughed. "What 
 a lot of selling, to be sure. Hill Rise the dear old mater 
 and me! Jolly well sold!" 
 
 "Jack you take it the surprise like a good pal?" 
 
 "That's all right, father;" and Jack came to the table and 
 laid a friendly hand on Sir John's back. "I'm off to change 
 my breeches. Hark! Here they come. A bold face on it. 
 Never say die." 
 
 Then Jack briskly retired, and almost immediately Short 
 flung wide the mahogany doors and announced first-comers. 
 
 "Mr. Garrett, Mr. Hope Mr. Holland, Mr. Hopkins, Mr. 
 Eaton, Mr. Brown "
 
 HILL RISE 147 
 
 In a very little while it seemed that, responding to Sir 
 John's invitation, the whole of Medford had assembled at 
 least, all that was best and most representative seemed already 
 to be here; and yet Short without intermission continued to 
 announce important people. The footmen were ushering in 
 less important folk through the French windows; and soon, 
 from the windows to the table, that side of the room was 
 blocked so that only with the greatest difficulty could one 
 thread one's way through the crowd. Soon the buzz of con- 
 versation was so strong that Short, really bellowing names, 
 could scarce make himself heard. 
 
 "Major and Mrs. Meldew Mr. and Mrs. Annendale. Miss 
 
 Annendale Mrs. and Miss Granville Miss Wace ," etc., 
 
 etc. 
 
 The ladies in their garden-party costumes gave brightness 
 and animation to the scene. Lady Vincent took entire charge 
 of the ladies, marshalling them on seats of honour between the 
 fireplace and the head of the table, making every one welcome, 
 and attending to everybody's comfort. Thus on the arrival 
 of old Mrs. Padfield, tremendously grand in vast bonnet and 
 black silk gown, but much overcome by the heat, Lady Vin- 
 cent gave her a paper fan, and, taking her through the crowd, 
 found her a seat close to the table but within reach of the 
 fresh air from the windows. The Hill Eise girls came in such 
 force that her ladyship was soon obliged to let them take care 
 of themselves ; she had all her work with their mammas. 
 
 Sir John attended to the men only, and indeed his task was 
 no light one. Here were Town and Hill mingling, trades- 
 men and gentry side by side, incongruous elements fused by 
 Sir John's command; tact and skill were sorely needed from 
 the very first. Sir John, bustling from group to group, had 
 genial looks, cheerful words, amicable hand-grips for one and 
 all. In these busy moments before the real business could 
 begin, he was quite himself the great Sir John of Hill 
 House, a born leader of men, saying the right thing with- 
 out apparent thought as if by a splendid instinct. 
 
 If one might judge from scraps of talk here and there about 
 the room, Sir John's last appeal had been well received by 
 the Town. It was distinctly a modest scheme ; there could not
 
 148 HILL RISE 
 
 be much to pay ; perhaps the Hill meant to put up most of the 
 money. The High Street tradesmen especially appeared to 
 countenance the proposal, and even to be willing to bear their 
 part of the cost. In talk, at any rate, Sir John had a large 
 support. 
 
 "Mr. Bowling," roared Short. "Mrs. Page Colonel Beau- 
 mont." 
 
 Sir John, passing from one knot of talkers to another, had 
 been buttonholed by Mr. Hope, the editor. 
 
 "Did you," asked Mr. Hope, "see the Advertiser this morn- 
 ing the leading article ?" 
 
 "Yes. Invaluable. Just at the right moment." 
 
 "I have," said Mr. Hope, also buttonholing Mr. Garrett, 
 "I think I have worked up the indignation steadily. The in- 
 dignation is now very great. You have the town now solid 
 at your back." 
 
 "That," said Mr. Garrett, "is a comfortable feeling." 
 
 Then Colonel Beaumont came blundering, calling for all 
 Sir John's tact. 
 
 "Vincent," said the Colonel, "I trust you have excluded all 
 those newspaper fellows." 
 
 "Tscht ! Tscht !" said Sir John. 
 
 "I am here," said Mr. Hope warmly. "I am here, Colonel 
 Beaumont the Editor of the Advertiser" 
 
 "To whom we are greatly indebted," said Sir John. 
 
 "Oh, ah that may be," said Colonel Beaumont. "But it 
 was agreed a private meeting." 
 
 "Say no more," cried Mr. Hope. "I shall withdraw " 
 
 "Not for worlds," said Sir John; and, looking round, he 
 raised his voice. "Gentlemen, I will explain our proceedings 
 are private and confidential. But Mr. Hope is present by 
 special invitation and he will give such notice in the press as 
 he thinks discreet and proper." 
 
 "We can trust Mr. 'Ope," said Councillor Holland. 
 
 "Yes," said Alderman Hopkins, "we're safe with Mr. 
 'Ope." 
 
 "Exactly," said Sir John. "We may give all our thoughts 
 freely." 
 
 People were still coming in. Short announced in quick
 
 HILL RISE 149 
 
 succession, Mrs. Ridgworth, Mr. shorn, Mr. Rogers. Sir 
 John looked at his watch, made his way to the table, and 
 seated himself in the chairman's place. 
 
 "Can you tell me," said Mr. Eaton, the solicitor, loudly 
 and distinctly to a neighbour, "who is to be in the 
 chair ?" 
 
 Sir John rose hastily and moved away from the table. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "ladies and gentlemen, our first 
 duty must be to elect a chairman. I have called you together 
 but " and he looked round at his friends. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Garrett suavely, "I pro- 
 pose that Sir John take the chair." 
 
 "I 'ave pleasure," said Councillor Holland, "in seconding 
 that proposal." Then, glancing at the show of hands : "Car- 
 ried, I think " 
 
 "Unanimously," said Mr. Garrett. 
 
 "Thank you;" and Sir John went back to the chairman's 
 place and stood by it. "Now, if you will be seated," and he 
 pulled out his watch again. "A quarter to four ! But I think 
 we should give a little law before getting to work." 
 
 "Dr. Blake," announced Short. 
 
 "Come to the table, Dr. Blake. As I was saying, we will 
 give five minutes law, and meantime I will ask you to examine 
 the detailed plan and I will read you one or two letters." 
 
 "Mr. Crunden and Miss Crunden." 
 
 "Ah, how do, Crunden ? Very glad to see you here ;" and Sir 
 John, turning, bowed politely to Miss Crunden ; and then sat 
 down. 
 
 The ladies were now all established on the seats allotted to 
 them. No chair was vacant for Miss Crunden in this part of 
 the room. She stood near the Hill Rise girls near them but 
 not of them embarrassed, hesitating, while her father worked 
 himself through the seated men. Her face was tanned by 
 Cornish air and sun, but she blushed through the sunburn as 
 Lady Vincent spoke to her. 
 
 "We are pleased," said Lady Vincent graciously, but show- 
 ing some surprise, "to see you also, Miss Crunden. So good 
 of you to take an interest." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Crunden," said Miss Annendale, drawling, "is
 
 150 HILL RISE 
 
 that you? I didn't recognise you for the moment not ex- 
 pecting to see you here." 
 
 "Quite a monster meeting, isn't it ?" said Miss Granville. 
 
 But at this moment, while Sir John opened more letters 
 brought in by Short, the attention of the Hill Eise young 
 ladies was diverted from Miss Crunden to a personage of the 
 highest social distinction. Mr. Jack had come in. Mr. Jack 
 had changed his clothes. He was now in a blue serge suit, 
 but he still wore his dress pumps. He had not been able 
 to change these, because he had omitted to retrieve his boots 
 from their hiding-place in the coal-box. 
 
 "Mr. Vincent/' called one of the Hill Eise girls, "come and 
 sit by us." 
 
 "Do, Mr. Vincent," called another. 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Jack, nodding rather gravely at them, 
 "I should spoil the picture. You all look so nice." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Miss Annendale. "This is the ladies' gal- 
 lery, but you may come if you behave yourself." 
 
 Then Mr. Jack did come across the room; but, to the un- 
 mitigated disgust of the young ladies, it was only to talk 
 to Miss Crunden. 
 
 "Mr. Vincent," said Miss Annendale, leaning forward in 
 her chair, "we'll make room for you. You won't spoil 
 the picture." 
 
 But Mr. Vincent had turned his broad back to the ladies' 
 gallery, and he chose henceforth to ignore it. Perhaps, ren- 
 dered thoughtful by recent disclosures, he was not in a mood 
 for badinage with the best society. Or perhaps he quickly 
 understood that poor Miss Crunden was being snubbed be- 
 cause she had once more pushed herself where she was not 
 expected, and as quickly determined that she should be 
 given all his smiles to console her for the cold looks of 
 others. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie !" he cried, and Miss Lizzie bowed slightly and 
 stiffly. "Miss Lizzie, don't you know me? Won't you know 
 me?" and she was obliged, very shyly, to shake hands with 
 him. "Where are you going to sit? How jolly your 
 coming." 
 
 "My father forced me to come. I didn't want to come."
 
 HILL RISE 151 
 
 Miss Lizzie was painfully constrained and nervous in 
 manner. 
 
 "You didn't know/' said Jack, smiling now gaily, "you were 
 going to meet me a real old friend and old playmate;" 
 and he looked at the ladies' gallery without seeming to 
 see it. 
 
 "Let me find you a seat, and let me have the honour and 
 the pleasure of sitting by you. We can talk about old times 
 in the intervals of business. There," and he nodded, "over 
 there, we can be out of everybody's way." 
 
 Then he steered Miss Crunden over to the other side of 
 the room, where her father was standing, and grimly beckon- 
 ing to her. By the weight of Jack's personal prestige, chairs 
 were somehow procured for the three of them. 
 
 "Do you remember our games?" 
 
 Mr. Jack had said he would talk in the intervals of busi- 
 ness, but he talked, or whispered confidentially, even when his 
 papa was reciting momentous letters. Mr. Crunden frowned 
 upon him; Miss Crunden answered him shyly, hesitatingly, 
 coldly; but still for a little while he talked. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie remember our games in the garden?" 
 
 "I am afraid I have forgotten all about it." 
 
 "No? You were the pirate's wife I was the pirate and 
 poor old Dick was the Eoyal Navy." 
 
 "Was he?" 
 
 "You remember our acting? Don't say you've forgotten 
 that famous drama. I began 'with hand upon his heart';" 
 and Jack suited the action to the words " 'Madam, to you 
 I humbly bow and bend.' That was your cue. Don't you 
 remember ?" 
 
 "It was so long ago. I'm afraid I've quite forgotten." 
 
 "How's old What's-her-name ?" whispered Jack. "Hope 
 she's going strong. Pricey! How's Pricey-picey ?" 
 
 But here Jack's whisper, together with the chairman's re- 
 cital, was drowned by unseemly noise from the background of 
 the audience. It was apparent now that the less important 
 people in front of the windows had come for amusement as 
 much as for business. There was a slight disposition to tu- 
 mult caused by the selfish efforts of young Mr. Padfield, who
 
 152 HILL RISE 
 
 had squeezed in at the window, and was seeking to secure a 
 lofty perch for himself by sitting on the back of a chair. 
 
 '"Ere 'old 'ard. Thank you for nothing." 
 
 "All right. Others want to see same as you. Push 'im 
 over/' 
 
 From this point the business of the meeting suffered from 
 occasional noise. Loud voices several times interrupted rudely, 
 and the interruptions were greeted with hoarse laughter. 
 
 "As I was saying," continued Sir John: "Letters of regret 
 from the Mayor. From Admiral Lardner of No. 11 who 
 regrets he is travelling for his health in the Tyrol; who 
 would certainly be here but he is a thousand miles away. 
 From Captain Sholto, No. 4, who is confined to his bed, and 
 wishes every success. And also from Mrs. Padfield " 
 
 "Eh!" said Dr. Blake. "What?" 
 
 "No. 7 who is overcome by the recent heat ; but Mrs. Pad- 
 field is with us in spirit." 
 
 "I am with you in person," said old Mrs. Padfield, draw- 
 ing her chair nearer to Dr. Blake's elbow, and fanning her- 
 self. 
 
 "Capital ! You have made an effort." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Padfield stoutly, "and I mean to make a 
 speech, too." 
 
 "Well, ladies and gentlemen, we may safely assert that this 
 is an influential and a representative assembly. The Town 
 Council Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Holland;" and Sir John bowed 
 and gave a sweep of the hand. "'Public opinion Mr. Hope. 
 Hill Rise every leaseholder of one mind. You have studied 
 the small sketch map which I sent you, and you no doubt 
 grasp the scheme. The green strip will save us. Four acres, 
 three roods, and thirty-eight rods, poles, or perches " 
 
 "Never mind the perches," called a voice. 
 
 "But take care of the poles," said another voice; and there 
 was much hoarse laughter. 
 
 "Say five acres thereabouts. The situation is desperate 
 I make no secret. But we can snatch this from the fire. 
 Surely, ladies and gentlemen, in such a case there will be no 
 difficulty in raising the money. That is our only difficulty. I 
 am sure if we make application to buy back five acres "
 
 HILL RISE 153 
 
 "But where do we apply?" 
 
 "The Estate Solicitors. I have their letter before me. They 
 still hold back the owner's name till the purchase is com- 
 pleted and the conveyance signed. But they will promptly 
 put us in touch if we have a definite proposal." 
 
 "Some bloated London Syndicate," said Alderman Hop- 
 kins, "trying to destroy our town, I suppose." 
 
 "One of these Land Companies/' said Councillor Hol- 
 land. 
 
 "I would like to say," and Dr. Blake rose, "as a medical 
 man as well as a resident in Hill Kise, that I consider this 
 open space most important; to sterilize germs, and to avoid 
 unpleasing and dangerous odours. If you are to have here a 
 congeries of stuffy houses, one hundred yards of unimpeded 
 air will, in my opinion, be essential " 
 
 Old Crunden was now guilty of unseemly interruption. He 
 gave so loud and scornful a snort that many people laughed 
 again, and all near him turned round to see who had made 
 the noise. The chairman looked across the room at him, as 
 if to inquire whether he wished to speak; but Mr. Crunden 
 sat with clasped hands and lowered eyes, as though uncon- 
 scious that he had disturbed anybody. 
 
 "Quite essential," said Dr. Blake, resuming his seat, "in 
 my opinion." 
 
 "I," said Mrs. Padfield, pulling her chair still closer to 
 the table, "will subscribe fifty pounds"; and there was some 
 applause. 
 
 "Bravo !" cried Sir John. "Bravo ! You have opened the 
 ball, my dear madam." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Padfield, looking about her resolutely, "but 
 I'll tell the gentlemen of the Town Corporation or what- 
 ever you are I'll tell you what I think of you. I don't know 
 which you are " 
 
 "I am Mr. 'Opkins." 
 
 "Alderman Hopkins." explained Sir John. 
 
 "I am Mr. 'Olland and there's Mr. Ope, too. All three of 
 us on the Council." 
 
 "And I," said Mr. Eaton facetiously, "mean to be on it." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Eaton, and we mean to have you on it."
 
 154 HILL RISE 
 
 "Well, then/' said Mrs. Padfield, "Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Hol- 
 land, Mr. Hope, and you, Mr. Heaton " 
 
 "Eaton," called a rude voice, "not Heaton. Don't waste 
 an H. They're short of them on the Council." 
 
 "Mind your own business, sir," said Mr. Eaton, in anger. 
 
 "Order, please," said the Chairman deprecatingly. 
 
 "I don't care," said Mrs. Padfield, "what your names are, 
 but I tell you to your faces, it's you have brought this trouble 
 on us " 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Padfield " 
 
 "I pay rates and taxes and I'm entitled to speak. The rates 
 are outrageous. You seem to think you can do just as you 
 like in your ugly Town Hall and we gentlefolk are to be 
 taxed out of existence " 
 
 "This," said Alderman Hopkins, "is an indictment- 
 
 "You go on adding your pennies to the Income Tax " 
 
 "The Town is not responsible for the Income Tax " 
 
 "Yes, it is." 
 
 "Oh, come," said Councillor Holland, "I protest " 
 
 "And I have to pay. But have I a vote ? No." 
 
 "Yes, you 'ave." 
 
 "I say I have not. And how dare you contradict me ?" 
 
 "You are represented in municipal affairs, and if you don't 
 vote " 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes," said Sir John. "My dear Mrs. Padfield. 
 Gently, I beseech you." 
 
 Councillor Holland was fuming wrathfully. 
 
 "I never 'card such 'umbug." 
 
 "Be this as it may," said Sir John. "Surely surely we 
 are wandering from the point. Do let us keep to the point." 
 
 "What is the point ?" asked blundering Colonel Beaumont. 
 
 "May I?" said Mr. Garrett, and he arose to take control 
 of the meeting. As a retired solicitor, he was of course accus- 
 tomed to public speaking; his voice was suave, and he looked 
 most dignified standing at the chairman's side, holding a paper 
 in one hand and a gold pencil case in the other. "Ladies and 
 gentlemen, I have pleasure in subscribing another fifty 
 pounds," and again there was applause. "Moreover, in the 
 few minutes since Mrs. Padfield's generous announcement, I
 
 HILL RISE 155 
 
 have obtained conditional promises for a further four hun- 
 dred. Eeally it is an investment as well as a safeguard if 
 we can secure these five acres at a moderate figure and I see 
 no reason why the new owners should not meet us fairly at 
 the market price." 
 
 "If it's a London Company," said Alderman Hopkins, 
 "they'll blackmail us." 
 
 "Do not let us conjure up bogies. Gentlemen, with the 
 handsome response already received I take it on myself to 
 say that the money will be forthcoming." 
 
 "That," said Mr. Eaton, "is a bit strong." 
 
 "We feel strong because we have the whole town at our 
 backs." 
 
 "Hear, hear !" said Mr. Hope. 
 
 "And I propose," continued Mr. Garrett, with persuasive 
 blandness, "that we open negotiations without delay. I would 
 suggest that we forthwith appoint and depute a committee of, 
 say, two or three influential men and, if you wish, myself 
 to make a conditional offer " 
 
 "I shall be glad," said Sir John, "to assist on the Com- 
 mittee." 
 
 "I," said Mr. Hopkins, "propose Mr. 'Olland." 
 
 "I," said Mr. Holland, "propose Mr. 'Opkins." 
 
 "I propose Heaton," said a rude voice. 
 
 "I am quite willing to serve," said Mr. Eaton. 
 
 "Put it from the chair." 
 
 "Very good;" and Sir John hurriedly obeyed. "Shall we 
 say Mr. Garrett, Colonel Beaumont, Mr. er Holland 
 and myself ?" 
 
 "I second that," said Colonel Beaumont. 
 
 "Those in favour will kindly" and Sir John looked round 
 at the lifted hands "thank you. Against? Yes I think, 
 carried " 
 
 "Nem. Con.," said Mr. Garrett, still standing. 
 
 "There's three Hill men to one Town," Mr. Eaton ob- 
 jected. 
 
 "Well, then," Sir John went on eagerly, "we empower them 
 to treat with the vendors " 
 
 "May I ?" said Mr. Garrett, with great suavity. "It remains
 
 156 HILL RISE 
 
 to discuss the price we are prepared conditionally, of course 
 to give. It is back ground fortunately without frontage 
 but they will no doubt call it building land." 
 
 "It is building land," said Mr. Dowling. 
 
 "In a sense yes. Here your expert knowledge will aid us, 
 Mr. Dowling. Shall we be far wrong if we estimate the 
 value at fifteen hundred, and offer that price?" 
 
 "I am quite unable to say." 
 
 "Three hundred an acre, Mr. Dowling? That to three- 
 fifty, eh?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 "But you must know as an architect, you must be able 
 to give an expert opinion." 
 
 "I prefer not to give my opinion in this case." 
 
 "Keally ? That is odd," and Mr. Garrett paused. "Surely 
 somewhat odd?" 
 
 But Mr. Dowling only looked up at the vaulted ceiling, 
 and remained silent while Mr. Garrett again paused. 
 
 Then Mr. Crunden grunted, and rose from his far-off 
 chair. 
 
 "I think," he said firmly, "I can save waste of time. Your 
 committee will fail. The land won't be sold to you." 
 
 Everybody had turned and was looking at him, but he was 
 looking straight across the room at Sir John and at no one 
 else. 
 
 "Won't be sold?" 
 
 "No. Not at your price." 
 
 "But, Mr. Crunden," asked Sir John anxiously, "are you 
 empowered to say that? Do you really know the views of 
 the owner?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What price, then?" 
 
 "Twenty-five thousand pounds." 
 
 Cries of "Oh! Oh!" "Absurd!" "Ridiculous," were suc- 
 ceeded by a deep murmur, and then there was silence again. 
 
 "Do you speak authoritatively for the owner?" 
 
 "I am the owner." 
 
 "That is a fact," said Mr. Dowling. "Purchase completed 
 at noon to-day."
 
 HILL RISE 157 
 
 "Ha, ha," said Mr. Jack Vincent, with a short laugh. 
 "Then it wasn't the man in the red tie." 
 
 The room was filled with a growing murmur. People, turn- 
 ing to one another, talked rapidly. 
 
 "Oh, oh !" said many voices. "Shame !" said a single voice. 
 "Blackmail !" said another voice. "Oh, oh, oh." Then a voice 
 from the windows came loud and strong: "Hedgehog Crun- 
 den !" 
 
 "Mr. Crunden," said Alderman Hopkins impressively, "you 
 can't be in earnest. You can't wish to profit by the Town's 
 difficulty." 
 
 "You can't fly in the face of public opinion," said Mr. 
 Hope. 
 
 "It would be a shabby, disgraceful trick," said Colonel 
 Beaumont. And the voices made a noisy chorus : 
 
 "Blackmail ! Blackmail ! Shame ! Name a fair price ! 
 Don't be a 'Edgehog !" 
 
 "Gently, gently, please!" cried Sir John, endeavouring to 
 keep order. "Mr. Crunden, may we hope you are joking ?" 
 
 "You will reconsider," pleaded Mr. Garrett, with urgent 
 suavity. "We appeal to you to help us." 
 
 "For the sake of the Town?" said Alderman Hopkins. "I 
 appeal to you in the name of the Town. Don't forget what 
 you owe to the Town." 
 
 "No," said old Crunden loudly and harshly. "Be dashed 
 to the Town. I owe the Town nothing;" and once more the 
 chorus of voices broke out. But amidst hisses, cries of 
 "shame," etc., he went on speaking. It was wonderful to 
 see his effort to make himself heard, and how the effort suc- 
 ceeded. His face had flushed; his clenched hand shook; his 
 voice was harsh and strained ; but he was heard now in silence, 
 till with culminating force he reached his last words. "I owe 
 the Town nothing. What has the Town done for me? 
 'There's old Crunden ! old Hedgehog !' That's what you say. 
 You don't even touch your hats to me. You and the Town 
 are all grovelling in the mud at the bottom of Hill Rise. 
 'Look ! Here comes one of the swells from the Hill !' Run 
 out of your shops then and touch your hats and bow and 
 cringe. 'Oh, thank you, my lord, for coming down among
 
 158 HILL RISE 
 
 us us poor working folk.' Well, I'm tired of it. I am tired 
 of the lordly Hill. I'll smash down its nonsense. I'll swal- 
 low it with a new clean town. And if you you tenants 
 don't like my ways, you may go. In five years I'll not leave 
 one of the old bricks standing, to remind me of your contempt, 
 your patronage, and your petty pride. That's my answer to 
 your request, Sir John." 
 
 There was a deep murmur of indignation, but very few 
 cries were raised. It seemed that the strident voice had 
 cowed the audience, or that the threats were so monstrous that 
 one was unable adequately to express one's horror. The busi- 
 ness of the meeting was of course over ; the meeting broke up 
 with a strange quietness, as of surprise, impotence, con- 
 sternation. 
 
 All, as they rose, drew away from Crunden so that he stood 
 quite alone. Mr. Bowling, coming to him from the table, was 
 drawn away in the crowd. 
 
 But about Miss Crunden all the world had gathered. The Hill 
 Rise ladies had pounced upon her, surrounded her, brought 
 her away from her father's side. They were all talking to 
 her at once, and over the ladies' shoulders the gentlemen 
 also talked to her. Lady Vincent, holding her arm, in vain 
 struggled for undivided attention. 
 
 "Miss Crunden, can't you influence your father? My dear 
 Miss Crunden," said Lady Vincent, "for your sake he must 
 listen to reason. It would be cruel to you." 
 
 "He'll be 'ooted in the streets," said Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 "He'll be pilloried in the public press," said Mr. Hope. 
 
 "But how cruel to you," urged Lady Vincent. "Miss 
 Crunden, persuade him. Do, please, try to persuade him." 
 
 While Lady Vincent and the ladies were thus engaged, while 
 Sir John with his supporters had drawn back from the pub- 
 lic enemy, while Crunden stood bristling alone as a hedgehog 
 that no man cares to tackle further while doubt and dread 
 hung darkly over Hill House, the actions of the son of the 
 house were marked with a new purpose and decision. 
 
 Mr. Jack, speaking to none, had marched across the room, 
 banged open the coal-box, plumped down in an armchair ; and, 
 with the most determined energy, was putting on his boots.
 
 HILL RISE 159 
 
 Jerking the laces taut and firm, he rapidly completed the 
 task; and, booted, marched across the room again back to 
 old Crunden. 
 
 "I say, Crunden. Masonic. That money you lent me! 
 You won't get it out of me except one way. Look here. 
 You'll be employing people. This is going to be a big thing 
 I only hope you haven't bitten off more than you can chew. 
 Brother Crunden, take me on. Give me work. Let me work 
 out my debt with just enough for my grub. Masonic," and 
 he offered his hand. 
 
 Old Crunden hesitated, frowning; then reluctantly shook 
 hands. 
 
 "Call on me," he said grimly, "twelve to-morrow. I'll see 
 what I can do for you." 
 
 Then, turning his back, he summoned his daughter. 
 
 "Lizzie ! Come !" 
 
 And then, everybody drawing back, the crowd by the door 
 opened and made a wide avenue for Mr. Crunden and his 
 daughter to pass out.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Delenda est Carthago. 
 
 With appalling rapidity Mr. Crunden had set to work. In 
 these weeks, the most eventful in the history of Medford, 
 it really seemed as if the world was moving faster to its end : 
 things that should have taken years to bring about happened 
 in a single night; each day brought some new strange phe- 
 nomenon. Men ceased to feel surprised; the old order was 
 gone; a reign of chaos had opened. Down went the Gurgian 
 wall that had guarded Lady Haddenham's lower fields; in 
 went the road-makers, smashing posts and rails, peeling away 
 the smooth turf, tumbling out cartloads of brickbats; up 
 went the huge boards with outlined map showing hundreds 
 of narrow rectangles, in great white letters announcing that 
 this is the Hill Rise Building Estate, and calling on all to apply 
 for eligible plots to Mr. Richard Crunden at the Hill Road 
 Yard, or to William Dowling, Esq., M.S. A., at 14 Bridge 
 Street. Then came panting, staggering horses a long string 
 of carts from the brickfields by the river. One day, as you 
 passed, you could see the piles of the ugly stock bricks, and 
 by the pegs in the ground trace the foundations of two rows 
 of cottages; next time you passed and looked, footings were 
 set where the pegs had been. When one went that way again, 
 empty window frames were in position; the yellow cottages, 
 growing fast as toadstools after rain, had risen to the first 
 floor. In a month the first section of the new broad road 
 was completed, and the main sewer had been carried two hun- 
 dred yards. 
 
 Then, in the midst of the great upheaval, there fell the 
 second thunderbolt. Hill House was in the market ; the great 
 Sir John was ruined. He and Lady Vincent were moving 
 into a little red-brick villa on the Redmarsh Road. There 
 was to be a sale at Hill House of all those noble pieces of 
 
 160
 
 HILL RISE 161 
 
 furniture leather armchairs, sideboards, mahogany dinner- 
 table, etc. which were preposterously too big for Sir John's 
 new home. A respectfully silent crowd gathered in the road- 
 way outside the white gates, to watch for the brougham and 
 the brown liveries when Sir John and my lady were leaving 
 Hill House for ever. For the last time, in such state, they 
 emerged and slowly rolled away. Euined; after to-day no 
 more prancing horses, canary collars, and cockaded hats; 
 as they rolled away down the gentle slope it seemed that the 
 glory of the Hill was visibly departing. Hats were lifted, but 
 no man spoke ; bowing, bareheaded, the little crowd expressed 
 its sympathy and awe by silence. 
 
 At the furniture sale, however, there was noise enough. 
 All Medf ord came pressing again to the big dining-room. But 
 for the size of things there would have been competition to 
 secure mementos or souvenirs. Mementos were really too 
 large to deal with, and prices ruled ridiculously low. The 
 gigantic sideboard fell to Bob Drake of the White Hart Hotel, 
 together with the coal-box and six armchairs. For the rest, 
 the dealers were unchallenged and could settle among them- 
 selves which lots each should have, and how much each should 
 give for them. 
 
 Then once more white bills appeared on garden walls. Hill 
 House and grounds ten acres freehold would soon be of- 
 fered for public auction in the Mart, London, at 3 P.M. pre- 
 cisely. Swiftly, too swiftly, the appointed date arrived, and 
 by order of the mortgagees this unique and compact estate 
 "desirable as a residence for a nobleman or gentleman, and 
 affording unrivalled opportunities for prompt development 
 as a much needed area for building" was put up and knocked 
 down for 11,500. On this occasion no secret was made of 
 the purchaser's name. The property had been sold to the 
 London & Suburban Land Trust; and, as might readily be 
 guessed, this company would not reside in Hill House like 
 noblemen or gentlemen. They had bought to destroy. 
 
 Meanwhile, during these autumn months, the emigration 
 of the Hill Eise tenants was already beginning. The Tennis 
 Club was winding itself up in a sort of private bankruptcy 
 with dreadful revelations as to the rottenness of its financial
 
 162 HILL RISE 
 
 management, the extent of its indebtedness, and the necessity 
 of making heavy calls upon its members in order to meet 
 outstanding liabilities; Sir John had gone from the hill; all 
 its glory had gone; why should any one linger? Captain 
 Sholto of Number 4 and Mrs. Chudleigh of Number 19 
 were following Sir John to the Kedmarsh Eoad and had 
 taken villas within easy reach of him. Notices of departure 
 from odd and even numbers poured in upon the new land- 
 lord. He had said, "If you don't like my ways, you may 
 go," and they hastened to show him their dislike. 
 
 Mr. Bowling, reading each fresh letter from a tenant, shook 
 his head and said "Tut, tut" ; but Mr. Crunden only grunted. 
 Mr. Bowling deeply regretted that most injudicious speech of 
 his client ; spoke of it always as "the unfortunate outbreak." 
 
 That the Hill Kise tenants had it in their power thus to 
 take Mr. Crunden at his word, was due to the outwardly 
 magnificent and essentially unbusinesslike methods of Messrs. 
 Firmin and Mr. A. The terms of the beautifully printed 
 original short agreements had long since run out, and ten- 
 ancies were continued by the year, by the half year, and even 
 by the quarter. Tinder these noble agreements the landlady 
 was to do everything, the tenants were to do nothing. For 
 fifteen or twenty years no Hill Eise tenant had ever put hand 
 in pocket for aught beyond the bare rent. There were, how- 
 ever, three repairing leases held by Mrs. Granville, Mrs. 
 Padfield, and Mrs. Page, who paid a lower rent than their 
 neighbours. But the original periods of these three really 
 businesslike leases were also exhausted; the good ladies had 
 stayed from year to year; they were never called upon to 
 set their houses in order ; and, as time wore on, they asked as 
 boldly as any one else that Mr. A. should give commands 
 for such repair as they deemed desirable. 
 
 Messrs. Griggs, the smart auctioneers, were shocked by the 
 state of affairs when they drew up the particulars for the 
 Hill Rise sale. They would have wished to be able to say 
 something after this style: "The houses are all let to re- 
 sponsible tenants at an average rental of 100 p. a. for terms 
 varying from 3 to 20 years, and an assured income of 2,000 
 P. a. can therefore be secured, etc., etc." But they could
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 say nothing of the kind. In the circumstances, only an auc- 
 tioneer would have known what to say. Messrs. Griggs made 
 a proud boast of that which was truly a misfortune. "The 
 attention of intending purchasers," said boastful Griggs, "is 
 called to the advantageous fact that vacant possession of all 
 the houses can be obtained within twelve months." And 
 now it seemed that Mr. Crunden was to enjoy every advan- 
 tage of vacant possession. 
 
 Very great were the indignation and rage up and down the 
 devastated hillside, when it became known that Mr. Crunden 
 demanded of the lease-holders his pound of flesh. Old Mrs. 
 Granville of Number 14, after sending in her notice, re- 
 ceived a morning call from Mr. Dowling; and, at his polite 
 request, permitted him to ramble with the parlourmaid all 
 over the house. "He poked his nose, ma'am, into every cup- 
 board," said the maid. "I don't know what he meant by it.** 
 But what Mr. Dowling meant was not long left in doubt. 
 There came with little delay to Mrs. Granville an absurd thing 
 entitled Schedule of Dilapidations,, containing descriptions 
 even of her smallest cupboards, quotations from clauses five 
 and six of her stupid old leases; and a verbose invitation to 
 carry out the work specified to the satisfaction of Mr. Dowling 
 or to pay to Mr. Crunden 250 in lieu thereof. 
 
 "But he is going to pull it down," said the old widow lady. 
 "I won't pay one penny. He owned himself he was going 
 to pull it down." 
 
 "What the devil has that got to do with it?" said Mr. 
 Crunden warmly, when explaining the matter to Lizzie and to 
 his clerk. 
 
 Lizzie and the clerk were both puzzled, and inclined to 
 think with Mrs. Granville that it would be strange to paint 
 and paper a house before knocking it to pieces. 
 
 "I may pull it down or leave it standing that's my busi- 
 ness. I don't want her paint and paper; I want her money 
 what she owes. But if she won't pay, I'll make her do the 
 work. This obligation of hers to pay two-fifty, or something 
 like it, / have bought and paid for ; it was a debt to Countess 
 Haddenham under the covenant and / have bought the debt 
 and the covenant. Can't you understand that ?"
 
 164 HILL RISE 
 
 Certainly Mrs. Granville and her friends on the hill could 
 not understand it. Mr. Crunden was very unpopular at this 
 time, and the story of his most rapaciously impudent attempt 
 rendered him more hateful than ever. "But he will not get 
 it not one penny. Mrs. Granville told him so to his face." 
 
 This was incorrect. Mrs. Granville had no personal inter- 
 view with her new landlord. But, meeting his surveyor one 
 day on the bridge, she gave that gentleman a tremendous 
 dressing. Mr. Bowling with My dear Madams, and so 
 forth endeavoured to defend the schedule and his client; 
 but Mrs. Granville roundly told him that he and his client 
 were no better than a couple of thieves and threatened them 
 both with the law of the land. 
 
 "We are not afraid," said Mr. Dowling, at last thoroughly 
 nettled, "of the law of the land. That is exactly what Mr. 
 Crunden intends to appeal to, if you don't pay up precious 
 quick now. ... It isn't as if you hadn't the means to pay," 
 said Mr. Dowling excitedly. 
 
 "I won't pay one penny," said Mrs. Granville. 
 
 Would you believe it? All of it was true what Mr. 
 Dowling said. Old Mr. Garrett who had himself been a 
 solicitor told poor dear old Mrs. Granville that the law 
 of the land would not help her. Mr. Garrett advised her to 
 offer 200, and they would probably split the difference and 
 accept 225. "And in the end she paid that man two hundred 
 and twenty-five golden pounds. Would you credit it?" 
 
 Nothing could well exceed the unpopularity of Mr. Crun- 
 den. He was the enemy of the whole people : town and hill 
 were united in their feeling towards him. "It was so un- 
 necessary," said Mr. Dowling, speaking of the outbreak. 
 "Unpopular we must have been just at first because of 
 what we had in hand. And I knew you'd made up your 
 mind to tell them plainly what we proposed doing. But I 
 never did think you'd let fly like that at the whole world. 
 It was so unnecessary. It makes everything difficult that 
 ought to have been easy. Look at the delay in getting plans 
 passed by the Council. They didn't dare throw out the plans 
 for those cottages, because they were identical with what they'd 
 passed for me twice before but they stopped us a fortnight
 
 HILL RISE 165 
 
 and more. Next time, you see when it's house plans. I 
 tell you that speech will cost us dear before it's forgotten." 
 
 "I don't care a d ," said Crunden. "I let 'em have 
 
 it straight for once. I don't grudge the cost." 
 
 No citizen would speak to him willingly unless it was old 
 Selby; and even he snarled and glared at first when he en- 
 countered the owner of Hill Rise. The old man was staring 
 at the map on one of the big boards when Crunden came by 
 on his way to the new road. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Selby, you see our plan. Go in and have a look 
 round if you care to." 
 
 "Yes, I see. Mighty fine ta'ask you've got." 
 
 "Wish me luck, Mr. Selby." 
 
 "Wish ye luck," and the old man glared and his hands 
 shook from anger. "Wish ye to empty my last houses to 
 fill yours ! Yes take my last tenants from me and leave 
 me and me young wife to starve and wish ye luck." 
 
 "I shan't do your houses any hurt," said Crunden. "More 
 likely do 'em good by bringing new people into the place." 
 
 Then Mr. Selby ceased to snarl. "There, young Crunden," 
 he said presently, "I bear ye no malice. You or another 
 it's all one." 
 
 After this, Mr. Selby would often come pottering about 
 the estate watching the road-makers and the bricklayers, 
 busily at work; or, clambering over the post-and-rail fences, 
 he would make a circuit of the meadows, and as he stood on 
 the higher ground at a very little distance, any one might have 
 mistaken him for a dismal shabby scarecrow left, as not worth 
 removing, by the late owner. He talked now to Crunden in 
 a friendly spirit. 
 
 "Young Crunden, what ye going to do with that shanty up 
 there the Tennis Clubhouse? 'Tis but a shed, though they 
 ca'alled it the house. I'm thinking I might make ye a bid 
 for it if ye'd let me break it up on credit. . . . Not yours 
 to sell? Ah well, . . . I've been having a crack with your 
 clerk. He tells me ye're doing gra'andly your cottages 
 mostly let before ye're plate high and more applications for 
 your building plots than ye can find time to answer. Is 
 that a fa'act?"
 
 166 HILL RISE 
 
 "I'm doing all right, thank you, Mr. Selby !" 
 
 "Ah I know. I know. Your clerk tells the tale you tell 
 him. Quite right. But it's a mighty big ta'ask ye've taken 
 up." 
 
 "Not a bit too big," said Crunden resolutely. 
 
 No townsman, except old Selby, accosted him with friendly 
 greeting. Bad greeting the town gave him whenever he 
 showed himself. Mud was thrown at him by gutter boys, 
 who threw and fled; stones sometimes came after the 
 mud; men shook their fists at him as soon as his sturdy 
 back was turned to them; and always insulting shouts 
 followed him. "'Edge'og Crunden. 'Edge'og. Garn, y'old 
 'edge'og." 
 
 Never, since Medford was incorporated as a borough, had 
 any citizen been so unpopular. And the hostile feeling seemed 
 week by week to wax rather than to wane. With November 
 and Guy Fawkes day, came what ever after was locally known 
 as the Eiot. There were guys in replica that year. There 
 could be but one subject for guying, and they made of him 
 three or four copies. One of these guys, borne through the 
 streets at the workmen's dinner hour, gathered all mischievous 
 idlers and hooting boys until the guy headed a long procession. 
 Then, as a bright idea, it occurred to the guy-attendants to 
 carry it with the procession up the new road, round and about 
 the estate, and burn the effigy of Hedgehog Crunden on his 
 own land at full noon. Other copies could wait for night to 
 be burnt on the open common with firework accompaniment, 
 but this most successful copy must be sacrificed with sun- 
 light in this happy manner. While the procession turned 
 into Hill Rise you could hear the shouting as far off as the 
 railway station. 
 
 But at the top of the first section of the new road, Mr. 
 Crunden's clerk barred the way, addressed the mob, ordered 
 them to the right about and then, passing from words to 
 blows, fought with the leaders, beat one leader so sorely 
 that the procession turned and riotously went back the way 
 it had come. That was the first part of the famous riot. 
 The second part was after dusk had fallen : when King's Cot- 
 tage was placed under police protection, and yet, nevertheless,
 
 HILL RISE 167 
 
 and in spite of two smart arrests by the Medford constabu- 
 lary, had several of its windows broken with stones. 
 
 Next day there appeared before the magistrates two of 
 the rioters and also Mr. Crunden's clerk, with a black patch 
 on his forehead, with bandaged hand and arm in sling, sum- 
 moned for assault of Frederick Hoyle, brewer's carman, and 
 looking for all the world like a common "drunk and disor- 
 derly." All Medford seemed trying to squeeze in to get a 
 peep at him : the court was so crowded that one could hardly 
 breathe. Sir John Vincent, Bart., left the bench while this 
 case was dealt with. Never had Medford seen the like of it. 
 When the defendant's conduct was pardoned because of the 
 provocation received, there were a few faint cheers amidst 
 the loud hisses. They hissed the poor clerk, because they 
 hated his employer. 
 
 They hated him as an open and avowed enemy of their 
 once peaceful town. He was full of resolution, and quite 
 without fear. He flatly refused to pay for police protection ; 
 no shaking of fists, or shouts or threats turned him an inch 
 from his path ; he was a hedgehog that kept bristles ready for 
 any dog who should dare to tackle him. But, in sober truth, 
 feeling had now run so high that it was scarce safe for him to 
 walk abroad unless his clerk walked with him. 
 
 Crunden's clerk was Mr. Jack Vincent and no one else. 
 The son of Sir John had gone over to the enemy. It was a 
 strange transfer of allegiance, a wonderful voluntary fall 
 from the top of the social ladder to its lowest rung: one day, 
 the leader of fashion, lord and prince among splendid loafers, 
 and the next a humble worker, paid servant of a common 
 working-man. He lived in a workman's cottage, as lodger of 
 Mrs. Gates, close to Crunden's yard. You could see him in 
 the yard any morning, with an invoice in his hand, super- 
 intending and checking the delivery of materials ; or again at 
 evening in the small office just inside the archway, busy with 
 time-sheets while bricklayers, carpenters, etc., came in and 
 out through the open door. And all day long you might see 
 him hurrying here and there : to King's Cottage, to the rail- 
 way to watch trucks unloaded, down to the brickfields by the
 
 168 HILL RISE 
 
 river, back again to the estate to count the piled bricks or 
 measure up the lengths of drain-pipes in a word, working 
 at one thing or another. It was said that he went on all 
 errands for Crunden, cleaned the knives and boots at King's 
 Cottage; and, in return for these degrading services, was 
 allowed perhaps ten shillings a week, and the run of his teeth 
 in the kitchen with Mrs. Price. 
 
 But here, as usual, gossip was inexact. Mr. Jack was 
 called upon to perform no menial domestic offices; he was 
 receiving a weekly wage of thirty-five shillings; he took his 
 meals dinner and tea with the family, and was moreover 
 sometimes formally invited to supper. 
 
 When, keeping the grudgingly given appointment, he had 
 repeated his application for work, old Crunden manifested 
 the strongest disinclination to comply with the request, made 
 many excuses, was obviously much embarrassed. 
 
 "Look here, sir. I'd rather not. ... As to that loan you 
 mentioned don't bother about it. There's no hurry. Take 
 any time you like." 
 
 "But I do bother about it," said Jack. "I want to pay 
 you and I will, if you'll take me on. I promise you won't 
 regret it. Give me work to do and I'll do it, whatever it 
 is. I promise I'll be useful." 
 
 "Don't press me, sir. I tell you frank, I'd rather not." 
 
 "Because you don't believe in me," said Jack eagerly, and 
 pressing more than ever. "You think I'm an idle fool but 
 I'll show you're wrong if you'll give me a chance"; and again 
 Jack used the masonic form of address: "Brother Crunden, 
 give me a chance." 
 
 Brother Crunden, extremely embarrassed, said he would 
 think it over and Brother Vincent might call again. He dis- 
 cussed the extraordinary request first with Mr. Bowling, and 
 then with Lizzie. 
 
 "He says he can make himself useful. How the dickens 
 could he be useful ?" 
 
 "Useful !" cried Mr. Bowling, with enthusiasm. "He'll be 
 worth his weight in gold. Give him anything he asks, but 
 get hold of him. Bon't you see having him on our side 
 merely to exhibit him, let people know he's with us will
 
 HILL RISE 169 
 
 be worth any money. He's the very man to help us to act as 
 go-between, smooth things over, and cure all the soreness 
 against us." 
 
 In this notion, as events proved, Mr. Dowling was far too 
 hopeful. But at the time he was confident that if Mr. Vin- 
 cent publicly joined hands with them, their present disfavour 
 with the community would soon blow over. 
 
 Then, after a day or two, Crunden spoke about the matter 
 to his daughter. Lizzie's thought now was only for her 
 father. He had embarked on a vast and dangerous enter- 
 prise; his whole fortune was at stake; toil and anxiety lay 
 before him. When she heard his unfortunate outbreak at 
 the meeting, guilt and remorse possessed her. More bitterly 
 than hitherto she hated herself for the childish folly that had 
 been the first cause of all his subsequent action. The folly had 
 faded, been washed away with tears, burnt out by hotly re- 
 pentant thoughts all of it, she believed, was gone from her; 
 but its wide-reaching consequences remained. If she had not 
 stung her father into anger against the Hill, he would never 
 have planned its destruction. She was sure of this, although 
 he told her always that she was in no manner connected with 
 the reasons that had moved him. 
 
 "Nonsense, Liz. I never thought of all that again. It 
 was over and done with something we both meant to forget. 
 No, this scheme was in my mind from the moment Mr. 
 Dowling put it before me. Then, while you were in Corn- 
 wall, I went into it and began to see my way clear. If I 
 kept it a secret from you, it was only because I knew you'd 
 be against it. But nothing could have shaken me. You re- 
 member what I told you that perhaps I should need all 
 your help. Well, my mind was almost made up then." 
 
 And Lizzie cured of her day-dreaming vowed herself 
 to a good daughter's task. 
 
 "I shall need," said Crunden, "all the help I can get from 
 you, and others. It's a big thing a very big thing I'm in 
 for. But it's not too big don't let any one persuade you 
 that it's more than I can carry through." 
 
 And then he told her about Jack Vincent's pressing re- 
 quest.
 
 170 HILL RISE 
 
 "Mr. Bowling, he says he'll be worth his pay and of course 
 there's no doubt of Sir John's upset; and Mr. Vincent, he 
 has made his appeal to me very strong. Well, he's made it on 
 reasons that lie between him and me that are not business, 
 and that I don't think he should have brought into it. But 
 now, my dear, give me a true answer. Will it make any 
 difference to you?" 
 
 Lizzie said firmly that it could not make the smallest 
 difference to her. 
 
 "Quite sure? Of course you won't have to take any notice 
 of him. I'm getting rid of Stevens out of the yard end 
 of week,, and hope to have his mess and filth cleaned away 
 and the yard ready to open by end of next week; and it's 
 at the yard I shall mostly keep Mr. Vincent. But I won't 
 do it unless you can say honestly that I shan't be doing 
 wrong." 
 
 And Lizzie, only thinking of what was good for her father, 
 said he would do right, not wrong, in adopting Mr. Dow- 
 ling's advice and employing Mr. Vincent. 
 
 "I've thought it over, sir," said Crunden to Jack when he 
 presented himself again. "I've thought it over and the 
 answer is, Yes." 
 
 "Thank you, sir you're a trump and a good Mason." 
 
 Mr. Jack's sleek face shone with excitement and pleasure. 
 But the wages "thirty-five bob" were too much. 
 
 "No, sir," said Crunden. "That's what you ought to get 
 if you're any value at all and it's what I should give to 
 any one else." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 From the moment that Jack was engaged, he called his em- 
 ployer Sir; and now it was curious to hear each saying Sir 
 to the other. 
 
 "I would like," said old Crunden, "to mention, sir, that 
 I am sorrv to hear of this upset of Sir John's affairs." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 "I never expected such a thing. I had no idea of it, sir"; 
 Mr. Crunden continued with visible reluctance. "In the 
 remarks I let fall at the meeting, sir well, as to my opinion 
 of the Town and the Hill which I gave frank for once,
 
 HILL RISE 171 
 
 there's not a word I'd wish to draw back. But in anything I 
 said which might seem disrespectful or short to Sir John 
 well, if so, I wouldn't have said it, if I had guessed that Sir 
 John was a gentleman down on his luck as one may term it." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right, sir. If you couldn't say Yes, it didn't 
 much matter how you said No. And you said nothing dis- 
 respectful to my father that I heard or I shouldn't be here 
 now, sir." 
 
 "Well answered, sir. No, I meant no disrespect to Sir 
 John only meant to say No plain and firm. . . . How did 
 it come about, sir the upset?" 
 
 "Well," said Jack, smiling, "Sir John tells me he has been 
 muddling things for a long time and, as far as I can make 
 out, that hits the right nail on the head." 
 
 "Ah ! You see, sir, a gentleman like your father soon 
 gets adrift in financial operations. It's a special business 
 training, sir, straight up from the bottom; and gentlemen 
 high-placed from their birth can't be expected to master it 
 sufficient to protect themselves. When it comes to money 
 questions, they're bound to be outmanoeuvred if not tricked 
 and cheated half the time. . . . But I hope, sir," said Crun- 
 den, with genuine sympathy, "that the upset is not as bad as 
 people make out." 
 
 "Well, sir my governor's fairly in the cart. But, no, it's 
 not really so bad. They'll do very well my mother has money 
 of her own. Look here, sir, it's just this : I think my father 
 and mother will have enough for themselves, but I don't think 
 they've enough to keep a grown-up son in idleness." 
 
 "Well answered, sir," said old Crunden again. "But Sir 
 John and her ladyship, sir will they give their consent to 
 your turning to, down here in the place where you are so 
 well known?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Jack cheerfully. "That is I haven't asked 
 their consent yet. But if they won't give it I shall have 
 to do without it." 
 
 Then Jack Vincent, highly elated by his success in obtain- 
 ing the engagement, hurried away to face and bear down 
 parental opposition. He was full of energy, excitement, and 
 enthusiasm : in the midst of gloom and disaster, he was like
 
 172 HILL RISE 
 
 a happy light-hearted child who has discovered a new amuse- 
 ment. It was as if after the house has fallen, a little boy is 
 seen playing a game and enjoying himself about the ruins 
 even while the dust and noise are still in the air. 
 
 Sir John Vincent declared that his son's plans for the 
 future were outrageous and absurd. He could never counte- 
 nance them. Jack must really abandon them at once. 
 
 "I tell you, Jack, it's only a question of time. Give me 
 time, and I'll pull things together even now. Meantime, 
 our home, however humble, is your home. You shan't want 
 for comfort and for pocket money." ' 
 
 But Jack said that henceforth any money that might lie 
 in his pockets must be earned by himself. 
 
 "Don't do it, Jack. It will be so dashed humiliating to me. 
 As a pal you'll be making me so confoundly uncomfortable. 
 With that hedgehog of a fellow, too ! Oh, it really would be 
 infernal." 
 
 Jack, in the most friendly, genial way, explained that the 
 hour had come when he must think and act for himself. He 
 very much regretted that he could not now be guided by his 
 father's advice. He saw nothing derogatory in honest labour. 
 
 Lady Vincent, for her part, regarded Jack and his ideas 
 with the greatest admiration. She shed tears of pride and 
 love when she listened to his noble arguments. In principle, 
 she agreed with every word he said. Nothing could be 
 grander or finer than work, yes, real work. "But not here, 
 Jack. Anywhere else, but not here. And, my dearest boy, 
 not that sort of work and, Jack, above all, not with that 
 dreadful man. It would be too distressing to your father." 
 
 But if Jack cared to go up to London and take some small 
 post under Government, or be private secretary to some rising 
 politician, then Lady Vincent would be the happiest of 
 mothers. She and Sir John could well provide ample funds 
 for an indefinite period while Jack was looking about him, 
 and seeking an avenue likely to lead to ultimate greatness. 
 
 "No," said Jack, with terrible determination. "I'm not 
 going to sponge on you any longer. Besides, I know what it 
 would mean it would all end in talk. I should never start 
 work at all."
 
 
 "If ever I am unhappy, it is because you have done too much for me." 
 
 Page 117
 
 HILL RISE 173 
 
 He would take nothing from them not a penny. He 
 would be self-supporting: now, this minute, and ever after. 
 For his immediate needs he had already, as he said, begun 
 to raise the wind. He had summoned from Water Lane 
 that well-known citizen Mr. Gregory, the second-hand clothes 
 dealer, and was selling the superfluities of his wardrobe. Some 
 other personal property his old gun, a service revolver, 
 sword, etc., and some small trinkets, such as tie pins and 
 sleeve links he could also "put up the spout" if neces- 
 sary. 
 
 "I shall have plenty of cash to start with. Don't you worry 
 yourself, mother; I shall be all right." 
 
 Lady Vincent, however, continued to worry herself. 
 
 "Jack, I shall never reconcile myself to it. I don't fret 
 about your father's misfortunes. I don't mind our losing 
 all our money, but if we are to lose you, I shall never get 
 over it." 
 
 "You won't lose me," said Jack cheerfully. "I'll often come 
 to dinner if yo.u and the Governor will ask me. I don't 
 intend to pop my dress suits, you know" ; and, as he took his 
 mother's hand, he in his turn became the petitioner. "Mother 
 dear, don't think me unkind or selfishly obstinate. But you 
 know how often you've said it to rouse myself. Do you 
 remember what I told you? the whisper in the wind how 
 we all had heard it; but I shouldn't hear it again! Well, 
 I heard it directly that afternoon. Not a whisper : a shout 
 a trumpet call some one with a megaphone bellowing into my, 
 ear : 'John Vincent. Wake. Put on your boots.' . . . Don't 
 try to baulk me now, mother. It's my last chance my very 
 last chance." 
 
 Then, in the most undignified fashion with Mr. Gregory, 
 etc. Jack raised the wind ; went about the town paying little 
 debts, Mr. Eudd, the tobacconist; Mr. Drake of the White 
 Hart, etc. ; fetched a man with a hand-cart from the station 
 to remove his luggage ; and firmly established himself in Mrs. 
 Gates' cottage hard by Mr. Crunden's yard. Of the cash 
 obtained from the sale of costumes and ornaments, etc., there 
 was a sufficient residuum to enable him to hand Mr. Crun- 
 den two pounds on account of the fifty pounds loan. The
 
 174 HILL RISE 
 
 balance of the debt he hoped, if he kept his situation, to work 
 off without avoidable delay. 
 
 He was worth thirty-five shillings a week. His energy was 
 so abnormal that at first he was subject to fits of complete 
 exhaustion, and thus it seemed that his working power was of 
 a fitful or intermittent character. But soon it became appar- 
 ent to his employer that whatever his capacity for work 
 might be, the purpose behind it was strong and unwavering. 
 His desire was to do good work: if he failed, it was never 
 from voluntary slacking. He did not achieve anything at all 
 in the way of ameliorating the relations between Mr. Crunden 
 and the Town. But in all other ways he became more and 
 more useful to Mr. Crunden. So useful, in fact, that it was 
 impossible to keep him, like a good watch-dog, "mostly in 
 the yard." He was continually wanted at King's Cottage, 
 where he gave really valuable assistance in the composition 
 of letters replying to inquiries, etc. ; he was of value also dur- 
 ing interminable parleys with builders, house agents, etc., 
 who were considering the purchase or lease of the ground 
 plots ; and he was, as Mr. Dowling often said, almost invalua- 
 ble as a patient, good-tempered showman when visitors were 
 going over the ground itself. After a time a place was 
 allotted to him in the big working-room at the Cottage; the 
 table and desk between the lobby door and the window were 
 known as "Mr. Vincent's place." He was in his place for 
 so many hours of the day that soon it became convenient 
 to permit Mr. Vincent to take a share in the two family 
 meals of dinner and tea. There had been awkwardness and 
 embarrassment for all when, at the sight of Mrs. Price or 
 Mary entering with dishes and plates, the perhaps hungry 
 clerk was compelled to take his hat from the peg, and slink 
 away from the appetising odour of hot meats or the cheering 
 fragrance of new-made tea. Mr. Vincent thankfully accepted 
 the invitation to leave his hat on the wall and bring his chair 
 to the table. 
 
 "But, sir," he said to his host, "if you're kind enough 
 to give me my grub, you must knock something substantial 
 off my weekly screw. It wasn't in the bargain."
 
 HILL RISE 175 
 
 "No, sir," said Crunden gruffly but cordially. '^You're 
 welcome. But I understand your pride I mean, your natural 
 pride. If you choose to take it as a small raise in salary 
 well, you may take it that you've earned the raise." 
 
 "You're paying too much as it is." 
 
 "No, sir. That's not the case. If you make me well, I 
 don't mind saying it : I judge by many signs that you've been 
 a good bargain." 
 
 "Thank you, sir;" and the face of the clerk flushed with 
 pleasure. These were the first words of praise or approval 
 that he had received from his employer: they were words 
 pleasant of sound. 
 
 In this manner, as most convenient to everybody, it came 
 about that Mr. Vincent was admitted at meal time an hon- 
 orary member of the family. He never said Sir at dinner 
 or tea or at supper, to which he came only by special invita- 
 tion, generally when Mr. Dowling was also invited. At supper 
 Mr. Vincent was a friend like Mr. Dowling a friend of 
 vastly superior rank, treated by old Crunden with ceremony 
 and deference. But at all other times, and more especially 
 when strangers were present, Mr. Vincent said Sir. At all 
 other times, in fact, Mr. Vincent was just a paid clerk, doing 
 his work, and no one need take any notice of him. 
 
 Lizzie at her place which was the table by the bureau 
 need never give him a thought outside of the business that 
 brought him here. Lizzie was gaining speed and proficiency 
 with her new typewriting machine, and indeed in her labour 
 maintained such a clack-clack and clong-clong, that conversa- 
 tion would have been impossible. Thus strangely matters had 
 at last adjusted themselves. Lizzie sometimes sat busily work- 
 ing, with all her heart in her work; while only a few yards 
 off there sat, also busily working, the hero of her vanished 
 dreams.
 
 CHAPTEE XIV 
 
 "HE shed his blood for your father, Miss Lizzie. You 
 must never forget that." 
 
 At King's Cottage Mr. Vincent had one staunchly fervent 
 admirer to whom he was still all a hero. This was Mrs. 
 Price. Whenever Mr. Jack's conduct was called in question, 
 she spoke of the fight. "He fought for you, sir for to teach 
 them not to make guys of their betters. I should remember 
 that if I was you." 
 
 In regard to the great business enterprise all seemed going 
 well at Mr. Crunden's house, yard, and estate. Another 
 section of the new road with a branch to right and left had 
 been laid down; on the outskirts of the land Mr. Crunden's 
 two rows of cottages were nearing completion; three more 
 rows were to be built by a builder from Eeigate, with his own 
 money; four villa plots out of the two hundred and six 
 mapped by Mr. Bowling had been disposed of on lease ; pleas- 
 ant little patches of red, marking these early successes, had 
 been painted on the big show maps. There was plenty of 
 work to occupy everybody's thoughts, and no necessity for 
 Lizzie to begin thinking about her father's clerk ; but people 
 first one, then another made her do so. 
 
 Now it was Mrs. Price, stopping the well-sustained clack- 
 clack of the typewriter to prefer the request that Lizzie would 
 take more interest in Mr. Jack, influence him to his ultimate 
 advantage, and generally act the part of good angel. 
 
 Mrs. Price considered herself as one good angel, but you 
 could not have too many good angels when there were so 
 many bad angels about. She was in fear lest Mr. Jack might 
 be falling again under sinister influences, if not into evil 
 ways. With admiration undimmed, watching him closely, 
 she regretted to observe that he was not working so well, not 
 looking so well "in his health," not going on "so brave and 
 noble as he done at first." The master was annoyed with him 
 
 176
 
 HILL RISE 177 
 
 the other day found him in the Station bar, when he ought 
 to have been unloading a truck of Yank doors, window frames, 
 and wall skirtings. The railway station was a dangerous place 
 for Mr. Jack: there lurked such puffy, blown-out, bad angels 
 as Mr. Lardner. 
 
 And further, Mrs. Gates, Jack's landlady, while charing 
 for Mrs. Price, told of other perilous influences. Mrs. Gates 
 related how "that Miss Barter" came up of an evening to call 
 for the lodger, and take him out for a walk downtown. Mrs. 
 Gates thought such visits unladylike, if not improper; and 
 so did Mrs. Price. 
 
 "Who is Miss Barter?" said Lizzie very coldly. 
 
 "Her as has the dressmaking shop, under Mr. Bowling's. 
 But she come out of the White Hart and if I was the ladies, 
 I wouldn't go near her or her shop. Don't you ever have noth- 
 ing to do with her, miss." 
 
 "I certainly shall not," said Lizzie contemptuously. 
 
 "You know there used to be a talk about her and Mr. 
 Jack though Mr. Dowling speaks up for her and says that 
 was just talk. But what I say is this: It's a cruel thing of 
 her to go disturbing him after his day's work, and forcing 
 him downtown taking her to the theatre and wasting his 
 hard-earned shillings and bringing him into worse danger." 
 
 "What danger?" 
 
 "Why," said Mrs. Price solemnly, "I mean his being led 
 astray by all that wicked drinking lot that hangs about the 
 theatre. When a gentleman is so kind in his heart as Mr. 
 Jack, he hasn't always the stren'th to say no and then it's 
 one glass on top of another until he has to be punished with 
 the bad headache next day and not fit for his work." 
 
 It seemed to Lizzie that scarcely any punishment could 
 be too severe for gentlemen who went to the play with impu- 
 dent and vulgar dressmakers. She expressed no sympathy. 
 
 "He had the headache the other morning," Mrs. Price con- 
 tinued sadly, "and he arst me to give him a pick-me-up while 
 he was doing his work at that table. But I said: 'No, Mr. 
 Jack. No pick-me-up will I get you unless it's a cup of 
 tea.' He turned that off with a joke, and said the doctors 
 had scared him about tea and tea was jumpy stuff to take
 
 178 HILL RISE 
 
 except at tea time. That was his joke," and Mrs. Price smiled, 
 with affectionate tolerance. "He called me Pricey-picey and 
 made a face at me and my tea and then laugh. Of course I 
 had to laugh, too." 
 
 "Had you?" said Lizzie, without the least smile. "It 
 doesn't strike me as very funny." 
 
 "No, Miss Lizzie," and Mrs. Price became impressively 
 serious again. "God forbid I should see fun in drinking. But 
 I didn't mean I was afraid of his ever taking it heavy like 
 to destroy him as we've seen happen in this house to our 
 sorrow. But it's easy for a gentleman to take more than's 
 properly good for him when he's drawn into bad company." 
 
 "If he drinks/' said Lizzie coldly, "my father will dis- 
 charge him." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Lizzie, but your father can't discharge Mr. 
 Jack's shedding of his blood for him. . . . And I do say, 
 miss, it'll be on all our conscience if we don't look after him 
 and keep him steady, now he's thrown over all them as ought 
 to look after him, and put himself in our hands. . . . That's 
 what I say, Miss Lizzie"; and Pricey said it quite defiantly, 
 and then moved towards the kitchen door. 
 
 "I've no fear," she added, turning again, "while he's here 
 along with us. But it's the evenings when he has no one to 
 look after him except it's that Miss Barter. Who's Miss 
 Barter, I'd like to know ?" asked Mrs. Price, in a sudden burst 
 of indignation. "What's he got to do with her? Let her 
 mind her pins and needles. She was never a friend of the 
 family up at Hill House or it's news to me if she was." 
 
 "Of course, she wasn't." 
 
 "No, and not a friend for him. Miss Lizzie, I've spoke 
 not to frighten you, only laying it before you to take more 
 interest and use your influence. Why not give him some 
 of your books for him to pass the time with ? Or why not let 
 him spend his evenings here innocent and happy talking to 
 the master, or playing of a game at the cards? You know 
 how he used to love the cards and what a rare hand he was 
 with them. . . . You aren't angry for my speaking? But 
 I do say, we shouldn't neglect him. He's trying to do right, 
 and it's for us to stren'then him as best we can."
 
 HILL RISE 179 
 
 Then Lizzie, alone in the big room, sat thinking of Jack. 
 She had work to do, but Mrs. Price had put her off it. She 
 was making manifold copies of the draft building agreement 
 prepared by Mr. Eaton the solicitor. This contained condi- 
 tions as to construction of houses sixpence halfpenny per 
 cubic foot, etc. together with the terms of the ninety-nine 
 years' lease that Mr. Crunden would grant, when the houses 
 were built. Copies of the draft were sent to all who seemed 
 disposed to treat for Mr. Crunden's eligible plots. Jack 
 was always greedy for the typewritten copies could not have 
 too many of them, clamoured for them, and undoubtedly 
 squandered postage stamps by despatching them broadcast. 
 
 But such extravagance, as showing his anxiety to serve her 
 father, was to his credit.' Thinking of him now, she consid- 
 ered all things that might be said in his favour or against 
 him. He was helping her father or endeavouring to help 
 her father. That was a thing enormously creditable. But 
 what else? Eeally, after careful consideration, what else 
 might one say? 
 
 Alas ! no hero worthy of enthronement in Mr. Mees's Li- 
 brary novels. If you robbed him of all dream-like attributes, 
 stripped him of splendour and mystery, tumbled him out of 
 the clouds into common working life, there seemed to be 
 left but a very ordinary and far from estimable personage. 
 No difficulty in finding things to his discredit and disgrace 
 dreadful things; dark abysses into which one scarcely dared 
 to peer. What, for instance, could be more utterly degrading 
 than this companionship with a reddish-haired, tight-laced 
 dressmaker flaunting in unsold finery from her shop? Who 
 now could be gratified by his company? Mr. Bowling praised 
 him for his friendly ways and freedom from class-prejudices. 
 That meant that it was good of him to drop to the Crunden 
 level and seem happy and at ease when he joined them as a 
 supper guest. But when, still dropping, he shot past the 
 Crunden plane and you found him side by side with a Miss 
 Barter in the cheap seats of the theatre among all the riff- 
 raff of the town found him, too, happy and at ease there 
 also, what must } r ou think? 
 
 Could anything be more disgraceful? Yes, Mrs. Price,.
 
 180 HILL RISE 
 
 opening the abysses, plainly hinted at a lower taste than the 
 taste for vulgar company the love of fiery drink. But that 
 was a thing Lizzie refused to believe. He could not have 
 fallen so far not only from his place in her silly dreams but 
 from his place in her childish memories. In those distant 
 days he had urged poor brother Dick to be sober and wise, 
 had always seemed to be, in relation to Dick, a noble and 
 refining influence. Nothing should make her believe that 
 in this matter the years had taken all virtue from him. It 
 would be too horrible a debasement. When Dick first drank 
 so much more than was good for him, Dick was an inex- 
 perienced boy. He began to sin from heedlessness. Every 
 excuse could be made for unhappy Dick : none could be made 
 for one in the prime of manhood who should lapse into such 
 disgusting vice. She would never believe that Mrs. Price's 
 fear was well-founded. 
 
 No, the man who had fought those half-drunken and wholly 
 brutal rioters could not himself be a drunkard. Her imag- 
 ination kindled as she thought of the famous fight against her 
 father's enemies. Here at least were heroic book-worthy 
 attributes on which one could dwell safely. That fight, as 
 described by Mr. Dowling and Mrs. Price neither of whom 
 could claim to be an eye-witness was of Homeric grandeur. 
 Prowess as of the old world-myths had been displayed: one 
 man defeating an army in pitched battle you cannot ask 
 of your hero more than that. 
 
 In fact, the thing had been less like a general engagement 
 than the ancient duel of champions. Mr. Fred Hoyle, car- 
 man from the brewery, a monstrous lout who led the pro- 
 cession, was the champion self-chosen for the advancing horde. 
 At the head of his troops he stepped forth, and breathed beer 
 and defiance. Then Jack knocked him down; and when 
 he got up, Jack knocked him down again. A friend and lieu- 
 tenant of Fred rushing in perhaps merely to pick up the 
 fallen giant received a clip on the ear that sent him stag- 
 gering. Another friend sprang back in horror of such ear- 
 clips. Still another friend armed with a loose plank swung 
 it for space and protection, wounding and disabling Jack's 
 left hand; and then with the useful plank escaped from the
 
 HILL RISE 181 
 
 danger zone. Then Jack himself shouted defiance. "Come 
 on, you dirty blackguards, if you want any more. Come on, 
 the lot of you," and his breath failed. He was completely 
 out of condition, weighing at least two stone more than his 
 correct fighting weight: he was puffed, wounded, helpless 
 really, but triumphant. The rabble rout had already begun; 
 the myriad enemy quailed, broke rank, turned; the effigy 
 of old Crunden was trotting away. It was in truth a beaten, 
 or demoralised army that streamed down the new road, down 
 Hill Road, and only rallied at the bridge to tell bridge 
 loungers the news. "Where's the p'lice? Why don't the 
 p'lice come? There's murder up the hill. Pore Fred's been 
 set upon and near done for." 
 
 These were the true crude facts not, of course, accurately 
 known to Lizzie, who sat now thinking of the more splendid 
 tale of almost miraculous battle as rendered by Pricey and 
 Mr. Bowling. 
 
 Presently, still thinking about the glorified version, she be- 
 came aware of an accompaniment to her thoughts a knock- 
 ing and ringing. Some one at the state-entrance of the cot- 
 tage vainly seeking admittance some one who had been 
 ringing the bell and gently hammering with the knocker for 
 a considerable time! Lizzie went herself to answer the bell: 
 it was too bad to keep people waiting, and it was annoying 
 that Mrs. Price and Mary never by any chance seemed 
 to hear the only important bell in the house the bell of 
 what was, ceremoniously, the front door. But when Lizzie, 
 doing Mrs. Price's task for her, hastily opened the door, she 
 was rather sorry that she had done so. 
 
 "Oh," said the visitor. "Miss Crunden. I have called 
 to see my son. Is he in and disengaged?" 
 
 The bell-ringer was Lady Vincent, in black bonnet and 
 sable stole, standing with folded hands, looking severe, and 
 speaking with a distant manner. 
 
 "No, Mr. Vincent is not here now. But I can telephone 
 to the yard I think he is there and say you have called 
 for him. Won't you come in?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Lady Vincent. "I would like to come 
 in for a few moments if vou will allow me. But do not
 
 182 HILL RISE 
 
 telephone for my son. I would not, on any account, disturb 
 him at his work." Then, in the little hall, Lady Vincent 
 looked at Lizzie with the steady reflective gaze that even 
 Hill Eise young ladies always found so disconcerting. "Miss 
 Crunden," she said, after a long pause, "what is my son's 
 work? It would be kind of you to tell me everything about 
 my son's work." 
 
 "I will tell you anything you ask me," said Lizzie. "Will 
 you come this way, please?" and she ushered her visitor into 
 the parlour. 
 
 "Is this the room that my son uses habitually?" 
 
 "No. He has used it for supper once or twice. But we 
 all use the other room now." 
 
 "Then that is the room I wish to see. May I go into 
 that room?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly;" and Lizzie ushered the visitor into the 
 working-room. 
 
 "It is a very large room," said Lady Vincent, looking about 
 her. "Quite a large room. And you all use this together? 
 It is, I see, your father's office." 
 
 Glancing at the window, she could now read backwards the 
 words in large black letters that showed with brutal straight- 
 forward distinctness when you were outside the house: "Hill 
 Eise Estate Office." This was the room in which all the 
 shocking business of destruction was carried on. With severe 
 disapproval she scrutinised the map of the estate that hung 
 on the wall, the telephone apparatus, the typewriting machine, 
 the letter-presses, the tables covered with papers; and all the 
 trade samples drain-pipes, tiles, wood paving-blocks, etc. 
 that had accumulated of late in great profusion. When 
 Lizzie, answering questions, pointed out Mr. Vincent's table 
 close to the map and telephone, the severity vanished from 
 his mamma's face. Lady Vincent stood by the table, and 
 examined the strange things upon it with bright and soft- 
 ened eyes. 
 
 "Your father makes him work very hard, I suppose?" 
 
 "My father works hard himself," said Lizzie proudly and 
 affectionately. "Mr. Vincent could not assist him unless he 
 was willing to work, too !"
 
 HILL RISE 183 
 
 "But he is quite willing," said Lady Vincent "only too 
 willing. . . . What is this, please?" 
 
 It was a book, with counterfoils and printed headings, 
 that lay open on the table. 
 
 "That," said Lizzie, "is the yard tally book;" and she ex- 
 plained its purpose and function. When materials were being 
 sent from the yard to the work in hand, Mr. Jack entered 
 them in the book, and gave the slip of paper bearing his 
 statement to the outside foreman. That they called a "yard 
 tally"; and the foreman, having received his tally, was then 
 held accountable for the use of the materials. "I don't know 
 why the book is here," Lizzie added. "It ought to be at 
 the yard but perhaps Mr. Vincent has made a mistake, and 
 has brought the book up for my father to look at." 
 
 "Oh, I don't think he would make a mistake. My son is 
 very clever." 
 
 "But Mr. Vincent cannot avoid making mistakes now and 
 then. Of course, he has had no experience." 
 
 "He kept the accounts for his regiment or for his com- 
 pany in the regiment. I think you will find him quite capa- 
 ble of keeping your father's accounts." 
 
 Lizzie smiled. 
 
 "He is not called upon to do that. Builders' accounts are 
 very intricate. My father does all that himself. This is not 
 what we call an account book." 
 
 "Oh ! . . . And what are these written papers ?" 
 
 Lizzie answered all questions, and Lady Vincent at last 
 thanked her. 
 
 "It is kind of you, Miss Crunden, to have let me see things. 
 I did so want to see things for myself but I must not waste 
 your time further." 
 
 "I can spare the time if there is anything else you wish 
 to know." 
 
 "Thank you. But I must not ask you any more I think I 
 ought not to ask you more and that I could not expect you 
 to tell me if I did." 
 
 "I will tell you anything I know." 
 
 Lady Vincent favoured Lizzie with another reflective 
 scrutiny.
 
 184 HILL RISE 
 
 "I am very anxious about my son. His employment here 
 has caused us the greatest anxiety and pain. In our opinion 
 it is not fitting but we were unable to prevent it. However, 
 I am proud to think of his working so well. He is working 
 well. You admit that, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes; I believe my father is quite satisfied with him." 
 
 "It is not the work itself although of course we should 
 not have chosen it. No. But it is all the surrounding cir- 
 cumstances. Your father's avowed motive to bring ruin and 
 humiliation " 
 
 "My father's only motive in employing Mr. Vincent was 
 kindness;" and Lizzie flushed hotly. 
 
 "You are quite right to defend your father and I have no 
 desire to speak harshly of him or his motives. I do not wish 
 to speak of him at all. I am obliged to you for allowing me 
 to come in, and now I will go. Thank you ;" and with much 
 dignity Lady Vincent walked to the parlour door. 
 
 But in the little parlour her dignity forsook her, and she 
 began to ask more questions. 
 
 "You said he supped with you here. Does he have his 
 supper with you every night?" 
 
 "Oh, no!"' 
 
 "Then where does he have his supper? Why does he not 
 come to us and dine with us? If he would only do that; 
 he would remove so much of our anxiety and pain. Miss 
 Crunden, he should not be here or at that dreadful cot- 
 tage. . . . Miss Crunden, I do think it is fine of him to work. 
 When it began, I thought it would be only temporary; but 
 it goes on. He goes on working and it would make me both 
 happy and proud if only the circumstances were different." 
 
 And Lady Vincent with some emotion explained her views. 
 Why should her son live in a horrid workman's cottage ? Why 
 could he not live at home in the Eedmarsh Road with his 
 father and mother, and go out to his work of a morning 
 as other workers did? 
 
 "If he would only live with us, I think my husband would 
 be reconciled even to what Jack is doing now as your 
 father's clerk. His present mode of life is not fitting, Miss 
 Crunden. It is a cause of scandal and pain. Everybody must
 
 HILL RISE 185 
 
 say he has quarrelled with us cast us off, and thrown in his 
 lot with your father. Of course, I can't expect you to agree 
 with me." 
 
 "But I do agree with you." 
 
 "You do? Oh, Miss Crunden, I am delighted to hear 
 you say so." 
 
 "I think," said Lizzie, blushing, "that it would be a 
 wiser and better arrangement if Mr. Vincent went back to 
 you every evening and if he lived with you, and not at Mrs. 
 Gates'." 
 
 Miss Barter could scarcely pay evening calls then ! In the 
 Redmarsh Road he would be safe among his own good angels ; 
 Mrs. Price could be easy in her mind; and Lizzie need not 
 take any more interest in his out-of-work hours. 
 
 But now Lady Vincent, with beaming eyes and a manner, 
 that had suddenly changed to cordiality, appealed to Lizzie 
 not to leave off thinking about her son. Her appeal was in 
 substance Mrs. Price's appeal. Once again Lizzie was begged 
 to take interest and use her influence. 
 
 "Influence him, if you can, to return to us. You will be 
 doing us a great kindness and I shall be very grateful to 
 you. . . . And I promise not to try to set him against 
 his work. No, I am too proud of him to do that. But I want 
 him back with us. ... There are reasons. There is one 
 reason which I do not care to speak of that makes me most 
 anxious to have him at home." 
 
 Again Lizzie blushed hotly. What was the reason that Lady 
 Vincent did not care to speak of? 
 
 "Miss Crunden. I will speak of it. You have received 
 me so kindly you take such a right view of things that I 
 think now that I cannot be wrong in trusting your discre- 
 tion that I should be wrong not to trust you;" and then, 
 after hesitating, Lady Vincent asked her final question. 
 
 "Miss Crunden, does he peg ?" 
 
 "Peg?" 
 
 "You don't understand?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "It is slang," said Lady Vincent gravely. "I am glad, Miss 
 Crunden, that you do not know the expression. I meant this
 
 186 HILL RISE 
 
 you have so many opportunities of observing him: Have you 
 observed that between meals he takes glasses of whiskey 
 and soda water or anything else?" 
 
 Lizzie understood now. His own mother shared Mrs. 
 Price's fear. But still Lizzie would not believe that there 
 could be any basis for the fear. Whatever people said, she 
 would never believe that. 
 
 "It would be a mistaken kindness, Miss Crunden, if you 
 encouraged him in the habit. It is only a habit nothing 
 more." 
 
 "He does not practise the habit here," said Lizzie firmly, 
 "and he never shall. I promise we will do all in our power 
 to discourage him." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Crunden, thank you. This has been 
 my great anxiety always. It is painful to speak of but I 
 lie awake at night thinking of it, and I am glad I have 
 spoken. . . . And one more word in exerting your good 
 influence I am sure now it is all good do not let him think 
 you are acting on my behalf. I hate deception of any kind ; 
 but if he fancied your advice was prompted by us, it might 
 lose its effect." 
 
 That same afternoon Lizzie tested the effect of her good 
 advice, and found it to be imperceptible. 
 
 The lamps had been lit, the curtains drawn, when Jack 
 came for his tea. He was in the gayest spirits, very much 
 pleased with himself and everybody else. 
 
 "Madam," said Jack, "to you I humbly bow and bend," and 
 he hung up his hat, and went to his accustomed place. "Your 
 father is coming up from Eaton's directly. Luck. Good 
 luck to-day. We have disposed of Lot Number 5." 
 
 He had pulled out a drawer and was looking for Mr. 
 Bowling's paint-brush and the red paint. 
 
 "I'll paint it on the map," he said gaily. "We'll paint the 
 map red for old Bowling and save him the trouble. Where's 
 the water? Here we are;" and with the greatest satisfaction 
 he painted another red patch on the big map to mark the lat- 
 est success. "There, Miss Lizzie, in a year from now we'll 
 have painted the whole map red. ... I did this off my own
 
 HILL RISE 187 
 
 bat. It was a chap I'd written to myself. I made the appoint- 
 ment, met him at the station, and never let go of him till 
 I had fixed it up and marched him into Eaton's room to sign 
 the draft. . . . Miss Lizzie, you don't praise me, but really 
 and truly I do deserve a pat on the back." 
 
 "I am sure my father will be much obliged to you." 
 
 "But aren't you obliged, too? It's a great thing to keep 
 moving. . . . Miss Lizzie, I wonder why you are so down 
 upon me. I'd like to think I was giving satisfaction to every- 
 body." 
 
 Then Lizzie, seeing her chance, took it. If Mr. Vincent 
 desired to satisfy every one, he would content his parents by 
 making his home with them in the Eedmarsh Road. She 
 advised him to do this. But Jack promptly and flatly rejected 
 the advice. He must continue his work. 
 
 "It would make no difference to your work." 
 
 "Yes, it would. It would put me out of conceit with myself 
 and with everything else." 
 
 Lizzie repeated and amplified her advice. She was grate- 
 ful for the assistance given to her father, but Mr. Vincent 
 had a duty to his own father: there was something harsh, 
 unkind, undignified even, in his complete withdrawal from 
 his own people. It made the world talk. 
 
 Jack laughed. 
 
 "The voice," he said, "is Miss Lizzie's voice ; but the words 
 are mamma's. Miss Lizzie, my dear mamma has been getting 
 at you. She has talked you over." 
 
 "Yes, Lady Vincent has talked to me. But I think it my- 
 self ; I have always thought it." 
 
 "You don't understand," said Jack. "It seems to you that 
 I have done a dirty trick in chucking them when the cash 
 ran out. That's what people say. But what does it matter 
 what people say?" and Jack became serious and thoughtful. 
 "Miss Lizzie, on my honour, it's all right. My people are 
 as right as rain and I'm fonder of them now than I ever 
 was. You needn't pity them. My Guv'nor is shaking down 
 quite comfortably; he has done with shams and pretences, 
 and he finds himself all the better for it. Besides," and he 
 laughed once more, "things will work out. In time, Sir
 
 188 HILL RISE 
 
 John may be a swell again. Sir John has great expectations ;" 
 and he came from his table and stood by Lizzie's chair. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie for old sake's sake don't think meanly of 
 me. I know what I'm about. What I'm doing is life or 
 death to me." He said this very seriously; then, before he 
 continued, paused, smiling. "It is a very remarkable thing, 
 too a man being born again at my age. But that's just 
 it. I am trying to win back all that I'd let slip strength, 
 self-reliance, manhood. I can only do it my own way by 
 depending on myself alone." 
 
 And then, for the third time, Lizzie heard the same appeal. 
 Mr. Jack himself asked her to take an interest in him. 
 
 "But I'm not too proud to accept help from your father, 
 or from you. If you want to help me and I wish you 
 would, don't send me back to mamma and papa but keep 
 me here, and keep my neck well into the collar. Think for me 
 that way ;" and he laid his hand upon his heart and bowed. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie, you won't take your cue. You were kinder to 
 me in the old days. You can't remember your line. 'Nay, sir, 
 I take you not to be my friend.' That was it. You don't say 
 it, Miss Lizzie but you act it and I often wonder 
 why. . . ." 
 
 Mr. Crunden, returning, interrupted the conversation. Mr. 
 Crunden was jubilant, rubbing his hands and chuckling 
 pleased with himself, pleased with his clerk, pleased with 
 everybody. 
 
 "Paint it up," he cried jovially. "Ah you've done it 
 a'ready. That's right, sir. Sharp's the word, quick's the mo- 
 tion. You tackled our friend proper. . . . Liz, Lot 5 gone, 
 and more to follow. . . . And now we'll pass on to some- 
 thing else. Something I want to discuss over our tea. It's 
 this: Griggs have written to me again very pressing they 
 want to hold a MarTcee sale on the estate. I don't say yes to 
 the idea, and I don't say no. I want to discuss it before I 
 put on my considering cap."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 JACK had said it is a great thing to keep moving; and, 
 although so devoid of experience in relation to land and build- 
 ing speculations, he had here undoubtedly stumbled upon a 
 prime truth. For complete and striking success with any land 
 development scheme, there must be no delay : you must march 
 forward to the appointed goal without long halts, or even 
 frequent brief pauses occasioned by meeting unforeseen ob- 
 stacles. Time is money all the way. Time, therefore, time 
 to gain or time to lose, was the matter to be first thought 
 of whenever Mr. Crunden put on his considering cap. 
 
 This was his position financially. Such backing as was 
 necessary he obtained from the Medford District United Bank. 
 He could have raised money through solicitors who make it 
 their business to finance builders, etc., but he had seen too 
 much of the trouble and discomfiture that come with that form 
 of support. Bank aid is dear; but it is the safest aid you can 
 seek, and, for a sound operation, it is the cheapest in the 
 end. To his good Bank friends he had gone then, after 
 boldly bidding thirty-seven thousand pounds for Hill Rise. He 
 was worth twenty-six to twenty-seven thousand himself; all 
 else must be supplied by the Bank. He began to sell his prop- 
 erty without an hour's delay: realising all his stocks and 
 shares, and going slow only with his ground rents, which, 
 of course, cannot be sold in a tearing hurry. He soon had 
 twenty-two thousand in hand; and the balance of fifteen 
 thousand, with a further five thousand for working capital, 
 he borrowed from the Bank on the security of the title deeds 
 of Hill Rise. 
 
 Nothing could have been better than the treatment of Mr. 
 Crunden by the Bank authorities. A solid man to deal with, 
 no risk to them why not? They fell in with all his views; 
 and this was the method adopted for the perfectly legitimate 
 
 189
 
 190 HILL RISE 
 
 transaction. The Bank agreed to let the loan take the form 
 of an overdraft, with a maximum of twenty thousand pounds, 
 which maximum was to be reduced by minimums of one thou- 
 sand every three months; but Mr. Crunden was free to pay 
 off as much as he liked whenever he liked. The Bank com- 
 pleted the purchase for him, and received the deeds from his 
 London solicitor. Then such copies were taken as Mr. Eaton 
 required for preparing conveyances of the building plots; 
 and then the deeds went down into the Bank's strong and 
 <lark room, never to emerge and rise into the light again until 
 the bank book showed Mr. Crunden's balance on the right- 
 hand instead of the left-hand page. 
 
 The deeds would soon come out Mr. Crunden felt no 
 qualms; Mr. Bowling was bulling over with enthusiasm. 
 By realisation of the remainder of his old ground rents, Mr. 
 Crunden would steadily reduce the overdraft; by sale of 
 eligible plots, of all buildings that he himself put up, of each 
 new ground lease as created, he would make further speedy 
 reductions; and, washing one hand with the other, wipe off 
 the balance and get clear again. In two years if all went 
 well he should be able to say to the United Bank: Good- 
 morning and many thanks to you. 
 
 Then would come the grateful task of bringing home once 
 more his own deep-sunk money ; and then, finally, the reaping 
 of the golden harvest of clean profit. A big profit hanging 
 to it something really big ! "You see," said the enthusiastic 
 Bowling, "we can't go wrong, because of the tremendous wide 
 margin. That's what attracted me from the first." 
 
 Second only to time, as a matter for consideration in every 
 development scheme, is the wideness of your margin. In 
 this scheme after careful estimate of all conceivable adverse 
 conditions the margin seemed of magnificent wideness. 
 
 Here were forty acres from which you must subtract eleven 
 acres occupied by the Hill Eise houses and gardens. That 
 left you twenty-nine acres of open ground, from which again 
 you must subtract five acres for your roads; and after that, 
 you had twenty-four acres as mapped out by Bowling into 
 two hundred and six most attractive plots. Bowling calcu- 
 lated that the land all through would carry without the small-
 
 HILL RISE 191 
 
 est difficulty an average ground rent of one hundred pounds 
 per acre. That is to say : when the twenty-four acres were 
 covered, you would have created ground rents to the pleasant 
 tune of two thousand four hundred per annum, which, when 
 sold at twenty-five years' purchase, would bring the tidy cap- 
 ital sum of sixty thousand pounds. Thus your margin smiled 
 widely upon you : twenty thousand pounds of profit, minus 
 interest on money borrowed, loss of interest on money sunk, 
 cost of roads, law charges, etc., but plus and what a plus it 
 was ! the twenty houses and eleven acres of Hill Eise. 
 
 Then indeed would arrive the golden epoch. The real 
 battle would be over: with all his money safe home again, 
 Crunden could quietly demolish and develop Hill Eise itself. 
 First one side, then the other the even numbers first should 
 be given to the house-breakers ; the ground should be cleared ; 
 the lovely attractive strip the cream of the whole thing, 
 with its unique frontage to the common, should be mapped 
 out in narrowest plots, let to the best builders, and adorned 
 with neatest, nattiest, most up-to-date little villas electric 
 bells, tiled bathrooms, no basement. This, indeed, would be 
 a leisurely luxurious task an easy happy time of all plus, no 
 minus : everything coming in, nothing going out. 
 
 Mr. Crunden by no means accepted Mr. Bowling's glitter- 
 ing figures; he made heavy discounts for temperamental 
 enthusiasm ; he weighed all things in his own mental balance. 
 The considering cap was worn by night and day before he 
 decided to take the great plunge. He knew, far better than 
 Bowling, what loss of interest on capital sometimes means. It 
 begins as a mischievous little pilferer, but with time enough 
 it swells into a most monstrous thief, taking your all. The 
 public never thinks about loss of interest; and thus men may 
 be envied for making a fortune when in fact they are spend- 
 ing one. Nevertheless, he thought he saw his way clear to the 
 end of the journey and a substantial reward. His own esti- 
 mate of the time required was five years at the worst. He 
 thought he had foreseen all that could possibly occur at the 
 worst. "At the worst" was his maxim and watchword, and, 
 satisfied that the worst was good enough, he started boldly 
 and resolutely.
 
 192 HILL RISE 
 
 He must open his yard and build what are known as decoys. 
 Builders are timid adventurers; they like to build where 
 others are building; you must lure them on to new ground; 
 not drive them. He would build a few rows of cottages 
 always saleable, and then a few decoy houses here and there; 
 and then, say in two years, he could close the yard. Mean- 
 while, during this early stage, the money poured out. Three 
 thousand already spent on roads, two thousand and more 
 absorbed by the unfinished cottages, overdraft costing a thou- 
 sand a year, all income-producing stocks and shares converted 
 into vacant and unremunerative ground: everything was 
 progressing well, slowly, perhaps, though as well as could be 
 expected; but here were solid enough items to set down to 
 capital account. 
 
 And already the unforeseen was occurring. The bed-rock 
 itself on which Cowling founded the scheme had shifted. No 
 available building land: building land sorely needed, but 
 not a yard to be obtained. That was the very foundation of 
 the scheme ; and it had been knocked a little sideways already 
 by the fact that Medford had obtained other building land 
 ten acres of it, at Hill House. Who could have foreseen 
 the sale of Hill House? In lesser matters the unforeseen 
 confronted one. Dowling had always counted on the rents of 
 Hill Rise; and these were promptly failing. Whenever the 
 unforeseen made itself prominent, Mr. Dowling always said 
 "Tut, tut!" and already, before five months were gone, he 
 had said it very frequently. 
 
 "Yes, I must confess, things are going slow." 
 
 "Damned slow," said Mr. Crunden once, with a loud 
 grunt. 
 
 "But it's all right. It will be all right in the end." 
 
 "Yes, I know that," said Mr. Crunden resolutely. "Though 
 I believe now it will take longer than I thought and a great 
 deal longer than you thought." 
 
 In these circumstances Mr. Crunden hesitated to dismiss 
 the proposal of Messrs. Griggs without discussion. 
 
 It occurred to these smartest and most thoughtful of auc- 
 tioneers that, having sold the estate once, they should now 
 sell it again and earn a second commission. If Mr. Crunden
 
 HILL RISE 193 
 
 favoured this notion, they proposed to erect a large marquee 
 on the ground itself, advertise the sale handsomely, secure 
 railway saloons or a special train, issue invitation cards 
 and return tickets, and bring down under their personal super- 
 intendence a heavy load of "likely buyers." After such a 
 luncheon as Mr. Crunden might be disposed to offer, the 
 bidding would be animated, and Mr. Crunden's numbered 
 lots would go off like hot cakes. Hot cakes is the traditional 
 simile: indeed it has become almost a technical term. Dow- 
 ling had often used the expression, and now Griggs promised 
 and vowed that hot-cake speed should be attained if Mr. Crun- 
 den would give them their starting signal. 
 
 "We have," they declared, "proved these Marquee sales, 
 as conducted by us, to be most popular and efficacious all over 
 the country. We shall be glad to tender an estimate for pre- 
 liminary expenses and to quote lowest terms for our own 
 charges." And, proceeding to their strongest argument, they 
 urged Mr. Crunden to take Time by the forelock and get rid 
 of as much of his land as, with the utmost push, might be 
 possible, before the London and Suburban Trust could glut 
 the market with the land they had recently acquired. 
 
 "We may say," continued Mr. Griggs, "that this company 
 are rapidly concluding the very large operations in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Croydon, which have hitherto kept them fully 
 occupied. But it has come to our knowledge that at an early 
 date the Company intend to give undivided attention to the 
 development of their Medford estate, which, as we need not 
 remind you, is immediately contiguous to your own. We 
 are most desirous, therefore, that you should be the first 
 in the field with a Marquee sale." 
 
 This argument possessed great strength. No one could 
 doubt that Griggs would gladly organise a Marquee sale for 
 Crunden's rivals, if with the resources at their command they 
 could not do the thing for themselves. Time was all- 
 important; and at last, after much discussion and thought, 
 Mr. Crunden said, Yes. But, ere he irrevocably committed 
 himself with Griggs, Jack Vincent was instructed to write 
 to them, pointing out that the depth of winter is not season- 
 able for al fresco entertainments, and demanding an assur-
 
 194 HILL RISE 
 
 ance that Marquee sales had been tried and had met with 
 success at this period of the year. 
 
 "Yes," said Griggs, gladly giving the assurance. They 
 would use their winter Marquee with solid boarded floor, 
 patent stoves no flimsy, draughty tent in which you might 
 catch your death of cold, but a spacious canvas hall in which 
 you would be snug and warm as in your own drawing-room. 
 "We suggest," said Griggs, "that your Mr. Vincent meet our 
 representative, who will visit Medford to-morrow, and settle 
 all details." 
 
 Mr. Crunden had said Yes, and henceforth the matter 
 seemed to pass out of his hands. He was in the position of 
 the rich kind host who is about to give a party, and who has 
 assistants to save him all trouble. His assistants would see 
 to it that the party was a success. Griggs' representative 
 complimented him on possessing a really able assistant in Jack. 
 "Your Mr. Vincent is a most knowledgeable gentleman; he 
 takes up all our ideas, and we shall not worry you further, 
 sir. We shall look to him as your deputy." Jack, as deputy, 
 threw himself heart and soul into the labour of preparation for 
 the party, and said he thought the whole thing the greatest 
 lark. 
 
 "I call it a ripping idea, sir; and you're a true sportsman 
 to go in for it. We'll paint half the map red in one jolly, 
 friendly day." 
 
 And always, as it came nearer, the party grew in size and 
 splendour. Griggs first said they could advantageously place 
 one hundred invitations; then it was one hundred and fifty; 
 then two hundred. Bowling with freedom was inviting 
 "likely" London people. Jack, in correspondence with in- 
 quirers, was issuing at least twenty-five invitations. No one 
 in Medford was to be asked not one citizen. The host had 
 laid down that rule for the party, and he grunted scornfully 
 if one spoke of breaking the rule. "I don't want 'em to come 
 here and eat my victuals, and then throw stones at me behind 
 my back." But he was forced to make exceptions. Without 
 abating their attitude of censure and disapproval, several 
 citizens formally applied for invitations. Mr. Hope of the 
 Advertiser wished to be present; Mr. Mees of the Weekly
 
 HILL RISE 195 
 
 Bulletin claimed admission; and one or two more were com- 
 ing. Old Selby called at King's Cottage and craved tickets 
 "for self and wife." "It will be a treat for me poor wife, 
 and God knows 'tis cruelly hard on a young woman to get no 
 treats from year's end to year's end." The host endeavoured 
 to refuse the honour of Mrs. Selby's company; it was a man's 
 party; no ladies were invited. "Come, now, young Crunden, 
 ye'll not grudge me poor young wife a seat at your public 
 luncheon table. . . . Tha'anks, young Crunden. Ye were 
 always a good la'ad; I knew your fa'ather." 
 
 In relation to the luncheon itself, Jack had been most 
 active. 
 
 "Let 'em have a good substantial snack," said the host. 
 
 "A cold spread, I suppose," said Jack. "But what about 
 some hot soup to begin with? Griggs ask for the hot soup,, 
 sir. Shall I get two estimates with the soup, and with- 
 out it?" 
 
 And day by day the luncheon had waxed in importance 
 and pomp. Now all was settled: the host would not be 
 shamed by a beggarly board. It was to be a hot luncheon with 
 cold regalia, to be done in tip-top style by Bob Drake of the 
 White Hart at four shillings a head for two hundred and fifty 
 head certain: i.e., 50 down anyhow, and per capita for 
 "chances" thereafter. Jack of course would count heads him- 
 self, and check Bob's counting. Jack would also count bottles, 
 and guard them, and give them out, etc. Bob was not doing 
 the wine. 
 
 "Will you, sir," asked Jack one day, "will you change your 
 mind and give them champagne after all ?" 
 
 "I have told you I won't." 
 
 "I know, sir ; but Griggs go on worrying me about it. They 
 say it's always expected, and it's always efficacious. They 
 had it at their Herne Bay sale when the lots went off like 
 hot cakes." 
 
 How can a host, wishing his party to be a success, decline 
 the advice of party experts? It was plain that Jack believed 
 in the efficacy of champagne, although he was loath to lead his 
 patron into unnecessary expense. 
 
 "Of course," he said, "one can get good cheap brands really
 
 196 HILL RISE 
 
 cheap, and yet quite good enough all froth and sparkle, you 
 know. There was an excellent wine we used in our militia 
 for race-meetings Jodeler. That was the name not more 
 than forty bob a dozen Jodeler." 
 
 However it was discovered that Jodeler was now extinct. 
 This good wine had been permitted to vanish from wine- 
 merchants' lists: no more was Jodeler procurable. But an- 
 other brand, Eosencrantz, had come to the front even better 
 than vanished Jodeler. Eosencrantz, Jack found, was in all 
 respects suitable to the occasion. Authorised by Mr. Crunden 
 he ordered large quantities of Eosencrantz, and he now always 
 spoke of the coming event as "Champagne Day." 
 
 "Champagne Day will soon be here now, Pricey-picey. We 
 are going to give them fizz, and then they are going to paint 
 the map red for us." 
 
 It was perhaps unfortunate for Jack that, while busily 
 making arrangements for this great Saturday, he should have 
 been drawn into association with some of his old companions. 
 He was compelled often to go to the White Hart, strictly 
 on business, for interviews with his caterer, Bob Drake; and 
 here in the old haunt he met the old loafing friends. Here, 
 from Mr. Eldgworth, Charlie Padfield, etc., he heard all 
 about the "Merry Girls' " dinner, and was implored to be of 
 the dinner. 
 
 The "Merry Girls' " Company was about to pay its tenth 
 return flying visit : there would be morning and evening per- 
 formance by this talented troupe on the day of the sale; 
 and their staunch admirers had decided to give the loved 
 artists a dinner at the White Hart between the shows. Miss 
 Daisy Dolfin that old favourite was no longer in the Com- 
 pany, but her place had been taken by Miss Fay Flinders, 
 who was as good, if not better "quite all right." "Fay will 
 be here, Jack; we shall all be here; and you must come, Jack. 
 You really must just to show you're alive, and aren't quite 
 out of your mind." But Jack said no: he could not accept 
 another engagement for Champagne Day. 
 
 Then, as Mrs. Price would have expressed it, "he was over- 
 persuaded. Padfield, Eidgworth, and others, putting their 
 stupid heads together, arrived at the conclusion that old Jack
 
 HILL RISE 197 
 
 really wanted to come, but, poor beggar, could not afford the 
 treat; and with blundering generosity they offered to relieve 
 him of his share in the bill. "We do want you, Jack and 
 we'll pay your shot for you. We'll put you on the same footing 
 as the 'Merry Girls' themselves." 
 
 Jack flushed, and said: "Thanks. I'll pay my own shot. 
 Yes, I'll try to come and I'll stand the wine for the lot 
 of you. I'll send it in, and you must arrange with Drake 
 about corkage." 
 
 At the moment, it seemed the right thing to say and to do, 
 the only way of asserting his new dignity as a working-man 
 a money-earning man. He must show the old gang that he 
 did not need their patronage or pity; and in the most lordly 
 manner he sat down at Miss Granger's desk in the bar parlour 
 and wrote to London ordering on his own account another 
 three dozen of Eosencrantz, to be despatched to the White 
 Hart. He knew he had done wrong afterwards immediately 
 afterwards as he hurried back to his work, he knew that it 
 was desperately wrong. It would postpone by several weeks 
 the payment of his debt to Crunden; it was his first false 
 step, first breakdown in his new career. He knew now that 
 he had been a silly ass, but at the moment it seemed impossible 
 to be anything else. 
 
 Charles, the headwaiter, who naturally had charge of the 
 "Merry Girls' " dinner, was also to be major-domo at the 
 Marquee luncheon. In the evening before the sale day, he 
 called on Jack at Mrs. Gates' cottage. 
 
 "I've just run up, sir, to say as all is in trim for to- 
 morrow," and Charles, beaming, endeavoured to conceal the 
 surprise caused by the humble and exiguous parlour in which 
 he found Mr. Vincent sitting. "I do hope we shall have a 
 success of it to-morrow, sir. Anyhow the tent is a knock- 
 out and I promised the food will be Al. . . . Weather 
 seems safe, too. A hard frost to-night, sir, and the glass 
 higher than ever. But, sir," and with a laugh Charles opened 
 his ulster and glanced down at his greasy black trousers, 
 "I do wish, sir, I could turn myself out a bit smarter. . . ." 
 
 And, shyly, Charles explained how the thought had come to 
 him that Mr. Jack, under his reverse of fortune and in his
 
 198 HILL RISE 
 
 new mode of life, might probably be discarding his ceremoni- 
 ous dress suits. Charles, impelled by this thought, had gone 
 to Mr. Gregory in Water Lane, but had there learnt that 
 among apparel sold by Mr. Vincent there were no dress suits. 
 
 "I thought," said Charles apologetically, "you wouldn't be 
 wanting them nowadays ; and you, sir, being a fine figure of a 
 man like myself your cast-offs would do me proud, and fit 
 me as a glove. . . . Now, sir, if you could let me have a 
 suit not to give, but to sell " 
 
 "No," said Jack, "I can't sell you a suit. I'm not an old- 
 clothes merchant. But come upstairs, and I'll see what I can 
 do for you ;" and he lit his bedroom candle. 
 
 "Mind your head, Charles," said Jack, as he led the way 
 into the little room upstairs. Then, pulling forward a trunk 
 from the dark corner, he brought out his treasures, laid them 
 on the bed, and examined them. 
 
 "Here, Charles. Here you are. You are very welcome to 
 these." 
 
 "Sir," said Charles, in rapture, "how can I thank you 
 sufficient?" 
 
 "That's all right," said Jack. "I can spare them. They 
 are too big for me now. Look here, Charles," and with both 
 hands he plucked at his waistcoat. "I'm a much finer figure 
 than I was. See. Quite a wasp waist, isn't it?" 
 
 "Well, I never," said Charles. "You really are getting back 
 your waist. I wish I could do the same. How have vou done 
 it, sir?" 
 
 "Hard work," said Jack, smiling, "early hours, and strict 
 abstinence." 
 
 "Lor'," said Charles, and his broad face now expressed 
 the deepest sympathy and regret. "I do hope, sir, you don't 
 go short, ever;" and the eyes of poor old Charles became 
 moist, and his eyelids blinked. "Sir, I couldn't bear to think 
 that a gentleman like you ever went 'ungry or short of his 
 full allowance. . . . Let me, sir, buy these at a fair price. 
 Do now, sir. Many's the tip I've had from you best gentle- 
 man I ever come across and it isn't money that makes the 
 gentleman. . . . Do now, sir, let me pay fair." 
 
 "No, no, Charles. But thanks all the same. You always
 
 HILL RISE 199 
 
 were a sportsman. No, you misunderstand. I only meant 
 abstaining on purpose. I'm dieting myself reforming my- 
 self trying to get into hard condition. That's all." 
 
 Then Charles, reassured, with the dress suit in a bundle 
 under his ulster, went home to the White Hart happy and 
 contented. He was very fond of Jack, and had been quite 
 overcome by the horrid thought of his sufferings from short 
 commons. 
 
 On the bright and frosty morning of Champagne Day itself, 
 Jack received a supper invitation. 
 
 "I hope, sir," said Crunden, "you'll make it convenient 
 to sup with us to-night so that we can talk things over quiet 
 when all's done. Mr. Dowling, he can't join us; but I hope 
 you will if only to cheer us up a bit. For, between you 
 and me Masonic my expectations have dropped these last 
 few days chiefly from something Griggs' clerk let fall and 
 then tried to take back." 
 
 "What time is supper, sir?" 
 
 "Eight o'clock as usual." 
 
 "Thanks," said Jack, after a little consideration; "I'll be 
 there without fail." 
 
 Marquee luncheon, "Merry Girls' " dinner, Crunden supper 
 it would be a full day for Jack. 
 
 The sale was not a success. When Crunden saw the needy, 
 seedy, greedy Londoners that had been imported at such vast 
 expense, his expectations dropped again. Men of straw that 
 was the only name for Griggs' ticket-holders. It is part of 
 a builder's business to recognise, and avoid treaty with, men 
 of straw : from them come the half of all builders' disasters. 
 Old Crunden hated and abhorred men of straw, and he saw 
 them now trooping up the new road in dozens. Any remaining 
 hope must be in the solidity of guests invited by Dowling 
 and Jack, or collected by the profuse advertising in the Lon- 
 don Press. 
 
 The luncheon, however, was most successful. Charles the 
 major-domo, Drake the caterer, and Jack the wine steward 
 and master of ceremonies, all played their parts well. Jack 
 particularly distinguished himself, by his affability, winning
 
 200 HILL RISE 
 
 all hearts, making everybody feel happy and at home. There 
 were speeches and toastings. Mr. Douglas J. Grigg, at the 
 top of one of the tables, gave a rousing oration; Mr. Crun- 
 den's health was drunk standing; Mr. Vincent's health was 
 drunk informally without a speech again and again. 
 
 The great sensation of the day was undoubtedly the Eosen- 
 crantz champagne. It was truly dreadful stuff like burning 
 ice, like frozen hot punch; like sugar turned into gas and its 
 froth was quite wonderful. It made people sneeze. It foamed 
 and fizzed and bubbled; it sent its corks nearly through 
 the canvas roof. It banged like a gun, it gushed like a 
 fountain, it steamed like a geyser. Crunden tossed off a very 
 little of it and then drank tumblers of soda water, one after 
 another, as fast as he could. "But the men of straw loved 
 it, could not have too much of it : "A glass of wine with you, 
 Mr. Vincent." "Your health, sir." "Mr. Vincent, I look 
 towards you." 
 
 Then, at last, tables were cleared, trestles carried out; 
 rostrum and lofty seat were set up, and Mr. Douglas J. Grigg, 
 hammer in hand, smiled down upon the assembly. But no 
 lots went off. The lots were less like cakes than stones . 
 rocks immovably fixed to mountain sides, which even such 
 fire as Eosencrantz could not blow away. 
 
 Just at first all seemed as it should be. The first three 
 lots seemed to be knocked down at real hot-cake speed. But 
 Mr. Griggs' subordinate, who hurried to take the bidder's 
 name, had to return with tidings of confusion and annoyance. 
 It was old Mr. Selby, who, with his young wife, had lunched 
 to repletion, and who was not now bidding but merely 
 nodding his head in token of ease, gratitude, universal friend- 
 liness, etc. 
 
 "No, no, my la'ad," he said to Mr. Douglas J. Grigg, when 
 challenged from the rostrum. "Ye're a clever la'ad, but ye 
 won't ca'atch me tripping. No bid. I was but nodding me 
 head. No bid." 
 
 Not a single lot was sold in the Marquee. 
 
 It was the evening of Champagne Day, and it seemed to 
 Lizzie Crunden that history repeated itself. Supper to-night
 
 HILL RISE 201 
 
 was laid in the big room; it was long past supper time; she 
 and her father were waiting for the young man who did not 
 come. Lizzie was thinking of a night in the far-off past 
 when they had thus waited; and as she thought of it she 
 shivered. 
 
 "Shall I dish up?" asked Mrs. Price, with a long face. 
 
 "Yes," said Crunden gloomily; "we can't wait for ever. 
 He'll be here perhaps as soon as we begin." 
 
 Then father and daughter ate their supper in almost un- 
 broken silence. Mr. Crunden was bearing the day's disap- 
 pointment stoically. He looked grave and stern, and his fore- 
 head was puckered; but when Lizzie spoke to him, his brow 
 relaxed. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I'm not 
 fretting, Liz," he said valiantly. "I didn't expect much 
 result from it ; but I felt I ought to try it." Of course he 
 must be depressed in spirits ; but he was so brave that if there 
 had been any one here to cheer him, he could have enjoyed 
 his supper after the long, fruitless day. It was unkind, 
 thought Lizzie heartlessly unkind of the supper guest to fail 
 him. She could not herself cheer him : her thoughts, in spite 
 of efforts to restrain them, were drawn back into the far-off 
 time; it was as if all this was an ugly dream which she was 
 forced to dream for the second time. She wondered if he, too, 
 thought of the night when they sat waiting for brother Dick. 
 She was sure that Mrs. Price was thinking of it. 
 
 Mrs. Price, with a shawl over her head, had trotted down 
 the road to Mrs. Gates', and on again nearly to the bridge, 
 seeking news or sight of the laggard. Now she was back again, 
 asking her questions in most niournful tones. 
 
 "Have you finished, sir? . . . Shall I take away, 
 sir?" 
 
 "No; leave the things for the sake of good manners. It 
 would look odd if he came and saw the table bare." 
 
 Lizzie pulled the armchair to the corner by the fire, brought 
 her father his pipe and tobacco jar, and watched him as 
 thoughtfully he filled the pipe. Watching him, her pretty 
 eyes filled with tears, and she laid her hand upon his head 
 and stroked his coarse grey hair. The hair was white upon 
 his temples. Looking down at him, she thought suddenly that
 
 202 HILL RISE 
 
 he was quite an old man too old for hard work that ends 
 in disappointment. 
 
 "Dad dear, it was bad luck about the sale. I am so 
 sorry that you didn't have good luck. I wish you could have 
 l uc k always." She said this with great cheerfulness, after 
 ostentatiously blowing her nose, and furtively drying her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Don't fret for me, Liz. I wasn't even thinking of it. I 
 was thinking of something else altogether different." 
 
 Then he sat in his armchair, pulling at his pipe and look- 
 ing into the fire. 
 
 And then Mr. Vincent arrived. 
 
 History did not entirely repeat itself. It was not quite 
 the arrival of unhappy Dick all over again. But, too plainly, 
 Mr. Vincent was not at his best to-night. He was excited, 
 laughing from insufficient cause, too voluble, chattering non- 
 sense and losing the thread of it the logical sequence of his 
 ideas somehow checked, if not broken. As he rattled on, all 
 listened in silence. Mr. Crunden was solemn as a Chancery 
 judge; Miss Crunden was frigid as a marble statue; Mrs. 
 Price, who had opened the door, turned up her eyes and shook 
 her head. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie not going ? Don't go oh, please don't go ! 
 I'm disgracefully late couldn't get away. But I meant to 
 come. They couldn't stop me coming." 
 
 Pallidly contemptuous, with cold anger in her grey eyes, 
 and disgust in the curl of her red lips, with haughtiest car- 
 riage, Miss Crunden walked away into the other room. Shak- 
 ing her head, sadly, slowly, Mrs. Price went away down the 
 kitchen passage. Whatever harsh words Mr. Crunden might 
 choose to employ, the culprit to-night would find no friend 
 in King's Cottage to deprecate wrath or intercede for 
 leniency. 
 
 But Mr. Crunden to-night used no harsh words. He lis- 
 tened to the chatterbox as though not listening. He seemed 
 lost in his own thoughts; and when at last he spoke, it was 
 only to suggest that the hour was late and that perhaps bed 
 would now be the appropriate place for everybody. 
 
 "Walk home with me, then," said Mr. Vincent. "I haven't
 
 HILL RISE 203 
 
 begun to tell, you the fun I'll tell you all I can. My dear 
 old boy, I don't want to keep things from you." 
 
 He took leave of Mr. Crunden reluctantly and affectionately 
 at the door of Mrs. Gates' cottage. 
 
 "Good-bye, old boy. I wish you'd been at the 'Merry Girls' ' 
 dinner. You ought to have been there. It's a dashed shame 
 you weren't there. Everybody was there;" and he laughed 
 heartily. "Daisy Dolfin wasn't there. I was dashed glad 
 Daisy Dolfin wasn't there. You know, old chap, I liked that 
 girl, but I got so dashed sick of her. You know, I gave her 
 a bangle. You did know that, didn't you? Oh, Daisy's 
 all right. We parted friends but I was so dashed glad not 
 to see her again."
 
 CHAPTEE XVI 
 
 "MR. JACK," said Mrs. Price, concluding her severe lecture 
 on Monday morning, "will you take the pledge along with 
 me? I like my glass of ale at meals as much as any one. 
 But I'll give it up, if you'll do the like. In this house we've 
 seen too much of the sorrow it brings." 
 
 "Yes, you've said that before. Don't rub it in, Pricey." 
 
 "Then will you do what I ask?" 
 
 "No, I won't. I'll take the pledge against Eosencrantz 
 champagne. In fact, I have taken it. Now run away, please. 
 Can't you see I'm busy?" 
 
 The clerk might be busy, but also he was in disgrace. Mrs. 
 Price had lectured him with the utmost severity, although, 
 so far as Pricey was concerned, he strove to carry things 
 with a high hand. 
 
 He was desperately busy when, later in the morning, his 
 fellow-worker, Lizzie, silently took her seat, and began work 
 with the typewriter. But, after a little while, when the clack- 
 clack and clong-clong of the machine ceased and Lizzie sat 
 writing, the silence became so oppressively irksome that he 
 attempted conversation. He found, however, that Lizzie 
 seemed altogether too busy to indulge in idle chat. 
 
 "I was looking for the sealing wax," said Jack, as he rose 
 from his chair. "Is it on your table?" 
 
 Lizzie pointed with her pen to the tray that held the sticks 
 of wax. 
 
 "You don't wear those pretty blue dresses now, Miss 
 Lizzie. ... I suppose they are really summer frocks. . . . 
 Wouldn't be suitable for this cold weather ! But you'll wear 
 them again in the warm weather, I hope. They are so awfully 
 pretty. . . . But I mustn't interrupt you. I can see you are 
 busy. Mrs. Price interrupted me just now, and I reproached 
 her for doing it and I mustn't do the same to you. Inter- 
 rupt you I mean." 
 
 204
 
 HILL RISE 205 
 
 Lizzie went on writing diligently; and Jack, returning 
 to his desk, hastened to complete his clerical task. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie, forgive my interrupting you." This was 
 when he had taken his hat from the peg and was about to 
 go out. "Miss Lizzie." 
 
 "Yes, what is it?" 
 
 "Do you remember how I begged you not to send me to 
 the Kedmarsh Koad ? Well, I don't like this other place you've 
 sent me to. I don't like the place at all." 
 
 "What place are you talking of ?" 
 
 "Coventry. I hate it. You'll let me come back soon, won't 
 you? . . . Miss Lizzie, you know, I'm sorry about Saturday 
 night being so late and all that. Your father hasn't said 
 anything, yet. Of course, if he speaks to me, I shall tell him 
 I'm sorry." 
 
 He said it to Mr. Crunden presently, in the small room at 
 the yard. He and his employer had been going through last 
 week's pay-sheet. 
 
 "Mr. Vincent," said Crunden gravely, "I judged by many 
 signs Saturday evening that you had been acting imprudent. 
 Now, sir, I'm old enough to be your father I am older I 
 do think than Sir John so perhaps you'll listen without 
 offence to the remarks which I shall let fall." 
 
 At the first word of this second lecture, Mr. Jack smartly 
 brought his heels together; and, erect, silent, grave, he stood 
 before his superior officer. It was the old orderly-room manner, 
 assumed instinctively as most suitable for the occasion : he was 
 again a subaltern taking a wigging from the colonel in the 
 approved military style. No defence; no explanation; brief 
 statement of regret, when your colonel gets tired of it or 
 loses his breath. 
 
 "I am sorry, sir. It shan't happen again." 
 
 But when all was over with formal manners laid by, and 
 they were strolling through the archway side by side, Mr. 
 Crunden began again. 
 
 "You know, sir any remarks I let fall were simply for 
 your own good. I feel sure your own father Sir John 
 would endorse " 
 
 "Oh, hang it all," said Jack rather warmly, "don't rub
 
 206 HILL RISE 
 
 it in. Don't go on rubbing it in. It was after business 
 hours " 
 
 "Yes, yes, we'll say no more." 
 
 "Don't," said Jack ; and then, after a gulp, as though swal- 
 lowing the tendency to slight warmth, he laughed and gave 
 Mr. Crunden a slap on the shoulder. "You can see I was 
 ashamed of myself. Well, then, as between men and brothers 
 as between good pals you needn't try to rub it in ;" and he 
 hurried away towards the estate. 
 
 Crunden, walking by himself, with his hands in the pockets 
 of his grey jacket, thought of the present and of the past. He 
 stamped along bravely enough; but, thinking thus, he was 
 sad and heavy of heart. He thought of his son Dick. Why 
 would not his own son bear advice and reproof ? Why would 
 not he work, or feel the least sympathy for workers? Was 
 it the fault of the father ? Surely not all the father's fault ? 
 
 He walked up Hill Eise, looking to right and left at the 
 houses already empty, at the houses that soon would be empty, 
 too; but he saw without seeing. His difficult enterprise, his 
 annoyance at delay, his hopes for prompt success all had 
 faded from his mind; he was walking in the past; he was 
 walking with ghosts. 
 
 Dick would never brook hard words; Dick was obdurate 
 to kind words. You could not lead him, you could not entice 
 him, you could not coerce him. He must have known that 
 there was love for him, if he would but deserve it if he would 
 but accept it. Even the hedgehog loves its young Dick must 
 have known that. Open revolt, scorn of his humble origin, 
 sneering jokes about common toil and honest rewards these 
 were the things that the doomed boy offered in exchange 
 for all one's care and thought. 
 
 Crunden shrugged his shoulders, tilted his square hat back 
 on his head, passed a hand across his eyes, and then stamped 
 on faster to the gate of the old tennis ground. He was trying 
 to shake off the past: strong men should think only of the 
 present and the future. He had work before him years of 
 work enough to occupy all one's thought. He would think 
 only of his appointed task. 
 
 The clubhouse the property of the members had been
 
 HILL RISE 207 
 
 pulled down and removed ; sold as old material for a few shil- 
 lings more than the cost of cartage. The long grass on the 
 tennis lawns was white with frost ; the wire fences were broken 
 where they had not been knocked over ; two basket chairs with 
 the seats smashed lay out at the mercy of the weather ; desola- 
 tion and ruin were all one could see on the spot where polite 
 society had once gathered to laugh and play together, or to 
 deride and scoff at their inferiors outside the gates. Crunden, 
 now lord and master, looked down from here at his wide 
 domain. The new finished roads were clean and bright, with 
 the new granite kerbs and channels flashing and sparkling in 
 the frosty sunlight. Thousands of shining sovereigns had 
 gone to the making of them they might well glitter to show 
 where the gold lay buried. Far below him the slate roofs 
 of his new cottages caught the light and reflected it dully. 
 Nearer to him, above the completed roads, were road sections 
 laid on either hand, but as yet waiting attention merely the 
 turf stripped off, earth dug and carted, the track just bar- 
 relled, and left to wait for its six inches of brick rubbish, 
 its four inches of coarse ballast, its two inches of fine ballast, 
 for surface drains, for main sewer, for its kerbings, chan- 
 nellings, its gravel-path, its everything. And in all direc- 
 tions, all over the domain near and far, were the corner 
 pegs of good sound pine to mark boundaries of all the plots 
 whereon houses would one day be built. It was a noble slice 
 of freehold land for its owner to look down upon, a building 
 estate of which even a big company might be proud ; stretch- 
 ing away in the frosty sunlight, it seemed a tremendous space 
 to get covered within five years even if things went smoothly. 
 Far off there were men and wagons, piles of cases, an untidy 
 litter, and the bare poles of the tent to remind him of Sat- 
 urday's wasted money. He would be glad when Griggs and 
 Drake had cleared away all their mess, and he should be 
 able to forget the adventure. The depression that must follow 
 after disappoinment was heavy upon him as lie walked for- 
 ward. To-day he could not hold his thoughts to business 
 matters. They had wandered again from the great task, and 
 he was thinking now of the young man, his clerk. Pres- 
 ently, as he thought of his clerk, he smiled. He stopped
 
 208 HILL RISE 
 
 short, brought his heels together, took his hands from his 
 pockets, and drew back his shoulders and stood straight and 
 firm. That was the attitude. The memory of it made him 
 smile. 
 
 Poor Dick, when upbraided, used to sit slouching with his 
 hands in his pockets never look you in the face, just stare at 
 the ceiling. Afterwards he would sulk never ask you in 
 a friendly way to let bygones be bygones. Crunden frowned 
 again as he thought of it. 
 
 "As between pals!" That was a thing poor Dick would 
 never have said. But of course no meaning in it really. 
 Gammon ! Just your fine-gentleman trick of pleasant speech. 
 Words chosen for the sound of them, not for the sense in 
 them but words chosen with such skill sometimes that they 
 are music to the ear and comfort to the heart. 
 
 "As between good pals I"
 
 CHAPTEE XVII 
 
 THE Marquee sale had proved a dire fiasco nearly five 
 hundred pounds spent, and absolutely no result. For a 
 week or two Crunden suffered from depression of spirits, was 
 silent and thoughtful at meals, absent-minded and gloomy in 
 the yard. Then he roused himself and began to take ener- 
 getic action. One day Ke told Dowling that he had deter- 
 mined to start building four decoy houses at once. It had 
 been originally intended to start with two decoys, but he now 
 decided that he must double the number. Bowling's plans 
 were all ready; the houses would be of the very latest style 
 quaint yet handsome, tricky and startling in exterior design, 
 but most comfortable and convenient inside. There would 
 be fantastic porches, green tiles, bottle glass, hall-doors of 
 unvarnished oak studded with nails and spikes; there would 
 be shower baths, electric bells, hatches through which the 
 food could slide into the dining-room instead of troubling 
 the servants to carry it from the kitchen ; there would be run- 
 mouldings from America, architraves, skirtings, and chair 
 rails from Sweden in a word, they would be decoys so 
 attractive that they could scarce fail to lure the shy birds. 
 Builders are like the birds in this, that they like to begin 
 building about Valentine's day; and Crunden wanted to get 
 his houses well out of the ground by that date. With Dow- 
 ling, he carefully selected the best strategic sites two on the 
 outside, one at the top of his new roads, and one still higher, 
 beyond all roads, close to where the clubhouse used to stand. 
 This farthest house would be a bold decoy, and would appear 
 inaccessible until success made it worth one's while to bring 
 the roads up to it. 
 
 One must be bold when hesitation and delay will be fatal. 
 The great London and Suburban Land Trust were now giving 
 
 209
 
 210 HILL RISE 
 
 attention to their Hill House Estate. Their boards were up, 
 and words on the boards showed clearly what redoubtable 
 neighbours and rivals this Company would be. "Money ad- 
 vanced on easy terms" that was the Company's large-lettered 
 message: "Three-quarters of purchase may be left at low 
 rate of interest." 
 
 Mr. Parrot, in conversation with Crunden, quoted this 
 announcement two days after the Company's boards were first 
 seen. Mr. Parrot was the builder from Reigate who had 
 taken six plots, and thereon was to build three more rows 
 of cottages. He had signed his agreement, but he had done 
 nothing further; he was, he said, finishing his Reigate jobs 
 must finish there before he could begin here. 
 
 "I hope," said Crunden sternly, "I haven't got hold of a 
 man of straw." 
 
 "Oh, no/' said Parrot indignantly. "Nothing of the sort. 
 But I never told you I was made of money. And if you 
 want to be off with the bargain, say so, and you're welcome. 
 I shall only have to walk up the road to get ground yes, 
 and money, too." 
 
 "They won't give you ground for cottages, Mr. Parrot." 
 
 "I ain't particular what I build especially when I'm being 
 financed on easy terms." 
 
 Crunden concealed his discontent, affected to be satisfied 
 with Parrot's excuses for dilatoriness, politely expressed the 
 hope that Parrot would, like the birds, begin to build those 
 snug little nests by springtime. The conversation had shown, 
 him again how essential it was to be beforehand with his 
 rivals. If the Company's boards had been in position earlier 
 he would never have secured Parrot. 
 
 He enlarged his staff at the yard. He had intended to 
 work with the smallest possible staff, but now he had more 
 than thirty men on the weekly pay-sheet. Twelve hands in 
 the joiner's shop, a plumber and two mates in the plumber's 
 shop, two masons, three plasterers, three painters who were 
 also glaziers and paperhangers, six or seven bricklayers with 
 eight or nine labourers, shop-foreman at forty-five shillings a 
 week, outside foreman at fifty shillings, not to mention clerk 
 at thirty-five: with these items to make up the wages' bill,
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 Saturday's money needed thought and calculation. He was 
 in fact working soon with a nearly full yard : he was a builder 
 again quite on the large scale as in the old days. 
 
 But the work itself cheered him, kept him in heart and 
 courage. He had always thriven on hard work: anxious 
 waiting and idle delay are what enervate and enfeeble body 
 and brain. At home he was always cheerful now. Every- 
 thing, he told Lizzie, was going on smoothly and prosperously. 
 Neither she nor his clerk need ever worry their heads as 
 to the ultimate success of the great scheme. You must sow 
 before you can reap. The money was pouring out, but it 
 would come rolling home again. All that concerned the 
 financial side of the scheme was entirely Mr. Crunden's affair : 
 as to that side of it he made no confidants, he required no 
 advice. 
 
 Thus, as the weeks and months passed, life at King's Cot- 
 tage settled down into a steady routine: without excitement, 
 without holidays, with nothing but healthy toil for everybody, 
 the time once more glided fast. 
 
 Lizzie in her great indignation having sent Mr. Jack to 
 Coventry, kept him in that town of silence for many weeks. 
 But at last she allowed him to understand that his offence had 
 been pardoned. If papa could overlook and forget, it was 
 not for her to be unforgiving. Papa, she thought sadly, was 
 more gentle with Jack than he had been with Dick. She 
 seemed nervous and apprehensive when again Jack was bidden 
 to supper; she hardly dared to raise her eyes and look at the 
 visitor when Mrs. Price announced his arrival. But on this 
 occasion Mr. Jack was quite at his best at his very best ; and, 
 with Mr. Dowling as a sprightly second guest, the evening 
 was of the pleasantest. No business was talked: it was just 
 a friendly supper-party. 
 
 Jack, however, detected the misgivings of his hostess, and 
 pleaded with Mrs. Price to obtain for him a more complete 
 oblivion of the past. 
 
 "Pricey, do tell Miss Lizzie that she needn't be afraid. Do, 
 for goodness' sake, tell her that Champagne Day will never 
 come again." 
 
 "I hope it never will/' said Mrs. Price severely.
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 To Lizzie not the least painful thing about Champagne Day 
 had been the necessity to speak of it to Lady Vincent. In 
 these months Lady Vincent had paid further calls on Miss 
 Crunden, and had written once or twice. Jack's mamma was 
 grateful to Miss Crunden for attempting to exert her good 
 influence, and begged her to continue the exertion. 
 
 "He told me/' said Lady Vincent, "that you had urged 
 him to return to us. Only he cannot do so. But, Miss Crun- 
 den, your words were not without effect. He has dined with 
 us more often much more often than before. . . . And, 
 Miss Crunden, he is not falling into any bad habits, is he ?" 
 
 Then Lizzie, blushing hotly under the sense of vicarious 
 shame, felt compelled to touch upon the final events of Cham- 
 pagne Day. 
 
 "You know what I said, when you said about his his 
 doing what you said. I forget the word." 
 
 "Pegging," said Lady Vincent solemnly. "It is a slang 
 word." 
 
 "Well after that, he did peg once. But he has never 
 pegged since then. And, Lady Vincent, I don't think I feel 
 sure that he has made up his mind not to peg again." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Crunden, do show him your horror of that 
 dreadful habit." 
 
 "I did show it," said Lizzie, blushing more hotly still. 
 
 It was curious how completely Lady Vincent now seemed to 
 count on Lizzie as her ally. From the moment of her dis- 
 covery that Lizzie held "such right views" on the all-important 
 subject of Jack, she confided in Lizzie absolutely. She was 
 the kindest, but certainly not the wisest, of women; and on 
 one of her visits she made a naive confession. "Miss Crunden, 
 you are so different from what I had been led to suppose. It 
 only shows how careful one should be in forming an opin- 
 ion about people that one really does not know. I very 
 much regret that in your case I formed a most erroneous 
 opinion." 
 
 It now seemed quite natural to turn to Lizzie, as a right- 
 viewed person, for news and for assistance. Indeed, as Lady 
 Vincent had always thought, it was the natural duty of any 
 one privileged to enjoy the society of Jack to take the strong-
 
 HILL RISE 213 
 
 est interest in his welfare. She spoke of him to Lizzie without 
 the least reserve as to another matron full of years; almost 
 as if Lizzie had been a relative of the family, some old aunt 
 of Jack, lost sight of for a long time but now again brought 
 back to the family circle. 
 
 "My dear boy will want some holiday. Miss Crunden, have 
 you thought of that? If he works all through the year, his 
 health must fail. Mr. Crunden can scarcely refuse some 
 holiday/' 
 
 "No, my father will give him a holiday if he asks for one. 
 My father is taking no holiday himself this year." 
 
 "Ah, but your father has worked all his life, and is there- 
 fore inured to it. But with Jack, that is not so. Do, Miss 
 Crunden, use your influence and get a holiday for him. Make 
 him take a little rest before the autumn. . . . 
 
 "And, Miss Crunden, could you manage this for us? Pre- 
 vail upon him to spend his holidays with us at Bournemouth. 
 We are going to Bournemouth in order to be near my husband's 
 poor old cousin. You know, Miss Vincent is dreadfully in- 
 firm lamentably afflicted. I really do not believe that there 
 is the smallest chance of poor dear Harriet recognising us 
 or even knowing that we are in the neighbourhood; but my 
 husband feels that if, poor dear, she did dimly understand 
 that we had come on purpose, she would take it as a kind- 
 ness. But it will be so wretchedly dull for him whereas, 
 if he had Jack as a companion, we should all be happy. He 
 is such a wonderful companion. You find that, don't 
 you? . . . 
 
 "And, Miss Crunden, his father will say nothing to upset 
 Jack. I do not pretend that my husband is yet reconciled to 
 Jack's work. But he does honestly begin to admire it. You 
 see, it goes on. That is what surprises my husband and has 
 won his admiration." 
 
 It was at the end of this visit that Lady Vincent for the 
 first time spoke in almost a friendly manner of Lizzie's 
 father. 
 
 "You have seen what this horrible Company are doing at 
 Hill House? What does Mr. Crunden think of that? They 
 are pulling down our old home; they are cutting down the
 
 214 HILL RISE 
 
 dear old trees it is far worse than what your father is 
 doing. . . . 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Crunden. Tell Jack his place is laid 
 at dinner every night. Short makes a point of it. Short, I 
 think, is just as pleased to see him as we are. ... I shall 
 walk up Hill Eise and look at our old home. It is a painful 
 sight but it is cowardly to avoid it. The world, Miss Crun- 
 den, is always changing; and I suppose it is foolish to wish 
 to keep things as they were forever. 
 
 "Since this horrid Company has come, one can understand 
 that perhaps what your father is doing is only natural. Your 
 father, seeing the opportunity to make a large fortune, could 
 hardly be expected to refrain from consideration for other 
 people's feelings. If it had not been your father, I suppose it 
 would be some one else. For your sake, now, I will wish your 
 father continued success. He has been famously successful 
 so far, hasn't he?" 
 
 "He is getting on very well, I think." 
 
 Lizzie, standing at the door of ceremony, watched Lady 
 Vincent walk slowly up Hill Eise. The world had indeed 
 changed to bring her the great Lady Vincent as a friendly, 
 garrulously confidential visitor. Once such visits would have 
 made her heart beat fast with pride and hope, and filled her 
 brain with vaguely beautiful dreams : now they left her quite 
 calm and self-possessed. But from them there had come one 
 most comfortable feeling, together with a sense of grateful 
 respect for the visitor's husband. Sir John had kept his 
 word. Sir John had proved himself a great gentleman : 
 not even to his faithful wife had he betrayed the secret of old 
 Crunden's mad proposal. Lizzie, talking to Lady Vincent, 
 was ,quite sure of this ; and her respectful gratitude to Sir 
 John grew deeper and deeper. 
 
 Mrs. Price, for her part, derived no comfort from my lady's 
 calls. 
 
 "What'd she come here again for ? Miss Lizzie, if I was you, 
 I wouldn't encourage her coming. She couldn't take care of 
 him when she had him in her charge, and now as we're looking 
 after him, she wants for to unsettle him again and take him 
 away from us."
 
 , HILL RISE 215 
 
 When Mrs. Price employed the masculine pronoun without 
 previous nominative, one could always know that nominative 
 understood was Mr. Jack. 
 
 There could be no question that Crunden had been suc- 
 cessful with the two rows of cottages built by himself. The 
 finishing had been somewhat slow, but they were practically 
 done now fences being fixed, last coat of paint going on to 
 doors and garden gates, tenants waiting to come in and 
 dry the plaster. They were really commodious cottages ; suita- 
 ble abodes for small clerks, wives of superior servants, good 
 working couples who could take a lodger to help pay the rent 
 of ten shillings a week which was certainly not too high. 
 These cottages were the safest part of Crunden's scheme. 
 Such property is always saleable ; and, although no offers had 
 yet been procured, Crunden was confident that he would have 
 no difficulty in selling. There is always, in any town, a good 
 demand for cottages until, of course, you put up too many 
 cottages, and over-supply kills demand. 
 
 Now the time had come to name these attractive little boxes 
 of bricks, and Crunden, in jovial spirits, had invited his 
 assistants to advise upon the choice of names. 
 
 "You mean," said Jack, "a name for the lot? You'll give 
 a number to each ?" 
 
 "No," said Crunden, "I mean to name 'em all through. 
 Tenants never like numbers. They like to live in a house 
 with a name and a good big name, too." 
 
 "Bella Vista," suggested Mr. Bowling. 
 
 "Multum in Parvo," suggested Jack. 
 
 "Scheme Aussicht," said Lizzie, smiling. 
 
 "Shah Nore," said Crunden, laughing gruffly. "There's a 
 a bit of French for you. Shah Nore ! That's good French, 
 isn't it, Liz? . . . No, you've all showed your learning; 
 but English names are good enough for me, thank you. And 
 I don't know," he continued gravely, "as we can do better 
 than fall back on the stately homes of England Hatfield, 
 Chatsworth, Welbeck, and so on " 
 
 "How about the stately trees of England?" said Bowling, 
 "Elm! Oak! Yew Cottage Willow Cottage!"
 
 216 HILL RISE 
 
 "I'd rather have the flowers," said Lizzie. "Kose Cottage, 
 Jasmine Cottage." 
 
 "What do you say, Mrs. Price?" 
 
 "Oh, I say : Number 'em and be done with it, sir." 
 
 "I shan't call 'em cottages," said Crunden, "whatever else 
 I call 'em. Tenants don't like the word cottage. Houses! 
 Hill Side Houses, eh?" 
 
 "Oh, call them cottages, sir," Jack pleaded. "If you begin 
 with houses for these, you'll have to call the others castles." 
 
 "Well, there's something in that, too," said Crunden doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 After a long but amicable debate, Mr. Crunden allowed him- 
 self to be overruled on all points. The cottages were called 
 cottages, and were numbered Hill Side Cottages, 1 to 20. 
 And in a little while all but three of them were occupied by 
 the best class of cottage tenants. 
 
 This was pleasant enough; but before very long Mr. Crun- 
 den had to face two more disappointments. The man who 
 had taken Lot 5, and of whom much was hoped, disclosed 
 himself as a man of straw. An unsightly roofless carcass was 
 thrown on Mr. Crunden's hands. Carcasses cannot be left 
 about on a building estate ; profitably or not you must convert 
 them into weather-tight, roofed, and glazed houses : aban- 
 doned as derelict, they proclaim the story of failure and will 
 scare away the boldest speculators. Mr. Crunden grunted, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and manfully set to work to turn the 
 scaring carcass into a fifth luring decoy. 
 
 Then came the ignominious collapse of Mr. Parrot. Et tu, 
 Brute! In a moment one saw plainly the straw bulging and 
 protruding. He was as completely a man of straw as any 
 effigy of his landlord on last Guy Fawkes day. 
 
 He had allowed St. Valentine's feast to pass without be- 
 ginning to build. Midsummer was near before he cut the 
 turf, brought bricks upon the ground, and slowly laid down 
 concrete and set his footings for the three new rows of cot- 
 tages. On the third of July, when he was about ten courses 
 high, the bill which he had given to his brickmaker was dis- 
 honoured, and he came up to King's Cottage to ask for mone^y. 
 The morning's post had already sounded the well-known note
 
 HILL RISE 217 
 
 of alarm. "In regard to J. E. Parrot," wrote this man of 
 straw's timber merchant, "we are prepared to deliver imme- 
 diately on the understanding, as we have already been given to 
 understand, that you are guaranteeing the account ; but before 
 doing so shall be glad to have your confirmation of the same." 
 There was nothing for it but to take over the newly started 
 cottages. Eather than lose time and incur costs in recovery 
 by law, Crunden paid off Parrot's score for bricks, etc. 
 bought out Parrot, and even gave him something for him- 
 self, to be rid of him promptly. Gladly would he have also 
 given Parrot a prodigious kick behind, to speed him from 
 the land and knock the straw out of him. 
 
 Again, however, he bore his disappointment stoically. 
 
 "I saw it coming," he said to Jack. "There was no sur- 
 prise in it. I've seen it coming quite plain last few weeks." 
 
 And he grunted, squared his shoulders, and took up the 
 new work. Unfinished cottages cannot be left about on a 
 successful building estate. One must keep moving: noth- 
 ing must stand still. Upon the hill, his rivals were moving 
 fast. The Company had cleared the ground along their out- 
 side frontage, had marked out and even fenced their plots; 
 and these outside sites with the unbroken view over the golf 
 links, the common, the bare down and nestling woods were 
 going off like hot cakes. 
 
 The staff was increased again: the yard was so full now 
 that it overflowed. The master was now as busy as in the old 
 days when he had six or seven solid contracts on hand. But 
 of course there must be a limit to this sort of thing. Mr. 
 Crunden's scheme had been to get others to build all over the 
 land, not to build all over it himself.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 NEARLY a year had passed and the warm summer weather 
 was coming round again. The big map on the wall at King's 
 Cottage had many new red patches on it nearly a dozen, 
 to mark the progress of the months. The red paint showed 
 steady, but somewhat slow, progress, with which Mr. Crunden. 
 always professed himself satisfied. 
 
 It would have been an easier and quicker task to paint their 
 map for the London and Suburban Trust. The Company, 
 lending money to anybody who asked for it, with boundless 
 capital behind them other people's capital, sacks of it, to 
 waste if they chose, had performed what looked like miracles. 
 Their whole ten acres had been prepared in one block the 
 last tree-root grubbed out, roads smoothed by steam-rollers, 
 paths neatly paved and gravelled, lamp-posts set up, fences 
 placed throughout, names of the new roads on large enamelled 
 plaques glaring at one from every corner. That was how 
 the Company developed an estate bang, all together, at one 
 blow. Perhaps it might not be sound business; but if they 
 lost here, they would gain elsewhere. Should they drop money 
 at Medford, they could pick it up far away at Willesden, 
 Peckham, Bromley. Washing one hand with another, the 
 Company's arms stretched across four counties. 
 
 To Medford citizens it seemed that the Company possessed 
 an Aladdin's lamp. When they rubbed the lamp, one rubbed 
 one's eyes in wonder. Houses rose in a single night. The 
 common frontage was all filled; a profusely gabled, red-tiled 
 village was advancing from the common, and every day it 
 seemed to draw nearer to Hill Rise and Mr. Crunden's 
 boundary. 
 
 During this period, while the minutest trace of his old home 
 was being obliterated, Mr. Jack Vincent had paid his debt. 
 
 218
 
 HILL RISE 219 
 
 He came to Mr. Crunden one Friday evening and put a little 
 bag of gold on the table before him. 
 
 "This, sir, is what I owe you with many thanks. I 
 thought you'd be writing your cheque for Saturday's money 
 and this can go to the yard instead." 
 
 "Oh, ah ! Yes, sir but is it convenient to you ?" 
 
 "Quite," said Jack. "You remember, I paid ten pounds 
 on account. Well, this is the balance forty-pounds odd." 
 
 "What's the odd for ?" asked Crunden, counting the money. 
 "It was only fifty pounds." 
 
 "Interest," said Jack. "Four ten. Five per cent. It 
 ought to be eighty per cent. because you had no security." 
 
 "Yes, I had," said Crunden gruffly. "Your word." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 "I can't take the interest." 
 
 "Please do, sir. You really must take it to oblige me." 
 
 "Matter of pride, eh ?" and from beneath bent brows Crun- 
 den looked at his clerk. "Very good. I understand your 
 pride your proper pride." 
 
 Then he put the money back in the bag, dropped the bag 
 into a drawer of his bureau; and, after unlocking another 
 drawer, searched among his papers. 
 
 "Here you are, sir," and he handed Jack his I.O.U. 
 
 "Thank you, sir. And thank you again for the loan and 
 for your kindness in letting me earn the money to wipe it 
 off." 
 
 "Don't mention it," said Crunden stiffly. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you, sir," said Jack hesitatingly, 
 "for giving me the chance of earning the money. It was very 
 good of you. And I have tried my best to take the chance, 
 don't you know. I have really tried to earn the money 
 and the grub you've given me. . . . But have I earned it, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Yes," said Crunden, rather gloomily, "you have earned it 
 honest and square." 
 
 "Tally-ho, whoo-hoop," cried Jack. "I did want you to say 
 that so badly. And you did say it at last. And you meant 
 it honour bright and shining?" 
 
 "Yes, I meant it."
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 "Forrard forrard away 0," and Jack capered out of 
 the room, down the passage, into the kitchen. 
 
 "Look, Pricey-picey, puddeny-pie," and he put his I.O.TJ. 
 in the middle of the kitchen table, flung an arm round the 
 ample waist of Mrs. Price, and danced her round the table. 
 
 "Lor', Mr. Jack, let me be. Let be, I say." 
 
 "Then look at it, Pricey, look. Greatest achievement of 
 modern times;" and he babbled and laughed with so much 
 gaiety and excitement that for a minute or two Mrs. Price 
 thought Champagne Day had come again. 
 
 "Pricey, you old ass, you're the one in this house that cares 
 for me so you're the friend I turn to in joy and sorrow. 
 Look at it. I've earned the money and paid it back. If 
 any one had told me I should earn my daily bread and save 
 forty quid, I'd have said he was a rotten prophet. But I've 
 done it. I can look the whole world in the face, for I owe 
 not any man." 
 
 "Let me be," said Mrs. Price, escaping from another 
 dance. 
 
 "You don't know what it means to me, Pricey, old girl. 
 I was a dreamer and I am awake. But more than that I 
 am free now. I was a bond slave, and I have won my freedom. 
 And look at my figure. I have regained my lost figure look 
 at my wasp waist. A young lady told me the other day I was 
 as lean as a greyhound. And I'm as strong as a lion. Catch 
 hold of my arm feel it. Whip-cord and steel. Catch hold 
 of my leg feel my leg. . . . 
 
 "Don't be an ass. You're old enough to be my grandmother. 
 Feel it, I say. Hard and straight, as a cast-iron drain- 
 pipe. ... If you pitched me out in the world now, I'd laugh. 
 I'm worth my grub and pay now all the world over." 
 
 Mrs. Price recounted to Lizzie the exuberance and joyful 
 chatter of the debt-free clerk. 
 
 "He come running to tell me about it just like a child. 
 And laugh and snap his fingers. There, he made me dance 
 with him, Miss Lizzie he did, indeed." And Mrs. Price 
 smiled and bridled as she went on to report the gratifying com- 
 pliment paid her by Mr. Jack. "He said I was the one in 
 this house that was fondest of him and that's true, Miss
 
 HILL RISE 221 
 
 Lizzie. I'd go through fire and water for him if he asked 
 me. . . . 
 
 "I never knew the master lent him the money, but I'm 
 proud to think he done so. He never dunned him to pay 
 back, I'm. sure and that proves how good Mr. Jack is for 
 to be so pleased in paying of his debt." 
 
 Another day, when Lizzie was alone, Mrs. Price with smiles 
 and nods and mysterious mien approached Mr. Jack's desk. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie you very busy? I can show you something 
 to make you laugh. He's hidden it away here in here in 
 his desk." 
 
 "What are you doing ? You are not opening his desk ?" 
 
 "Yes, I am," said Mrs. Price. "Lor' he wouldn't mind. 
 He may come in now and catch me for all I care." 
 
 "Yes, but I care. I don't want to see anything that Mr. 
 Vincent keeps shut in his desk." 
 
 And Lizzie would not look, although Mrs. Price brought 
 the hidden curiosity across the room for her inspection. It 
 was a square of cardboard, on which Mr. Vincent had pasted 
 his I.O.U. Above and beneath this interesting relic he had 
 written in a large and clerkly hand ; and Mrs. Price laughingly 
 recited the inscription. 
 
 "John Vincent's work that's the writing, miss This debt 
 was discharged and the documentary evidence recovered 
 I'm reading the writing, miss by the savings of the earn- 
 ings of the work of John Vincent. Day after day, to the 
 astonishment of himself and all mankind, John Vincent has 
 worked and is now working. . . . There," said Mrs. Price, 
 restoring the vainglorious placard to the desk, "just like any 
 child who feels he's been good and says so." 
 
 He certainly was childlike in the naive delight that bubbled 
 out of him, and found expression not only on cardboard but 
 in his conversation. It seemed that he had truly felt the 
 burden of debt weighing upon him, and that with the load 
 thrown off he felt a joyous freedom. Self-satisfaction, to- 
 gether with the loss of flesh, now rendered him even boyish 
 of aspect as he prattled of the pleasures of independence, and 
 so forth. If he did not directly speak of himself, one could 
 guess that he was thinking of himself and his famous achieve-
 
 222 HILL RISE 
 
 merit. He exhibited the boyish egotism which one forgives 
 because of its candour and innocence. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie. You know I'm riding again. That's the 
 only thing I missed my rides. But now I get my rides 
 before my work." 
 
 Lizzie politely conveyed her compliments on this gratifying 
 fact. She was glad to learn that Mr. Vincent could now afford 
 the luxury of horse-riding. 
 
 "Oh, no/' said Jack. "I couldn't afford it, if I had to 
 pay. I went round to Banker, the riding-master, and asked 
 to help him exercise his horses. Good chap Banker. He 
 said yes just out of kindness. The worst of it is, his horses 
 don't want exercise they want rest. But he has bought a 
 young 'un and he does want that well schooled for Miss 
 Irene Hope to ride. . . . Miss Hope wrings all their backs. 
 You know how she twists about on a chair well, she does 
 the same on a horse." 
 
 Lizzie smiled, and for once encouraged Mr. Vincent to go 
 on chattering. She disliked Miss Hope so much that she 
 enjoyed hearing how badly Miss Hope rode. 
 
 "Banker is a real good sort a grand worker. H,e has been 
 working all this time for his sister. When her husband died, 
 she was left with the business and those little children and 
 the business might have gone to pot, and the children starved, 
 but for Banker. A good chap like that ought to marry and 
 be happy ever after. I'd like to see Banker happy with a 
 nice, kind, pretty wife because he is such a good sort." 
 
 Mr. Jack had nothing further to say about squirming Irene, 
 and Lizzie ceased to encourage him. After paying his tribute 
 to the virtue of Banker, he passed on to his own virtue and 
 became too egotistical even for a child. 
 
 "My waist almost frightens me," and he pulled in his 
 jacket. "Wasps sometimes break in two at the waist. Do 
 you remember what a fat podge, I used to be? . . . Oh, I 
 was I weighed at least three stone too much. Dieting is 
 the grand thing. Miss Lizzie, I am very careful now about 
 what I eat and drink. Never to exceed, I mean. ... If 
 you want to be in really fine condition, you can't be too 
 careful about eating and drinking."
 
 HILL RISE 223 
 
 Lizzie very rarely indeed encouraged Mr. Jack to talk in 
 business hours. She checked him by long pauses, inattentive 
 answers, and final silence. He knew that he must not talk 
 to her and waste both his and her time. 
 
 One morning he was plainly wasting his time while she 
 busily worked. He sat idly musing nibbling the end of a 
 pencil while he watched her working. 
 
 His idle scrutiny troubled her at last and she looked up and 
 asked if he was in need of anything. 
 
 "Oh, no. I was only thinking." 
 
 Lizzie went on with her work. 
 
 "I was thinking of your pretty blue dresses. You don't 
 wear them now and I'm so fond of blue. I told you how 
 I admired them, and I was wondering if that was why you 
 gave up wearing them because you thought I had bad 
 taste." 
 
 "How absurd," said Lizzie, after a pause. "I have worn out 
 my old dresses, and I haven't bought any new dresses this 
 year." 
 
 "When you buy one, do get it like the very oldest one the 
 one you wore years and years ago when I first came here ;" and 
 Jack got up, went to the window, and looked out. . . . 
 "Bigger, of course: that one wouldn't fit you. But that was 
 the one I liked you best in. ... 
 
 "Shall I tell you why, Miss Lizzie? . . . Because in that 
 dress you were kinder to me than you are now more of a 
 friend. . . . You know, your father is pleased with me," and 
 he smiled. "Mrs. Price is very pleased with me. Mary doesn't 
 mind me. That's three people in this house. I think, if I 
 went away, I should leave in this house three real friends." 
 
 Then there was another pause. 
 
 "You would leave four," said Lizzie, without looking 
 up. 
 
 Jack laughed, and shook his head. 
 
 "No. You had to say that out of politeness. 'Nay, sir, 
 I take you not to be my friend' . . . Good gracious, I've 
 forgotten old Eaton. Eaton told me to be at his office by a 
 quarter to twelve. It's ten minutes past ;" and, snatching his 
 hat, Jack ran off really like a greyhound.
 
 224 HILL RISE 
 
 Crunden, after supper on August evenings, would some- 
 times smoke his pipe in the garden with Lizzie. The day's 
 work lay behind him : he could rest for an hour now, and try 
 to forget the work. Here, at the bottom of the garden, there 
 was nothing to remind him of it; he had turned his back 
 on the Hill, with all the new town that he and his rivals were 
 making; the old town, unchanged, lay at his feet. Through 
 the summer darkness not really darkness, but a dusky, restful 
 silence that prepares the world for sleep, one could make 
 out the familiar roofs and towers the dome of Selkirk, the 
 brewery warehouse, the pinnacles of the municipal hall, and 
 trace the line of the main streets by the lamp-lit windows, 
 or the reflected light thrown from walls and eaves where the 
 gas was flaring in shops below. 
 
 "Dad, your pipe has gone out. Shall I get the matches?" 
 
 "No, thank you, Liz. It's a very funny thing a pipe is 
 never quite the same where you can't properly see the smoke. 
 But it's pleasant sitting out here in the cool. Don't you 
 want a shawl or something?" 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 "Take care of your health, my dear go on taking care 
 of it. I have been neglectful of you, Liz -latterly." 
 
 "I am perfectly well, father. As strong as a horse. There's 
 nothing left of the silly Lizzie who made you anxious. Don't 
 give me a thought." 
 
 "Well, my dear, I haven't given you many thoughts 
 latterly. I'm too deep in this and I can only think of 
 one thing at a time. I was always like that. But you are 
 not to stick too close to your desk Mrs. Price says you work 
 too hard." 
 
 "Oh, that's absurd ! It's the work that has done me good 
 cured me, and made me strong." 
 
 "That's right. Yes, I do believe you are cured in your 
 health. And, Liz, the other thing the fancy? . . . What 
 you called your dream is quite done with, eh? The 
 time has come when you and I may just talk of it and 
 laugh?" 
 
 "No. Laugh but don't talk of it. Please nerer speak 
 of it again."
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 "Oh, but this once, Liz, I must speak of it. I want to be 
 quite sure how we stand." 
 
 "Then, for the last time. Father, is that a bargain?" 
 
 "Yes, that's a bargain." 
 
 "Well, what is it that you want to be sure about?" 
 
 "That I done no harm in having Mr. Vincent here " 
 
 "No harm." 
 
 "You said so, you know, or I wouldn't have agreed to it. 
 But I want to know it turned out right hasn't worried you, 
 made you uncomfortable." 
 
 "No not now. Only at first." 
 
 "But it did at first ? Answer me true, Liz." 
 
 She had moved away to the low wall, and was looking over 
 the dark roofs of the sleepy old town. 
 
 "Father for the very last time. It was all nonsense but 
 I hated his being here. I thought Sir John would tell him. 
 I didn't, dare meet his eyes. Only just at first, father it 
 was torment and punishment. But it was soon over and I 
 deserved worse punishment than that for upsetting you, and 
 making you burst out into all this " 
 
 "No," said Crunden resolutely. "You had nothing to do 
 with that. I've always told you so. All that wasn't wise 
 and businesslike in it was just my own spite and rancour 
 to read a lesson to the lot of 'em and clear off old scores. . . . 
 But leave that alone. You don't mind him now?" 
 
 "No," said Lizzie, in a low voice. 
 
 "Meeting his eyes don't worry you now?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You are just indifferent about him?" 
 
 "Absolutely," said Lizzie with firmness, almost with defi- 
 ance. "Except as a friend who has been useful to you." 
 
 "Ah! That's all right, dear. Just as I judged by all 
 the signs. Eight. But I had to ask you to make certain 
 how we stood. Because now I think I shall get rid of him." 
 
 "Get rid of him !" 
 
 "Well, he wants to go," said Crunden rather sadly, "and I 
 suppose I shall have to let him go. I don't see how I could 
 prevent it. . . ." 
 
 Lizzie, sitting on the low wall, with hands clasped in her
 
 226 HILL RISE 
 
 lap, silently listened as her father went on more and more 
 sadly. 
 
 "I shall miss him, Liz. He has been useful to me no 
 two ways about that. And I counted on him for the clerking 
 when I've shut the yard. I must do that precious soon now. 
 Ought to have done it before but thh.'^.v have gone so slow. 
 Cruelly slow, my dear, cruelly slow. . . . 
 
 "Mind you, it doesn't follow that because he's been useful 
 to me he'll be useful to others. He is looking out for some- 
 thing better but he mayn't be able to hold it, if he finds 
 it. He has learnt my ways, and I understand him. He may 
 be making a thundering mistake. I'd be sorry for that, 
 too. . . . 
 
 "But there you are, Liz. I certainly can't go on my knees 
 to him no, I don't want to seem to stand between him and 
 his prospects. ... I shall have to get another clerk get 
 one supercilious jackass after another till I'm suited, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Oh, dad," said Lizzie, in a low voice, "there must be as 
 good fish in the sea as ever came out of it." 
 
 "Think so, Liz? But I shall miss him beyond his use. 
 I don't mind saying, Liz, I shall miss him sore." 
 
 The days were drawing in again. It was well on in Sep- 
 tember and the afternoons had already become so chilly that 
 one felt glad to have a good fire burning. Lizzie was on 
 her knees before the hearth, with a log in her hands, when 
 Jack came bursting in to tell her about the marvellous letter 
 from Griggs. 
 
 "I'm so glad to catch you alone. I wanted to tell you first. 
 It's a secret. I wanted your advice before I tell your 
 father." 
 
 He had found something incredibly better than the Crun- 
 den clerkship. His eyes sparkled and he snapped his fingers 
 gaily as he spoke of it. Griggs most eminent of auctioneers 
 offered him four pounds a week to begin with, promise of 
 a steadily increasing salary, and the dazzling though remote 
 prospect of a small partnership in their famous house. 
 
 Lizzie was on her knees, but she did not pray to him that
 
 HILL RISE 227 
 
 he would remain at obscure little Medford. She got up, 
 read the letter, and advised him to accept the offer from 
 the vast metropolis. Griggs were evidently in earnest. 
 
 "We beg of you seriously to consider our offer and its ad- 
 vantages, which/' said Griggs politely, "will be mutual. We 
 will study your own inclinations as to character of employ- 
 ment whether in town or country in personal contact with 
 our best London clients, or as our travelling representative 
 among the nobility and landed gentry," etc. 
 
 "Then you advise me to go, Miss Lizzie as a friend?" 
 
 "As a friend, what else can I advise? Besides, what could 
 any advice matter? I can see how pleased you are." 
 
 "Yes," said Jack. "Not so much with the thing itself but 
 the compliment the feeling of independence. You know, the 
 world my oyster and all that. A partnership with Griggs !" 
 
 "Had you applied to them?" 
 
 "No. It's just an unsolicited testimonial to merit. Griggs 
 bowled over, laid flat on their backs feel they can't get up 
 again unless I come and give them a helping hand. . . . And 
 you advise me to go. Yes, I thought you would. Thank 
 you, Miss Lizzie. But keep it a secret, please. Don't tell 
 your father about this. There's no hurry and I have told 
 him I should soon be going." 
 
 "Very well, I won't speak about it. But I don't think 
 you'll want much time to make up your mind." 
 
 "No. You advise it. I am sure you are right, Miss 
 Lizzie. I was sure you would tell me to go. Of course, I 
 shall be sorry to leave your father but then this means real 
 independence high pay wealth. Suppose I ever wanted to 
 marry. Why, I could almost keep a wife if she wasn't too 
 big a swell on four pounds a week to begin with."
 
 CHAPTEE XIX 
 
 IT was the end of the week long after working hours, and 
 yet Lizzie was still busy. To-day there had been excitement, 
 the hope of a good stroke that flamed up bright, flickered 
 feebly, faded, and then again glowed and dropped like the 
 firelight on the ceiling when the fuel is damp and needs the 
 strongest bellows. Early in the morning a gentleman and his 
 friend had come from Surbiton to buy one of the decoy 
 houses; and all day they had been apparently on the point 
 of buying. They had been in and out of King's Cottage, at 
 the decoy itself, round and round the estate, till lunch time ; 
 then they went away and took luncheon at the White Hart; 
 then they returned, and with Jack, Crunden, and Bowling had 
 spent the afternoon between the estate and Eaton's office. 
 The last news was : everybody assembled in the road outside 
 the decoy, but no business yet done. 
 
 Now, with the twilight falling, Lizzie sat at her desk 
 clearing up interrupted tasks, while she waited for her father 
 to come home to his delayed tea. 
 
 "Business, business, business !" said Mrs. Price dolefully, 
 as, after lighting the lamps, she drew the curtains. "It's 
 all work nowadays and no play. Saturday night or Monday 
 morning's all one. . . . Miss Liz ! You very busy ?" 
 
 "Only finishing something." 
 
 "Finishing! That's what none of you ever do. There's 
 no end to it. It can't be right to forget one's meals tea 
 put off till supper ought to be on table. By the time the 
 master has made his big fortune, you'll all have the indi- 
 gestion so as you won't be able to enjoy your meals. . . . 
 Miss Lizzie! Stop your work and let me bring you your 
 tea." 
 
 "No. I'll wait for father. They must have nearly done 
 their talk." 
 
 228
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 "Mr. Bowling's there, isn't he? He'd, go on talking to 
 the gentlemen till midnight. . . . Oh, Miss Lizzie, do stop 
 writing." 
 
 "Pricey," said Lizzie, putting down her pen, "they've 
 been so long that I begin to hope they'll succeed." 
 
 "I hope so, too. And I know the best thing your father 
 and Mr. Dowling could do, is to come straight home and 
 have their tea, and leave Mr. Jack to do the job. He's the 
 one that sells the land, and Mr. Bowling's the one that talks 
 about it." 
 
 "Hark," cried Lizzie. "That's father's footstep." 
 
 A glance at Mr. Crunden's face told her that he did not 
 bring good news. He looked tired and dejected and cold. 
 
 "No success, dad?" 
 
 "Nothing settled. Mr. Jack's talking to 'em. Bowling has 
 run down." 
 
 "I suppose," said Mrs. Price, "it is tea now. I keep telling 
 her it's Saturday night, but she goes on just the same." 
 
 "Yes," said Crunden wearily. , "Blow up. Knock off. 
 Strike work. Put your things awt; ' Lizzie ;" and he went to 
 the fire, and stood before it warming his hands. "It's been 
 a bad week. Let's be done with it.'' 
 
 "They haven't quite decided against the house, have they, 
 dad?" 
 
 "No. Just backwards and forwards hem and ha. First 
 it's the house they'll buy, then it's a site they'll take and 
 build to their own taste." 
 
 "They couldn't build a nicer house, father." 
 
 "No. I don't believe better decoy houses were ever put up. 
 They arc very nice, my decoys but they don't seem to catch 
 much, do they?" and he shrugged his shoulders and laughed 
 bitterly. 
 
 Presently, when Mrs. Price had brought the tea, Bowling 
 arrived. 
 
 "May I come in? ... Nothing done. Yes, one minute. 
 No, the next. Mr. Jack is hard at them still. They seem, 
 to hanker after the site now. Irritating sort of people." 
 
 "You'll have some tea, won't you?" asked Lizzie. 
 
 "Yes, sit down," said Crunden gruffly.
 
 230 HILL RISE 
 
 "Thank you, but I ought to be getting home," said Mr. 
 Bowling, and he looked at the comfortable tea-table and 
 hesitated. "My wife may expect me. But no again stupid 
 of me to forget" and he brought a chair to the table "Mrs 
 Bowling has a social engagement. Besides, she would guess 
 where I am. She could ring me up on the telephone if she 
 wished me home." 
 
 "She can't wish you home when she's out," said Crunden 
 rather testily. "You aren't the house cat." 
 
 "No, I am quite aware of that, Mr. Crunden;" and Mr. 
 Bowling drew back the chair. 
 
 "No, no," said Crunden. "Sit down, sir ... and stay 
 to supper, too and cheer us up a bit. We want it." 
 
 "Well, if you put it like that;" and Bowling sat down. 
 "Yes, thank you. I will stay to supper. . . . Two lumps, 
 Miss Lizzie, if you please;" and he took a slice of cake. 
 "Talking always makes me hungry." 
 
 "Always makes me thirsty," said Crunden, after emptying 
 his second cup. "Parch -s me when it goes on like it has 
 to-day." 
 
 And then, sipping at Iris third cup, Mr. Crunden announced 
 that he was about to lose his clerk. 
 
 "He gave me notice this morning when he drew his screw. 
 He goes end of next week, Lizzie." 
 
 Mr. Bowling was astounded by this announcement and be- 
 came loud in his praises of Jack. Mr. Bowling by no means 
 considered that there were as good fish in the sea. He loudly 
 declared that they would never find such another clerk. 
 
 "He's so jolly over it, too so affable and friendly. Hear 
 what Griggs' men used to say of him. And why should he 
 go ? Has there been any unpleasantness between you ?" 
 
 "No, not that I've seen or guessed. He says he wants to 
 go, and there's an end of it. A mistake, very likely. He 
 may live to regret and I shouldn't like him to have to 
 rough it." 
 
 "Oh," said Bowling, "he'll fall on his feet. No fear of 
 that." 
 
 "Father, didn't he tell you where he was going?" 
 
 "No, he said London probably no more."
 
 HILL RISE 231 
 
 "I should try to retain him," said Bowling enthusiastically. 
 "I should try to persuade him. Means could surely be found 
 if we discussed it together " 
 
 "Well," said Crunden, "how? Let's discuss it. I shall be 
 glad to discuss it " 
 
 Then Mrs. Price came in with another jug of hot water. 
 
 "I won't," said Mrs. Price, "stop your discussion not half 
 a minute. There. Now I'm off and you can go on discuss- 
 ing." 
 
 "No secrets, Mrs. Price," said Crunden kindly. "Stay and 
 give us your word." 
 
 But if Mr. Dowling had been loud, Mrs. Price was far 
 louder. When she heard what to her seemed most direful 
 tidings, she really screamed. 
 
 "Never. Oh, never. Don't you say that and don't you 
 let it happen ;" and she turned almost fiercely upon her master. 
 "Have you drove him into this with your angry tongue and 
 your hard ways? Haven't you learnt your lesson yet that 
 young people with high spirits and warm hearts aren't to be 
 driven like so many dogs?" 
 
 "There," said Crunden sternly. "That'll do. Not so much 
 noise or go outside and squall there." 
 
 But Mrs. Price was not easily calmed. Who was the de- 
 linquent ? That was her cry. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I'll go outside but I want to know who done 
 it. If it isn't you to blame then who is it ? Her ladyship ? 
 Yes, and an old fool she is though I say it. ... Or is it 
 that Miss Barter got hold of him ? If so, it's our fault, and 
 I say it. She's an 'ussy. Yes, Mr. Dowling you may stick 
 up for her, but I say she is. A nasty good-for-nothing bag- 
 gage and it's on our conscience if it's her taking him away." 
 
 And Mrs. Price with scarcely abating clamour retired into 
 the kitchen to weep. 
 
 "Well," said Crunden, "I asked for her word, but I never 
 thought she'd give us such a noisy one. She's uncommonly 
 fond of Mr. Vincent," he continued, as if apologising to the 
 visitor for the storm raised by his housekeeper. "And she's 
 one of the family, you know so we encourage her to speak 
 out frank."
 
 232 HILL RISE 
 
 When Mrs. Price returned later with a fresh pot of tea 
 for her favourite, she showed red-rimmed eyes; but her voice 
 and manner were subdued to the fitting housekeeper level. 
 
 Mr. Jack had brought with him no satisfactory news: in 
 reply to Crunden's anxious inquiries he could only shake his 
 head, although he still spoke hopefully. 
 
 "No. Nothing settled. They are going home to think about 
 it." 
 
 "Ah, well," said Crunden gloomily, "that's as good as say- 
 ing, No go. It can't be helped. We've all done our best." 
 
 "Impossible sort of people," said Bowling. "You are 
 always where you started, with people of that sort." 
 
 "No," said Jack, "they intended buying. I feel sure they 
 did. I believe it's just torpid liver they probably eat too 
 much. They both looked as if they did. They want bucking 
 up before they can do anything. I did try to bluff them just 
 at the end while we were waiting for their fly. A fly ! Too 
 lazy to walk to the station though I told them they'd have to 
 wait for their train." 
 
 Mr. Crunden was not bearing this disappointment with 
 his wonted stoicism. He sat frowning, silent, absent-minded 
 in spite of Mr. Jack's hopeful chatter, Lizzie's sympathetic 
 glances, and Bowling's well-intentioned efforts to communi- 
 cate gaiety and cheerfulness. Once or twice he brought out 
 his bandana handkerchief and wiped his forehead ; and Lizzie, 
 watching him, saw that his hand was trembling. For the 
 moment, at least, he was suffering keenly under the failure 
 of the long day's hope. 
 
 He looked up with a start when the telephone bell rang; 
 and Lizzie could read in his eyes that his thoughts had carried 
 him far away. 
 
 "Will you allow me?" said Mr. Bowling, hastily inter- 
 cepting Jack as he moved towards his table to answer the 
 call. "I think this is for me. Mrs. Bowling most likely. . . . 
 Are you there?" and Mr. Bowling's voice became deprecat- 
 ingly gentle. "Is that you, my dear? . . . Oh!" and he 
 turned and beckoned Jack. "It is not for me after all. Will 
 you take it, please." 
 
 Then Jack put the receiver to his ear.
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 "Yes, I hear you," he said, in strong, firm tones. "No, I 
 am not Mr. Crunden. I am his clerk. Yes, Vincent. Oh, 
 no ! No, certainly not . . ." 
 
 As he stood now listening, he made gestures with his left 
 hand, as if begging for silence from all at the tea-table behind 
 him. "Yes, I hear you. Wait a moment, please." 
 
 Then he came from the wall and whispered excitedly to 
 Crunden. 
 
 "Speak low. I don't want them to catch a word. . . . It's 
 the same old trout down at the station now. He's nibbling 
 again. Almost biting. May I strike? Will you let me 
 strike?" 
 
 "What d'you mean ?" whispered Crunden. 
 
 "I believe I could land him. May I bluff solid ? You know 
 kill or cure?" 
 
 Crunden was looking up at Jack's excited face with an 
 expression in which Lizzie saw doubt, anxiety, even fear. His 
 hand shook; his lips trembled. 
 
 "You you mean" he whispered "tell him to buy now 
 or be done with it ?" 
 
 "That's it. Poker ! Bluff him. Put up, or shut up." 
 
 "Yes," said Crunden, in the faintest whisper. "Do it 
 do it;" and he picked up the bandana and again wiped his- 
 forehead. 
 
 "Are you there?" said Jack at the telephone, in a really 
 truculent tone. "Come on. Speak up. What is it?" 
 
 At the tea-table there was dead silence. All eyes were upon 
 Mr. Vincent's back: Crunden was mopping his forehead; 
 Bowling sat rigid and open-mouthed ; Lizzie, with her elbows 
 on the table and her chin resting on her hands, was pale 
 and breathless from sympathetic excitement. 
 
 "It is to take or leave," said Jack, with appalling brusque- 
 ness. "You have wasted enough of our time. I have often 
 sold six houses with far less trouble than you have given 
 us to-day. . . . Oh, yes, you can have as much time as 
 you like, but I told you our houses are going off like hot cakes. 
 We won't hold the house to your refusal while you shilly- 
 shally and ask your grandmother's advice. . . . No offence.. 
 That was a joke. I say that was a jol^e. . . .
 
 234 HILL RISE 
 
 "Very good. You will buy at eighteen hundred. All right. 
 Take your cheque for one-eighty round to Eaton's, and the 
 house is yours. . . . Yes, Monday, or Tuesday, or Dooms- 
 day will do just as well but we don't hold the house for you 
 till ten per cent, deposit is in hand. . . . Just as you 
 like. . . . Very well. I'll ring up Eaton and tell him to 
 prepare the receipt at once. Now buck up. Keep moving. 
 Eaton will have the receipt ready long before you're there;" 
 and Jack worked the handle, hung up the receiver, and, with 
 a beaming face, turned for a moment from the wall. "Whoo- 
 hoop ! Tally-ho. Worry-worry !" 
 
 "Bravo !" said Crunden huskily. "Bravo !" 
 
 "I admire your pluck/' said Bowling. "Grand really 
 grand/' 
 
 And after a little more bell-ringing and with much "Are 
 you there?" first to the Medford Central exchange and 
 then to Mr. Eaton the solicitor, Jack gave instructions about 
 cheque and receipt. 
 
 "Oh, he meant buying," he said modestly. "But dreadful 
 torpid liver sure the man eats too much," and he took out 
 his watch. "Now, if they don't change their minds again 
 between the station and Bridge Street, Eaton ought to give 
 us the all-right signal in less than ten minutes." 
 
 Then they sat anxiously waiting. 
 
 Ten minutes passed. Twelve minutes fifteen sixteen 
 immensely long, heavy minutes had passed when the tele- 
 phone bell sounded again and Jack sprang to the instrument. 
 
 "That you, Eaton? . . . Yes, yes. Thanks. Sure it isn't 
 a stunner? Yes, yes. Thanks. Good-night. Sleep well. 
 Pleasant dreams;" and he showed his beaming face to the 
 room. "Now it is all right Eaton says so ;" and he snapped 
 his fingers. "Paint it up, Bowling, old boy. Paint the map 
 red. Lot 51 Leasehold sold to Mr. G. B. Flower of Surbiton." 
 
 "Thank God for that," said Crunden, in a very husky voice. 
 "Thank God for that. It's brought the perspiration out of 
 me as though I'd been running a race." 
 
 Jack, hunting in a drawer for the paint-brush and saucer, 
 looked round in surprise. "Bid it matter, sir either way 
 as much as all that?"
 
 HILL RISE 235 
 
 "It did matter," said old Crunden, "like the very devil," 
 and he mopped himself, and with a grunt of relief put his 
 bandana back in its pocket. "This comes in the nick of 
 time to " 
 
 "To go on comfortably with," said Mr. Bowling. "To 
 wash one hand with the other, so to speak. Quite so." 
 
 Jack was looking at Bowling, then again at Crunden. 
 
 "I never knew, sir," he said gravely, "that it could matter 
 like that. I had no idea. I know things were going a bit 
 slow for you, but I thought they were going all right." 
 
 "They aren't going well," said Crunden. "They've been 
 going very badly. Bon't run away, Lizzie. It's proper you 
 should know. I have kept it to myself as long as I could." 
 
 Then for the first time he spoke to his assistants of the 
 financial side of his great scheme. The trouble was easily 
 summed up : too much money gone out, not enough come home. 
 He told them of his arrangement with the bank overdraft 
 of twenty-thousand pounds, to be reduced by one thousand 
 each quarter day. Well, he had made two such reductions 
 and no more. The standing charge for the borrowed money 
 remained at about 900 per annum. The Bank had smilingly 
 pouched this charge till last midsummer and then had begun 
 to make difficulties in fact, had issued an ultimatum; over- 
 draft to be reduced to seventeen thousand by September 30, 
 and the stipulated reductions to be made punctually there- 
 after, or the bank must reconsider its position. And Mr. 
 Crunden did not know where to look for the September 
 thousand ; and this was why he had been so exceedingly pleased 
 to find it in the sale to Mr. Flower of Surbiton. 
 
 "Most convenient," said Bowling soothingly. "It will all 
 come right in the end, of course." 
 
 "So I hope. I am not afraid of that," said Crunden. But, 
 as he explained, all his profit hung upon the rate of speed; 
 and already the slowness had robbed the possible profit of 
 its originally noble margin. "Only proper you should know 
 that, Liz, my dear." 
 
 "Bon't let us be downhearted," said Bowling. "We must 
 not allow Mr. Vincent to go to London with a tale of diffi- 
 culties."
 
 236 HILL RISE 
 
 "I am not going to London," said Jack, "in order to tell 
 tales against the credit of my friends or their advisers." 
 
 "No," said Crunden. "We know that, sir. What's men- 
 tioned in this room won't be heard outside it." 
 
 Then Jack asked questions "Do you mind my asking, sir ?" 
 It seemed to him there must have been some weak spot in the 
 scheme itself. 
 
 "Oh, it was a very good scheme," said Dowling. 
 
 "But the calculations were wrong somehow?" suggested 
 Jack. "You know what I said, sir. That I hoped you hadn't 
 bitten off more than you could chew." 
 
 "It was a fine scheme," said Dowling deprecatingly. "And 
 I can answer for the calculations. They have proved them- 
 selves correct, too. The land we have disposed of has ex- 
 actly realised my estimate per acre. No the set-backs are all 
 outside the calculations things no man could have calculated 
 for." 
 
 And Dowling, as if put on his personal defence, made out 
 a list of unforeseen events. 
 
 Dowling had counted on the rents of Hill Eise. These 
 would have paid all interest on borrowed money, and brought 
 some equivalent to Crunden for loss of income from his 
 own money buried deep in the ground. Now, as Mr. Vincent 
 knew, there were only three tenants left in Hill Eise the 
 Miss Vigors, who clung to the vicinity of St. Barnabas* 
 Church; Dr. Blake, who was having a house built for him 
 by the London and Suburban ; and Mrs. Eidgworth, who had 
 become bed-ridden and could not move; and these were 
 paying only half the old rental. No man could have fore- 
 told the Hill Eise exodus. If the tenants had remained, one 
 could have washed one hand with the other. 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, "and now you have got both your hands 
 dirty together." 
 
 "For the moment. But all will come right in the end. . . . 
 Another event no one could have calculated for was the sale 
 of Hill House. Naturally the development of those ten acres 
 really better situated than our land has thrown us 
 back."' 
 
 "Yes. That's it," said Jack gravely. "That was your weak
 
 HILL RISE 23T 
 
 spot. It seems to me that has just knocked the bottom out of 
 your scheme." 
 
 "The scheme was right enough," said Bowling doggedly. 
 "I'll answer for that. The delay is annoying, but it 
 
 Then once again the telephone bell rang. 
 
 "Lord's sake/' said Crunden, as Jack jumped up and 
 rushed across to his table. "Don't say it's them changed 
 their mind and trying to back out." 
 
 "It is for you, Mr. Dowling," said Jack, after listening- 
 to the message. "Somebody who requires you requires you 
 rather badly." Then, when Dowling had taken his place 
 at the instrument, he whispered to Crunden: "It's his 
 wife !" 
 
 "Are you there?" asked Dowling, in a low and very gentle 
 voice. "Is that you, my dear? . . . Yes, my dear, a busi- 
 ness consultation. ... I have been somewhat hard pushed 
 all day. If you'll excuse me, I'll not return to supper. I 
 shall get all I want here." 
 
 "If he isn't careful," whispered Jack, "he'll get all he wants 
 there ;" and Crunden's face relaxed into a broad grin. 
 
 "Oh, very well, my dear," Dowling was saying, "it shall 
 be as you wish," and he rang off. 
 
 With many apologies to Mr. and Miss Crunden for break- 
 ing an engagement, Mr. Dowling presently explained that 
 he could not, after all, stay to supper at King's Cottage; 
 and he soon bade his adieux. 
 
 Jack, in lieu of Dowling, supped at King's Cottage. He 
 cheered Crunden more effectually than Dowling could have 
 done. They talked for a long time on business matters,, 
 and Jack listened with grave interest, and when he asked a 
 question it was always businesslike and intelligent. Having 
 been admitted into the mysteries of finance, he was quick 
 to grasp the reciprocal bearing of hitherto isolated facts. 
 
 At supper Crunden was quite cheerful. The sale of the- 
 house had done him good ; the confidential talk had done him 
 good everything, as Dowling promised, would come right 
 in the end. He chuckled at the recollection of Dowling's 
 telephonic summons.
 
 238 HILL RISE 
 
 "I couldn't help but smile," he said. "But if he'd caught 
 me at it, he'd have fairly jumped down my throat. Thaf s 
 & thing I always admire in Mr. Dowling. He's always loyal 
 to Mrs. D. won't allow any one to make a joke of her: 
 although, as the saying is, she is a terror Mrs. D." 
 
 After supper, Lizzie brought the tobacco jar and both gen- 
 tlemen lit their pipes. 
 
 "Sure you don't mind, Miss Lizzie?" asked Jack politely; 
 and then he puffed in silence until Mrs. Price and the maid 
 had left the room. 
 
 "Sir," he said, blowing some ashes from his pipe, "if you 
 have no objection I would like to withdraw my notice. 
 I don't want to go. You see, I didn't understand I had 
 no idea I shouldn't like to go now." 
 
 "You are very welcome to stay," said Crunden, puffing 
 noisily at his pipe, "if you care to, sir." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. You see, I should be miserable if I went 
 now. Wherever I was, I should be thinking of it. A rat that 
 had left the ship. Not that the ship's sinking certainly not. 
 But I should feel like that." 
 
 "Then stay with us, sir." 
 
 "Father," said Lizzie, "this won't be fair to Mr. Vin- 
 cent. . . . Please tell my father about the letter from Messrs. 
 Griggs or I must." 
 
 "Miss Lizzie, this means you don't want me to stay." 
 
 "It isn't fair to let you stay," said Lizzie. "Father, Mr. 
 Vincent had a letter from Messrs. Griggs " 
 
 "Oh, that was nothing, sir Griggs said they'd take me 
 on;" and he pulled the letter from his pocket. "I haven't 
 answered Griggs yet;" and he threw the letter into the fire. 
 "There, Miss Lizzie, that's my answer to Griggs." 
 
 But Lizzie again protested. 
 
 "Father, it won't be fair. They offered Mr. Vincent four 
 pounds a week to begin with, and then " 
 
 "Miss Lizzie," said Jack, "you want me to go. This means 
 you are anxious to be rid of me." 
 
 "No, sir," said Crunden, answering for his daughter, "it's 
 not that. It's only Lizzie wishes me to treat you fair and 
 not act selfish. Griggs, they offered you four pounds. Well,
 
 HILL RISE 239 
 
 I'll be as good as Griggs. I'll give you the four pounds, yes 
 and think you worth it." 
 
 "No, not a penny more than my old screw. Less if you 
 like I have no debts now. I could do on a quid till the 
 lane turns till we're all out of the wood you know." 
 
 "That's very handsome of you, sir." 
 
 "Father, it's not fair to " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, my girl. This is between Brother 
 Vincent and me. And I say: That's very handsome of you, 
 Brother Vincent. I'll not forget it. No, I'll never forget: 
 that as long as I live."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THROUGHOUT the winter the work went on with little 
 success. Jack was indeed putting his back into it : admitted 
 now fully to the confidence of his employer, he could render 
 himself far more useful than hitherto. As he had said, Mr. 
 Crunden's ship was certainly not sinking; but the order had 
 been given to "shorten sail." That is always a wise order 
 when there is doubtful weather about; but no one need take 
 alarm when it is heard. It is not, for instance, such an 
 order as "all hands to the pumps." When that comes through 
 the speaking trumpet even the rats may be excused for feeling 
 nervous. Mr. Crunden, then, as a precautionary measure was 
 trying to close the yard. All the cottages were finished : he was 
 keeping only the smallest possible staff for the completion of 
 the last and innermost of the decoy houses. When that was 
 done, the gates beneath the old archway would be shut and 
 padlocked unless dirty Stevens, the dairyman, cared to come 
 back as tenant. 
 
 Meanwhile, with less to do at the yard in practical work, 
 Jack threw himself upon the financial and purely business 
 side of affairs. He went here and there about the country, 
 seeking substantial adventurers and flouting men of straw; 
 he had devised plans for obtaining publicity on the cheapest 
 terms advertising hoardings to be erected, space let to cover 
 cost, other space exchanged for Crunden's advertisements all 
 over England; he had composed a pamphlet printed by Mr. 
 Mees, describing the charms and amenities of Medford, 
 and the unbuilt-on paradise offered to the world by Crunden ; 
 he had important interviews every day, and as Crunden's rep- 
 resentative opened negotiations for mortgages with a dozen 
 London firms, and entered particulars of ground rents and 
 leaseholds for sale on the books of a hundred agents. In, 
 all directions at home and abroad he displayed an unparal- 
 
 240
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 leled energy which was recognised and admired by his em- 
 ployer. Never was man better served by a clerk for twenty 
 shillings a week and his food. 
 
 Sometimes old Crunden thought of it and of how sorely 
 he would have missed his clerk. For one thing, he was so 
 cheerful kept one in heart. Courage and hope came from 
 him in every dark hour. And dark hours were many in 
 this long winter. 
 
 Mrs. Price, when she heard that there was, after all, to 
 be no change of clerks, had uttered the liveliest protestations 
 of pleasure. She hastened to obtain from her master a con- 
 firmation of the good news. 
 
 "And I'm sorry, sir, that I spoke rude. I could have bit 
 my tongue off afterwards for what I said but at the time I 
 don't think I knew what I was saying." 
 
 "Don't mention it," said Crunden. "I understand what 
 lay behind any remarks you let fall," and he gave a grunt. 
 "You're uncommonly fond of Mr. Jack?" 
 
 "Of course I am," said Mrs. Price. "Who could help 
 being fond of him ?" 
 
 Not Mr. Crunden. He had tried hard to help it and had 
 failed. This young man's voice was music, his smile sun- 
 shine to him. Absurd, ridiculous! Old Crunden struggled 
 valiantly against yielding to such preposterous sentiments 
 as if to yield had been a base weakness. It had seemed to 
 him like the evil spell of the Hill itself now ruined, broken, 
 and trampled down rising again to enthrall one's mind and 
 confuse one's senses. Do what you would to the lord of the 
 Hill, he could bring you to his feet force you to bow before 
 him as hereditary immemorial over-lord. By playing with the 
 snobbish cravings that lurk in even the stoutest breast, he 
 could twist one to the bended knee. With condescending 
 manner and flattering assumption of graciousness, he could 
 persuade you to renounce your right to be grim and stern 
 and harsh to him. 
 
 No, it was not that. Crunden cared nothing for the con- 
 descension harped upon by Dowling. He was fond of Jack 
 now, as forty-three years ago in the builder's yard where his 
 father had sent him to learn the trade, he had been fond
 
 242 HILL RISE 
 
 of his mate the good, strong mate with whom he worked 
 shoulder to shoulder, who could whistle and smile and clap 
 you on the back, and make the roughest job seem smooth 
 and easy because you were doing it with him. This young 
 man was like that. And he thought of all the words that were 
 sweet as music. "As between good pals." And the solid 
 truth behind the pleasant sound words proved true now by 
 deeds. His pal would not leave him in the lurch would stay 
 with him against self-interest; deaf to the chink of gold, 
 blind to the prospect of ease, his pal must stand by him 
 though all the world were beckoning. 
 
 As between good pals. Perhaps, Crunden thought, in all 
 his long life he had never been understood so well as by his 
 good pal, Jack. His rough outer case seemed no barrier, 
 his coarse bristles struck no fear to Jack : to all the careless 
 crowd, a hedgehog; but to Jack, a pal. Wonderful to think 
 of with gratitude welling warm from the heart beneath 
 the hedgehog's ugly coat. 
 
 And he thought of the historic fight on Guy Fawkes' day 
 had thought of it quite as often as Mrs. Price, though he never 
 by any chance spoke of it. And why? He couldn't trust 
 himself to speak. Might let fall with his remarks some- 
 thing else a few tears. It had happened in solitary thought : 
 sudden moisture in the eyes demanding grunts and bandana. 
 Can a hedgehog weep? Thinking of it now, as he tramped 
 across his empty fields, he brought a clenched fist with a loud 
 smack into the horny palm of his other hand. "Take that," 
 he growled, "and that and that! That'll teach you to mock 
 my pal for a hedgehog." 
 
 A son could not have done more for a loved father. Jack 
 was what he would have wished his own son to be in all 
 things. And he thought of the great Sir John and envied 
 him, intensely envied him : not for the rank, the prestige, the 
 respect of bowing men, which even poverty could not take, and, 
 in fact, had not really taken, from him but for the son who 
 called him father. 
 
 Lizzie, too, was grateful to Jack for sticking to the ship. 
 Although Jack's presence or absence was now, of course, as
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 with firmness, even with defiance, she had asserted, indiffer- 
 ent to her personally, she, nevertheless, felt immensely grateful 
 to Jack for his fidelity to her father. It was a fine trait 
 something calling for candid acknowledgment as worthy and 
 solid. Candidly acknowledging merit, wherever met with, she 
 took occasion to thank Mr. Vincent on her father's behalf. 
 Without hurry, in due season when the opportunity came, 
 she shyly thanked him. 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing, Miss Lizzie. Nothing to thank me for. 
 It's I who ought to thank your father. He has done every- 
 thing for me. I was a dreamer, and I am awake. ... Of 
 course I couldn't go after what he had said." 
 
 While he talked, he was fumbling in a drawer of his table, 
 and presently he brought out a small parcel and began to 
 unpack it. 
 
 "I never wanted to go. Only I thought I ought to go 
 but never wanted to, really. . . . Miss Lizzie, it's such a 
 rotten little thing that I hardly like hardly dare, don't 
 you know to ask you to accept it;" and, tearing off the last 
 paper wrapper, he disclosed and opened a cardboard box. 
 "But I wish you would. Seems silly to throw it away and 
 silly. to ask you to take such a rotten little thing." 
 
 Then with considerable diffidence he offered Lizzie the 
 plain gold bangle out of the box. 
 
 "I bought it, you know, when I thought I was going away 
 and perhaps might never see you again. Just a souvenir 
 you know. When I say good-bye to people I always want 
 to think they'll remember me." 
 
 "It is too kind of you. But really I " 
 
 "When I wasn't going, I thought I'd throw it away but 
 that seems so silly. I got Osborn to engrave it inside you'll 
 ,*see, if you look. Hill Rise and the two dates while I was 
 here, don't you know. Rotten little thing." 
 
 "No, I think it's very pretty." 
 
 "It's quite the worst bangle I ever bought but it's paid 
 for;" and he smiled. "I used to tick things, you know. I 
 don't now. Couldn't get tick if I asked for it, I suppose. 
 In the old days I bought quite different bangles pretty 
 coloured stones and all that."
 
 244 HILL RISE 
 
 "Oh, this is nicer, as it is." 
 
 "Is it? Don't chaff, Miss Lizzie. But I didn't want to 
 get anything better, really just a souvenir no value be- 
 cause you are quite different to the other people, and your 
 father wouldn't have liked it with the stones. I knew you 
 wouldn't take it, if it was worth anything. There it is 
 three-carat gold, I should think no value. . . . You will 
 take it, won't you ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lizzie. "Thank you very much, Mr. Vincent." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Lizzie," said Jack, beaming. "I did 
 want you to take it just to show that you feel kindly dis- 
 posed to me, now." 
 
 "Of course I do very, very grateful to you, as I said. You 
 must know that, Mr. Vincent." 
 
 Jack laughed contentedly. 
 
 "Not the least need for gratitude all the other way round. 
 Only, Miss Lizzie, when you buy your next new dress, do buy 
 a blue one with white spots. Then, when I see you wearing 
 it, I shall know you mean to be kind but, in spite of my 
 repeated prayers, you never will buy a blue one. You think 
 my taste in dress is bad." 
 
 "Yes," said Lizzie, laughing, "I'll wear a blue dress. No, 
 I don't think your taste is bad." 
 
 Another season had passed without the purchase of a new 
 dress of blue or any other colour. But, that morning, up- 
 stairs in her room, she fetched out one of her old blue dresses 
 and submitted it to careful examination. It was all in order. 
 The blue showed sun-fading here and there; in the wash the 
 blue had invaded the white spots on some parts of it; and 
 the muslin collar and cuffs seemed to ask for renewal; but 
 there had occurred no startling change of fashion during the 
 last three years: the dress would do very well. And Lizzie 
 longed for the spring days when she might wear it : as a signal 
 of her very sincere gratitude to Mr. Jack for his kindness 
 to her father. 
 
 Lizzie had been drawing her full dress-allowance from 
 papa, but instead of spending it, had been hoarding. Papa 
 had insisted on paying her in prompt cash, and would not hear 
 of any cutting-down of the domestic budget. "Don't neglect
 
 HILL RISE 245 
 
 yourself, Liz. Keep yourself up to the mark. You can't 
 be too fine for my mind." But Lizzie, buying only a few pairs 
 of boots, gloves, etc., and perhaps a hat per annum, had 
 amassed a hoard which in its extent surprised papa when his 
 daughter brought it to him. 
 
 "Dad please. Till the lane turns. When we're out of 
 the wood, you can give it me all back and then I really 
 will be so fine that you won't recognise me." 
 
 "Liz, my dear, you shouldn't have done this. No, no." 
 
 But the pinch was so severe this winter that Crunden gave 
 in. He was proud of Lizzie for her miser-tricks, and he 
 consented to be debtor to his child, as well as to the bank, 
 for a temporary convenience. Thus the money which should 
 have been carried to Selkirk, the draper, found its way to 
 the yard; and there cleared the pay-sheet of the lessened 
 staff for a considerable number of weeks. 
 
 However, this cheating of Selkirk was not a matter which 
 Miss Crunden could talk about with papa's clerk. She must 
 permit Mr. Jack to suppose, if he pleased, that her old frocks 
 were new frocks; and that she had been buying them in all 
 tints of the rainbow except blue. 
 
 On Saturday afternoon she dressed herself in some staunch 
 old brown and went for a long walk. The day was bright and 
 windless just cold enough to make all healthy folk enjoy 
 fast walking. Even in the bright sunshine no one would have 
 noticed that her brown fur boa, her brown coat, and skirt were 
 three-year-olders they looked almost as good as new. No 
 one would have noticed that the brown toque and the brown 
 gloves were so much younger quite as good as new. The 
 gold bangle on her wrist was of course brand-new. 
 
 She went down as far as the bridge; saw the sunshine 
 flashing and shaking on the muddy water, a wagon full of 
 beer from the brewery, Miss Hope on horseback with a 
 flushed face and disarranged hair, squirming in the saddle 
 to wring the horse's back, while she whispered laughingly to 
 Mr. Banker the riding-master saw indeed all that there was 
 to be seen on the bridge ; and then turned, and walked briskly 
 up the hill.
 
 216 HILL RISE 
 
 She walked fast and strong felt she could now run and 
 leap up the gentle slope instead of languidly crawling as in 
 those old bad foolish days when Dr. Blake advised quick 
 movement. And as with firm light tread she passed by the 
 corner of Biver View, she looked so pretty that all should 
 have noticed it. There was colour in her cheeks, light in her 
 eyes; she looked slim, graceful, and yet strong: noticeably 
 the prettiest, healthiest, best girl on the move in Medford 
 that afternoon. Soon somebody did notice. 
 
 It was Mr. Charles Padfield. 
 
 "Oh, I say. How're you, Miss Crunden?" 
 
 Mr. Padfield was most beautifully dressed. His overcoat 
 was of a shaggy heathery grey, immensely loose, of the top 
 of the fashion, hanging in huge folds and bell-shaped skirts 
 above trousers of the same fabric; his cap was of gigantic 
 size; and his white silk stock bubbled and bulged like a mon- 
 strous batter-pudding beneath his chin. Foplike splendours 
 made themselves more vaguely perceptible turquoise pin, tan- 
 leather waistcoat, brass buttons, etc. He was a typical loafing 
 son of the Hill, in his well-matured, full-blown glory. 
 
 "Which way you going?" He had stopped her only by 
 leaving the pavement could she have got round him. She 
 had no choice but to bear with his vacuous smiles and insipid 
 courtesies. "Hope you're all very well. Kipping day, isn't 
 it? Where you bound for? ... Well, I'm off to Eudd's for 
 cigarettes. That's where I must be going. But I'll walk with 
 you a little way. . . . How's old Jack?" 
 
 His eyes were like gooseberries and almost as expression- 
 less; his stupid face was pallid and puffy; his mouth was 
 fishlike; his cigarette adhered to his lower lip so that he was 
 at no trouble to remove it for conversation. The White Hart 
 Hotel was telling on him: soon now Mr. Padfield would be 
 overblown, altogether too ample and puffy like Mr. Lardner. 
 
 "We never see old Jack." 
 
 Lizzie walked on, with Mr. Padfield by her side. As she 
 turned to the right and swung up Hill Rise, she was mentally 
 comparing her escort with Jack the new Jack, no? the old 
 Jack. Once Jack had resembled this gorgeously attired loafer. 
 It was a wonderful transformation to the alert, thin, work-
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 ing Jack of the present time; and yet, in the past she had 
 admired Jack because of all these things that filled her with 
 contempt for Mr. Charles Padfield. It had seemed admirable 
 to be rich in fopperies, careless of toil as a creature of some 
 lofty ruling race, a splendid idler, for whom life is all holi- 
 days. Now it seemed as if fate had sent blown-out, vacuous, 
 insipid Mr. Charles lounging across her path to let her dis- 
 criminate once again very plainly between what is sham and 
 what is solid. 
 
 "You walk too fast." They were halfway up Hill Eise 
 and Mr. Charles was out of breath. "Well, I must be going. 
 Walk a little way with you some other time, Miss Crunden 
 what? . . . Oh, I say, tell your father I'm a mason now. 
 He don't come to lodge now nor old Jack. Too busy 
 rakin' in the dollars what?" And Lizzie was free to con- 
 tinue her walk without escort. 
 
 The empty houses of Hill Eise were dreadful to see. Glass 
 in windows had been broken by wanton boys ; slates had fallen 
 from roofs and lay in fragments upon the moss-grown steps 
 of porches, or the weed-covered gravel of the carriage drives; 
 splintered gates hung upon rusty hinges; the bare hawthorns 
 were making thickets, and the untrimmed laurels were grow- 
 ing into forest trees. From house to house silence and deso- 
 lation reigned where once there had been friendly intercourse, 
 chatter, and frivolity the Hill Eise girls at home whether 
 really at home or visiting ; calling to each other by name over 
 garden walls or across the broad road, running in upon each 
 other as members of one large, highly-distinguished family. 
 Now, with the family uprooted, banished, scattered wide, Hill 
 Eise was fast sinking into the dilapidated and ruinous state 
 of Mr. Selby's Eiver View. 
 
 Beyond these deserted houses, when one came to the prop- 
 erty of the London and Suburban Trust, it required the 
 strongest effort of memory to summon up the picture of Hill 
 House. Truly not the slightest vestige of it was left. One 
 looked down smooth, well-finished roads into a little^ thriving 
 suburb of red-brick houses. The sunlight shone on plate glass, 
 brass knockers, emerald green shutters; the cloud shadows 
 flitted across white woodwork, rough-cast upper-stories, and
 
 248 HILL RISE 
 
 stone copings; here was new life, activity, joyfulness set 
 going as if by magic. Tradesmen's carts rattled round the 
 corners of the new roads; tradesmen's boys leaned their 
 bicycles against the new railings; young men and women 
 came laughing and talking out of the new front-doors ; a man 
 with a bell was selling muffins as quickly as he could hand 
 them to the waiting maids of all these new households. Trade 
 was so brisk that the muffin man had no time to ring his 
 bell. This was new Medford, self-sufficient, self-contained, 
 self-satisfied, knowing nothing of, and caring nothing for, 
 the ancient traditions of the aristocratic Hill. 
 
 Lizzie with difficulty reconstituted the vanished scene. All 
 along here were the high walls; and behind them the stately 
 trees. Here, just here, must have been the gates; and, paus- 
 ing here, in the drowsy summer time, one used to look down 
 the drive grass on each side, and noble conifers, banks of 
 rhododendron, beautiful flowering shrubs making spots of 
 bright colour in front of the dark foliage. Well-ordered peace, 
 well-maintained dignity, well-sheltered magnificence held one 
 mute, respectful, spellbound, as, in the old days, one took 
 one's peep through the white gates that guarded the home 
 of the great Sir John. 
 
 And behind her, on her father's land, the change was almost 
 as tremendous. Who could now believe that these once were 
 secluded meadows, a smiling parkland, walled, fenced, secure 
 from prying eyes and wandering feet? It was all open to 
 the world now: any one might walk up Crunden's roads 
 as far as the roads went, and thence onward over the wet 
 grass. Any one might roam at will, with the children from 
 the lower cottages shouting and laughing in their play, where 
 once the ground was sacred to the use of Lady Haddenham's 
 cattle and the members and guests of an extraordinarily select 
 tennis club. Close to the site of the old club pavilion, the last 
 and innermost of papa's decoy houses stood still unfinished: 
 for the day abandoned by the workmen, and looking as if it 
 had been abandoned forever. The roof timbers were in posi- 
 tion, but no tiles had yet arrived: it was an ugly carcass 
 very slowly turning itself into a habitable dwelling. No road 
 gave access to it; the nearest granite blocks for road-kerbing
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 lay afar off almost hidden by the long grass, weather-stained, 
 dull, without the least glitter from them ; scaffold poles, piled 
 boards, chipped bricks lay untidily all about it ; trenches that 
 had been dug for drains had filled with water while waiting 
 for drain-pipes. Beyond it stretched the wide area of still 
 open ground, spotted here and there with completed houses, 
 and on the fringe the cottages smoke rising slow from the 
 chimneys of the first two rows, no smoke at all from the 
 other rows and the backs of the monstrous hoardings set 
 up for advertisements. The view was of a park destroyed, a 
 building estate not yet developed. No one could take comfort 
 from this great change, for an undeveloped building estate 
 is perhaps the ugliest prospect in the universe. 
 
 As Lizzie turned her back on it and walked swiftly towards 
 the common, the sense of guilt oppressed her. Suddenly she 
 had thought of the first cause of all these vast changes her- 
 self. Her folly her infantile and idiotic folly had set in 
 motion the whole chaotic upheaval of hill and valley. If 
 she had not been such a little fool, all might now be un- 
 changed. If she could have held her tongue when papa 
 sternly questioned her, perhaps no sod would have been cut, 
 no brick laid, no single gold piece buried on the peaceful hill- 
 side. But for her, the great Sir John might be now sitting 
 in Hill House, Lady Vincent picking dead leaves off an 
 azalea in the conservatory, Mr. Jack riding out through the 
 gates on a prancing horse; Miss Annendale, Miss Granville, 
 and all the rest of them might be safe and happy in Hill Rise ; 
 her father might be placidly dozing in his armchair at home ; 
 from the flagstaff on the links to the bridge above the slowly 
 gliding river, all might have been unchanged. She herself 
 had started all the change with a few foolish words. 
 
 She walked far across the common, down the long hill 
 nearly to Eedmarsh village, and then came tramping bravely 
 home again ; and all the way she was earnestly thinking, dis- 
 entangling the things that are solid from the things that are 
 empty and vain, tracing out the infinitely small causes that 
 lead to infinitely big results, making good resolutions for 
 the fulfilment of homely duties, vowing to be stout and
 
 250 HILL RISE 
 
 strong in the face of all difficulties and distresses. If trouble 
 were coming to her father in his old age, she must strive 
 to be his prop and support. She must comfort him and 
 console him for the loss of his grandiose hopes. 
 
 "I was a dreamer and now I am awake." That was what 
 Mr. Vincent said of himself, and the phrase had startled her 
 because it was exactly what she could have said of herself. 
 Walking now past the woods where she used to sit and drean? 
 through long, lazy afternoons, she thought that perhaps every 
 one is a dreamer by inclination: it is only when you hold 
 fast to the solid facts of life that dreams lose their power. 
 She could not dream now if she tried. 
 
 Again, discriminating between substance and shadow, 
 approving what is real and strong, and condemning what is 
 false and weak, she compared Mr. Padfield with her father's 
 clerk. To Mr. Padfield, life surely was a long unworthy 
 dream : it was the kindest thing you could possibly say of this 
 outwardly magnificent, inwardly vacuous gentleman, that he 
 was a dreamer one not awake to the duties and responsibili- 
 ties of full-grown, full-blown manhood. Nothing could wake 
 him. Lizzie thought of Mamma Padfield a poor old woman 
 turned out of her house by the Crunden enterprise, sent 
 wandering in feeble senile fury to make for herself a new 
 home; and the son not caring, not aiding, pitying, or raging 
 or fighting just dreamily loafing as hitherto. So that he 
 had food to eat, cigarettes to smoke, fiery drink to warm him, 
 a soft bed to lie on at night, and daily some of mamma's 
 shillings to jingle in his pocket, he was content and undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 How different from Mr. Jack! And Lizzie thought of 
 Jack's self-imposed labours, his abandonment of ease and 
 luxury, his unshaken determination to be independent to 
 earn his own bread. In spite of tears and entreaties, he had 
 steadfastly refused parental assistance from the hour in which 
 he knew that his father had muddled himself into money- 
 difficulties. "He will not take one penny from us, Miss Crun- 
 den. That is what causes us such pain" and so forth. "It 
 is so unnecessary, Miss Crunden." Listening to Lady Vin- 
 cent's interminable laments, it had seemed to Lizzie that Mr.
 
 HILL RISE 251 
 
 Jack's conduct was unnecessary, stupid, and unkind. He 
 had seemed almost a traitor to his class: an undutiful son, 
 seeking to humiliate those who loved him, rather than striving 
 to work out his own redemption. But now she could see 
 that all he had done was necessary was noble and grand 
 and good. She remembered his words and his smile as he 
 explained himself to her leaving her still unconvinced. There 
 could be no half-measures if he was to succeed in his task. 
 "Very remarkable thing, Miss Lizzie, for a man of my age 
 to be born again." 
 
 How could she have condemned him as wilfully unkind 
 to any one? 
 
 Thinking of him she stopped, and put her hand to her 
 side. It was time now to think of something else. Was 
 he building himself in her thoughts once again as a hero? 
 It would be dreadful if he solidified himself, took bulk and 
 substance, and built himself high in her thoughts as a real 
 hero not a splendid shadow thrown vaguely on a moving 
 thought-background by the dim light of Mr. Mees's novels. 
 He was strong now alive full of force. If he set one dream- 
 ing now, what overpowering dreams they would be. And she 
 paused in the old foolish attitude : hand on side, lips parted, 
 breath coming fast. 
 
 She could not dream now most happily she had lost the 
 trick of it. But walking on, she thought of him all the way. 
 The sun was sinking a yellow fire sending its last low 
 rays across the earth, lighting up the tops of the beech trees, 
 but leaving the depths of the wood dark and vague. Out of 
 the wood the shadows, gaining strength and boldness, would 
 soon come creeping to conquer all the world. Already, the 
 shadows had conquered the valley grey mist hid the river; 
 the town was nearly lost ; and lamps began to twinkle brighter 
 and brighter in the greyness. Quickly the winter sunset 
 faded first the golden light grew dull, then red dust seemed 
 to rise from the mist-covered plain the glow of red fire 
 spreading above white smoke, and then the dark cloud-curtains 
 coming slowly down. And then, in the grey dark, all the 
 broad common and the silent woods seemed ghostly, dream- 
 like, and unreal.
 
 252 HILL RISE 
 
 How could she have believed him to be unkind? She 
 thought of his kindness to her father of his kindness to 
 herself. How very, very kind of him to give her a bangle 
 for remembrance. If she wanted materials for dream- 
 weaving, she could speedily find them. If she dreamed now, 
 she need only use realities and twist them deftly for the 
 fabric of her dream. 
 
 As thus: Her influence over him! Pretend it had been 
 felt and proved as very strong. Pretend that nearly all 
 he said and did was influenced by her. She could think of 
 how he had cured himself of "pegging" for her sake; of 
 how anxious he seemed to tell her that the cure was made 
 "I'm careful, Miss Lizzie, of what I eat and drink" ; of how 
 he asked her advice about the letter from Griggs before he 
 spoke of it to any one. She could pretend that there was 
 sadness in his tone when he said two or three times "You 
 advise me to go. Yes, I thought you would." Then very 
 sadly "I think I had better go." Could it be that he wished, 
 hoped, yearned to hear her ask him to stay? His eyes were 
 on her face seemed to burn her, his voice had a vibration 
 that made her lips tremble so that she could not herself have 
 answered him, when he said : "This means that you want me 
 to go. This means you are anxious to be rid of me " 
 
 Thus she would dream now if she let herself dream. She 
 pressed her hand to her side, drew her breath faster and 
 faster, and hurried homeward. 
 
 And close to home, she saw him. It was quite dark in Hill 
 Rise and he did not see her. He was walking with a lady; 
 and, as he and his companion paused beneath a lamp, Lizzie, 
 like the ghost of one of the Hill Rise girls, flitted by in the 
 shadows on the other side of the road. 
 
 In the lamplight she saw the lady prodigious black hat 
 and feathers, ermine collar, copper hair, red lips, white teeth. 
 She had never seen the lady before but was quite sure she 
 had often heard of her. 
 
 Miss Barter? 
 
 Lizzie that evening sat close to her father while he smoked 
 his pipe, linked her hands about his arm, pressed her soft
 
 HILL RISE 253- 
 
 face against the sleeve of his rough coat tried to show him 
 that, whatever else failed, his daughter's love could never 
 be taken from him. 
 
 "Father," she whispered, "promise you'll never mind really 
 whatever happens. If things go wrong in the end, dad, 
 let's be brave and not mind. What does it matter really? 
 If you lose your money, we can still be happy without it. 
 And, dad, why go oh if things don't work out as you 
 thought? . . . Stop now and save what you can." 
 
 "Lizzie, my dear, I can't stop now must go on. Be- 
 sides, everything will be all right in the end." 
 
 "Will it, dad? But what I mean is don't try to be rich. 
 Money would do us no good either of us. I would like 
 you to save just enough for us to live on somewhere not 
 here. . . . Father whatever happens, take me away from 
 here hundreds of miles away where we can forget Hill 
 Eise and all about it. You and I could live in a little cottage 
 and be quite happy just by ourselves. We don't want any 
 one else you and I."
 
 CHAPTEE XXI 
 
 IF Lizzie could trace the Medford upheaval back to its 
 first starting impetus, no one could measure its ever-widening 
 -effects. It had completely broken up the society of the place ; 
 it had scattered the old social leaders and rendered the grand 
 old exclusiveness irksome and impossible. Union is strength : 
 heads of the old Hill Rise households when isolated felt weak 
 and helpless. If, among their new neighbours, they began 
 excluding, they might find themselves excluded. Rather than 
 sit in solitude and brood upon the old Medford social code, 
 with regret they abrogated it ; and when bidden to dinner by 
 persons of plebeian names and patently inferior status, said 
 they had the honour to accept Mr. and Mrs. Judd's invitation. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Judd of the Redmarsh Road perhaps never 
 properly estimated their good fortune in securing such guests. 
 They kept a fine table, and thought any one might be glad 
 of a place at it they only wished the table had been bigger. 
 "You must come again," said Mr. Judd, jovially wringing 
 the hands of Major and Mrs. Annendale, Captain Sholto, or 
 Mrs. Page, as the case might be. "The wife and I like to live 
 neighbourly, and welcome newcomers. If our table was larger, 
 we'd have asked your girls, too. But next time, why not let 
 them come round after dinner for a little music, or a game 
 of billiards with our young men ? We've a good billiard-room 
 full-sized board and the short cue only wanted at the 
 spot-end and in front of the mantelpiece. I built the room 
 to please Mrs. Judd. If young men like playing billiards, we 
 say let them play at home not go out to the tavern. My 
 sons work hard all day and have earned their evening's 
 amusement." 
 
 In this manner the honest Judds talked to the haughty 
 Annendales as if to bosom friends with whom ceremony would 
 be foolish. And the Judds were not remotely connected with 
 
 254
 
 HILL RISE 255 
 
 trade: they were in trade up to the neck in it Bream & 
 Judd, Plate and Cutlery, High Holborn. 
 
 One cannot but suppose that there was hot revolt in the 
 breast and scornful flash of the eyes when the old Hill Else 
 girls received the message, and learned that they were free 
 to put on galoches, patter down the road, and join the Judd 
 young men after the dinner party. What next? Upon my 
 word ! Nevertheless, Miss Annendale drawling, shaking 
 hands just under chin, with six rows of imitation pearls round 
 her proud throat, with a bodice that would have been too low 
 but for the sham orchids was a new, strange, beautiful orna- 
 ment found in the Judd drawing-room by the sons of the 
 house on the occasion of. the next Judd dinner. "Come now, 
 that's friendly," said red-faced Mr. Judd, senior, slipping 
 a warm podgy hand beneath Miss Annendale's bare arm. 
 "Muriel Herbert Sydney, here's a pleasant surprise. Here's 
 Miss Annendale. Take her to the billiard-room with you 
 and don't you boys choke her with your cigar smoke." 
 
 Truly the spirit of the Hill Eise girls was broken. Old 
 Crunden to quote his own violent phrase had smashed 
 down all their nonsense. Separate them and they were at 
 the mercy of a rude world. Only when they were together 
 could they hold their own. No more might they whistle 
 or call by Christian name from house to house; run in upon 
 each other for counsel and support; rarely might they move 
 in couples, never as a full pack. Their hats and frocks were 
 no longer of one pattern; the old costume-note was lost; the 
 Hill Eise girls were lapsing into the general aspect of any 
 other girls. 
 
 The success of the Judds was typical of other people's 
 success. The Granvilles, the Beaumonts, the Meldews now 
 visited the Paynes, the Mills, and the Franks. In a year the 
 Hill Eise girls were glad to go wherever you asked them. 
 Falling thus into the arms of that black-coated throng which 
 streamed out of Medford every morning and worked in Lon- 
 don all day, the Hill Eise girls soon began to do without the 
 least trouble that which in the grand old time had pre- 
 sented insurmountable difficulties. They began to get married. 
 
 It is but the first step that costs a pang in these matters..
 
 256 HILL RISE 
 
 When once Miss Granville addressed Miss Judd as Muriel, it 
 was a painless transition to the calling of Miss Judd's brother, 
 Herbert. During the last two years there had been more 
 betrothals in the high families than for the six previous 
 years. The bells of St. Barnabas soon made sweet bell-music 
 for Ethel Page, Mabel Blake, Lil Meldew, etc.; and for all 
 these veiled and wreathed patricians, the bridegroom was a 
 .season-ticket owner, who sat on an office stool. 
 
 No one was surprised when Miss Annendale at last ceded to 
 ihe importunity of Mr. Tubby Frank. He too habitually 
 wore a black coat, used a season-ticket, and sat on a leather- 
 . seated stool. He was employed by a firm of accountants who 
 held annual audits for one of the smaller public offices; and 
 Miss Annendale, drawling, was therefore able to describe her 
 future husband as something under Government. "But you 
 know what the Civil Service is nowadays. Tubby and I are 
 going to have nothing to live on but bread and cheese and 
 love." 
 
 As happy and contented wives, or with prospects of attain- 
 ing sooner or later to wedded bliss, perhaps the Hill Kise 
 girls, if they in their turn analysed causes and consequences, 
 were now grateful to, rather than angry with, Mr. Crunden 
 for setting them on the roll downhill. 
 
 "'Tis an ill wind," said Mr. Selby, "that blows nobody 
 good." This was when Mrs. Padfield took Number 4, Eiver 
 View. And Mrs. Padfield was followed into River View by 
 Mrs. Page and Mrs. Chudleigh. Three of the neglected houses 
 of this gloomy and unfortunate terrace thus' found tenants, 
 thanks to Mr. Crunden. 
 
 "'Tis just the other way about to what I expected," said 
 Selby. "Ye've emptied your own houses to fill mine, young 
 Crunden. 'Twill be the making of me me ta'ask, in paying 
 interest on the mortgages, will be light now, to what it was, 
 and me poor young wife will have her treat once in a way 
 with the rest of the world." 
 
 Indeed, to any candid and unprejudiced observer, it must 
 have been apparent that many people in Medford besides old 
 Selby and the marriageable young ladies had derived bene- 
 fits from Crunden's initiative. If, still tracing things back
 
 HILL RISE 257 
 
 to their source, you ascribed the advent of the London and 
 Suburban Trust to Crunden, you found more and more peo- 
 ple who should have thanked him instead of upbraiding him. 
 The sleepy town seemed to have shaken off. its torpor. Med- 
 ford when compared with its stagnant past was plainly 
 booming. In less than three years 11,000 had been added to 
 the rateable value of the municipal borough, and the borough 
 rate had fallen 4d. in the 1. Population had been drawn 
 io Medford: over two hundred new families had come into 
 Medford, and not one family had gone out of it. Wherever 
 you turned, you could see evidences of prosperity from the 
 brick and tile yards down by the river, to the new toy depart- 
 ment at Selkirk's extended premises. Trade had never been 
 so brisk: all the shops were thriving; the weekly circulation 
 of the Medford Advertiser had gone up nearly a thousand; 
 the Eailway Company was giving a better train service, and 
 promised further to increase and accelerate it. Certainly the 
 place was now overbuilt, but it would soon fill up; and 
 the prosperous town could afford to wait in patience for 
 the filling-up process, even if delay meant ruin to Mr. 
 Crunden. 
 
 Mr. Hope of the Advertiser was the first observant person 
 who candidly confessed that there had been utilitarian gains as 
 well as sentimental losses from the changes on the Hill. Mr. 
 Hope had come to King's Cottage for an affable business chat 
 with Crunden's clerk. It distressed Mr. Hope to see all the 
 Crunden printing go to Mr. Mees the stationer. These 
 pamphlets, leaflets, and so forth, "excellently written pieces, 
 Mr. Vincent." Why not let Mr. Hope run them off at the 
 Advertiser office? At least let Mr. Hope have a fair share of 
 the orders. And Mr. Hope scoffed at Mees and his spectacled 
 son not printers at all stationers, who pottered about in a 
 back-room with a hand-press, like children playing. 
 
 "Beally, I doubt if Mees has advanced far, either in tech- 
 nique or machinery, from Caxton in Westminster Abbey. 
 You know the picture, Mr. Vincent, a very beautiful thing 
 with which I used to refresh my eyes as a lad on the walls 
 of the National Gallery often and often when studying short- 
 hand at the Pitman School. . . . Whereas in the Advertiser
 
 258 HILL RISE 
 
 works we can challenge comparison with the up-to-date 
 machinery of a big London Daily. Give us a chance, Mr. 
 Vincent, of showing what we can do." 
 
 "We'll think about it," said Jack; "though, upon my life, 
 I don't see why we should reward you for slanging us every 
 week for three years. Old Mees gave us more or less friendly 
 on-dits from the first." 
 
 Then Mr. Hope talked very pompously about his organ, and 
 very bitterly of his rival's sheet. You must not speak of the 
 Bulletin in the same breath with the Advertiser. He told 
 Mr. Vincent that an organ of public opinion, such as the 
 Advertiser, was a mighty engine it needed very skilful guid- 
 ance. 
 
 "Well," said Jack crudely, "will you reverse your mighty 
 engine, and go full speed astern if we make it worth your 
 while by sending down a few orders?" 
 
 But, at this crudeness, Mr. Hope was for a moment 
 offended. 
 
 "Not for thousands of pounds," said Hope staunchly, 
 "would I tamper with my trust or print one line that did not 
 convey my firm conviction." 
 
 "Of course," said Jack, laughing. "Only my joke." 
 
 "I do not, however, pretend to infallibility, Mr. Vincent. 
 Tempora mutantur. And this I can say at once. It is my 
 business to gauge public opinion and for some little time 
 I have detected symptoms of a change in public opinion. I 
 should call it the turn of the tide," said Mr. Hope, with 
 'excessive pomposity. "To be frank so far, Mr. Crunden's 
 operations have not injured the town in the manner we all 
 anticipated. We are beginning to see that we were too hard 
 on Mr. Crunden." 
 
 Jack, smiling, made expressive pantomime: with his right 
 hand he pushed down an imaginary lever, and with his left 
 opened an invisible valve. 
 
 "Half-speed astern, eh, Mr. Hope?" 
 
 "The turn of the tide, Mr. Vincent. Nothing else. I have 
 here," and Mr. Hope tapped his forehead, "the germ of a 
 series of articles. Title: The New Medford description, 
 week by week, of the development and altered conditions of
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 our town. In these articles if they are ever penned justice 
 shall be done to Mr. Crunden. I could not conscientiously 
 pen this series without doing tardy justice to Mr. Crun- 
 den." 
 
 Mr. Hope, ere he allowed Jack Vincent to continue his 
 work, promised that Miss Irene would pay a call on Miss 
 Lizzie. 
 
 "My daughter has lost sight of her favourite, but would 
 be pleased to renew the old pleasant intercourse. Pray tell 
 Miss Crunden that Irene will look in some day after her 
 ride. Irene is never content except en amazone devoted to 
 equestrian exercise." 
 
 And again, when really going at last, Mr. Hope spoke of 
 the turning tide. 
 
 "I had a chat with your honoured father on Tuesday, and 
 rejoiced to see him in such good health. Sir John is gloriously 
 robust, Mr. Vincent, his attitude to life always has im- 
 pressed me so lofty and aloof, and yet with keenest sympathy 
 for the welfare of the world." 
 
 "Oh, Sir John is topping thank you." 
 
 "We chatted together of you and Mr. Crunden. Sir John 
 impressed me by his magnanimity. Sir John bears no malice 
 for that terrible outbreak at the meeting spoke most kindly 
 of Mr. Crunden. Said he thought Mr. Crunden deserves all 
 his success. I was greatly impressed for what Sir John 
 thinks to-day, all Medford will be thinking to-morrow. I say 
 that without a suspicion of flattery. It has always been so 
 as long as I can remember Medford." 
 
 Sir John bore no malice : was now entirely reconciled to the 
 new order of things. The plain fact was that if Richard 
 Crunden, mysteriously and unintentionally working as an in- 
 strument of beneficent fate, had earned heartfelt thanks from 
 any one, it was from Sir John Vincent. Not quite at first, 
 but gradually, Sir John must have realised that he was a 
 happier, lighter, more eupeptic baronet in Chiselhurst, his 
 bandbox of a villa, than he had been in the spacious halls of 
 Hill House. 
 
 He was a man who for many years had carried a heavy
 
 260 HILL RISE 
 
 incubus and foolishly thought it a comfort and a joy. Only 
 when the incubus had been lifted and thrown down, did he 
 begin to know what was what with regard to this and 
 all other matters. Now he was a free man able to breathe 
 able to think not the harassed guardian of useless 
 grandeurs. And yet, in all essentials, he was still the 
 great Sir John. He was touched by finding that people 
 treated him as respectfully as ever. Whether on the bench 
 with his brother magistrates, or in the chair at political gath- 
 erings, sitting at the tanklike club among those queer old 
 fish, the members, or walking through High Street, he could 
 discover no abatement in the deference that all showed him. 
 Intrinsically, he was still the great Sir John nothing had 
 dimmed his real glory. 
 
 Secretly he was well-pleased that Hill House and grounds 
 should be wiped out of existence. Since they were lost to 
 him, it was best to get them obliterated. There would have 
 been pain and discomfort in seeing another say Mr. Wace 
 the brewer occupy the place and space which he had once 
 filled. He, the biggest man in Medford, had lived so long 
 in Hill House that perhaps the legendary bigness would have 
 clung to the house itself have passed to the new tenant with 
 mantelpieces, roller-blinds, kitchen-dresser, and other land- 
 lord's fixtures. But, as the house was destroyed, the legend 
 clung to the man ; and Sir John had been able to take it with 
 him to the Kedmarsh Eoad. 
 
 Gradually, then, he settled down not unhappily at red-tiled 
 Chiselhurst. There was pleasure in slowly establishing him- 
 self, furnishing rooms, hanging pictures, arranging bric-a^ 
 brae. Little things had always interested Sir John; and to 
 amuse one's self with small matters, vast space is, of course, 
 not necessary. He was steward of the little house as of the big 
 one; and he had the faithful Short now butler-factotum, 
 without footmen to assist him and say "Yes, Sir John" and 
 "No, Sir John" all day long as in the past. 
 
 The installation of the library, or study, was a protracted 
 task; but finally he and Short accomplished it to the taste of 
 both. The room was brighter and gayer than the old room 
 on the Hill; it had a bow window like the front of a large
 
 HILL RISE 261 
 
 brougham, through which one looked out into a narrow little 
 garden that invited labour and ingenuity to embellish it. At 
 last the bookcases were set up and filled with the old volumes, 
 the writing table was insinuated through the restricted door- 
 way, and all the old tin boxes were accommodated to their 
 narrower resting-place. 
 
 Then Sir John was able to sit again in state; and, with 
 Short, transact the household business. 
 
 "To-morrow," said Short, quite in the grand old style, 
 "to-morrow, Sir John, will be the day for the writing of the 
 cheques." 
 
 And with sunshine pouring in through the diminutive 
 windows, Sir John wrote the cheques and put a grand and 
 easy flourish under each of his signatures. It was easy 
 stewardship now small cheques and the certainty of a bal- 
 ance to meet them. There were no dark shadows about the 
 corners of the sunny room; the old tin boxes were all empty; 
 one might open all the cupboards beneath the bookshelves 
 without dread of finding skeletons in them. And it must be 
 confessed, too, that the accountancy required by Short's 
 weekly book was the easier and pleasanter for the certainty 
 that one's budget would not be upset by unexpected entries 
 of "Mr. John, 2.10.0"; "Mr. John, 10s."; "Mr. John, 
 15s.7d." 
 
 "Is that all this morning, Short?" 
 
 "That is all, Sir John." 
 
 The contents of the tin boxes had gone to London. Sir 
 John had unreservedly placed himself in the hands of his 
 solicitors : it was their duty now to maintain a modestly suffi- 
 cient balance at the bank; for them was all the weariness of 
 putting straight and tidy the muddle that Sir John had 
 made. Sir John might now pile up the papers on his desk, 
 accumulate a litter of documents, and surround himself with 
 innumerable files of scribbled memoranda; but he could not 
 any more hurt himself by doing so. All dangerous papers 
 were in safe hands. How rich was Sir John, how poor was 
 Sir John, in what manner had he come to grief, and why? 
 Sir John could never have answered these baffling questions. 
 Answers to all such enigmas must now be supplied by the wise
 
 262 HILL RISE 
 
 men of law. And the knowledge that self-catechism was done 
 with forever, made Sir John sleep soundly, walk lightly, 
 and digest food quickly. 
 
 It appeared to the solicitors that their client had always 
 been unable to distinguish capital from income. It was as if 
 the difference between money and the product of money was 
 to Sir John something unthinkable as the fourth dimension, 
 or consciousness resulting from molecular motions, or a uni- 
 verse not eternal, are to many other men. But this inability 
 was only one of the weaknesses in Sir John when considered 
 purely as a business man. He had been rash in speculation 
 buying shares in the wildest concerns, paying calls when the 
 venture was fatally rotten, forfeiting his holding in the rare 
 cases when the thing was about to turn up trumps. He had 
 borrowed money at a high rate to lend it again at a low 
 rate. He sold the gilt-edged securities which he had, because 
 he put himself into dilemmas by selling the wild-cat stock 
 which he had not. He had written scathing rebukes to re- 
 spectable stockbroking firms for attempting sharp practice, and 
 had sent warm thanks to bucket shops for opening his eyes 
 to the modern system of profit-snatching. In a word his 
 own word he had muddled things. 
 
 But out of the darkness gleams of light began soon to 
 emerge. Here a gleam, there a gleam enough light for 
 lynx-eyed lawyers to work by. Affairs not perhaps as bad 
 as we feared. Give us time, and, may be, we shall have a 
 fairly good report to submit. Before long there came down 
 from London the explicitly comforting statement: Assets 
 sufficient to meet all claims, and with careful realisation to 
 yield handsome very handsome surplus. 
 
 Sir John stepped more lightly still when he knew that every 
 tradesman holding an appointment to Hill House had, after 
 so many payments on account, received his payment in settle- 
 ment. "Good-morning, Sir John," said Mr. Brown, bowing 
 low. "Your lawyers, Sir John, have insisted on squaring me 
 off with a cheque to balance. I didn't wish it, Sir John. I 
 told them when convenient to you, Sir John, and not before." 
 Mr. Brown and the others would have waited till the crack 
 of doom: nothing could shake Sir John's credit with them;
 
 HILL RISE 263 
 
 their only anxiety had been to secure the warrant as purveyors 
 to Chiselhurst now that the Hill House warrant had expired. 
 If you chanced to hear them boastfully shouting in their 
 shops, you could not doubt that their customer had retained 
 his legendary importance. "Saddle o' lamb for Chiselhurst. 
 Come, come, don't go to sleep with that little saddle what I 
 trimmed for Sir John." Or, "Where's those two Chiselhurst 
 soles for Sir John and her ladyship? Bustle, my lad, bustle." 
 Nevertheless, though he appreciated this faithful homage, 
 Sir John twirled his stick higher, cocked his hat more jauntily, 
 said "How do, Brown" with a livelier air, when he knew that 
 all old debts had been extinguished. 
 
 There was Lady Vincent's income to go on with 700 per 
 annum, in itself enough for up-keep of Chiselhurst; there 
 was money coming from London and very soon now it came. 
 There was enough money for everybody quite enough to 
 supply Jack, if one could have prevailed on him to take his 
 share. In the second year Sir John built out a conservatory 
 for my lady, filled it with the flowers she loved, bought a 
 sundial, dug ground, and constructed a square basin for 
 water-lilies with a tiny fountain jet to play on the lilies; 
 and, walking backwards from the house to obtain a compre- 
 hensive view of the conservatory and sundial, fell into the 
 basin but did not injure himself. 
 
 Nothing could injure him now he felt so light in body, 
 so free in mind. During the third year he was able to allow 
 good Lady Vincent petty cash almost on the old scale for 
 her charitable needs and humble friends came for doles to 
 Chiselhurst with nearly as much confidence as they had felt 
 when plodding up the hill and through the white gates. More 
 and more snug little sums were coming from London enough 
 for immediate use ; enough to put by for the future. But was 
 it worth while bothering one's self about the future? The 
 future could take care of itself. Out of the cloudy future 
 there must come, sooner or later, a golden sunburst. Sir 
 John, with less and less reticence, talked now of those settled 
 funds from which he was shut out only by a creaking door. 
 Cousin Harriet could not hang on forever. Nature has her 
 inexorable laws, which no poor old dear can brush aside,
 
 264 HILL RISE 
 
 Some day Miss Vincent must go and she could not take the 
 money with her. 
 
 Thus, when Jack on these cold winter evenings changed his 
 working clothes to the orthodox swallow-tails, and dropped in 
 for dinner at Chiselhurst, it was to meet a reconciled happy 
 papa, as well as a proudly smiling mamma. Every one was 
 glad to see him; no one reproached him. Time had won 
 him full pardon for all his absurdities. Indeed, Sir John, 
 with so many little things to occupy his thoughts, had ceased 
 to think either very frequently or very seriously of his vagrant 
 son. He and Jack were the best of pals, but each had gone 
 his own way. And why not? "Live and let live" was now 
 Sir John's motto except, of course, as applied to the sad 
 case of people who have long lost all the pleasures of life, and 
 yet will go on living. 
 
 You could catch all the lightness and tolerant geniality of 
 Sir John in the tone of his greeting when nowadays Jack 
 appeared. 
 
 "Jack, my dear fellow }^ou're the very fellow I wanted 
 to see. Your mother will be down directly. Look here at 
 those engravings Morlands. Picked 'em up at Crossby's 
 in Water Lane. Deuced good, ain't they? Now, where are 
 we to hang them? Short wants 'em in the library. I say 
 in here if we can make room for them. Short, try this 
 against the wall. Hold it up before that sea-piece, Short." 
 
 "Yes, Sir John." 
 
 Short a docile and admiring parlourmaid under him 
 served the dinner with a pomp that was now tempered by 
 snugness and prettiness. There was the fine cut glass, the 
 grand china with the arms of the family in their true heraldic 
 colours, the massive silver almost bearing down with its hun- 
 dreds of ounces the new spindle-legged Sheraton sideboard 
 all this was of the old style; but the maid had fantastic little 
 tricks of decorating the table with streamers of maiden-hair 
 fern, and was apt to tie up the French bread in green ribbons ; 
 there were fluffy feathery shades upon the candles; the fire- 
 light sparkled on quaint brass dogs, flashed in little blue tiles 
 beneath the white mantel-shelf and all this was of the new 
 style.
 
 HILL RISE 265 
 
 Sir John throughout the dinner sustained the conversation 
 chattering amiably to Jack, to his wife, to Short, and to 
 the maid, and never allowed the talk to flag by unduly paus- 
 ing for replies. 
 
 "Well, Jack, what's the best news with you? Short, where 
 do you get this pepper? I don't like it. Cayenne. Nepaul. 
 Get Nepaul. Edith, go into my room and fetch the Times. 
 I left it in my armchair. My dear, I want to read you a 
 police-court case most consummate impudence I ever heard 
 of. After the fish after I've done the fish. Very good sole, 
 isn't it ? We have saddle of mutton to follow, Jack. . . . 
 Now then. Look here. Here we are;" and, adjusting his 
 glasses, Sir John recited how and in what manner a man 
 pretending to be a baronet had fraudulently obtained goods. 
 "And this fellow lets him off with a caution," cried Sir John, 
 putting down the paper to attend to the mutton. "I'd have 
 given the fellow ten } r ears' hard. Defence and it's no defence 
 was, the fellow had always catted himself Sir William, was 
 known as Sir William, and did not assume the title for 
 purpose of fraud believed he was a baronet. Deuce take 
 the fellow's impudence," and Sir John indignantly bolted 
 large mouthfuls of mutton. "I've looked him up in Burke, 
 and Lodge. No such baronetcy, of course. Fellow's no more 
 a baronet than Short is. Eh, Short? If ever you leave my 
 service and I hope you won't don't you go about calling 
 yourself Sir Thomas Short." 
 
 "Certainly not, Sir John," said Short, opening wine at the 
 Sheraton sideboard. 
 
 Papa and Short always brought out their best wine for 
 this guest, but mamma was delighted to observe that the 
 beloved guest drank sparingly no matter how rare the 
 vintage. Her eyes grew bright and her heart melted in thank- 
 fulness when she heard the maid asked for some more 
 apollinaris. 
 
 Once Sir John unconsciously frightened Jack by begging 
 for his opinion as a wine-expert. 
 
 "Look here, Jack my dear fellow. You must help me 
 to crack a bottle of pop to-night. Short that new cham- 
 pagne. We'll try it now. Jack, I want your true opinion.
 
 266 HILL RISE 
 
 Quite a new wine. Only got three bottles. I'll let you into 
 the secret that it isn't dear. New fellow has his name to 
 make. Ah! opens all right anyhow." 
 
 Short, releasing the cork, had produced a most tremendous 
 bang, which really frightened Jack. 
 
 "Oh, I say, Sir John," he stammered, "don't say 
 
 you've ? Short, bring it here;" and he hastily turned 
 
 up the white napkin with which Short had swathed the bottle. 
 
 "If it's well, if it is, you know, you've just No, it's all 
 
 right; it isn't." 
 
 It was not Eosencrantz. 
 
 After dinner, when Short had fetched the coffee and put 
 the cigar-boxes by his master's elbow, Sir John almost always 
 spoke without reticence of his expectations. 
 
 "Baddish news from Bournemouth, Jack." 
 
 "What is the poor old lady worse?" 
 
 "No she's better;" and Sir John smiled good-naturedly. 
 "Confound it all she is taking her time, isn't she ? Dr. Lacy 
 writes marked improvement of stamina but dead mentally. 
 Death in life Lacy calls it." 
 
 When Mr. Jack was going, her ladyship always came out 
 into the tiny hall to make sure that Short was wrapping up 
 the guest properly against the cold night air. 
 
 "Thank you, Short. I say, Short, old boy, do you know, 
 you are putting on flesh very fast. Do you think you eat too 
 much?" 
 
 "I don't eat any more, Mr. John, than I used to in the 
 old days." 
 
 "Ah, but we all used to eat too much in the old days." 
 
 Then Lady Vincent came from the warm little drawing- 
 room to make quite sure. 
 
 "Good-night, my dearest boy. Kind remembrances to Miss 
 Crunden. My very kind remembrances," said Lady Vincent 
 graciously. "I never misjudged any one as I did her such 
 right views on all subjects." 
 
 And Sir John, following his lady to the threshold of the 
 drawing-room, suddenly remembered the Crundens, of whom 
 he had said no word till now. 
 
 "Oh, ah, yes, to be sure. How's the old fellow? And
 
 HILL RISE 267 
 
 how's Miss Crunden? Yes, of course to be sure. Miss 
 Crunden!" and Sir John smiled mysteriously, as though the 
 name had brought back secret and rather amusing thoughts. 
 "Hope Miss Crunden's well. Still Miss Crunden? Not mar- 
 ried yet, is she?" 
 
 "No," said Jack, "she is not married. Good-night;" and 
 he marched away in the cold and the darkness to his humble 
 bachelor home. 
 
 Nearly all the shops were thriving; but not quite all. 
 Somehow or other, Robes et Modes,, although it started so well, 
 had not shared in the boom. Perhaps its two promoters had 
 entered unlucky premises; perhaps they had attempted im- 
 possibilities; perhaps they had run full-tilt against the Spirit 
 of the Age, and from the very first had been doomed ulti- 
 mately to fail with Miss Walsh's maxims of high profit on 
 small returns, etc. Anyhow, af-fcr the first six months, Miss 
 Barter and Miss Walsh seemed to lose their grip on the cus- 
 tomers who had come to them when the white paint was 
 fresh and the gold-tassels unsoiled. Letter-writing on thickest 
 note-paper, with the arms of half a dozen foreign potentates, 
 ceased to produce effect. Invitations to view latest nou- 
 veautes and extra special lines were ignored. Out of all the new 
 families there were not half a dozen new clients for the chic 
 establishment in Bridge Street. The dome of Selkirk was seen 
 by these strangers from the railway carriage ere they alighted ; 
 the plate-glass fagade of Selkirk arrested their attention as 
 they drove from the station; the covered carts of Selkirk 
 flashed his name before their eyes, printed it on their mem- 
 ories; their first exploration of the town was to find the 
 nearest way to Selkirk. They had been in Medford for 
 months perhaps, were the chained slaves of Selkirk, before 
 they turned down a side street and happened to see, under 
 an architect's office, the quaint little shop that called itself 
 Modes et Eobes. 
 
 Who was to blame for this lack of success? No one, 
 probably unless one might accuse Destiny or the Spirit of 
 the Age. But Miss Walsh said it was all Miss Barter's fault, 
 and Miss Barter said Miss Walsh had swindled her. With
 
 268 HILL RISE 
 
 insufficient business to occupy their minds, and without cus- 
 tomers to soften their manners and silence their tongues, the 
 partners were continually quarrelling. An acrimonious 
 wrangle filled their enforced leisure day after day. Mr. 
 Dowling's clerks could hear them, and sometimes stamped 
 upon the floor to beg for peace. Then Miss Walsh used to come 
 out into the passage and call up to the clerks most acrimoni- 
 ously : "If you shake the plaster off our ceiling, I'll make you 
 pay for it. I shall write to Mr. Eogers this minute and tell 
 him it's you and not us he must look to. There's cracks 
 you've made already that are big enough to put your fingers 
 in," etc., etc. And then the angry senior partner would return 
 to the shop and pick up the thread of the squabble with 
 Miss Jessie. "Give you back your money and let you go? 
 Oh, that's a good one, that is. You never wanted for cheek, 
 Jessie. Give me back my money that you've lost for me 
 by your laziness and your carelessness and your underhand 
 ways. Let me see my money again and we'll begin to talk 
 about yours. I earned my money I did scraped and saved 
 it by honest earning. I didn't go out and cadge it. ... '' 
 There was in fact much uneasiness and annoyance beneath 
 Mr. Dowling. 
 
 And Miss Jessie in her troubles troubled other people. Too 
 often she brought the discomfort and worry out of the shop 
 and took them upstairs to the first floor. Passing the open 
 door of the clerks' room, she approached the closed door of 
 Mr. Dowling's sanctum and tapped with her pencil on the 
 panels. At the sound of these light pencil-tappings, Mr. 
 Dowling, seated in his big chair before his pigeon-hole desk, 
 used to start guiltily. He knew what the pencil signal meant : 
 his little neighbour craved admittance, and he was to tap on 
 his desk, once if she might come in or three times if he was 
 occupied and did not wish to see her. He dreaded such visits ; 
 he disliked the notion of a secret understanding implied by 
 pencil-signals; he never wished to see Miss Barter. But, 
 whether he tapped once or twice, Miss Barter now always 
 came in. 
 
 "Only me. Well, you are mean to pretend you were busy. 
 I knew you were alone."
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 And then Miss Barter began troubling the architect. 
 
 "Oh, that odious woman has said the crudest things to 
 me to-day. I believe she goes about backbiting and slandering 
 me all over the town. It's her tongue that is ruining the 
 business and putting every one off. And if you'll believe me,l 
 the way she goes on with Mr. Lloyd you know who I mean 
 White and Burrell's traveller. Well, if I was to take a leaf 
 out of her book and go blackening any one's character, I 
 could tell tales of Katie Walsh that would surprise you." 
 
 Mr. Cowling, listening to this sort of thing, deeply re- 
 gretted that he had not himself taken the empty shop when 
 French the hatter became bankrupt; or that a cheesemonger, 
 a fried-fish seller, a bird-and-dog fancier had not taken it 
 instead of a fashionable dressmaker. 
 
 "Mr. Dowling, do be nice to me this afternoon. I am that 
 down and I hoped to catch you in the best and kindest 
 temper;" and then perhaps Miss Barter would sit upon the 
 arm of Mr. Bowling's big chair, and be promptly asked to get 
 up therefrom. 
 
 "Why, there's no harm in it." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Dowling hastily ; "no harm, of course. But 
 suppose any one came in they might draw wrong conclu- 
 sions." 
 
 "Well, you are particular." 
 
 "One cannot be too particular. Sit down over there, please, 
 and tell me what it is." 
 
 It was the rent for the quarter to be made up. Could 
 Mr. Dowling, just for this once, help his struggling neigh- 
 bours ? 
 
 "Fifteen pounds to make up. To you who are so rich, 
 it may seem nothing at all, but we don't know where to get 
 it no more than the man in the moon. Eogers won't show 
 us any mercy. Eogers will serve us the same as he did young 
 French put in a distraint and bundle us out into the 
 street." 
 
 Indirectly, too, Miss Barter caused vexation to Mr. Dow- 
 ling. One of the few staunch customers of Robes et Modes 
 was the sumptuously dressed Mrs. Dowling; and when she 
 visited the shop, she always came upstairs to the office to see
 
 270 HILL RISE 
 
 her husband. The most loyal husband does not want his 
 wife at his business address, and Mr. Bowling when conduct- 
 ing a professional interview was often flustered and con- 
 fused by hearing a well-known heavy footstep on the stairs. 
 
 One day it chanced that Mrs. Cowling, coining up, met 
 Miss Barter going down. Miss Barter explained that she was 
 expecting Mrs. Bowling, and she had run up to inquire why 
 Mrs. Bowling had not called to try on. Mrs. Bowling, how- 
 ever, required further explanation from her husband. Thus 
 Miss Barter became a source of ever-increasing trouble to 
 Mr. Bowling. 
 
 She was troublesome also to Mr. Crunden. When he came 
 for a business talk with his architect and adviser, she would 
 intercept him sometimes in the narrow passage. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Crunden, I am so delighted at your success. One 
 likes the persons one respects to be great and famous. You 
 are a Croesus now, aren't you, Mr. Crunden owning half the 
 town! But don't forget humble friends, Mr. Crunden, now 
 that you are such a great man. I can never forget you and 
 your kindness and chivalry to poor little me and I'm proud 
 and grateful, Mr. Crunden, to think of your kindness " 
 
 Mr. Crunden grunted, and his answers to these compliments 
 were both short and surly: he found Miss Barter's flattering 
 attentions very troublesome. 
 
 But most of all was Miss Jessie troublesome to Jack Vin- 
 cent. 
 
 "Jack, I came up to the cottage three evenings last week 
 and you were never in. If you went out on purpose to avoid 
 me, I think it very mean of you. Yes, I do, Jack. Here 
 was I sitting alone, and pining to go to the theatre and no 
 one to take me. And you did as good as promise for last 
 week. You did, Jack." 
 
 "Well, you know, Jessie, we are so busy just now ; and after 
 work I really am so tired that I should go to sleep at the 
 theatre." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind about the theatre. Though you used to 
 take me, Jack, whenever I asked you. I don't mind if we 
 only go for a quiet walk." 
 
 Jack in these days walked by himself very quietly and
 
 HILL RISE 271 
 
 warily when he knew that there was a probability of meeting 
 Miss Barter. At the sight of her largely picturesque hat and 
 severely trim waist, he had more than once dodged round a 
 corner and run a little way in true greyhound fashion. Miss 
 Barter was the lady who had complimented him on looking 
 like a greyhound. 
 
 "And with the thinness,, Jack, you've grown so handsome 
 so thoroughbred, too." 
 
 Miss Jessie was always lavish of compliments, but Jack now 
 extracted from her soft words no more gratification than had 
 Mr. Crunden. He, with Mr. Crunden and Mr. Bowling, 
 found her most troublesome. 
 
 The fact was that, so far as Jack was concerned, Jessie 
 was necessarily troublesome. Jack had a place a large 
 place in her future plans. It seemed to Jessie obvious 
 that although Jack might still look an aristocrat, he had cer- 
 tainly ceased to be one: the Medford upheaval had swept 
 away all those social barriers which once had separated them ; 
 socially they stood now side by side on the same level; and 
 no one could think it strange if they linked hands and walked 
 on side by side forever. So it seemed to Jessie. Her only 
 doubt was, Would such a lifelong union be the best thing 
 for her? She was quite sure it would be the best thing for 
 Jack although he might not at first believe this; she was 
 fond of Jack and wished him well ; finally, after careful con- 
 sideration extending over two or three years, she made up 
 her mind as to the future of Jack and herself. Henceforth, 
 in all that she said, she was trying to bring Jack round to 
 her way of thinking: to entangle him in such a thought- 
 maze that he should eventually think -that what she wished 
 him to think was what he himself had thought originally. 
 
 She used to speak with emotion of the dear old past when 
 they were first drawn to one another omitting, of course, all 
 reference to the drawing power of such ugly magnets as 
 the White Hart bar and its high stools, etc. 
 
 "Those were the happy times, Jack when we had noth- 
 ing to worry us. And why shouldn't such times come again ?" 
 
 "Oh," said Jack cheerfully, "the times aren't bad now, as 
 times go."
 
 272 HILL RISE 
 
 "I knew you liked me," said Jessie, with much feeling, 
 "almost directly. More by your eyes than by what you said. 
 I believe a girl can tell a good deal better by a man's eyes 
 than his lips. And then I tested you, Jack, didn't I? And 
 you came forward so nobly proving it by giving me all 
 that capital " 
 
 "Oh, don't go back to that, Jessie. You were quite wel- 
 come to it. I only wish you had done better with your 
 business." 
 
 "If it had been the success I hoped, you should have had 
 your share, Jack. Yes, you should. I'd have paid you good 
 percentage out of all profits. But that odious woman has 
 swindled me yes, robbed me of all you trusted to me." 
 
 "All right, Jessie; if the money is gone, it isn't worth 
 talking about, and I'm sorry I can't offer you any more." 
 
 It became apparent to Jessie, after many conversations, 
 that little was to be done with Jack by appeals to sentiment 
 rather than to reason. His thoughts had become so prosaic 
 that the poetry of life could not entangle them: instead of 
 turning and twisting bewildered in her maze, they broke fence 
 and got out the nearest way. 
 
 Finally, therefore, she talked to Mr. Vincent in a thor- 
 oughly practical and businesslike manner. 
 
 "Jack, I'm sick to death of Medford. I'm not doing any 
 good here and the longer I stay I do believe the worse it 
 will be." 
 
 "Oh, don't say that, Jessie." 
 
 "And I can't see that you are doing any good either. What's 
 the use of slaving for a stingy old hedgehog, like Mr. Crun- 
 den? He's imposing on you all the time. He'll work you 
 till you drop, without ever giving you your fair share. No 
 matter how rich he grows, he won't give you a percentage out 
 of his riches. Why shouldn't you and I just up stick together 
 and go to London?" 
 
 "To London?" said Jack blankly. This was at the very 
 time when he himself was considering if it would not be well 
 for him to go to London and there seek work; he was stag- 
 gered by the proposal that he should take a companion with 
 him.
 
 HILL RISE 273 
 
 "We could be married before the registrar. No larks, Jack. 
 I'm not going without the ring." 
 
 Mr. Vincent was greatly embarrassed. It was an occasion 
 on which it is exceedingly difficult to say No courteously, 
 yet firmly, and without giving offence. With apologetic mur- 
 murs, vague gestures, and stammering expressions of re- 
 gret, Mr. Vincent explained that Jessie's slowly matured 
 decision must be reversed. Her plan for his future welfare 
 was impossible. 
 
 "Why not? I can get my two pound a week in London 
 and later on I can try a shop there. Meantime, you'll be 
 earning money more money than you'll get here. I believe 
 I could do grand in a London shop of my own without any 
 odious woman to interfere with me. And I can trust you for 
 a worker not one who'd let your wife slave for you while 
 you went about idle. Do let's do it. And if ever we make 
 our fortune you being a gentleman can put me into society 
 and we can forget the shop, and swagger with the best of 
 them." 
 
 It was painfully difficult to thank Jessie for her confi- 
 dence while refusing to take advantage of it. She would be- 
 lieve that a polite No really meant a bashful Yes. When 
 she reopened the matter, Jack had the letter from Messrs. 
 Griggs concealed about his person, and he felt that her bright, 
 cold eyes would penetrate to his inner breast pocket and 
 read the secret. He felt that if she knew how Griggs were 
 now offering him four pounds a week, she would drag him by 
 his coattails to the "registrar." 
 
 The last discussion of this delicate matter occurred on a 
 Saturday afternoon in midwinter. And this was the day 
 when Lizzie Crunden, returning from her thoughtful tramp, 
 came upon them after dark ia Hill Rise. Jessie had demanded 
 an interview, claimed her right to lengthy debate and a full 
 exposition of Jack's arguments which still appeared to her 
 inconclusive. "You do owe me that, at least, Jack to tell me 
 the reason why." It was a most distressing walk and talk. 
 They were walking and talking still when dusk fell; they 
 had stopped walking but were still talking in the lamplight 
 when Lizzie, unobserved, flitted past in the shadows.
 
 274 HILL RISE 
 
 "Then I think/' Miss Barter was saying, "you've treated 
 me very cruel yes, and very mean, too." 
 
 "Oh, don't say that, Jessie." 
 
 "But I do say it. If you never meant anything serious in 
 the end, you shouldn't have led me on, step by step, making 
 me fond of you. It's a mean thing to do to any girl. And 
 it isn't fair either. You've spoilt my chances. Charlie Pad- 
 field would have come forward at one time if I'd lifted my 
 finger to beckon him. Of course, other men wouldn't come 
 forward while they saw you about with me and now my best 
 years are gone. I shall be passy like that odious woman 
 before I can look round." 
 
 "Jessie, I'm awfully sorry. Eeally, I've always tried to 
 be a good pal to you. I wouldn't have stood in your light 
 for worlds." 
 
 "Oh, I know what it means," said Jessie bitterly. "I'm 
 not good enough. You're out heiress-hunting. You've 
 thought of a better way of getting old Crunden's money than 
 by any percentages. I'm not such a fool as I can't see 
 the meaning of it. It's that Crunden girl has come between 
 you and me, Jack." 
 
 "Jessie, I've been a good pal to you. Don't turn nasty." 
 
 "Yes, and haven't you turned nasty to me? If I'm nasty, 
 I've a right to be and show it, too." 
 
 That was Jack's last promenade with Miss Barter. When 
 it was over, he felt clear in conscience and yet pricked by 
 remorse. He was innocent. There was nothing in the indict- 
 ment; the charge should never have been preferred; and yet, 
 somehow, he had an uneasy sense that he could not blame 
 his accuser for having brought him into the dock.
 
 CHAPTEE XXII 
 
 THE tide was turning. 
 
 Mr. Crunden was in danger of losing the old prefix to his 
 name. Perhaps for six months no one but Miss Barter had 
 called him Hedgehog. One day walking thoughtfully, he 
 stopped short, turned, and looked back at three men stand- 
 ing by the corner of a street. As he passed, they had done 
 something very unusual : each of the three had touched his 
 hat. Preoccupied by his thoughts, Mr. Crunden had, never- 
 theless, noticed the unexpected action of the three hands, and 
 now he stared in reflective surprise. He did not even know 
 the men ; they had never been in his employ ; they were merely 
 saluting a famous citizen. Then, day after day, he observed 
 that this new custom was spreading was becoming universal. 
 One copied another; the policeman saw the omnibus-driver 
 raise his whip before his forehead, and, automatically imi- 
 tating, brought his gloved hand to the peak of his helmet; 
 gradually all the humble world touched hats to Mr. Crunden. 
 
 People who stood above the hat-touching level solid citi- 
 zens like Mr. Brown and Mr. Eogers, began to cross the 
 road and accost him. People to whom he had not spoken for 
 years insisted on speaking now addressed him easily and 
 jovially, as though they were resuming a conversation inter- 
 rupted by accident yesterday. No reference was made by 
 townsmen to the mud-throwing past; no apologies were 
 offered for the old obloquy and abuse; but, if Mr. Crunden 
 studied the demeanour of the town, he must judge by very 
 many signs that Medford wished to show him, as prophesied 
 by Councillor Hope, the change wrought by the years in 
 public opinion. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins, one morning hurrying from the opposite 
 pavement, offering an open hand, gave him explicit assurance 
 
 275
 
 276 HILL RISE 
 
 of the sentiments which Medford by these long-delayed civili- 
 ties now desired to convey to him. 
 
 "An immense amount of 'umbug has been talked," said 
 Mr. Hopkins, "and many of us were led astray. But we can 
 see clear now." 
 
 "Can you?" 
 
 "And the wish of a$, Mr. Crunden, is to let bygones be 
 bygones. We Avere talking of you after the Council meeting, 
 on Monday night. A full meeting a representative meet- 
 ing and after it was done, we spoke free among ourselves, 
 without 'umbug. The old feeling has gone, Mr. Crunden. 
 We do not begrudge you your wealth nor your success, Mr. 
 Crunden. We see now that, in helping yourself, you have 
 helped others. . . . That," said Mr. Hopkins, "is what I 
 felt I should like to make myself the mouthpiece to saj 
 and to shake you by the hand, Mr. Crunden." 
 
 The tide had turned was flowing fast the other way. It 
 almost seemed as though, if nothing checked the flood, old 
 Crunden would soon be absolutely popular. 
 
 He had been described in the Advertiser as a Pioneer of 
 Progress and a Resolute Foe to Torpor and Stagnation. Suc- 
 cessive on-dits in Mees's Bulletin contained quotations from 
 Jack's pamphlet lavishly praising the beauties of the Hill 
 Rise Estate. When newspapers begin to give one free adver- 
 tisements, one may safely accept them as echoes of the public 
 voice itself. 
 
 As the springtime brought life to the sleeping woods, as 
 the sunlight sparkled and flashed again on Selkirk's dome, 
 and Valentine's Day came round once more to set the shy 
 birds building, Mr. Hope, well-advanced in his series of 
 articles, was doing Mr. Crunden rather more than justice. 
 Mr. Hope's pen had a trick of running away with him. When 
 it had started to eulogise, it plunged on, and was now career- 
 ing wildly. If one might believe all that was said in these 
 later instalments of Mr. Hope's series, thanks were due to Mr. 
 Crunden for all good things in and about Medford the 
 increasing warmth of the sun, the violets on the moss-carpet 
 beneath the beeches, the song of the birds, the rising of the
 
 HILL RISE 277 
 
 sap, the quickening and gladdening of the human heart after 
 the dull, dark winter. 
 
 But while Mr. Hope sang this vernal paean, while the earth 
 was coming to life and on all sides one could see and hear 
 movement, activity, progress, there was an ominous restful 
 silence over the Hill Eise land. No shy birds were building 
 there; the tender young grass was tinting unused roads; 
 violets had wandered from the woods and bashfully, stupidly, 
 planted themselves by the side of granite kerbstones, to tell 
 one that no footsteps as yet passed along the new pathways. 
 On all the land, when St. Valentine's feast slipped by in the 
 calendar, no builder this year was busy except Mr. Crun- 
 den, slowly, desperately slowly, finishing the last of his decoy- 
 houses. 
 
 On February afternoons visitors several times stood wait- 
 ing at the door of ceremony at King's Cottage. The spirit 
 that impelled Mr. Hopkins and such prominent town-fathers 
 from one pavement to another at sight of Crunden, now 
 brought the Vicar of St. Barnabas and his lady to call upon 
 Miss Crunden. Dr. Blake, whose visits in the past had been 
 of a professional character solely, now called without being 
 sent for, and left not only his own card but the card of Mrs. 
 Blake. Miss Irene Hope did not call although her papa had 
 promised that she would do Lizzie this honour; but she 
 wrote somewhat incoherently, to explain that she still in- 
 tended to call. Miss Hope was full of engagements dread- 
 fully rushed just now too uncertain in her plans to name 
 a specific date for the call: Lizzie must, therefore, excuse 
 delay and not attribute Miss Hope's absence to wilful neglect. 
 "Life is a riddle to all of us," said Miss Hope incoherently. 
 "The intention has always seemed to me everything, if one 
 means well in what one does no one should blame one what- 
 ever one does." 
 
 As Lizzie had never asked Irene to call, she more than for- 
 gave her for not calling; but she thought Irene's letter, with 
 its life-riddles and general incoherence, a most ridiculous, 
 affected composition. 
 
 Among February visitors was Lady Vincent. Her lady- 
 ship, calling, drank tea one afternoon in the parlour. Mrs.
 
 278 HILL RISE 
 
 Price and Jane hastily produced the best china, the choicest 
 napery, and the silver teapot, etc., from the cupboards where 
 ordinarily these treasures lay hidden ; and then served the un- 
 usually ceremonious repast. Her ladyship beamed upon her 
 son, had absent-minded and yet friendly smiles for Lizzie, and 
 spoke most graciously to Mr. Crunden. 
 
 ' Old Crunden, perceptibly gratified and yet secretly op- 
 pressed by so much unsolicited affability and condescension, 
 drank his tea with a gulp, refused all food, modestly with- 
 drew from the table to the hearth, and at a respectful dis- 
 tance told the visitor all about the age of the house. 
 
 "Mr. Dowling and I both put that woodwork in the hall 
 at Charles Two or James Two and what is more, I believe 
 the panelling was removed bodily out of a church. If you 
 ask me what church, my lady, I say the same church that is 
 indicated by a cross on the ancient maps of Medford, close 
 by where St. Barnabas now stands." 
 
 The visitor, at first listening attentively, soon permitted 
 her mind to wander from this historical information, and 
 presently overwhelmed Mr. Crunden by the steadily reflective 
 and yet unconscious scrutiny that had always produced nerv- 
 ousness in those who were not familiar friends of her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 "A very old house," said Mr. Crunden, abruptly conclud- 
 ing, and rubbing his hands together nervously. 
 
 "We are all of us growing older," said Lady Vincent. "My 
 husband, Mr. Crunden, no longer deplores all the changes in 
 the town. He has no unkind memory of your opposition to 
 his wishes and I hope you, Mr. Crunden, think more kindly 
 of us, now that you have had your own way in everything." 
 
 "I would like to say" and Mr. Crunden cleared his throat 
 and coughed "I have a very sincere respect for Sir John 
 and his family. Any words of mine on the subject of Hill 
 Rise, which might seem disrespectful to Sir John, were spoken 
 foolishly and regretted ever afterwards." 
 
 "Oh," said Jack, "that's all right. Sir John understood." 
 "Quite so," said Lady Vincent graciously; "but it is kind 
 of Mr. Crunden to tell us that he was not really hostile to 
 your father. . . . My husband," and she turned to Mr. Crun-
 
 HILL RISE 279 
 
 den very graciously, "is in great anxiety just now;" and she 
 turned again to her son. "Jack dear, we have grave news 
 from Bournemouth." 
 
 "What is the old lady better again?" 
 
 "No; worse. Poor dear, she has caused Dr. Lacy serious 
 alarm in the last few days. ... It is sad, Mr. Crunden, to 
 be given length of years but to be deprived of the power of 
 enjoying life. That is unhappily the case with our poor old 
 cousin Miss Vincent at Bournemouth." 
 
 The tide was flowing strong. 
 
 "Fine morning, sir;" "Good-day, Mr. Crunden"; "I hope 
 I see you well, sir" ; Mr. Crunden was walking through High 
 Street, and all the world was greeting him. Tradesmen on 
 the thresholds of their shops tarried to salute him, would not 
 let him pass without compliments and bows. They all thought 
 him rich and prosperous, and they bowed to the success and 
 the power that, after all, had done them no injury. 
 
 The sun shone; wherever he glanced smiles seemed to wel- 
 come him; but he could take no pleasure in the sunlight or 
 the friendly faces. He walked as a man dreaming, a man 
 haunted by doubt and disaster. When he looked at his 
 untrodden roads, at his untenanted houses, at the wide empty 
 spaces on his land, it appeared to him incredible that all 
 the stupid world did not read his secret and recognise his 
 defeat. The ugly truth stared at them surely they could 
 see for themselves. He was beaten and they hailed him as 
 victorious. 
 
 He suffered now, almost without respite. Awake or asleep 
 he could not shake off the intolerable sense of failure. He 
 was a man living in a dream a horrible nightmare com- 
 posed of solid facts, not of wild fancies. The dead weight 
 of his forty acres was full upon him each night as he lay 
 down to rest, was crushing him as he rose, was carried by him 
 throughout the daylight hours. 
 
 It tortured him to think of the past of his garnered hoard, 
 of the slowly amassed fortune that used to give him strength 
 and pride and courage. He had considered himself rich, had 
 been staggered by his own success: as a young man, he had
 
 280 HILL RISE 
 
 never ventured to hope that he would one day have put by 
 twenty-seven thousand pounds. It was nothing, perhaps, 
 if you measured the fortune by London standards, but for a 
 small provincial town such as Medford, for a builder's for- 
 tune, it was a grand achievement. And now, blindly, wilfully, 
 in vainglorious folly, he had jeopardized it, involved it, turned 
 it from sound-ringing gold to brain-disturbing figures on 
 sheets of ruled paper. His heart used to warm with the 
 thought that his daughter was a rich heiress : now he could 
 only leave her a statement of affairs such as a bankrupt gets 
 ready for the eyes of his creditors. 
 
 Often he thought of what he had said to Jack Vincent 
 about Sir John and financial operations. "You see, sir, a 
 gentleman like your father soon gets adrift in financial opera- 
 tions. It's a special business training straight up from the 
 bottom." Speaking thus kindly and consequentially, he had 
 felt so sure of himself, so strong in his knowledge of all the 
 conditions of his enterprise. And yet as he thought now 
 with bitter self-contempt if he had been some fortieth 
 baronet, some pampered duke fresh from Eton and Oxford, 
 with no other learning than a little Latin and Greek, he could 
 not have muddled things more completely. All his life's work 
 had gone to water; all his painfully acquired experience had 
 been futile; boastfully, bumptiously, contemptibly, he had 
 blundered headlong to ruin. 
 
 He had succeeded in small things: he must, therefore, 
 succeed in big. There was the ruinous fallacy in all his 
 laborious reasoning. It was as if a man should say after 
 jumping over some ditches : See, how simple ! With a run of 
 eighteen feet I can jump nine feet clear. Therefore, if I 
 take a proportionately longer run, I can jump over the widest 
 river. But there is a fatal error in arguing thus from little 
 to large. Hill Eise had been a fatally larger leap than any- 
 thing he had ever attempted before. 
 
 He could understand now. In the past when successfully 
 developing one of his many-cornered little fields, he had given 
 perhaps four hundred and fifty pounds for an acre and a 
 half. He was then the big capitalist with loads of money 
 for the small task, obtaining big trade discounts, setting his
 
 HILL RISE 281 
 
 men upon the work when they might otherwise have been 
 idle, taking them off when he wanted them for some remuner- 
 ative contract ; he had been master and lord, of money, time, 
 everything; controlling the enterprise, not being driven by it. 
 Now, with his vast effort, all the conditions had been reversed. 
 
 He thought of old Selby a raven croaking in his path 
 when he was still high in baseless hope. "I had my money 
 out of bricks and mortar once, but I was fool enough to put 
 it back again." And again : "A big task ye've got. A mighty 
 big task." All the elemental truth was summed up in old 
 Selby's words. Easy if you are working well within the scope 
 of your own means, but cruel hard if you're using borrowed 
 capital. And to enforce the bitter lesson, here were the 
 London and Suburban Company triumphing at Hill House 
 because they had unlimited funds behind them. With a quar- 
 ter as much land and a hundred times as much money, those 
 dreaded neighbours had gloriously succeeded while Crunden 
 was most dismally failing. 
 
 From the very first he had failed; everything had gone 
 wrong; if you considered the estate as a whole or divided the 
 work into separate jobs and considered each part in detail, 
 failure plainly disclosed itself. During the last months Jack 
 Vincent and he had been toiling as accountants to set out 
 the final cost of all that had been done; and the figures, 
 however you tested them, told the same story. Thus, the 
 thirty-six feet roads which should have cost thirty shillings 
 per foot run, had in fact cost two pounds per foot when 
 finished; the first cottages had cost 190 instead of 180 
 apiece; the second lot of cottages, taken over from the man 
 of straw, stood at 215 apiece; each of the decoy-houses 
 should have been finished for 1,500, and the cheapest had 
 run away with 1,700. You could account for the increase 
 of cost over estimate easily enough : this was the difference in 
 result between taking discounts and paying for credit; be- 
 tween working at leisure and working as if driven by demons. 
 But the difference meant a loss instead of a profit on all the 
 building so far done except his first cottages. 
 
 Suppose that one were forced to stop now and present one's 
 financial statement! Twenty-two thousand pounds sunk in
 
 282 HILL RISE 
 
 the purchase, seven thousand sunk in roads, over ten thousand 
 absorbed by cottages, eight thousand five hundred locked up 
 in the houses, sixteen thousand still owing to the bank. All 
 that he had realised by sale of the balance of his old invest- 
 ments by sale of freehold and leasehold plots and of one 
 decoy-house, by mortgage and by rents, etc., had gone to reduce 
 the bank debt and pay interest, or on the land, or into the 
 pockets of Mr. Bowling and Mr. Eaton. The charges of 
 those two experts were very moderate and yet they made a 
 handsome total. Suppose that, stopping now, one sold all 
 the new buildings and the covered ground for what they would 
 fetch, there would be a loss to face: sold in a hurry they 
 would never bring cost price. And yet it might be wise 
 to swallow such a loss. Then one's assets would consist of 
 the twenty untenanted derelict houses of Hill Eise and the 
 bulk of the land and the roads with a charge upon them of 
 sixteen thousand pounds. Noble assets still if one were given 
 indefinite time to deal with them. 
 
 He could not stop ; he must go on. 
 
 One morning as he sat talking in the parlour of the United 
 Bank, the manager said something that made the blood rise 
 to his forehead, made him spring up indignantly and strike 
 the manager's table with his clenched fist. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Crunden, sit down. I am telling you what 
 my directors say I am only a servant, not the master, you 
 know." 
 
 They had been discussing those noble assets, and Crunden 
 had been pleading for more lenient and considerate treat- 
 ment than of late he had enjoyed. The bank people 
 were always reviewing their situation, and had issued many 
 ultimatums: they declined to consent to any more sales of 
 plots because they could not suffer any further encroachment 
 on their security; they made endless difficulties about mort- 
 gages, even when the money obtained went direct into their 
 own coffers ; and now they declared that 15,000 was the out- 
 side limit of loan that could be countenanced. Then Crun- 
 den had urged the profit which they had already reaped, and 
 the largeness of their security. 
 
 "My directors regard Hill Kise itself as a dead letter."
 
 HILL RISE 283 
 
 "Very good. But the land my own houses!" 
 
 "Frankly, Mr. Crunden, we now value the entire security 
 if you threw the whole thing on our hands at eighteen 
 thousand five hundred not a penny more." 
 
 And then Crunden sprang up from his chair and banged 
 the table in his indignation. 
 
 But that day, walking from the bank, with face still 
 flushed and hands that shook in his jacket pockets, he felt 
 sick and faint as the thought came to him that his anger 
 had been childish and unwarranted. The bank directors were 
 right if he were compelled to stop now. He could not stop : 
 he must go on. This was what he had done with all his 
 work sleepless nights, feverish dreams, long days of toil, 
 care, hope, strife, and spite. This was the stage he had 
 attained in his grandiose scheme: he had rendered the Hill 
 Eise houses useless, proved that there was no more demand for 
 building land knocked half the value off his purchase. If 
 sold to-morrow, the Hill Eise Estate would fetch half what 
 he gave for it.
 
 CHAPTEK XXIII 
 
 IT was nearly noon on a beautiful morning towards the end 
 of April, and Jack was inspecting the work at the last of 
 the decoy-houses. A week ago Crunden had slipped in 
 stepping off a ladder and had wrenched the muscles of one 
 leg. Since then he had been confined to King's Cottage, 
 nursing the injured leg under the directions of Dr. Blake ; and 
 Jack, as deputy, had been in charge of yard, estate, every- 
 thing. 
 
 This upper decoy-house would be really finished soon: the 
 first floor was practically completed and a painter was giv- 
 ing last touches; grates were being set on the basement 
 floor; two plasterers were doing something in the kitchen; 
 carpenters were busy outside the house on gates and fences. 
 There were in all eight men on the job; and the foreman 
 showed Jack how little remained now to do. 
 
 "Those Yank doors," said the foreman, pointing to an 
 empty doorway, "are more trouble than they're worth. We 
 could make them in our own shop in less time than it takes 
 to fit them. I've sent two back to the yard again can't get 
 them to hang and swing like they should." 
 
 Then the foreman left Jack as deputy foreman, and went 
 off to the joiners' shop at the yard. 
 
 "If you don't mind staying till twelve, sir. It only wants 
 a quarter to. Here's my whistle if you'll kindly blow up 
 at twelve sharp." 
 
 Jack took the foreman's whistle, promised to give the 
 signal at high noon for the men to knock off work ; and then, 
 sitting on a pile of fence boards outside the house, waited 
 patiently. 
 
 It was warm in the bright sunlight, and the gentle breeze 
 was sweet and fresh; the gaiety of spring was in the air: all 
 the landscape looked as new and clean as the decoy-house 
 
 284
 
 HILL RISE 285 
 
 itself. From the open windows came the cheerful voices 
 of the men, the tapping of the carpenter's hammer, the 
 swishing sound of the plasterer's brush; and high over head 
 there was a chatter of birds on the wing. Presently, when he 
 looked up, he saw that the birds were swallows. These spring 
 visitors had returned then. It was the first time that he had 
 seen them this year, and for a little while he watched them 
 clinging to the newly painted cornice, clustering on the 
 glittering new tiles, circling round the unsmoked chimney- 
 pots, crying to one another in surprise and delight as though 
 Mr. Crunden's house had been built for them, and they had 
 just arrived to take possession of it. Then, patiently waiting 
 for noon, Jack watched a far-off solitary figure crossing the 
 grass by the new road. It was a child or a woman coming up 
 the slope. It was a young woman in a straw hat. His eyes 
 brightened as he recognised her : it was Lizzie Crunden, com- 
 ing to seek him, no doubt bearing some message from her 
 father. 
 
 Lizzie had not been sent : she had come of her own accord. 
 She wanted Jack at the cottage, to cheer up father. Mr. 
 Crunden, she said, was dreadfully depressed, and rather fret- 
 ful. He had been upset by some letter; he wanted to be 
 out and about, and it was difficult to prevent him from dis- 
 obeying Dr. Blake's orders; she thought Jack might be able 
 to calm him and to cheer him. Jack talked to her first of Mr. 
 Crunden, then of the swallows, then of the glorious spring 
 day and, talking, forgot to blow up. 
 
 "I say, Guv'nor. . . . Mister Vincent please." A car- 
 penter was looking out of a window; a plasterer, brush in 
 hand, was on the threshold; the two men at the fence were 
 watching him anxiously. "I say, Guv'nor, ain't it dinner 
 time time to knock off?" 
 
 Hastily Jack pulled out his watch, lifted his whistle, and 
 blew up. And at the sound of the shrill blast, the tools 
 dropped from the workmen's hands as if by magic, or as if 
 the whistle had blown the plasterer's brush against the skirting 
 board in the hall and the carpenter's hammer into the corner 
 of the room upstairs ; men who were supporting a grate let the 
 iron frame fall with a dull crash; no man continued working
 
 286 HILL RISE 
 
 for an instant, for a fraction of an instant, after the signal 
 told him that the hour of rest had begun. 
 
 "Thaf s their way/' said Jack. "They work but they're 
 not like your father and me: they don't enjoy working;" 
 and he called to the two men hurrying from the fence: "I 
 docked you of four minutes. Take it at the other end." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. I thought you was giving us short 
 measure." 
 
 Jack walked back with Lizzie, and spoke to her again of 
 the gaiety and gladness of these bright spring days. 
 
 "Make you feel happy, no matter what you may have to wor- 
 ry about," and he glanced at her thoughtfully. "Miss Lizzie, 
 it's warm now. Isn't that brown frock too thick and heavy ?" 
 
 And once again he made polite inquiries after the blue 
 dress with the white spots. 
 
 "When will you wear it?" 
 
 "Never," and Lizzie looked straight before her and walked 
 a little faster. "I hate blue dresses and I think you have 
 very bad taste." 
 
 "Oh, I say " 
 
 "I think, if you want to talk about people's dress you had 
 better go and talk to your friend, Miss Barter." 
 
 "Don't you approve of my talking to Miss Barter about 
 dress or anything else?" 
 
 "Approve ! What has it to do with me or my father ?" 
 
 "Oh, but I like you to take an interest in me." 
 
 Suddenly his eyes sparkled, and he snapped his fingers. 
 He had been watching her face : she had flushed very slightly, 
 then had closed her lips resolutely and was walking on faster 
 and faster. She would talk no more. 
 
 "I am anxious about my father," she said, and then re- 
 mained silent till they reached the white railings of King's 
 Cottage. But Jack, walking by her side, seemed pleased and 
 content, though she would not look at him or speak to him. 
 It was as if the kind sunlight made him so happy that noth- 
 ing else mattered. 
 
 Mr. Crunden was completely in the dumps and sadly needed 
 cheering. Mr. Bowling, who sat by the invalid's chair, looked
 
 HILL RISE 287 
 
 even more gloomy than his client. He could only say "Tut, 
 tut," when Crunden showed him the hateful and impudent 
 letter that had come from the London and Suburban Trust. 
 
 Jack after much argument had prevailed on Mr. Crunden 
 to let him "sound the Company," and now this was their 
 reply : "Your Mr. Vincent has approached us, and we are pre- 
 pared to deal at a times price. Subject to contract, we offer 
 150 per acre for the upper portions of your unoccupied 
 ground." 
 
 "Oh, they don't really mean that," said Jack. "That's just 
 their bounce. Let's make out we think they are offering 
 150 rent per acre, on building lease and reply that sub- 
 ject to contract we accept their offer. They'll look foolish 
 then and they'll have to explain." 
 
 He was gay and jovial smiling at the sombre faces of 
 Crunden and Bowling: so light-hearted and hopeful to-day 
 that no setbacks could shake his self-confidence. 
 
 "I feel sure, sir, our hest chance is with them. They 
 have the money. And if we could lighten the ship, we should 
 get along again. Will you let me tackle them seriously ?" 
 
 Then there was solemn debate Mr. Crunden gradually be- 
 coming less doleful, while Mr. Bowling continued in deep 
 gloom. Any treating with the Company must, of course, be 
 conducted most cautiously and secretly. 
 
 "If people get wind of it," said Crunden, "I'm done. If 
 it's known that I've been driven into the arms of the Com- 
 pany there's an end to my credit." 
 
 "A dangerous move," said Bowling. "A very dangerous 
 move." 
 
 "Our best chance," said Jack. "I feel sure it's what we 
 must come to, sooner or later." 
 
 Alone with Bowling in the road outside the cottage, Jack 
 gave his views even more firmly. 
 
 "I told you what I thought last autumn. Your scheme went 
 to pot the moment these bounders started. Then was the 
 time to take stock and remodel the scheme on other lines: 
 give up half of it, and get out as fast as one could. That's 
 all there is left to do now. Get out as fast as one can save 
 all one can."
 
 288 HILL RISE 
 
 "I hope you don't blame me personally," said Mr. Dow- 
 ling. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Jack; "but I don't want you to stand in 
 the way now if we can cut short our losses." 
 
 "Certainly not," said Mr. Bowling. "I assure you it gives 
 me pain to see our friend troubled and harassed. I only 
 wish I was a rich man and could bolster him up but I am 
 not. ... I have myself been much harassed of late, Mr. 
 Vincent not money matters. Are you going to the yard? 
 May I stroll with you so far?" 
 
 And Mr. Dowling unburdened himself of his private and 
 domestic trouble. He spoke of the censoriousness of the 
 world, the false positions into which mistaken kindness often 
 pushes one, and of the unpleasantness which the drawing of 
 hasty conclusions now and then causes in the home circle. 
 
 "Great unpleasantness," said Mr. Dowling, after a cough 
 and a pause. "It is about my little neighbour er Miss 
 Barter. She has written me a silly note addressed to Mr. 
 Dowling! Mr. Dowling! One would suppose she might 
 know W. Dowling, Esquire, was the proper mode of address. 
 However, her customers being all ladies, she would not often 
 be writing to our sex and is, therefore, ignorant of the usual 
 superscription for gentlemen. But the ignorant mistake 
 caused our maid to deliver the note to Mrs. Dowling." 
 
 "Ah! How awkward!" 
 
 "One thing leads to another," said Mr. Dowling dolefully. 
 "And there has been further unpleasantness about Miss Bar- 
 ter and a sum of fifty pounds." 
 
 "Has there ? Oh, hang it how did that come out ?" 
 
 "An inadvertence. It is, as I said, not a matter of the 
 money. The sum is so trifling. But, Mr. Vincent I scarcelv 
 like to ask it but if you were a married man you would 
 understand. Would you mind my pretending that you gave 
 her fifty pounds?" 
 
 "Pretending! Hang it all, I did give her fifty pounds." 
 
 "You did ? To set her up in business ? I gave her fifty." 
 
 "Do you mean you gave her fifty, too ? Oh, I say what an 
 underhand little puss she is really." 
 
 "She is very troublesome," said Mr. Dowling. "But I had
 
 HILL RISE 
 
 no idea she bled you also. It only occurred to me to put you 
 forward to er shield myself in the home circle. You 
 know how ridiculously people connect one's name with any 
 one. Your name, Mr. Vincent, was connected with hers in 
 the stupid talk of the town. That's why it occurred to me." 
 
 "Yes, but I don't want people to connect my name. I 
 don't want my fifty talked about any more than you do your 
 fifty." 
 
 "Not generally," said Mr. Bowling, with eagerness. "Only 
 at home your fifty would shield my fifty. If it were to come 
 to the point of saving real unpleasantness, would you mind my 
 putting your fifty forward in the place of mine? Only at 
 home. Would you mind Brother Vincent?" 
 
 "Oh, well," said Jack reluctantly, "I don't much like it 
 er Brother Dowling ; but yes work it how you please." 
 
 The Medford District United Bank had a little printed no- 
 tice advising clients to keep their cheque-books carefully under 
 lock and key; and for the comfort of clients as well as for 
 the protection of the bank this was good advice. Counter- 
 foils sometimes disclose mysterious little secrets to income-tax 
 people, official receivers, greedy relations, and affectionate 
 wives. Mr. Dowling usually locked up his cheque-book while 
 there were any cheques still in it; hut when the book was 
 empty he became careless. And so it befell that Mrs. Dow- 
 ling, tidying a drawer which contained several exhausted 
 cheque-books, came upon the old counterfoil : "J. B., 50." 
 
 Mrs. Dowling for long had been suspicious as to the rela- 
 tions of her husband and the J. B. whom she once met 
 coming downstairs when she was going upstairs ; and she now 
 had determined to rake out all the truth. She might smile 
 and seem to accept as sufficient whatever explanation was 
 offered, but untiring, unresting, overwhelming as the ocean, 
 she pursued the process of investigation. 
 
 Thus it happened that what Mr. Dowling described as the 
 "unpleasantness" swept out of the home circle in a terrible 
 tempestuous wave. This very afternoon when the Crundens, 
 Jack, and Mr. Dowling were assembled round the tea-table 
 at King's Cottage, a fly drove up to the door of ceremony,
 
 290 HILL RISE 
 
 and there began a tremendous knocking and ringing which 
 even Mrs. Price plainly heard. 
 
 "Visitors again," said Mrs. Price, as she hurried to answer 
 the furious summons. Then to those at the tea-table came 
 the sound of a voice which made Mr. Dowling turn pale. 
 
 "If my husband is here," cried the \G'. :e, "I demand to see 
 him this moment. . . . Follow me. ... I will not let you 
 out of my sight." 
 
 And Mrs. Dowling burst through the parlour into the work- 
 room, followed by Miss Jessie Barter. 
 
 "Hullo, Jessie," said Jack blankly. 
 
 "You'll excuse me rising," said Mr. Crunden. "My leg's 
 bad and I'm not to stand on it." 
 
 But Mrs. Dowling paid no attention to this courtesy. In 
 her excitement she ignored all except her husband. 
 
 "This lady bears out your tale but I want to see you 
 two face to face. Ah," and she recognised Jack, "and you 
 also, Mr. Vincent. Now I have you all three face to face." 
 
 "My love," said Mr. Dowling imploringly. "Surely 
 please " 
 
 "If you are guiltless," cried Mrs. Dowling, "you have noth- 
 ing to fear. Be silent then." 
 
 Mrs. Dowling was a terror Medford had always said so, 
 and in this respect Medford was entirely accurate. Swelled 
 with wrath she seemed immensely large : the beads and bugles 
 on her rich cloak rattled angrily, the plumes of her toque 
 were tossed in scorn, as she planted herself on the hearthrug 
 majestic, red, terrible, dominating the surprised tea-party. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Vincent, I'll begin with you. On your word of 
 honour, did you give this lady fifty pounds?" 
 
 "Well I don't know that it concerns anybody except the 
 lady and myself. But, since you want to know yes, I did." 
 
 Lizzie had risen from her chair, was looking from one to 
 another: at Jack nervously playing with his teacup and 
 spoon; at Jessie smirking impudently. Now she left the 
 table and drew away towards the hearthrug and Mrs. Dow- 
 ling. 
 
 "You are not repeating a tale put into your mouth by my 
 husband ?"
 
 HILL RISE 291 
 
 "I have answered your question," said Jack. 
 
 "And if you are not afraid of the truth, you'll answer all 
 my questions." 
 
 "I am not afraid," said Jack; and he looked full at Lizzie, 
 who had drawn nearer to Mrs. Dowling. 
 
 "Is it true that you borrowed this money? It was not 
 your own money?" 
 
 "I borrowed it but I paid it back. And now I know how 
 long it takes to earn fifty pounds. I think I was very gen- 
 erous;" and Jack looked full at Jessie. 
 
 "Strangely generous," said Mrs. Dowling loudly and scorn- 
 fully. "So far your tales agree, but " 
 
 "My love," interposed Mr. Dowling, "allow me to " 
 
 "Be silent. You shall speak when your turn comes ' 
 
 "I must speak now," said Mr. Dowling desperately. "You 
 are so unreasonable that " 
 
 "Let me speak," said Mr. Crunden. "Madam, you- 
 
 'Miss Crunden," said Mrs. Dowling, "I appeal to you as 
 a woman. Am I unreasonable? Is it not my right to know 
 the truth?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lizzie, in a low voice. "I don't think you are 
 unreasonable." She had drawn nearer still, and now she 
 stood by Mrs. Dowling's side with all the space of the room 
 between her and Miss Barter. Standing by the parlour door, 
 Miss Barter looked across the room and smiled impudently. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Crunden," said Mrs. Dowling. "Every 
 woman of heart must support me. . . . And now as to 
 you," and she pointed at the unabashed Miss Barter, "if it is 
 true that you accepted the money from this gentleman," and 
 she pointed at Jack, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 "Why not ?" said Jessie. "We were as good as engaged." 
 
 "Oh, I say," Jack expostulated. "Jessie, you are really. 
 That is not the fact. Really and truly there are no grounds 
 for that statement." 
 
 "You had given me the right to expect it," said Jessie; 
 "and I did expect it and I don't care who knows you have 
 treated me very cruel." 
 
 Then for a little while Jessie and Mrs. Dowling made it. 
 bad for Jack. It was a dreadful scene.
 
 292 HILL RISE 
 
 "I decline to discuss the subject further," said Jack at 
 intervals. 
 
 "Well answered," said Mr. Crunden again and again. 
 "Nothing to do with us. No business of yours, madam. Only 
 concerns the parties themselves." 
 
 "Father, don't get up," cried Lizzie often. "Kemember 
 your leg. Sit still. Don't get up." 
 
 Mr. Bowling was talking all the time "Hear me. I must 
 speak be reasonable, and I'll explain," etc. but no one 
 listened to him. 
 
 "Very good," said Mrs. Bowling at last. "We will leave 
 that part of the question. Miss Barter can obtain redress 
 from a British jury. If there has been breach of promise, 
 a jury will award damages." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Crunden, with a snort, "and juries award 
 damages for slander and libel, Mrs. Bowling. Bon't forget 
 that." 
 
 "Sit still, father. Remember your leg." 
 
 "The truth," said Mrs. Bowling, with a scornful laugh, 
 "is ugly enough no one need add to it. ... Very well, Mr. 
 Vincent. The fact that concerns me is that you borrowed 
 the money from my husband." 
 
 "No, he didn't," said Mr. Bowling. 
 
 "No, he didn't," echoed Mr. Crunden. 
 
 "That is what I have been trying to say," Mr. Bowling 
 continued desperately. 
 
 The impleasantness had rolled far from the family circle: 
 poor Mr. Bowling could no longer shield himself behind the 
 indiscretion of another. Honour compelled him to confess at 
 once, and indeed he had been striving to do so. Now, obtain- 
 ing a hearing, he stoutly declared that the tell-tale counter- 
 foil J. B., fifty pounds had no connection with Mr. Vin- 
 cent's fifty. 
 
 "Ha ha !" cried Mrs. Bowling. "Now we are getting to 
 the bottom of it at last. Oh, what liars men are !" 
 
 Then for a little while she made it bad for Mr. Bowling. 
 
 But Mr. Bowling roused, compelled to fight, fought bravely 
 and manfully fighting to exonerate a brother Mason as well 
 as himself. Pale, desperate, and yet not without dignity, he
 
 HILL RISE 293 
 
 told how purely as an act of kindness he had given this 
 young lady capital to start her in trade. It seemed a deserv- 
 ing case and he had been glad to offer assistance. And 
 this gentleman Mr. Vincent had done the same thing 
 without a thought that any one could or would misconstrue 
 the motive from simple kindness. 
 
 "I would have told you of it and expected you to applaud 
 me, but you are so unreasonable. All ladies," Mr. Bowling 
 added loyally, "are so unreasonable in these matters that I 
 kept it to myself." 
 
 "Well answered," said Mr. Crunden. "And now, madam, 
 perhaps you'll let me have my word. I say hear hear, to what 
 Mr. Vincent and Mr. Dowling did. Though they showed 
 themselves a bit foolish when they gave the money, they 
 showed their kind hearts. And what is more," and Mr. 
 Crunden made a loud grunt, "I did the same myself. I gave 
 her fifty pounds, too." 
 
 "Don't get up, father." 
 
 Mr. Crunden, to produce more dramatic effect with his 
 words, was about to rise from his chair. Still seated, he 
 bowed to Mrs. Dowling. 
 
 "Now, are you satisfied, madam? Do you wish to cross- 
 examine me ? ... Yes, I did give her fifty on my honour. 
 And why did I do so? Because, you see, I was a bit of a 
 fool sorry for the girl. But" and he turned round in his 
 chair and looked at Jessie "I suppose you won't make out / 
 wanted to marry you." 
 
 "I don't know, Mr. Crunden," said Jessie, simpering, and 
 flashing her cold, grey eyes mischievously, "you have always 
 been very kind and chivalrous. It had struck me." 
 
 "Oh, pooh !" said old Crunden, with an indignant snort. 
 
 "Jessie," said Jack, shaking his head reproachfully, "you 
 really are, you know. Well, you really are. How many 
 other fifties did you get?" 
 
 "Not one." 
 
 "You seem to have bitten everybody's ear that you could." 
 
 Jack, although reproachful, was smiling at Miss Barter; 
 but Mr. Crunden was thoroughly angry with her. 
 
 "Look here, my girl," he said sternly, "there's one thing
 
 294 HILL RISE 
 
 never struck you with all your cleverness, and that was to pay 
 back. . . . Anyhow, we've had more than enough of your 
 sauce and cheek and ungrateful mischief-making. You 
 can just go about your business you aren't wanted here." 
 
 "And I am sure I didn't want to come here," said Jessie. 
 "I was dragged here. Good-morning. . . . Good-bye, Jack. 
 You may laugh but you know in your heart of hearts you've 
 treated me very mean." 
 
 While Miss Barter was thus dismissed, Mrs. Bowling and 
 Lizzie had been talking together on the other side of the room, 
 and now Mr. Dowling had joined them. Mrs. Dowling was 
 subdued, confused, and yet perhaps still suspicious. 
 
 "Are you satisfied, my dear?" asked Mr. Dowling, with 
 wonderful dignity. "If so, we had better apologise for dis- 
 turbing our friends, and withdraw." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Dowling, after hesitating, "yes but I 
 must say you all three behaved very oddly very oddly 
 indeed." 
 
 Then Mr. Dowling took his wife away with him. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Crunden, when the guests had gone, "she 
 is a terror, and no mistake. In all my born days I never heard 
 such a rumpus about nothing just nothing at all. I thought 
 she'd never be satisfied." 
 
 Jack, in the window, had watched the fly drive off; and 
 Lizzie, coming from the hearth, now stood near him. 
 
 "Just a ridiculous rumpus about nothing," said Mr. 
 Crunden again. 
 
 "Nothing at all," said Jack cheerfully ; and then he dropped 
 his voice .to a whisper. "And are you satisfied, too, Miss 
 Lizzie?" 
 
 "I agree," Lizzie whispered "with Mrs. Dowling. I 
 think you all behaved in a very extraordinary manner." 
 
 But that evening she wore again the plain gold bangle 
 which she had discarded for months ever since the winter 
 afternoon when she saw Miss Barter beneath the lamp-post in 
 Hill Rise. Jack had cleared himself of all but folly.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 DAY by day the popularity of Crunden was waxing. The 
 lower his fortunes fell, the higher he rose in public favour. 
 All prated of his success : confounding him perhaps with the 
 omnipotent London and Suburban, not remembering which 
 were his houses and which the Company's, only caring for 
 the fact that a new town had sprung into life on the Hill, and 
 that trade was booming. But to Crunden it seemed that fate 
 was mocking him, was driving him on to ruin amidst a chorus 
 of ironical praise. 
 
 "There is something in the wind," said Mr. Hope of the 
 Advertiser. "You saw my last article on Municipal Dignity? 
 well; a whisper in your ear, Mr. Crunden. It has been 
 mooted to invite you to act as Mayor." 
 
 "Gammon," said Mr. Crunden. 
 
 "The project has been mooted," said Mr. Hope, with great 
 importance. "It is men of your stamp that we want men of 
 wealth who can entertain and worthily uphold the municipal 
 dignity. Our mayors have been poor little men of late 
 we want big men like yourself." 
 
 "Oh, that's just gammon. I'm not even on the Council." 
 
 "It is unusual," said Mr. Hope pompously, "to go outside 
 the Council for a mayor, but it has been done again and 
 again as in the case of these lords and the large towns 
 the Duke of Norfolk the Marquess of Bute and many other 
 noblemen possessing urban territory." 
 
 Mr. Crunden told Jack of this conversation, and sadly 
 confessed that the possibility of such an honour would once 
 have been very welcome. 
 
 "It is a thing that I would have liked, sir been very proud 
 of once. But if they offered to make me Pope now it 
 would come too late. . . . Who's that passed the window? 
 Not that Padfield again?" 
 
 295
 
 296 HILL RISE 
 
 Day after day at King's Cottage they were worried with 
 visitors. People wasted the workers' time in silly polite- 
 ness, or because of their own stupid affairs. And ever since 
 Mrs. Bowling's explosive entrance, the nerves of Crunden 
 and his clerk had been shaky : they dreaded callers and started 
 at the sound of bell or knocker. 
 
 Mr. Charles Padfield was of late a much dreaded time- 
 waster. He worried Lizzie by attention whenever she met 
 him out walking. "Which way you going, Miss Crunden? I 
 don't mind which way I go. What? Going home? Then 
 I'll walk with you and look in on old Jack." And Mr. Pad- 
 field, vacuously leering, would pay most insipid and unde- 
 sired compliments. 
 
 "How well you're looking, Miss Crunden. I never saw 
 you looking so well. How fast you walk. D'you ever go to. 
 the theatre? Why couldn't we get up theatre party 
 eh?" 
 
 One could only suppose that Mr. Padfield, looking about him. 
 vacantly, had decided that Miss Crunden was, in the old phrase, 
 well worth following up. He certainly followed her when- 
 ever he saw her in public places, and even followed her into 
 the shelter and privacy of home. 
 
 "Hallo, Jack. I must be goin' ! Just escorted Miss Crun- 
 den. How're you getting on rakin' in the dollars, eh ? Why 
 don't you build a hotel, and cut out the White Hart? Got 
 a cigarette have you. . . . Very well, I won't smoke in 
 here. I must be off." 
 
 Without telling Mr. Padfield to go, it was almost impossible 
 to make him go although he was always promising to do so. 
 
 Jack was extraordinarily busy mysteriously occupied from 
 morning till night, thoughtful, absent-minded. He was in 
 fact attempting a task of the most ambitious character. He 
 had said to Crunden : "It sounds rather cheek, sir, but may I 
 try to make a scheme now a getting-out scheme. I don't 
 want to speak of it to old Dowling. But let me see if I can 
 make it solid and then put it before you and him. I don't 
 suppose there'll be anything in it and yet I can't help think- 
 ing I see daylight."
 
 HILL RISE 297 
 
 "Do you, sir? I doubt it but try. Yes, try what you 
 like so long as you don't let folks guess how we stand." 
 
 "Give me a week," said Jack. "Give me a week clear 
 from to-day and I'll report progress. I promise I won't do 
 any harm if I don't do any good." 
 
 More letters came for Mr. Vincent now than for Mr. Crun- 
 den. In this week it was as if the clerk had become the 
 principal. He hurried hither and thither, round and round the 
 town, up to London before breakfast, back in Medford before 
 dinner. He sat at his desk for long hours, covered his table 
 with prodigious masses of papers plans, lists, schedules 
 that Mrs. Price and the maid were forbidden to touch; as he 
 sat writing he would not answer when you spoke to him ; when 
 you thought he was at last coming to a meal, he sprang up, 
 snatched his hat, and dashed out of the house. He had thought 
 for nothing beyond his new work. Visitors now made 
 him very irritable: the Crundens left him unmolested, but 
 visitors seemed to conspire to stop him in his mysterious 
 efforts. 
 
 "Mother dear, I'm so busy forgive me." Lady Vincent 
 had come to the cottage, but he would not get out of his chair 
 to talk with his mamma. He would scarcely look round. "I'll 
 dine with you next week any day, you like. Forgive me for 
 the moment;" and he went on working. 
 
 Her ladyship, awestruck by such unremitting and stupen- 
 dous labour, talked to Lizzie in the adjoining room. 
 
 "Is he always like that now?" asked Lady Vincent solici- 
 tously. 
 
 "Almost always," said Lizzie. "He is engaged on some- 
 thing special for my father; and he cannot bear being 
 interrupted. Father says it will only go on for a week." 
 
 "A week! But that is a long time. His health may break 
 down in a week. Do urge him to be careful. This working 
 at such high pressure must be dangerous. 
 
 "I was going to tell him," Lady Vincent added, "that we 
 are in the very greatest anxiety about our poor Cousin Harriet. 
 There has been a startling change in her condition and the 
 doctors take the gravest view. My husband expects a sum- 
 mons from Bournemouth. . . . That was all, Miss Crunden
 
 298 HILL RISE 
 
 don't worry Jack about it. I will not sadden him with our sad 
 thoughts while he is working in this manner." 
 
 The visit of his mamma was the first slight interruption 
 Jack suffered that day; but there were worse interruptions 
 before the day was over. Indeed his work was almost at 
 a standstill: it was nearly a whole day stolen from the 
 covenanted week. 
 
 "Miss Lizzie," said Mrs. Price, in the hall after Lady 
 Vincent had gone, "there's somebody in there with him. I 
 believe it's that Mr. Padfield again. It is too bad. Can't you 
 go in and take him away on some excuse." 
 
 But Lizzie dreaded Mr. Padfield so much that she could 
 not at once venture to the rescue. 
 
 "Sold all your houses yet?" Mr. Padfield was saying. 
 
 "No, not all. Have you come to buy one?" 
 
 Jack had explained that he was very busy, and with con- 
 siderable irritation had begged Mr. Padfield to state briefly 
 what he wanted. 
 
 "If I was thinking of gettin' married," said Mr. Padfield, 
 stupidly regarding the picture of a decoy-house, "I suppose 
 I might give you a turn, Jack, old chap." 
 
 "Well, there you are," said Jack, pointing with his pen at 
 the picture. "If you're looking out for a snug little box 
 marry, and put your nice little wife in it." 
 
 "Why don't you marry yourself and put your wife in the 
 box?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm a working-man. I couldn't aspire to as fine a 
 house as that." 
 
 "Well, I must be off." 
 
 "Yes, do get on. You see I'm up to my eyes " 
 
 But then Charlie Padfield, glancing stupidly at the parlour 
 door, began to make inquiries for Miss Crunden. 
 
 "How well she's looking, Jack. Quite tip-top;" and he 
 paid Miss Crunden some liberal compliments. 
 
 "Yes, she is very well, thank you," said Jack shortly. 
 
 "Jack, old boy, I used to think what a lucky chap you were 
 up here. But you're quite off that, aren't you ? You've got 
 Jessie Barter and the field is clear in this direction, isn't 
 it? No offence now if I follow it up."
 
 HILL RISE 299 
 
 And then Jack completely lost his temper. 
 
 "-You can't want them both," Charlie Padfield was pro- 
 ceeding with vacuous blandness. "I never followed up Jessie. 
 But you might tell me this. I don't wish to waste any time. 
 Lizzie is all right, isn't she?" 
 
 "Get out," roared Jack. His face was red; he had sprung 
 up from his chair, and was pointing at the lobby door. 
 
 "Get out before I kick you out." 
 
 "What say ? What you mean, Jack ?" 
 
 "I mean what I say. Get out you dirty hound. And 
 don't come back here unless you wish me to give you the 
 thrashing you deserve for speaking like that of of a lady 
 you're not fit to speak of at all." 
 
 "What is it ?" asked Lizzie, coming into the room presently. 
 "I thought there was somebody here." 
 
 Jack was trembling with anger and excitement as he pre- 
 tended to search among the ruffled papers on his table. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with a gasp, "Miss Lizzie, there was some 
 one, but he has gone." 
 
 "Was it that troublesome Mr. Padfield?" 
 
 "Yes, but he won't trouble us any more. He won't come 
 back. I I was very angry with him about something 
 and I asked him not to come again. . . ." 
 
 "Did he promise not to?" 
 
 "No, he didn't promise; but I feel sure he won't. . . . 
 And now," said Jack, sitting down, "if you don't mind 
 if you'll forgive me I will try to get on with what I was 
 doing. I should like to talk but I really mustn't." 
 
 The next serious interruption was just after early dinner. 
 Lizzie in the window was reading, Mr. Crunden was smoking 
 a pipe, Jack had returned to his table, when the ringing 
 of the bell made every one jump. 
 
 "Ifs Mr. Hope," said Mrs. Price, showing a scared face 
 at the parlour door, "and he seems out of his mind like. 
 Asks to speak with you, miss; and the master. Shall I show 
 him in?" 
 
 "Oh, don't have him here," begged Jack piteously.
 
 300 HILL RISE 
 
 But before anything more could be said, Mr. Hope was 
 among them. 
 
 He was haggard, distraught, incoherent all his pomposity 
 and consequence gone from him a limp elderly weakling of a 
 man, who sank into a chair as though his thin legs refused 
 to bear him, and who spluttered and raved and moaned in 
 affliction. 
 
 "Oh, Crunden a father yourself! Oh, Miss Crunden a 
 daughter a cherished daughter ! Oh, Miss Crunden, you have 
 heard you know the fatal news ! Help me if you can. Were 
 you accessory ? I never can believe that. Oh, oh !" 
 
 It was long before any one could make out the cause and 
 nature of Mr. Hope's distress. But finally lucid information 
 was extracted. 
 
 Miss Irene Hope had run away with Mr. Banker, the riding- 
 master. 
 
 "They rode forth together," moaned her father. "We 
 did not suspect we might have suspected. Irene has been 
 nervous hysterical brooding on this fatal step. We never 
 guessed urged her to her rides urged her over the precipice. 
 Now she has fled. Was seen en amazone at the railway sta- 
 tion. . . . Oh, my friends! help me to trace them aid me 
 to save my child from infamy and disgrace." 
 
 The weakness of Mr. Hope was pitiable to observe. He, 
 the controller of a mighty engine, he who could thunder to 
 the world about peace and war, national courage, municipal 
 dignity, etc., had collapsed utterly beneath a private domestic 
 misfortune. It was as though he had given all his force and 
 energy to mankind, and had retained none for his own use. 
 And obviously, real as was his tribulation, there seemed in it 
 something ludicrously exaggerated, disproportionately tragic, 
 and not without a personal element of snobbish fear. 
 
 "Her mother and I will be mocked at driven from the 
 town " 
 
 "Oh, come, bear up," said Crunden. "A bit of a rumpus 
 but forgive and forget all will come right in the end." 
 
 But Mr. Hope only beat his breast and moaned. 
 
 "Of course they, ought to have told you," said Jack cheer- 
 ingly; "but then, you know '
 
 HILL RISE 301 
 
 "Perhaps she really wanted to tell you," said Lizzie, re- 
 membering Irene's extraordinary letter and the dark allu- 
 sions to life-riddles. 
 
 "I know Banker well," said Jack. "He's a thorough good 
 sort. Really, Mr. Hope, I think your daughter might have 
 done worse." 
 
 "Worse!" cried Mr. Hope tragically. "You say that to 
 me a father of his daughter's shame." 
 
 But now, with further explanation, it appeared possible 
 to relieve Mr. Hope of the larger part of his pain. He was 
 labouring under a queer mistake. He, who ought to have 
 known everything about Medford, showed himself ignorant 
 of all but the outward aspect of one of its most conspicuous 
 citizens. He had paid Mr. Banker's bills, had talked often 
 with Mr. Banker, had begged Mr. Banker to take care of his 
 child; he knew that Mr. Banker was the fashionable riding- 
 master who rode with all the ladies of Hill Bise, and such 
 scrappy superficial knowledge was all he possessed. At the 
 livery-yard, which he had visited more than once, he had seen 
 Mr. Banker's sister a smiling, comfortable woman who sat in 
 the little office and put orders on a slate, while her lusty brood 
 of young children ran in and out, or played hide-and-seek 
 among the broughams and victorias in the adjacent coach- 
 house; and he had jumped to the quite erroneous con- 
 clusion that Mr. Banker was a married man with a large 
 family. 
 
 Immense was his relief on learning that Mr. Banker was 
 not married was, in truth, an honest, hard-working bachelor, 
 who could not possibly forfeit the esteem of a large clientele 
 by any reprobate negligence of his responsibilities toward the 
 fair and trusting Irene. 
 
 "You are certain? Oh, my friends I could weep tears of 
 
 joy." 
 
 It was no longer a tragedy. Irene, one might say, was only 
 ruined socially. 
 
 "You'll have a telegram," said Jack, "before you can look 
 round to say the church has given them its blessing and 
 they're coming back to-morrow to ask you to give 'em 
 yours. ... If I were you," added Jack, glancing at his
 
 302 HILL RISE 
 
 table, "I should run home now and see if the telegram hasn't 
 arrived already." 
 
 But Mr. Hope, although immensely relieved, still showed 
 a most lamentable weakness. He was in fear now of painful 
 publicity. He who lived by recording public opinion, ex- 
 hibited a morbid horror of the public press, lest its loud voice 
 should begin shouting his name. 
 
 "There will be paragraphs in the London papers. I think 
 I will go to London and call on confreres. . . . That man 
 Mees will pillory me in on-dits. If not bribed, Mees will 
 fill the Bulletin. Mr. Vincent, aid me to shut that man's 
 mouth. I will pay any money. Will you go and see him pay 
 hush-money? Buy silence for me at all costs." 
 
 And Jack was at last compelled to accompany Mr. Hope 
 in order to support him while he walked through the public 
 streets ; and, further, to promise to use all his own and Crun- 
 den's influence with Mr. Mees. 
 
 Mr. Hope was back again before supper. A telegraphic 
 message had arrived, and Mr. Hope hastened with it to his 
 kind friends. The riding-master had permitted no unseemly 
 delay. 
 
 "Her mother," said Mr. Hope, "shed tears of joy when she 
 read that signature. Irene Banker ! Her mother had taken to 
 her bed. She is now sleeping peacefully and my agitation 
 is passing. I was stunned by the blow but am now myself 
 again. May I will you let me stay to supper with you ?" 
 
 It was almost a lost day for Jack.
 
 CHAPTEE XXV 
 
 THE week was nearly over. Except during twenty minutes 
 at supper-time, Jack had been working for nine hours on 
 end. It was late; Mr. Crunden had gone to bed; but Jack 
 still sat at his table. A shaded lamp threw its light upon 
 the untidy masses of papers, the sketch maps and tracings, 
 the rulers, the measuring scale, and upon the gigantic waste- 
 paper basket by the worker's chair; but all the rest of the 
 big room was in darkness. In the circle of bright light, 
 with the black shadows all about him, he looked like Work 
 personified the sleepless spirit of work, unflinching, un- 
 blinking, while all the world slept. 
 
 Lizzie peeped in from the parlour threshold, and watched 
 him. His lips were moving; rows of figures were spinning 
 from his pencil : .he was apparently deep in arithmetical calcu- 
 lations abstrusely difficult sums of compound interest, per- 
 haps. 
 
 "Mr. Vincent, it is very late." 
 
 He did not look round. 
 
 "Mr. Vincent can't you stop? You must be tired. It is 
 dreadfully late." 
 
 "Yes." He spoke without looking round. "Pricey is sit- 
 ting up. She'll put the chain on after I'm gone." 
 
 Lizzie crossed the room, softly opened the door of the 
 kitchen passage, and passed out. On this other threshold 
 she glanced back, but he did not look round : he was absorbed, 
 concentrated, unassailable, a worker in a circle of bright light, 
 not conscious of vague meaningless forms that stirred idly in 
 the shadows beyond his magic circle. 
 
 Mrs. Price, with only one candle, was sitting at the kitchen 
 table. Patient, uncomplaining, she was cheerfully forfeiting 
 her well-earned repose; would have been content to wait all 
 through the long night if Mr. Jack bade her. She had been 
 
 303
 
 304 HILL RISE 
 
 whiling away the slow minutes by the aid of a very old pack 
 of cards. Her bare table was spread over with kings and 
 queens, and humble sevens., eights, etc.; and her lips, too, 
 moved as she amused herself in abstruse countings and 
 reckonings. 
 
 "Pricey, he is still working. He won't leave off." 
 
 "I know, dear. You go to bed. I'll sit up for him." 
 
 Mrs. Price looked round with a smile, raked the playing- 
 cards into a heap, and then took Lizzie's hand. 
 
 Lizzie had come to the table and was studying the dirty 
 clothes and greasy faces of the knaves : these court cards were 
 so old that they might have been those used in the old games 
 of Muggins. 
 
 "Lizzie, my dear, how cold your hand is and you're pale 
 and trembling. What is it, dear? Don't you worry. His 
 strength won't give out he's so brave." 
 
 "I don't know/' said Lizzie forlornly. "He ought to 
 stop " 
 
 "You go to bed, dear. . . . But, Miss Liz, sit down a 
 minute first and I'll tell your fortune. The cards are fall- 
 ing out lucky to-night. There's money coming to this house. 
 We shall all get our wish. It's come out every time." 
 
 "Has it? ... I left the passage-door open. We mustn't 
 make a noise;" and Lizzie softly drew forward a chair and 
 sat down, as in the old childish days, to have her fortune 
 told. 
 
 "Now" Lizzie had shuffled, and cut the pack thrice; and 
 Mrs. Price was beginning to deal "have you wished?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lizzie, in a whisper ; and Mrs. Price turned up 
 the cards three by three. 
 
 "Three. The money! One, two, three. There, that's 
 him. One, two, three. And a journey. There's a journey 
 to go, and money at the end of it. That's Mr. Jack King 
 of Clubs, and he's close to the money." 
 
 "Pricey are you sure he's clubs ? Isn't he spades ?" 
 
 "No, of course he's clubs clubs-gentleman. Spades-gen- 
 tlemen are much rarer than you'd think for. Your pa's 
 hearts. . . . Cut 'em again;" and the fortune slowly pro- 
 ceeded.
 
 HILL RISE 305 
 
 "One, two, three, four," Mrs. Price whispered. "There he 
 is. One, two, three, four, five, six. . . ." 
 
 The candle flickered, and monstrous shadows danced behind 
 the chairs. The feeble light on the ceiling was like a faint 
 hope that spreads and narrows, vacillates and once more 
 spreads ; the ticking of the clock was like the heart-beat of an 
 unconscious giant, not to be hastened by hope, or checked 
 by fear; the patter of the cards as they dropped made one 
 think one listened to the rustling leaves in the book of fate 
 while unseen hands lifted them and let them fall. Lizzie, with 
 her white face close to Mrs. Price's shoulder, trembled and 
 drew her breath faster and faster. 
 
 "Yes. There. There's your wish. You'll get your wish, 
 Liz, my darling;" and Mrs. Price suddenly threw her arms 
 round her and kissed her. "Oh, you'll get your wish don't 
 fear." 
 
 "Good-night, Pricey. Thank you;" and Lizzie gently dis- 
 engaged herself. 
 
 "Go to sleep, my pet, and don't worry about his working. 
 He's working for you not for your father." 
 
 "Pricey, don't please don't say such things." 
 
 "But I do say 'em," said Mrs. Price, in a triumphant 
 whisper. "From the first I've hoped for it and prayed for 
 it but I never seen it coming true till last autumn " 
 
 "Hush please. Good-night !" 
 
 Lizzie went softly back through the big room, and the 
 clubs-gentleman did not see her or hear her. In his circle 
 of light, he could not see vague forms that moved in the 
 shadow, could not hear the ticking of clocks or the beating of 
 hearts : he was deep in abstruse arithmetic, and quite una- 
 ware that any living thing had passed. 
 
 Upstairs, when Lizzie had undressed and got into bed, 
 she could not sleep. She stared at the darkness ; and through 
 all the darkness, the thick old brick walls, the massive beams, 
 and flooring-board, the plaster and the lath, she could still 
 see him pale, grave, beautiful, surrounded by a glory of 
 vivid light. She smiled, and trembled, and wept. Was it 
 true would she get her wish? In the darkness she flushed
 
 306 HILL RISE 
 
 till her face was burning, and then she turned cold and 
 faint. Hope warmed her, fear made her deadly cold: hot fit 
 succeeded cold fit : it was like some dreadful sickness that old 
 love-sickness diagnosed by Dr. Blake, come back now in a 
 far more virulent form. 
 
 She could not sleep. She struggled with herself but it 
 was no good. She was sick of love: she was desperately, 
 overpoweringly in love with Mr. Jack with the real, strong, 
 working Jack, and not his fantastic, easily dispersed, smil- 
 ing shadow.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MR. CEUNDEN'S ship was on the rocks, helplessly bumping 
 about, at the mercy of the fierce winds and the cruel waves, 
 in imminent danger of being staved, breached, broached, and 
 broken up ; but Mr. Crunden's popularity was enormous. 
 
 Jack, who was to present his scheme this afternoon, had 
 been out all the morning, and when he returned to King's 
 Cottage he found the big room full of people. 
 
 It was a deputation come to wait on Mr. Crunden: half a 
 dozen important citizens, as representative of Medford, come 
 to invite him to a public dinner in recognition of his public 
 services, and to ascertain if later he would be willing to 
 accept the Mayoralty. 
 
 Here were Alderman Holland; and Mr. Hopkins, himself 
 an Alderman now; Councillors Eogers and Osborn; and Mr. 
 Eaton, who had realised his ambition and was now a Coun- 
 cillor two Aldermen, three Councillors, with those well- 
 known and respected tradesmen Mr. Brown and Mr. Bradshall, 
 all in turn buttering Mr. Crunden. 
 
 "You were longer-sighted, sir, than what we were" Mr. 
 Hopkins was speaking in his best Council manner " and you 
 frightened us by the largeness of your views. You saw what 
 the town wanted but, sir, } T our views was too large for us. 
 It was a big thing to open up the town and extend it and 
 a big man was required to take on such a job. But, sir, you 
 seemed too big for us. We were like so many timid children 
 saying : Best leave well alone. We're doing very nice as we 
 are; we shan't never do better. Come to try and improve the 
 town and you'll only spoil it. ... Now, sir, that talk was so 
 much 'umbug! We know we was wrong. We can see clear 
 now, all that you foretold then." 
 
 "Hear, hear I" 
 
 "And we're proud of you and we mean to tell you so, 
 
 307
 
 308 HILL RISE 
 
 and to prove it by the honour we have it in our power to 
 offer." 
 
 "Hear, hear !" 
 
 To Mr. Crunden, listening, it seemed like the last cruel 
 mockery of fate. Next November said the mocking voices 
 or the following November, he might wear the civic chain, 
 might sit on the borough bench and hear the last of the 
 Guy Fawkes charges if Gunpowder Day had happened to 
 produce a riot. 
 
 He was standing with his back to the fireplace, and he 
 leaned on the stick that he had used since the accident to his 
 leg. He was frowning though he tried not to frown, looked 
 gloomy and sad though he sought to appear gratefully 
 cheerful. 
 
 "You're very kind;" and he grunted. "Gentlemen, I take 
 it very kind of you;" and he grunted again. "But well 
 I hardly know whether " 
 
 "Oh," said Jack, "don't refuse, sir. You must go to the 
 dinner, sir." 
 
 "Bravo !" said one of the deputation. "Of course he must !" 
 
 "And we hope," said another, "that Miss Crunden your 
 daughter, sir, will grace the banquet with her presence. 
 Our wives will be there and it won't be complete unless Miss 
 Crunden comes." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Jack, "Miss Crunden will come." 
 
 "And you too, Mr. Vincent I need 'ardly add you must 
 come !" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Jack, "we'll all come." 
 
 He was eager to be rid of these flattering visitors; he 
 was answering for his employer because he thought Mr. Crun- 
 den was not to be trusted to answer for himself . Mr. Crunden, 
 hesitating, frowning, and grunting in embarrassment, had 
 just now seemed to be on the point of telling the company 
 the reasons why no feasting at the White Hart, no civic dis- 
 tinction, could chase the wrinkles from his forehead and ban- 
 ish the worried expression of his eyes. 
 
 Jack was unfolding his scheme result of his excessive 
 toil and Crunden and Bowling were listening attentively.
 
 HILL RISE 309 
 
 "Remember, Mr. Bowling, this is what I call a getting-out 
 scheme. You must dismiss the past from your mind. It is 
 not what we might have done once; it is what we can possibly 
 do now." 
 
 He was seated at his table, and before him all the papers 
 plans, lists, endorsed letters were no longer in an untidy 
 litter: everything was arranged methodically, to be under his 
 hand when he might require it. Crunden and Dowling, on 
 the other side of the table, were comfortably established in 
 armchairs. 
 
 "Well, then, this is our present situation: our debt to the 
 bank is 15,000. At all costs we must wipe that off. I am 
 convinced that we shall never do any good until we are clear 
 of the bank and stand free unhampered by anybody 
 absolutely our own masters." 
 
 "No doubt," said Mr. Dowling, "if you can tell us how 
 to " 
 
 "Please don't interrupt me. . . . I'll make everything 
 plain as I go on. But if you interrupt me, I shall get con- 
 fused. I was saying 15,000 to be provided without any 
 further delay. Our other debts amount to 900 say 16,000 
 which we have to find to pay all debts. . . . 
 
 "Well now, I think I can see daylight I think we can 
 put ourselves on a sound footing but I am sorry to say 
 my scheme all hinges on this: We shall still want 5,000 to 
 carry us over the next half-year and make us really safe. . . . 
 
 "Well, I'll pass on. I have worked it down to that, and I 
 can't get it lower five thousand; and only to carry us over. 
 We shan't want it for more than six months. . . . Now to 
 business. Please take the plans," and Crunden and Dow- 
 ling were each given a map of the whole Hill, showing the 
 Company's land as well as the Hill Rise Estate, "and please 
 believe that everything I put before you is solid. It may 
 be good or bad wise or foolish; but it's hard-boiled fact. 
 It won't blow away in smoke. . . . The London and Sub- 
 urban make a firm offer of seven thousand for the ten houses 
 and ground to the left of Hill Rise the even numbers. Here 
 is their offer in black and white and I propose that we close 
 with it."
 
 310 HILL RISE 
 
 It was in truth a most beggarly offer. Mr. Crunden snorted 
 wrathfully. Seven thousand for the apple of his eye the 
 magnificent frontage to the open common the golden strip 
 wherefrom, in the original scheme, his final and princely 
 reward was to be derived ! 
 
 "Giving it to them/' said Jack. "I know that. It ad- 
 joins their land ; they'll clear away the houses, and go blazing 
 ahead. But we must have cash, and there is cash seven 
 thousand. . . . Now look at the ten acres marked A behind 
 the odd numbers. I have settled with the Universal Insurance 
 Society all in black and white for a permanent mortgage 
 of fifteen hundred at four per cent, on this ground not to 
 be built on." 
 
 "Not to be built on!" said Crunden. "Why, the upper 
 decoy-house stands bang in the middle of it." 
 
 "Yes, I'll tell you about that later. . . . The Universal 
 pledge themselves to two more mortgages. Two thousand 
 
 on your three other decoys " 
 
 "They cost over four thousand without counting the 
 site value " 
 
 " And three thousand on the last thirty cottages as soon 
 
 as half of them are occupied; and they will be occupied in 
 six months if we drop the rents low enough. . . . Lastly, 
 our old friends Griggs will let us have two thousand on the 
 other ten houses of Hill Rise, at six per cent., greedy dogs 
 subject to my scheme going through but not otherwise. Now 
 there you have it. L. and S., seven thousand ; first two Uni- 
 versal mortgages, three thousand five hundred ; Universal third 
 mortgage; and Griggs, five thousand. Ruination terms, no 
 doubt, you will say but they're solid, and I'll eat my hat if 
 any one gets you better terms. And it doesn't matter we'll 
 pay it all back. The only real sacrifice is the L. and S. sale 
 letting those bounders get just what they want the beautiful 
 common frontage." 
 
 "It's all in the clouds," said Crunden, shaking his head. 
 "Five thousand of it is the only promise." 
 
 "No," said Jack, "it's solid. Griggs and the Universal third 
 mortgage are contingent, as I said, but all in black and white. 
 Look," and he handed across some neatly docketed papers,
 
 HILL RISE 311 
 
 "they won't wriggle out. It's five thousand to come. But 
 we're five thousand short till we get it. ... 
 
 "And now to the other side what we are to do if we carry 
 it through. First and foremost: those ten acres that we're 
 not to build on comprising the old tennis courts and the 
 protecting belt that was wanted by my Guv'nor and you 
 wouldn't give " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Well, we'll do it now. We'll give 'em twice what they 
 asked. Instead of five acres, they shall have ten. It shall be 
 a tennis club again but for all Medford this time no rotten 
 exclusiveness all the world and his wife. These people in 
 the Company's houses are dying for a tennis club. Look 
 here look at that. There's a list of a hundred and fifty 
 members at three guineas each all solid promises. I'll get 
 a good rent. You may take it from me, the new club will 
 be a rousing success. I answer for this." 
 
 "And my decoy-house ! What'll you do with that ?" 
 
 "Pull it down if necessary if the dashed thing stands in 
 our way. . . . No, sir that is to be the new clubhouse 
 something like a clubhouse and I'm going to get three hun- 
 dred per annum for my house and ten acres. And there will 
 be something coming at last, won't there? 
 
 "Think," continued Jack with animation, "what this means. 
 Ten acres lifted off your back accounted for. The lawns 
 of a flourishing club full of jolly people instead of that 
 dismal empty space staring you in the face something for 
 every one to look at. Now I'll tell you what I mean to do 
 with those ten Hill Eise houses I mean to fill them with 
 tenants again." He was like a young and untried Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer, making a first budget speech. As he went 
 on with more and more eagerness, he dropped the We and 
 You, and it became all I. "I'll pull down the back garden- 
 walls and put iron railings, so that people can look right into 
 the tennis ground as if it was their own park." 
 
 "You'd never get the old tenants to come back." 
 
 "I shan't try. I'll get new tenants. The tradesmen-towns- 
 people not the old gang. Look here. I'm going to give 
 those houses a lick of paint and a brush up, and I'm going
 
 312 HILL RISE 
 
 to let them to sensible people at forty-five pounds a year. 
 Across the road the L. and S. will be putting up their smart 
 little bandboxes and letting them at fifty pounds, and I shall 
 say: Very good. I don't pretend our houses are as smart 
 and up-to-date, but they're better built, they've three times 
 the accommodation, and they're five pounds less now if 
 you've a large family and aren't a fool, you'll know which to 
 choose." 
 
 "It sounds all right to talk about." 
 
 "It is right. It's solid not gas. Look here. In six 
 months I'll let every one of these ten houses, and that'll be 
 four hundred and fifty a year coming in. I have let four 
 already conditionally on the starting of my club. There 
 you are look at the letters. Brown my Guv'nor's butcher 
 is taking one. And there's Swan and Waygood and old 
 Martin the saddler. . . . You know, a lot of this ought to 
 have been in your scheme from the very first. To popu- 
 larise, democratise Hill Rise and not destroy it. That ought 
 to have been your line from the first. . . . 
 
 "Please look at your maps. Another virtue in my tennis 
 club ! It creates frontages. We can guarantee not to build on 
 it for fifteen years. Well, people will build all round it for 
 us. I have firm offers for four plots already subject to club 
 and guarantee at a higher rate than we've been near yet : 
 one hundred and fifty per acre. There you are. Catch hold, 
 Bowling see for yourself. . . . Now look at the map 
 above the tennis ground. See how neatly L. and S. road 
 works in. We can just continue it bit by bit. People like 
 building next to established neighbours it's an easier job any 
 day to increase a neighbourhood than to make one. Plots up 
 there will go like hot cakes we'll just carry on the Com- 
 pany's plan for them. . . . 
 
 "And now," said Jack, with a shining face and a ringing 
 voice, "am I right, or am I wrong? I'm as sure as I sit 
 here that it's right all through. In six months you'd have 
 added a gross income of seven hundred and fifty coming in 
 regularly to pay all charges for interest and keep you going 
 comfortably. Your troubles would be over. You'd be your 
 own master able to wait for what the future was bringing.
 
 HILL RISE 313 
 
 You'll soon pay off these potty little mortgages and you'll 
 see your money again every penny of it. ... This is what 
 we shall do with that open space in the end. We shall sell 
 it to the town. Every year it'll go up in value. They'll 
 have to buy it in the end for a municipal recreation ground. 
 Fifteen hundred an acre two thousand. We'll get twenty 
 thousand for our tennis club before we've done with it. 
 Now, am I right or am I wrong?" 
 
 "By God, he's right," said Crunden loudly. 
 
 "I really I begin to think he is," said Bowling. 
 
 "If I had the five thousand," said Crunden energetically, 
 "I'd say do it, sir yes, by God, try and do it." 
 
 His face had flushed, his eyes had brightened: he tossed 
 the letters upon the table, got up, and, forgetting his lame 
 leg, walked about the room briskly until a twinge of pain 
 stopped him. 
 
 "Then this," said Jack, rearranging his papers, "is what 
 we have now to consider. Can we possibly bite any one's 
 ear for five thousand pounds as a loan on our personal 
 credit? It ought to be possible/' and he looked hard at Mr. 
 Bowling. "If anyhow we can make it possible, I am sure 
 we " 
 
 "May I interrupt now?" 
 
 And Mr. Bowling with much feeling explained his own. 
 financial position : he was the husband of a woman of means, 
 but he had practically no means himself beyond his profes- 
 sional income. At this moment he possessed, of his very 
 own money, about, and unhappily not more than, one thou- 
 sand pounds. That he freely offered. "I could not, Mr. Vin- 
 cent, attempt to ah, in your odd phrase indeed, it would not 
 be right for me to bite Mrs. Bowling's ear. But all I am 
 personally good for I beg Mr. Crunden to use." 
 
 "Brother Bowling," said Jack, "you're a trump. ... If 
 we could only scrape it together ! We needn't get it all from 
 one. We can imitate Jessie Barter. Eaton, I know, is good 
 for five hundred. And there's my Guv'nor. I haven't tried 
 him but I know Sir John would let me bite his ear for a 
 thousand or even fifteen hundred. I believe Sir John is good 
 for that by now -and I shouldn't scruple, because I know it's
 
 314 HILL RISE 
 
 safe, and he'd see it again in six months. Now is there 
 any one else?" 
 
 There was no one. Jack and Bowling, racking their brains, 
 could think of no confiding friend who was good for another 
 sixpence. If the successful issue of Jack's scheme hung on 
 the raising of five thousand pounds without security, the 
 scheme must collapse. 
 
 Old Crunden came hack to his armchair, and sat down 
 wearily. 
 
 "You're very kind, sir. You're all kind but I couldn't ask 
 it. Sir John least of all. But I'm proud to think he'd help 
 me. No, sir." Weariness sounded in his voice profound 
 dejection, absolute hopelessness. "It's all no use. You'd 
 never raise the money. Too much;" and he leaned back in 
 his chair and half-closed his eyes, as one tired out only 
 craving rest. Jack's scheme was another splendid mockery 
 mirage of shady trees, green grass, cool water, seen by a lost 
 traveller in the vast desert a flicker of bright hope, and then 
 dull despair. 
 
 "No use," he murmured, "I'm done. My own fault. No 
 one to blame. Your words, sir: I've bitten off more than I 
 could chew." 
 
 "No, sir," said Jack. "No;" and he came to his employer 
 and patted him on the shoulder. "A brave front still. Never 
 say die. We'll do it somehow. We'll pull through some' 
 Jiow." 
 
 He brought his chair and sat by the side of his employer, 
 talking to him hopefully, endeavouring by all arts to cheer 
 him, and rouse him to courage and effort. Dowling, after a 
 long talk, left them sitting side by side, each thoughtfully 
 brooding.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 DUSK was falling; Mrs. Price had just cleared away the 
 tea things, and had carried the tablecloth through the lobby 
 to shake out the crumbs for the birds; Mr. Crunden sat in 
 the deepening shadows by the hearth; Mr. Jack stood by the 
 open window, and looked out at the silent empty road, the 
 smokeless chimney stacks of Hill Eise, the swallows hawking 
 high in the fading sunlight. From a little distance came 
 the insistent voice of church bells St. Barnabas calling the 
 pious Miss Vigors and other faithful souls to vespers. And 
 from close by came a gentle plaintive music Miss Lizzie in 
 the parlour, softly playing the piano. 
 
 Presently there was a noise of rapidly approaching wheels, 
 to break the melodious peace. Mrs. Price in the roadway had 
 paused to enjoy the pleasant evening air, but now she flung 
 wide her cloth and flapped it loudly. Actively flapping, she 
 startled the horse in the station fly as it trotted fast towards 
 her, and made it baulk and stop before it reached the white 
 palings. 
 
 "That'll do," called the passenger in the fly. "Pull up. 
 Let me get out. Wait, I won't be a minute." 
 
 "Hullo!" cried Jack. 
 
 It was Sir John Vincent in his big travelling coat, with 
 a rug over his shoulder, with his hat on the back of his head 
 springing out of the cab, hastening by the window, actively 
 and lightly as a boy of eighteen. 
 
 "Hullo !" cried Sir John excitedly. "Can't spare a minute. 
 Don't detain me. I'm on my way up from the station 
 your mother anxiously waiting for me!" All this Sir John 
 called to his son at the window, and, still talking, he came 
 through the lobby into the room. 
 
 "How do, Crunden?" said Sir John hastily. "My dear 
 fellow, how are you?" and he hastily shook hands. "I am in. 
 
 315
 
 316 HILL RISE 
 
 a hurry. Jack, I have most important news for you but not 
 a minute to spare. Of course you know she has gone?" 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Jack. "But she has married him. She 
 has got a jolly good sort in Banker better than she de- 
 serves." 
 
 "I'm not speaking of Miss Hope," said Sir John. "Harriet! 
 Poor dear died at two A.M. this morning. I've been at 
 Bournemouth since yesterday afternoon was with her at the 
 last. But never recognised me poor old soul !" 
 
 Then Mr. Crunden delicately withdrew, and left father and 
 son alone to discuss their bereavement. 
 
 "Haven't you seen your mother? Your mother doesn't 
 know the details. I must go to her. Only stopped to tell 
 you the news. . . . Splendid news !" Sir John was already 
 edging away towards the open door; and, seeking to give the 
 information in one breath, was not easy to understand. 
 "Nothing wrong settled funds untouched she could not 
 touch them come to me. Those people about her maids and 
 doctors all honest as daylight not rogues as I feared. Never 
 pillaged her. Saved her money considerable accumulations 
 every year. All saved her own money goes to you." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Come round this evening. It's right congratulate you, 
 my dear fellow. Eight I found the will. Lacy helped me 
 knew all about it. Honest fellow. I have the will outside in 
 my valise." 
 
 "How much?" shouted Jack, clutching at his father's coat. 
 "How much is it?" 
 
 "Come round this evening, and I'll tell you everything." 
 
 "How much? Give me some idea?" 
 
 "Oh, a lot," and Sir John spoke breathlessly of three thou- 
 sand in this, four thousand in that, five hundred in some- 
 thing else. "And, Consols, two thousand five hundred. India 
 Threes the same. . . . Congratulate you but let me go 
 now. See you at dinner." And Sir John hurried out to his 
 fly and drove away. 
 
 Mr. Crunden, in the parlour, was startled by the joyful 
 shouting of his clerk.
 
 HILL RISE 317 
 
 It must be remembered that Jack had never seen his 
 poor old relative; that he had not wished her days to be 
 shortened; that she was full of years, dreadfully infirm, with- 
 out pleasure in life and that no one can live forever. 
 
 "Crunden, come here. Crunden, my bonny old boy. Tally 
 ho! Whoo-hoop. We're saved. We're safe, I tell you the 
 money's come." 
 
 "How how do you mean, sir?" 
 
 "Three or four times as much as we wanted." Jack was 
 wildly excited, dancing and snapping his fingers. "The dear 
 old girl has left me her savings. I'm rolling in money. Now 
 we'll show these bounders who's who and what's what in Hill 
 Eise. We can go straight ahead." 
 
 "Can we, sir?" 
 
 Old Crunden's hands were shaking; he had brought out 
 his bandana handkerchief and was mopping his forehead. 
 
 "Where's Lizzie?" cried Jack. . . . "Tell Lizzie let 
 Lizzie hear the glorious news." 
 
 Lizzie stood in the shadow of the parlour doorway, and 
 was watching and listening. She drew in her breath when 
 her father's clerk called her Lizzie without any Miss. When 
 he did it again she put her hand to her side. When he did 
 it the third time her heart beat tumultuously. 
 
 "Ah! there you are. Money's come to the house, Lizzie. 
 Old Pricey told me she'd seen it in the cards after a journey. 
 My Guv'nor's been the journey and brought home the will. 
 Luck for all. No more trouble for your father or any of 
 us." 
 
 Then Lizzie, without uttering a word, stole away. She must 
 be alone to think of the glorious, most glorious, news. Up- 
 stairs in her room she thought of it the wonder and the 
 glory of it while slowly she changed her bodice and skirt. 
 
 "Sir, do I understand," said Crunden huskily, "yon can lend 
 me that five thousand?" 
 
 "Five? Ten thousand all I've got. We're right now, old 
 boy!" 
 
 "Sir, that's very handsome;" and Crunden blew his nose 
 loudly, "but, sir if you do, it must be on business terms " 
 
 "Oh, shut up," said Jack excitedly. "My dear old boy,
 
 318 HILL RISE 
 
 you've made a man of me. I should be a pig if I didn't want 
 to pay you back " 
 
 "Partnership terms no less. I'll owe it all to you if I get 
 out. If you see your way clear come in as my partner 
 and I'll say, Yes, take half for what you've done for me." 
 
 "Look here, if you drive me, I'll make terms, too. I'm 
 the bloated capitalist now and who are you I'd like to 
 know dictating terms to me? Hang it all I will make 
 terms." He was smiling and nodding his head, while he 
 walked about the room. "Now you've gone too far. Where's 
 Lizzie? . . . I'll only help you now at a price. . . . And 
 this is my price, you old hedgehog. A big price. Be prepared 
 for that." 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "It is Lizzie;" and Jack's voice became suddenly as husky 
 as his emploj^er's. "No, I'm asking you for what you can't 
 give much less sell. But I may ask her, mayn't I, sir? 
 I've the right to ask her now. . . ." 
 
 Lizzie had come back. The dusk was deepening; half the 
 room was in dark shadow ; she stood again in the doorway till 
 he called her name, and then came shyly forward, and the 
 faint light from the window fell upon the blue ground and 
 white spots of her dress. 
 
 "Lizzie ! . . . Oh ! you are wearing your lovely, beautiful 
 dress. That means that means?" 
 
 Her eyes were shining, her lips were trembling, her heart 
 beat fast. She did not answer. 
 
 "Lizzie, you do know, don't you?" and Jack's voice was 
 music to her ears. "I couldn't ask you till now just a work- 
 ing-man. No money nothing. But you were kind to me 
 once. You promised as a child. Eemember your prom- 
 ise Lizzie," and his voice dropped to a whisper, "my 
 
 heart is at your feet. Are you going to tread on it ?" 
 
 "No, she isn't," said Crunden, fiercely blowing his nose. 
 
 "Ah !" Jack had read the same answer in Lizzie's eyes, "you 
 remember." And, smiling, he drew back a step, and with 
 appropriate gesture spoke his line. 
 
 "Madam, to you I humbly bow and bend."
 
 HILL RISE 319 
 
 And Lizzie, curtseying very prettily, delivered her line. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I take you now to be my friend." 
 
 "And don't you fear," said Crunden presently, "that I'll 
 stand in your way. I never judged the signs to mean this 
 from you and I'm happier, sir, than I can ever rightly tell. 
 You shan't be bothered nor disgraced with me. You two 
 shall live in your own house and I shan't come pushing 
 into it to remind people " 
 
 "Oh, no," said Jack, "none of that. We'll live here all 
 three won't we, Lizzie? I love this house and I love my 
 father-in-law for my wife's sake, and for my sake, and for 
 his own sake!" 
 
 THE END
 
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