The Ghost | Page 3

And then smoke ascended from the gold-tipped cigarettes as incense
from censers, and Sullivan lifted his tinted glass of gin-and-angostura,
and I, perceiving that such actions were expected of one in a theatrical
club, responsively lifted mine, and the glasses collided, and Sullivan
said:
"Here's to the end of the great family quarrel."
"I'm with you," said I.
And we sipped.
My father had quarrelled with his mother in an epoch when even
musical comedies were unknown, and the quarrel had spread, as family
quarrels do, like a fire or the measles. The punching of my head by
Sullivan in the extinct past had been one of its earliest consequences.
"May the earth lie lightly on them!" said Sullivan.
He was referring to the originators of the altercation. The tone in which
he uttered this wish pleased me--it was so gentle. It hinted that there
was more in Sullivan than met the eye, though a great deal met the eye.
I liked him. He awed me, and he also seemed to me somewhat
ridiculous in his excessive pomp. But I liked him.
The next instant we were talking about Sullivan Smith. How he
contrived to switch the conversation suddenly into that channel I cannot
imagine. Some people have a gift of conjuring with conversations.
They are almost always frankly and openly interested in themselves, as
Sullivan was interested in himself. You may seek to foil them; you may

even violently wrench the conversation into other directions. But every
effort will be useless. They will beat you. You had much better lean
back in your chair and enjoy their legerdemain.
In about two minutes Sullivan was in the very midst of his career.
"I never went in for high art, you know. All rot! I found I could write
melodies that people liked and remembered." (He was so used to
reading interviews with himself in popular weeklies that he had caught
the formalistic phraseology, and he was ready apparently to mistake
even his cousin for an interviewer. But I liked him.) "And I could get
rather classy effects out of an orchestra. And so I kept on. I didn't try to
be Wagner. I just stuck to Sullivan Smith. And, my boy, let me tell you
it's only five years since 'The Japanese Cat' was produced, and I'm only
twenty-seven, my boy! And now, who is there that doesn't know me?"
He put his elbows on the onyx. "Privately, between cousins, you know,
I made seven thousand quid last year, and spent half that. I live on half
my income; always have done; always shall. Good principle! I'm a man
of business, I am, Carl Foster. Give the public what they want, and save
half your income--that's the ticket. Look at me. I've got to act the duke;
it pays, so I do it. I am a duke. I get twopence apiece royalty on my
photographs. That's what you'll never reach up to, not if you're the
biggest doctor in the world." He laughed. "By the way, how's Jem
getting along? Still practising at Totnes?"
"Yes," I said.
"Doing well?"
"Oh! So--so! You see, we haven't got seven thousand a year, but we've
got five hundred each, and Jem's more interested in hunting than in
doctoring. He wants me to go into partnership with him. But I don't see
myself."
"Ambitious, eh, like I was? Got your degree in Edinburgh?"
I nodded, but modestly disclaimed being ambitious like he was.

"And your sister Lilian?"
"She's keeping house for Jem."
"Pretty girl, isn't she?"
"Yes," I said doubtfully. "Sings well, too."
"So you cultivate music down there?"
"Rather!" I said. "That is, Lilian does, and I do when I'm with her.
We're pretty mad on it. I was dead set on hearing Rosetta Rosa in
'Lohengrin' to-night, but there isn't a seat to be had. I suppose I shall
push myself into the gallery."
"No, you won't," Sullivan put in sharply. "I've got a box. There'll be a
chair for you. You'll see my wife. I should never have dreamt of going.
Wagner bores me, though I must say I've got a few tips from him. But
when we heard what a rush there was for seats Emmeline thought we
ought to go, and I never cross her if I can help it. I made Smart give us
a box."
"I shall be delighted to come," I said. "There's only one Smart, I
suppose? You mean Sir Cyril?"
"The same, my boy. Lessee of the Opera, lessee of the Diana, lessee of
the Folly, lessee of the Ottoman. If any one knows the color of his
cheques I reckon it's me. He made me--that I will say; but I made him,
too. Queer fellow! Awfully cute of him to get elected to the County