Kipps Part 32

"We can do here a bit more, now we done here so long," said Mrs. Kipps.

"You lemme look about a bit _fust_," said old Kipps.

And in looking about old Kipps found perhaps a finer joy than any mere possession could have given. He would shut his shop more or less effectually against the intrusion of customers, and toddle abroad seeking new matter for his dream; no house was too small and none too large for his knowing enquiries. Occupied houses took his fancy more than vacancies, and he would remark, "You won't be a livin' 'ere forever, even if you think you will," when irate householders protested against the unsolicited examination of their more intimate premises....

Remarkable difficulties arose of a totally unexpected sort.

"If we 'ave a larger 'ouse," said Mrs. Kipps with sudden bitterness, "we shall want a servant, and I don't want no gells in the place larfin' at me, sn.i.g.g.e.rin' and larfin' and prancin' and trapesin', lardy da! If we 'ave a smaller 'ouse, there won't be room to swing a cat."

Room to swing a cat it seemed was absolutely essential. It was an infrequent but indispensable operation.

"When we _do_ move," said old Kipps, "if we could get a bit of shootin'----. I don't want to sell off all this here stock for nothin'.

It's took years to 'c.u.mulate. I put a ticket in the winder sayin'

'sellin' orf,' but it 'asn't brought nothing like a roosh. One of these 'ere dratted visitors pretendin' to want an air gun, was all we 'ad in yesterday. Jest an excuse for spyin' round and then go away and larf at you. No-thanky to everything, it didn't matter what.... That's 'ow _I_ look at it, Artie."

They pursued meandering fancies about the topic of their future settlement for a s.p.a.ce and Kipps became more and more hopeless of any proper conversational opening that would lead to his great announcement, and more and more uncertain how such an opening should be taken. Once indeed old Kipps, anxious to get away from this dangerous subject of removals, began: "And what are you a-doin' of in Folkestone? I shall have to come over and see you one of these days," but before Kipps could get in upon that, his Uncle had pa.s.sed into a general exposition of the proper treatment of landladies and their humbugging, cheating ways, and so the opportunity vanished. It seemed to Kipps the only thing to do was to go out into the town for a stroll, compose an effectual opening at leisure, and then come back and discharge it at them in its consecutive completeness. And even out of doors and alone, he found his mind distracted by irrelevant thoughts.

--2

His steps led him out of the High Street towards the church, and he leant for a time over the gate that had once been the winning post of his race with Ann p.o.r.nick, and presently found himself in a sitting position on the top rail. He had to get things smooth again, he knew; his mind was like a mirror of water after a breeze. The image of Helen and his great future was broken and mingled into fragmentary reflections of remoter things, of the good name of Old Methusaleh Three Stars, of long dormant memories the High Street saw fit, by some trick of light and atmosphere, to arouse that afternoon....

Abruptly a fine, full voice from under his elbow shouted, "What--O Art!"

and, behold, Sid p.o.r.nick was back in his world, leaning over the gate beside him, and holding out a friendly hand.

He was oddly changed and yet oddly like the Sid that Kipps had known. He had the old broad face and mouth, abundantly freckled, the same short nose, and the same blunt chin, the same odd suggestion of his sister Ann without a touch of her beauty; but he had quite a new voice, loud and a little hard, and his upper lip carried a stiff and very fair moustache.

Kipps shook hands. "I was jest thinking of _you_, Sid," he said, "jest this very moment and wondering if ever I should see you again, ever.

And 'ere you are!"

"One likes a look 'round at times," said Sid. "How are _you_, old chap?"

"All right," said Kipps. "I just been lef'----"

"You aren't changed much," interrupted Sid.

"Ent I?" said Kipps, foiled.

"I knew your back directly I came 'round the corner. Spite of that 'at you got on. Hang it, I said, that's Art Kipps or the devil. And so it was."

Kipps made a movement of his neck as if he would look at his back and judge. Then he looked Sid in the face. "You got a moustache, Sid," he said.

"I s'pose you're having your holidays?" said Sid.

"Well, partly. But I just been lef'----"

"_I'm_ taking a bit of a holiday," Sid went on. "But the fact is, I have to give _myself_ holidays nowadays. I've set up for myself."

"Not down here?"

"No fear! I'm not a turnip. I've started in Hammersmith, manufacturing."

Sid spoke offhand as though there was no such thing as pride.

"Not drapery?"

"No fear! Engineer. Manufacture bicycles." He clapped his hand to his breast pocket and produced a number of pink handbills. He handed one to Kipps and prevented him reading it by explanations and explanatory dabs of a pointing finger. "That's our make, my make to be exact, The Red Flag, see?--I got a transfer with my name--Pantocrat tyres, eight pounds--yes, _there_--Clinchers ten, Dunlop's eleven, Ladies' one pound more--that's the lady's. Best machine at a democratic price in London.

No guineas and no discounts--honest trade. I build 'em--to order. I've built," he reflected, looking away seaward--"seventeen. Counting orders in 'and.... Come down to look at the old place a bit. Mother likes it at times."

"Thought you'd all gone away----"

"What! after my father's death? No! My mother's come back, and she's living at Muggett's cottages. The sea air suits 'er. She likes the old place better than Hammersmith ... and I can afford it. Got an old crony or so here.... Gossip ... have tea.... S'pose _you_ ain't married, Kipps?"

Kipps shook his head, "I----" he began.

"_I_ am," said Sid. "Married these two years and got a nipper. Proper little chap."

Kipps got his word in at last. "I got engaged day before yesterday," he said.

"Ah!" said Sid airily. "That's all right. Who's the fortunate lady?"

Kipps tried to speak in an offhand way. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "She's a solicitor's daughter," he said, "in Folkestone. Rather'r nice set. County family. Related to the Earl of Beaupres----"

"Steady on!" cried Sid.

"You see, I've 'ad a bit of luck, Sid. Been lef' money."

Sid's eye travelled instinctively to mark Kipps' garments. "How much?"

he asked.

"'Bout twelve 'undred a year," said Kipps, more offhandedly than ever.

"Lord!" said Sid, with a note of positive dismay, and stepped back a pace or two.

"My granfaver it was," said Kipps, trying hard to be calm and simple.

"'Ardly knew I _'ad_ a granfaver. And then--bang! When o' Bean, the solicitor, told me of it, you could 'ave knocked me down----"

"_'Ow_ much?" demanded Sid, with a sharp note in his voice.

"Twelve 'undred pound a year--'proximately, that is...."

Sid's attempt at genial unenvious congratulation did not last a minute.

He shook hands with an unreal heartiness and said he was jolly glad.

"It's a blooming stroke of Luck," he said.

"It's a bloomin' stroke of Luck," he repeated; "that's what it is," with the smile fading from his face. "Of course, better you 'ave it than me, o' chap. So I don't envy you, anyhow. _I_ couldn't keep it, if I did 'ave it."

"'Ow's that?" said Kipps, a little hipped by Sid's patent chagrin.