The Card | Page 9

he should spy it and seize it. He waited for
something to happen. And not in vain.
A few days after the historic revelry, Mrs Codleyn called to see Denry's

employer. Mr Duncalf was her solicitor. A stout, breathless, and yet
muscular woman of near sixty, the widow of a chemist and druggist
who had made money before limited companies had taken the liberty of
being pharmaceutical. The money had been largely invested in
mortgage on cottage property; the interest on it had not been paid, and
latterly Mrs Codleyn had been obliged to foreclose, thus becoming the
owner of some seventy cottages. Mrs Codleyn, though they brought her
in about twelve pounds a week gross, esteemed these cottages an
infliction, a bugbear, an affront, and a positive source of loss.
Invariably she talked as though she would willingly present them to
anybody who cared to accept-- "and glad to be rid of 'em!" Most
owners of property talk thus. She particularly hated paying the rates on
them.
Now there had recently occurred, under the direction of the Borough
Surveyor, a revaluation of the whole town. This may not sound exciting;
yet a revaluation is the most exciting event (save a municipal ball given
by a titled mayor) that can happen in any town. If your house is rated at
forty pounds a year, and rates are seven shillings in the pound, and the
revaluation lifts you up to forty-five pounds, it means thirty-five
shillings a year right out of your pocket, which is the interest on
thirty-five pounds. And if the revaluation drops you to thirty-five
pounds, it means thirty-five shillings in your pocket, which is a box of
Havanas or a fancy waistcoat. Is not this exciting? And there are seven
thousand houses in Bursley. Mrs Codleyn hoped that her rateable value
would be reduced. She based the hope chiefly on the fact that she was a
client of Mr Duncalf, the Town Clerk. The Town Clerk was not the
Borough Surveyor and had nothing to do with the revaluation.
Moreover, Mrs Codleyn persumably [Transcriber's note: sic] entrusted
him with her affairs because she considered him an honest man, and an
honest man could not honestly have sought to tickle the Borough
Surveyor out of the narrow path of rectitude in order to oblige a client.
Nevertheless, Mrs Codleyn thought that because she patronised the
Town Clerk her rates ought to be reduced! Such is human nature in the
provinces! So different from human nature in London, where nobody
ever dreams of offering even a match to a municipal official, lest the
act might be construed into an insult.

It was on a Saturday morning that Mrs Codleyn called to impart to Mr
Duncalf the dissatisfaction with which she had learned the news
(printed on a bit of bluish paper) that her rateable value, far from being
reduced, had been slightly augmented.
The interview, as judged by the clerks through a lath-and-plaster wall
and by means of a speaking tube, atoned by its vivacity for its lack of
ceremony. When the stairs had finished creaking under the descent of
Mrs Codleyn's righteous fury, Mr Duncalf whistled sharply twice. Two
whistles meant Denry. Denry picked up his shorthand note-book and
obeyed the summons.
"Take this down!" said his master, rudely and angrily.
Just as though Denry had abetted Mrs Codleyn! Just as though Denry
was not a personage of high importance in the town, the friend of
countesses, and a shorthand clerk only on the surface.
"Do you hear?"
"Yes, sir."
"MADAM"--hitherto it had always been "Dear Madam," or "Dear Mrs
Codleyn"--"MADAM,--Of course I need hardly say that if, after our
interview this morning, and your extraordinary remarks, you wish to
place your interests in other hands, I shall be most happy to hand over
all the papers, on payment of my costs. Yours truly ... To Mrs
Codleyn."
Denry reflected: "Ass! Why doesn't he let her cool down?" Also: "He's
got 'hands' and 'hand' in the same sentence. Very ugly. Shows what a
temper he's in!" Shorthand clerks are always like that--hypercritical.
Also: "Well, I jolly well hope she does chuck him! Then I shan't have
those rents to collect." Every Monday, and often on Tuesday, too,
Denry collected the rents of Mrs Codleyn's cottages--an odious task for
Denry. Mr Duncalf, though not affected by its odiousness, deducted
7-1/2 per cent. for the job from the rents.

"That'll do," said Mr Duncalf.
But as Denry was leaving the room Mr Duncalf called with formidable
brusqueness--
"Machin!"
"Yes, sir?"
In a flash Denry knew what was coming. He felt sickly that a crisis had
supervened with the suddenness of a tidal wave. And for one little
second it seemed to him that to have danced with a countess while the
flower of