Piccadilly Jim | Page 7

broken almost before it had had time to
operate.
"I could give the boy a job in my office," he suggested.
Giving young men jobs in his office was what Mr. Pett liked doing best.
There were six brilliant youths living in his house and bursting with his
food at that very moment whom he would have been delighted to start
addressing envelopes down-town.

Notably his wife's nephew, Willie Partridge, whom he looked on as a
specious loafer. He had a stubborn disbelief in the explosive that was to
revolutionise war. He knew, as all the world did, that Willie's late
father had been a great inventor, but he did not accept the fact that
Willie had inherited the dead man's genius. He regarded the
experiments on Partridgite, as it was to be called, with the profoundest
scepticism, and considered that the only thing Willie had ever invented
or was likely to invent was a series of ingenious schemes for living in
fatted idleness on other people's money.
"Exactly," said Mrs. Pett, delighted at the suggestion. "The very thing."
"Will you write and suggest it?" said Mr. Pett, basking in the sunshine
of unwonted commendation.
"What would be the use of writing? Eugenia would pay no attention.
Besides, I could not say all I wished to in a letter. No, the only thing is
to go over to England and see her. I shall speak very plainly to her. I
shall point out what an advantage it will be to the boy to be in your
office and to live here. . . ."
Ann started.
"You don't mean live here--in this house?"
"Of course. There would be no sense in bringing the boy all the way
over from England if he was to be allowed to run loose when he got
here."
Mr. Pett coughed deprecatingly.
"I don't think that would he very pleasant for Ann, dear."
"Why in the name of goodness should Ann object?"
Ann moved towards the door.
"Thank you for thinking of it, uncle Peter. You're always a dear. But
don't worry about me. Do just as you want to. In any case I'm quite

certain that you won't be able to get him to come over here. You can
see by the paper he's having far too good a time in London. You can
call Jimmy Crockers from the vasty deep, but will they come when you
call for them?"
Mrs. Pett looked at the door as it closed behind her, then at her
husband.
"What do you mean, Peter, about Ann? Why wouldn't it be pleasant for
her if this Crocker boy came to live with us?"
Mr. Pett hesitated.
"Well, it's like this, Nesta. I hope you won't tell her I told you. She's
sensitive about it, poor girl. It all happened before you and I were
married. Ann was much younger then. You know what schoolgirls are,
kind of foolish and sentimental. It was my fault really, I ought to
have . . ."
"Good Heavens, Peter! What are you trying to tell me?"
"She was only a child."
Mrs. Pett rose in slow horror.
"Peter! Tell me! Don't try to break it gently."
"Ann wrote a book of poetry and I had it published for her."
Mrs. Pett sank back in her chair.
"Oh!" she said--it would have been hard to say whether with relief or
disappointment. "Whatever did you make such a fuss for? Why did you
want to be so mysterious?"
"It was all my fault, really," proceeded Mr. Pett. "I ought to have
known better. All I thought of at the time was that it would please the
child to see the poems in print and be able to give the book to her
friends. She did give it to her friends," he went on ruefully, "and ever

since she's been trying to live it down. I've seen her bite a young
fellow's head off when he tried to make a grand-stand play with her by
quoting her poems which he'd found in his sister's book-shelf."
"But, in the name of goodness, what has all this to do with young
Crocker?"
"Why, it was this way. Most of the papers just gave Ann's book a
mention among 'Volumes Received,' or a couple of lines that didn't
amount to anything, but the Chronicle saw a Sunday feature in it, as
Ann was going about a lot then and was a well-known society girl.
They sent this Crocker boy to get an interview from her, all about her
methods of work and inspirations and what not. We never suspected it
wasn't the straight goods. Why, that very evening I mailed an order for
a hundred copies to be sent to me when the thing appeared. And--"
pinkness came upon Mr. Pett at