A Short Walk in Williams Park (1971) by C. H. B. Kitchin

Author:C. H. B. Kitchin [Kitchin, C. H. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2016-01-25T22:00:00+00:00

10

It was the third week in October—the first cold snap of the year. Francis was having tea in his sitting-room, beside a coal-fire, enjoying that feeling of safety and snugness which comes at this season to nearly all those who are settled in a secure and comfortable home. The summer was over. Its inflammatory passions had died down, with their promptings to indiscretion and adventure. It was a time for clear-thinking and calm judgment.

He was expecting a telephone-call from his office about a prospective partner. He had already made up his mind to say, “Not a penny less than five thousand. I know these bright young men, ready to cash in on the hard work of the older generation. He can either come to us on probation, at a clerk’s salary, or he can put five thousand into the business straight away. Those are my terms and he can either take them or leave them.”

He put down his tea-cup, turned round in his chair and rubbed his hands in the warmth of the fire. Of course,—if Miranda or Edward wanted a job—but why think of them? Ten days ago there had been a letter from her so short that it might well have been a post-card. “Just a line to tell you that all has been going fairly well with us. M.F.” What would become of them? Could a situation like that drag on indefinitely? Yes, sometimes it did, for years. It wasn’t an adventure, after all, in which he had become involved—it was something, from his point of view, lamentably static.

He got up and drew the curtains, though it was still fairly light outside. Five o’clock struck. Surely the interview should be over by now. Had Deacon made the mistake of letting the young man talk? He ought to have been there himself, to say “Please, please, we don’t want a motor-salesman in this business!” It was a remark which, he liked to think, had saved the firm from ruin two or three times. “Motor-salesman.” It was a good phrase. Everyone knew what you meant by “Motor-salesman”. Presumably the Gorilla was one of that fraternity. Did he make Cousin Lena buy a new car every week? No wonder Barbara was on tenterhooks. For the first time, he felt a touch of sympathy for that virago.

Then the telephone-bell rang. It was not Deacon, but Miranda.

“Mr. Norton? . . . Forgive me for ringing you up, but I do want to speak to you. Could I possibly come round and see you? There are things I can’t very well say over the telephone. . . . I’m speaking from a call-box near the shop. I can be with you in twenty minutes, if you’re sure I’m not disturbing you. . . . Thank you so much.”

Francis rang the bell, ordered clean tea-things, some sandwiches, and chocolate biscuits and little cakes, if there were any, and began to straighten the room and brace himself for bad news. If he were destined to

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