Vain Fortune | Page 6

have been a-watching for ye for the last three
days, but ye didn't come out; missed yer this morning: 'ere it is;' and he
thrust a folded paper into Hubert's hand.
'What is this?'
'Don't yer know?' he said with a grin; 'Messrs. Tomkins & Co., Tailors,
writ--twenty-two pound odd.'
Hubert made no answer; he put the paper in his pocket, opened the door
quietly, stole up to his room, and sat down to think. The first thing to
do was to examine into his finances. It was alarming to find that he was
breaking into his last five-pound note. True that he was close on the
end of his play, and when it was finished he would be able to draw on
Ford. But a summons to appear in the county court could not fail to do
him immense injury. He had heard of avoiding service, but he knew
little of the law, and wondered what power the service of the writ gave
his creditor over him. His instinct was to escape--hide himself where
they would not be able to find him, and so obtain time to finish his play.
But he owed his landlady money, and his departure would have to be

clandestine. As he reflected on how many necessaries he might carry
away in a newspaper, he began to feel strangely like a criminal, and
while rolling up a couple of shirts, a few pairs of socks, and some
collars, he paused, his hands resting on the parcel. He did not seem to
know himself, and it was difficult to believe that he really intended to
leave the house in this disreputable fashion. Mechanically he continued
to add to his parcel, thinking all the while that he must go, otherwise
his play would never be written.
He had been working very well for the last few days, and now he saw
his way quite clearly; the inspiration he had been so long waiting for
had come at last, and he felt sure of his fourth act. At the same time he
wished to conduct himself honestly, even in this distressing situation.
Should he tell his landlady the truth? But the desire to realise his idea
was intolerable, and, yielding as if before an irresistible force, he tied
the parcel and prepared to go. At that moment he remembered that he
must leave a note for his landlady, and he was more than ever surprised
at the naturalness with which lying phrases came into his head. But
when it came to committing them to paper, he found he could not tell
an absolute lie, and he wrote a simple little note to the effect that he had
been called away on urgent business, and hoped to return in about a
week.
He descended the stairs softly. Mrs. Wilson's sitting-room opened on to
the passage; she might step out at any moment, and intercept his exit.
He had nearly reached the last flight when he remembered that he had
forgotten his manuscripts. His flesh turned cold, his heart stood still.
There was nothing for it but to ascend those creaking stairs again. His
already heavily encumbered pockets could not be persuaded to receive
more than a small portion of the manuscripts. He gathered them in his
hand, and prepared to redescend the perilous stairs. He walked as
lightly as possible, dreading that every creak would bring Mrs. Wilson
from her parlour. A few more steps, and he would be in the passage. A
smell of dust, sounds of children crying, children talking in the kitchen!
A few more steps, and, with his eyes on the parlour door, Hubert had
reached the rug at the foot of the stairs. He hastened along, the passage.
Mrs. Wilson was a moment too late. His hand was on the street-door

when she appeared at the door of her parlour.
'Mr. Price, I want to speak to you before you go out. There has----'
'I can't wait--running to catch a train. You'll find a letter on my table. It
will explain.'
Hubert slipped out, closed the door, and ran down the street, and it was
not until he had put two or three streets between him and Fitzroy Street
that he relaxed his pace, and could look behind him without dreading to
feel the hand of the 'writter' upon his shoulder.

III
Then he wandered, not knowing where he was going, still in the
sensation of his escape, a little amused, and yet with a shadow of fear
upon his soul, for he grew more and more conscious of the fact that he
was homeless, if not quite penniless. Suddenly he stopped walking.
Night was thickening in the street, and he had to decide where he
would sleep. He could not afford to pay more