Part 6 (1/2)

”No matter, sir, no matter. I found my way up, as you perceive. The important, I may say the essential, fact is that I _am_ here.”

”Quite so,” said Horace, ”and may I ask what brought you?”

”What brought----” The stranger's eyes grew fish-like for the moment.

”Allow me, I--I shall come to that--in good time. I am still a little--as you can see.” He glanced round the room. ”You are, I think, an architect, Mr. ah--Mr. um----?”

”Ventimore is my name,” said Horace, ”and I _am_ an architect.”

”Ventimore, to be sure!” he put his hand in his pocket and produced a card: ”Yes, it's all quite correct: I see I have the name here. And an architect, Mr. Ventimore, so I--I am given to understand, of immense ability.”

”I'm afraid I can't claim to be that,” said Horace, ”but I may call myself fairly competent.”

”Competent? Why, of _course_ you're competent. Do you suppose, sir, that I, a practical business man, should come to any one who was _not_ competent?” he said, with exactly the air of a man trying to convince himself--against his own judgment--that he was acting with the utmost prudence.

”Am I to understand that some one has been good enough to recommend me to you?” inquired Horace.

”Certainly not, sir, certainly not. _I_ need no recommendation but my own judgment. I--ah--have a tolerable acquaintance with all that is going on in the art world, and I have come to the conclusion, Mr.--eh--ah--Ventimore, I repeat, the deliberate and una.s.sisted conclusion, that you are the one man living who can do what I want.”

”Delighted to hear it,” said Horace, genuinely gratified. ”When did you see any of my designs?”

”Never mind, sir. I don't decide without very good grounds. It doesn't take me long to make up my mind, and when my mind is made up, I act, sir, I act. And, to come to the point, I have a small commission--unworthy, I am quite aware, of your--ah--distinguished talent--which I should like to put in your hands.”

”Is _he_ going to ask me to attend a sale for him?” thought Horace. ”I'm hanged if I do.”

”I'm rather busy at present,” he said dubiously, ”as you may see. I'm not sure whether----”

”I'll put the matter in a nutsh.e.l.l, sir--in a nutsh.e.l.l. My name is Wackerbath, Samuel Wackerbath--tolerably well known, if I may say so, in City circles.” Horace, of course, concealed the fact that his visitor's name and fame were unfamiliar to him. ”I've lately bought a few acres on the Hamps.h.i.+re border, near the house I'm living in just now; and I've been thinking--as I was saying to a friend only just now, as we were crossing Westminster Bridge--I've been thinking of building myself a little place there, just a humble, unpretentious home, where I could run down for the weekend and entertain a friend or two in a quiet way, and perhaps live some part of the year. Hitherto I've rented places as I wanted 'em--old family seats and ancestral mansions and so forth: very nice in their way, but I want to feel under a roof of my own. I want to surround myself with the simple comforts, the--ah--una.s.suming elegance of an English country home. And you're the man--I feel more convinced of it with every word you say--you're the man to do the job in style--ah--to execute the work as it should be done.”

Here was the long-wished-for client at last! And it was satisfactory to feel that he had arrived in the most ordinary and commonplace course, for no one could look at Mr. Samuel Wackerbath and believe for a moment that he was capable of floating through an upper window; he was not in the least that kind of person.

”I shall be happy to do my best,” said Horace, with a calmness that surprised himself. ”Could you give me some idea of the amount you are prepared to spend?”

”Well, I'm no Croesus--though I won't say I'm a pauper precisely--and, as I remarked before, I prefer comfort to splendour. I don't think I should be justified in going beyond--well, say sixty thousand.”

”Sixty thousand!” exclaimed Horace, who had expected about a tenth of that sum. ”Oh, not _more_ than sixty thousand? I see.”

”I mean, on the house itself,” explained Mr. Wackerbath; ”there will be outbuildings, lodges, cottages, and so forth, and then some of the rooms I should want specially decorated. Altogether, before we are finished, it may work out at about a hundred thousand. I take it that, with such a margin, you could--ah--run me up something that in a modest way would take the s.h.i.+ne out of--I mean to say eclipse--anything in the adjoining counties?”

”I certainly think,” said Horace, ”that for such a sum as that I can undertake that you shall have a home which will satisfy you.” And he proceeded to put the usual questions as to site, soil, available building materials, the accommodation that would be required, and so on.

”You're young, sir,” said Mr. Wackerbath, at the end of the interview, ”but I perceive you are up to all the tricks of the--I _should_ say, versed in the _minutiae_ of your profession. You would like to run down and look at the ground, eh? Well, that's only reasonable; and my wife and daughters will want to have _their_ say in the matter--no getting on without pleasing the ladies, hey? Now, let me see. To-morrow's Sunday.

Why not come down by the 8.45 a.m. to Lipsfield? I'll have a trap, or a brougham and pair, or something, waiting for you--take you over the ground myself, bring you back to lunch with us at Oriel Court, and talk the whole thing thoroughly over. Then we'll send you up to town in the evening, and you can start work the first thing on Monday. That suit you? Very well, then. We'll expect you to-morrow.”

With this Mr. Wackerbath departed, leaving Horace, as may be imagined, absolutely overwhelmed by the suddenness and completeness of his good fortune. He was no longer one of the unemployed: he had work to do, and, better still, work that would interest him, give him all the scope and opportunity he could wish for. With a client who seemed tractable, and to whom money was clearly no object, he might carry out some of his most ambitious ideas.

Moreover, he would now be in a position to speak to Sylvia's father without fear of a repulse. His commission on 60,000 would be 3,000, and that on the decorations and other work at least as much again--probably more. In a year he could marry without imprudence; in two or three years he might be making a handsome income, for he felt confident that, with such a start, he would soon have as much work as he could undertake.

He was ashamed of himself for ever having lost heart. What were the last few years of weary waiting but probation and preparation for this splendid chance, which had come just when he really needed it, and in the most simple and natural manner?