The Yellow God | Page 7

the
whole. I am not sure that you bear this sufficiently in mind, my dear
Vernon," he added with slow emphasis.
His partner moved quickly; it might almost have been said that he
shivered, though whether the movement, or the shiver, was produced
by the argument of joint and several liability or by the familiarity of the
"my dear Vernon," remains uncertain. Perhaps it was the latter, since
although the elder man was a baronet and the younger only a retired

Major of Engineers, the gulf between them, as any one of discernment
could see, was wide. They were born, lived, and moved in different
spheres unbridged by any common element or impulse.
"I think that I do bear it in mind, especially of late, Sir Robert,"
answered Alan Vernon slowly.
His partner threw a searching glance on him, for he felt that there was
meaning in the words, but only said:
"That's all right. My motor is outside and will take you to Fleet Street
in no time. Meanwhile you might tell them to telephone that you are
coming, and perhaps you will just look in when you get back. I haven't
got to go to the House to-night, so shall be here till dinner time, and so,
I think, will your cousin Haswell. Muzzle that old bulldog, Jackson,
somehow. No doubt he has his price like the rest of them, in meal or
malt, and you needn't stick at the figure. We don't want him hanging on
our throat for the next week or two."
Ten minutes later the splendid, two-thousand guinea motor brougham
drew up at the offices of the /Judge/ and the obsequious motor-footman
bowed Major Vernon through its rather grimy doorway. Within, a small
boy in a kind of box asked his business, and when he heard his name,
said that the "Guvnor" had sent down word that he was go up at once--
third floor, first to the right and second to the left. So up he went, and
when he reached the indicated locality was taken possession of by a
worried-looking clerk who had evidently been waiting for him, and
almost thrust through a door to find himself in a big, worn, untidy room.
At a huge desk in this room sat an elderly man, also big, worn, and
untidy-looking, who waved a long slip of galley-proof in his hand, and
was engaged in scolding a sub-editor.
"Who is that?" he said, wheeling round. "I'm busy, can't see anyone."
"I beg your pardon," answered the Major with humility, "your people
told me to come up. My name is Alan Vernon."
"Oh! I remember. Sit down for a moment, will you, and--Mr. Thomas,

oblige me by taking away this rot and rewriting it entirely in the sense I
have outlined."
Mr. Thomas snatched his rejected copy and vanished through another
door, whereon his chief remarked in an audible voice:
"That man is a perfect fool. Lucky I thought to look at his stuff. Well,
he is no worse than the rest, in this weary world," and he burst into a
hearty laugh and swung his chair round, adding, "Now then, Alan, what
is it? I have a quarter of an hour at your service. Why, bless me! I was
forgetting that it's more than a dozen years since we met; you were still
a boy then, and now you have left the army with a D.S.O. and gratuity,
and turned financier, which I think wouldn't have pleased your old
father. Come, sit down here and let us talk."
"I didn't leave the army, Mr. Jackson," answered his visitor; "it left me;
I was invalided out. They said I should never get my health back after
that last go of fever, but I did."
"Ah! bad luck, very bad luck, just at the beginning of what should have
been a big career, for I know they thought highly of you at the War
Office, that is, if they can think. Well, you have grown into a
fine-looking fellow, like your father, very, and someone else too," and
he sighed, running his fingers through his grizzled hair. "But you don't
remember her; she was before your time. Now let us get to business;
there's no time for reminiscences in this office. What is it, Alan, for like
other people I suppose that you want something?"
"It is about that Sahara flotation, Mr. Jackson," he began rather
doubtfully.
The old editor's face darkened. "The Sahara flotation! That
accursed----" and he ceased abruptly. "What have you, of all people in
the world, got to do with it? Oh! I remember. Someone told me that
you had gone into partnership with Aylward the company promoter,
and that little beast, Champers-Haswell, who really is the clever one.
Well, set it out, set