The Town Traveller | Page 6

Gammon felt at
leisure, contrasting as strongly as possible with the garb in which he
was wont to go about his ordinary business--that of commercial
traveller. He had a liking for dogs, and kept a number of them in the
back premises of an inn at Dulwich, whither he usually repaired on
Sundays. When at Dulwich, Mr. Gammon fancied himself in
completely rural seclusion; it seemed to him that he had shaken off the
dust of cities, that he was far from the clamour of the crowd, amid
peace and simplicity; hence his rustic attire, in which he was fond of
being photographed with dogs about him. A true-born child of town, he
would have found the real country quite unendurable; in his doggy
rambles about Dulwich he always preferred a northerly direction, and
was never so happy as when sitting in the inn-parlour amid a group of
friends whose voices rang the purest Cockney. Even in his business he
disliked engagements which took him far from London; his "speciality"
(as he would have said) was town travel, and few men had had more
varied experience in that region of enterprise.
"I'm going to have a look at the bow-wows," he replied to Mrs. Bubb.
"Polly won't come with me; unkind of her, ain't it?"
"Mr. Gammon," remarked the young lady with a severe glance, "I'll
thank you not to be so familiar with my name. If you don't know any
better, let me tell you it's very ungentlemanly."
He rose, doffed his hat, bowed profoundly, and begged her pardon, in
acknowledgment of which Polly gave a toss of the head. Miss Sparkes
was neither beautiful nor stately, but her appearance had the sort of
distinction which corresponds to these qualities in the society of
Kennington Road; she filled an appreciable space in the eyes of Mr.
Gammon; her abundance of auburn hair, her high colour, her full lips
and excellent teeth, her finely-developed bust, and the freedom of her
poses (which always appeared to challenge admiration and anticipate
impertinence) had their effectiveness against a kitchen background, and
did not entirely lose it when she flitted about the stalls at the theatre
selling programmes. She was but two-and-twenty. Mr. Gammon had

reached his fortieth year. In general his tone of intimacy passed without
rebuke; at moments it had seemed not unacceptable. But Polly's temper
was notoriously uncertain, and her frankness never left people in doubt
as to the prevailing mood.
"Would you like a little ball-pup. Miss Sparkes?" he pursued in a
conciliatory tone. "A lovely little button-ear? There's a new litter say
the word, and I'll bring you one."
"Thank you. I don't care for dogs."
"No? But I'm sure you would if you kept one. Now, I have a cobby
little fox terrier--just the dog for a lady. No? Or a sweet little
black-and-tan--just turning fifteen pounds, with a lovely neck and
kissing spots on both cheeks. I wouldn't offer her to everybody."
"Very good of you," replied Miss Sparkes contemptuously.
"Why ain't you goin' to business?" asked the landlady.
"I'll tell you. We had a little difference of opinion yesterday. The
governors have been disappointed about a new line in the fancy leather;
it wouldn't go, and I told them the reason, but that wasn't good enough.
They hinted that it was my fault. Of course, I said nothing; I never do
in such cases. But--this morning I had breakfast in bed."
He spoke with eyes half closed and an odd vibration of the upper lip,
then broke into a laugh.
"You're an independent party, you are," said Mrs. Bubb, eyeing him
with admiration.
"It was always more than I could do to stand a hint of that kind. Not so
long ago I used to lose my temper, but I've taken pattern by Polly--I
mean Miss Sparkes--and now I do it quietly. That reminds me"--his
look changed to seriousness--"do you know anyone of the name of
Quodling?"
Polly--to whom he spoke--answered with a dry negative.
"Sure? Try and think if you ever heard your uncle speak of the name."
The girl's eyes fell as if, for some reason, she felt a momentary
embarrassment. It passed, but in replying she looked away from Mr.
Gammon.
"Quodling? Never heard it--why?"
"Why, there is a man called Quodling who might be your uncle's twin
brother--he looks so like him. I caught sight of him in the City, and
tracked him till I got to know his place of business and his name. For a

minute or two I thought I'd found your uncle; I really did. Gosh! I said
to myself, there's Clover at last! I wonder I didn't pin him like a bull
terrier. But, as you know, I'm cautious--that's how I've made my
fortune, Polly."
Miss Sparkes neither observed