A Man's Man Part 33

"Well, it's all right now," interposed Joan cheerfully.

"Mr. Marrable," persisted Miss Harbord, "I fear you were weak with him.

How much did you give him?"

"Nothing out of the way," said Hughie uneasily. "You'll stay to lunch, won't you? I am expecting the Leroys and D'Arcy. We can all go on to a _matinee_ afterwards."

Miss Harbord a.s.sumed the expression of one who is not to be won over by fair words, and endeavoured to catch Miss Gaymer's eye--an enterprise which failed signally, as the latter lady rose from her seat and strolled to the window.

"Mr. Marrable," began Miss Harbord, taking up her parable single-handed, "Joan wishes to have a chat with you about money-matters."

"No I don't, Hughie," said Miss Gaymer promptly, over her shoulder.

"Well then, dear," said Miss Harbord calmly, "you ought to. Women leave these things to men far too much as it is. Joan has an old-fas.h.i.+oned notion," she added to Hughie, "that it is not quite nice for girls to know anything about money-matters: hence her reluctance. However, I will conduct her case for her."

Miss Harbord crossed her legs, threw herself back in her chair in a manner which demonstrated most conclusively her contempt for appearances and feminine ideas of decorum, and began:

"Tell me, Mr. Marrable, what interest does Joan get on her money?"

Hughie gaped feebly. Half an hour ago he had put Mr. Lance Gaymer to the door for an almost precisely similar question. But Lance Gaymer was a man, and Miss Harbord, conceal the fact as she might, was a woman; and Hughie's old helplessness paralysed him once more.

"The usual rate of interest," he said lamely, "is about four per cent."

Ursula Harbord nodded her head, as who should say, "I expected that!"

and produced a crumpled newspaper from her m.u.f.f.

"That," she said almost indulgently, "reveals your ignorance of the world, Mr. Marrable. If you mixed a little more in affairs, and followed some regular occupation, you would have more opportunities of discovering things for yourself, and so be spared the indignity--I suppose you consider it an indignity?--of having to be advised by a woman."

The afflicted Hughie murmured something about it being a pleasure.

"Now here," continued Miss Harbord, slapping the newspaper as an East-End butcher slaps the last beef-steak at his Sat.u.r.day night auction, "I have the report of the half-yearly meeting of the International Trading Company, Limited, where a dividend of seven per cent was declared, making a dividend on the whole year of fourteen per cent. _Now_ do you see what I--what Joan wants?"

"Hughie," said Joan, who was making a tour of inspection of the room, "where did you get this lovely leopard-skin? Have I seen it before?"

"Shot it, Joey. I beg your pardon, Miss Harbord?"

"Do you see what Joan wants you to do?" repeated that financial Amazon.

"Afraid I don't, quite. I'll get on to it in a minute, though," replied the docile Hughie.

"Surely, the whole thing is quite clear! You must take Joan's capital out of whatever it is in and buy shares in The International Trading Company with it. And be sure you order _preference_ shares, Mr.

Marrable. They are the best sort to get. That is all; but I ought not to have to point these things out to you."

Hughie surveyed his preceptress in an undecided fas.h.i.+on. Was it worth while endeavouring to explain to her a few of the first principles of finance, or would it be simpler to grin and bear it? He decided on the latter alternative.

"The shares," continued Miss Harbord, having evidently decided to follow up her whips with a few selected scorpions, "should be bought as cheap as possible. They go up and down, you know, like--a--"

"Monkey on a stick?" suggested Hughie, with the air of one anxious to help.

Miss Harbord smiled indulgently.

"No, no! Like a--a barometer, let us say; and you have to watch your opportunity. There is a thing called 'par' which they go to,--anybody will tell you what it is,--and that is a very good time to buy them."

Hughie, fighting for breath, rose and joined Joan in the window recess, while Miss Harbord, with much ostentatious crackling, folded up the newspaper and put it away.

"Hughie," said Joan, under cover of the noise, "you are angry."

"Not at all," replied Hughie, wiping his eyes furtively. "A bit flummoxed--that's all. No idea your friend was so up in these things."

"She _is_ clever, isn't she?" said Joan, with unaffected sincerity.

"But, Hughie dear, don't bother about it if it worries you. My affairs must be a fearful nuisance to you, but Ursula was so keen that I should come--"

"I'm glad you did, Joey. It was worth it," said Hughie simply.

"Of course," continued the unlearned Miss Gaymer, "to people like Ursula these things are as easy as falling off a log, but for you and me, who know nothing about business, they're pretty stiff to tackle, aren't they?"

"Quite so," agreed Hughie meekly. "But look here, Joey," he continued, "are you really in want of money?"

"Of course she is!" said Miss Harbord, overhearing and resuming the offensive.

"I _could_ do with a few more frocks, Hughie," said Miss Gaymer wistfully, "if it wouldn't be a bother to change those investments about a bit, as Ursula advises. Still, if it can't be done, we'll say no more about it."

"Will another hundred a-year be any use to you?" said Hughie suddenly.

"Oh, Hughie, I should _think_ so! Can it be managed without a fearful upset?" cried Miss Gaymer, her eyes already brightening over a vista of blouse-lengths and double-widths.

"Yes," said Hughie shortly. "I'll--I'll make the necessary changes and see that the cash is paid into your banking account."

"You dear!" said Miss Gaymer, with sincerity.

"A hundred pounds? It might be more!" observed the daughter of the horse-leech on the sofa. Fourteen per cent still rankled in her Napoleonic brain.

Hughie crossed to the writing-table and tore up a telegraph-form.

"Capt'n Leroy!" announced Mr. Goble's voice in the doorway.

That easy-going paladin entered the room, and intimated that his wife had sent him along to say that she would arrive in ten minutes.

"That means twenty," said Joan. "Ursula, we have just time to run round and see that hat we thought we'd better not decide about until we had heard from Hughie about the thing we came to see him about. Now I can try it on with a clear conscience. Back directly, Hughie!"

She flitted out, the prospective hundred pounds obviously burning a hole in her pocket (or wherever woman in the present era of fas.h.i.+on keeps her money), followed by Miss Harbord.

Hughie turned to Leroy.

"Take a cigarette, old man," he said, "and sit down with a gla.s.s of sherry while I do myself up for lunch. Been down at Putney."

Leroy obeyed. When Hughie returned from his bedroom a quarter of an hour later, he found that Mrs. Leroy had arrived. She and her husband were engaged in a low-toned conversation, which they broke off rather abruptly on their host's entrance.

Hughie shook hands, and sweeping some newspapers off the sofa, offered his latest-arrived guest a seat.