CHAPTER VII

MR. HEDDERWICK'S FIRST ADVENTURE

"Alicia, my dear," said Robert Hedderwick to his wife, as he was smoking

after dinner, "shall we talk about our annual holiday?"

His wife, a determined lady of forty-five--six years younger than

he,--put down her knitting.

"By all means, Robert, if you wish. But I do not know what there is to

discuss. It is not yet July and we never go away till August, so there

is plenty of time."

"But why should we not go away in July this year?" he suggested,

somewhat diffidently.

"Why should we?"

"Well ... it would be a change...."

"A most undesirable and unnecessary change," said his wife decisively,

picking up her knitting again. "August is the hottest month, and August

in London would be unbearable. Besides, change for the mere sake of

change is childish. You might as well suggest our going somewhere else

than Cromer."

"Well ... er ..." said Mr. Hedderwick nervously, "why shouldn't we?

Cromer is a charming place--charming; but we have been there twelve

years running. Don't you think----"

"Cromer suits my health. And yours," Alicia added after a moment's

thought. "And mother would be disappointed if we didn't go. You don't

seem to have thought of that."

Her husband opened his mouth to say "I have, my dear," but changed the

words to "Oh ... ah ... yes ... of course." Then he got up, walked to

the window in rather an aimless fashion, and stared out. Presently he

began to whistle.

"Please do not whistle, Robert," said Alicia reprovingly. "You know I

can not endure it."

"I beg your pardon," said Robert submissively. "I forgot."

"You want something to do," observed his wife, as one who gives an

order. "You've done nothing but smoke since dinner. Why don't you go and

dig in the garden?"

"I--I don't feel like gardening."

"Or read. Where is your book that----"

"I--I don't feel like reading."

"The truth is, you don't know what you _do_ want," said Alicia firmly.

"You men are just like children when you haven't got a definite task.

Until you retired from the business you were always perfectly happy. Now

that your days are free you don't know what to do with yourself. Here!

come and hold my wool for me!"

She laid her knitting down on the table and picked up a skein of white

wool that lay near. Her husband, with a resigned expression, mutely held

up his hands. The wool was placed over them, and then, after strict

injunctions not to stir, or get tangled, or drop an end, or breathe too

audibly, Mrs. Hedderwick began to wind it into a ball.

As the uncongenial task went on, Robert reflected disconsolately that

his bid for freedom had not met with much success. He had had hopes that

this year at least Alicia would have consented to go to some other place

for their holiday. He was tired of Cromer and wanted a change. Also, he

was not enthusiastic for another holiday spent under the wing of

Alicia's mother, Mrs. Ainsley. She was too like her--he checked the

heretical thought and substituted "too determined"--to make him anxious

to renew her acquaintance more often than he was obliged. "Obliged...."

The word buzzed unpleasantly in the brain. His prophetic instinct told

him that he would be obliged to yield to Alicia's wishes. If he ventured

to suggest once more that Eastbourne or Brighton might be preferable to

Cromer, he knew too well what would happen. Alicia would say firmly,

"No, Robert; you know We settled on Cromer, and it would be silly to

change Our minds now." Supposing he dared greatly and put his foot

down; supposing he said, "I will _not_ go there: I will go to Brighton!"

what would happen? He knew perfectly well that he would never have the

courage to be so rebellious as all that; but he kept playing with the

notion as one plays with temptation in daily life. If only he dared! He

might say, "I will _not_, Alicia!" and then bolt from the house. It

would be rather fun, an adventure, to run away ... all by himself. _By

himself!_ what a holiday that would be! He laughed aloud at the thought.

"I see nothing amusing in the wool being tangled," said Alicia's voice

reprovingly, and he jumped in alarm.

"I was not laughing at that, my dear," he said appeasingly. "I was

thinking of something else."

Alicia sniffed, but maintained a fortunate silence. When she finished

she said, "I am going out to take the sewing meeting for an hour or so.

Will you be in?"

"Yes, my dear," said Robert cheerfully, and a few minutes later he heard

the front door close.

Left to himself, he walked to the window and resumed his idle staring.

Remembering that now he was a free agent he began to whistle again, a

trifle mournfully, for he was meditating on life. This, for the average

man, as a rule, begets melancholy--particularly if it is his own life he

reflects on.

Robert Hedderwick had been chief cashier in a big store for more than

fifteen years. He had earned two hundred and fifty pounds a year (with

an occasional bonus) for some time, and on the whole he had enjoyed his

work. At least it had always been interesting, and had given him that

most necessary of all things--regular and definite occupation. And

though at times he used to wish he was a partner or had more prospects,

still he had been contented. Then at the age of fifty an uncle had died

and left him a handsome competence. Alicia at once had made him forswear

the office and set up as a gentleman of leisure. Not that he had been

unwilling to obey. At first he had welcomed the relief from thraldom. It

was a luxury to be able to lie in bed a little longer, if he wished,

without feeling "I must get up _now_, or I shall miss the eight-fifty."

It was a luxury to sit at ease in his strip of garden on a fine morning

and read the newspaper. It was not unpleasant to think that his former

colleagues were saying, "Lucky chap, Hedderwick!" what time they were

under the eyes of their master.

But these and similar luxuries palled after a time, and he began to

grow, not exactly discontented, but restless and vaguely unhappy. He had

no hobbies, save reading, and none but the ardent student wishes to read

throughout the day. He felt himself a little old to begin photography,

stamp-collecting or wood-carving; still, recognizing the need of some

occupation, he tried to do a little gardening. The strip of land at the

back of the house was small, being some thirty yards long by twenty

broad. Two-thirds of this was grass, which he mowed conscientiously once

a week: the rest was given up to flowers. As Robert knew nothing of

flowers, he employed a man to do what was necessary in the way of

digging and planting. When the serious business of horticulture was

finished he would employ himself in cutting off dying blossoms,

uprooting weeds and watering. But the sum total of his labor in the

little plot did not amount to more than four or five hours a week.

His wife was an active--too active for the vicar's wife--supporter of

Saint Frideswide's Church, and when her husband became one of the

leisured classes she did her utmost to spur him to a like interest. He

obeyed passively, became a sidesman, and in due course vicar's warden.

He was not, to use the vicar's words, "a keen churchman," being on the

whole an optimistic pragmatist rather than a devotee of dogma. But he

was a good man, cheerful, kindly, with some harmless vanities. He liked,

for example, to take the alms-bag round and lead the procession of

collectors. He would complain of the trouble entailed by the

organization of the annual treat or the parish tea, but secretly he

appreciated the occupation and the importance thereof. These things

helped to fill a portion of a vacant existence, but they were not

enough. He felt that he was rusting.

This evening "melancholy marked him for her own." It had been a day more

vacant of incident than usual, and he was almost bad-tempered. The

thought of the recent defeat by Alicia rankled, and he turned over in

his mind schemes by which he could outwit her and procure a holiday in

Brighton. "It's all very well," he grumbled to himself, "but I don't see

why I should continually knuckle under. I've been too easy-going. It's

time things were put on a different footing. I wonder if ..."

He was still wondering when Alicia returned, and the solution of his

difficulties was not yet. Alicia, who was in an aggressive good-humor,

commented on his dulness. Robert replied in a tone that she

characterized as "snappy"; she also made the inevitable suggestion that

he had eaten something that disagreed with him.

"_Good lord!_" said Robert, goaded at last beyond caution and fear. "Who

wouldn't be snappy, doing nothing half the day, and the other half doing

what he doesn't like? Nothing ever happens here--it's like being a fly

buzzing in a tumbler. He can't get out, though he can see all sorts of

interesting things through the glass."

"You ought to be thankful for your many mercies," said his wife coldly:

she knew the treatment for the case. "Instead of grumbling like a child,

you had better go to bed. That is, if you have finished supper."

At that moment Mr. Hedderwick had one of the strongest temptations of a

blameless life. He yearned for the courage to say, "Oh, damn the

supper!" but broke into a perspiration at the mere thought. Instead, he

had the grace to be astonished at his mood and weakly answered, "I think

I shall, my dear." As he opened the door his helpmeet suggested he

should not forget at his private devotions to ask for a contented

spirit. Rebellion returned, and he banged the door.

He soon forgot his troubles in sleep; in fact, he did not even hear his

wife come to bed. He slept dreamlessly, despite the suggestion that he

had committed an error in diet, until a quarter past one. Then he awoke

quite suddenly, with a dim idea that something was happening. He sat

up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and listened: no, there seemed to be

nothing ... everything was still: only the regular breathing of his wife,

fast asleep, was to be heard. "I must have been dreaming," he thought,

preparing to lie down again. And then he heard a subdued, but distinct,

noise down-stairs.

Robert experienced a chill that crept, via the spine and nape, to his

brain. The short hairs on the back of his head felt as if they had begun

to bristle. A ghostly cowardice flooded his being, penetrating to the

uttermost recesses. "Good lord!" he thought, "it must be a burglar!" His

first instinct was to lie down and draw the clothes over his head; his

second, to jab his wife sharply in the ribs: company in the imminent

peril was his prime necessity. Both these base impulses he controlled.

Though elderly, he felt himself still a man; and despite the fact that

he had no audience, no public opinion to make heroism easy, he realized

that his part must be played alone at all costs.

As he came to this resolve his natural apprehension subsided: he felt

calmer, more collected. Sitting up in bed, he listened with strained

ears. For a moment there was silence; then came the quiet but distinct

opening of a door below. His misgivings had a solid foundation; and with

a dismal determination Robert cautiously got out of bed.

Why he did not wake his wife he hardly knew. Perhaps it was chivalry,

perhaps a subconscious sense that she might spoil the fun. Yes, that was

the odd phrase that formed in his mind once the temporary panic was

subdued. With a wry smile--remembering his previous complaints of a

vacant life and his thirst for adventures--Robert tiptoed cautiously to

the dressing-table. Here he made a swift and partial toilet. He slipped

on a pair of trousers, a coat and some boots--for in the midst of his

apprehensions he had a foolish idea that the burglar might tread on his

toes. Then without noise he opened the top right-hand corner drawer,

where he kept his collars and handkerchiefs, and took out a small

revolver. As he handled the stock he felt his new manhood glowing like

champagne in every artery. Life! He had begun to live.

How did it happen that a harmless churchwarden and retired cashier

possessed so lethal a weapon? Simply, it was due to a mixture of

precaution and romanticism. He had always thought a burglar _might_

come, and deep in his composition lay a vein of adventure. It was fine

to have a pistol--a loaded pistol--even though never used. It gave a

sense of power and desperation. He sometimes fondled it and dreamed of

defending himself against a marauder or a mob. But such demonstrations

took place only when his wife was out.

Robert took the pistol in an unshaking hand and conveyed himself quietly

from the room. He was not in the least frightened now; indeed he was

beginning to enjoy this new sense of being master of the situation.

Quietly he crept down-stairs, as close to the wall as possible to

prevent creaking. At the foot of the stairs he stood still and

listened.... There was no sound. But from the keyhole of the

drawing-room came a little pencil of light. Behind the door was--what?

Robert cocked the pistol, opened the door, and with a little gasp of

triumph said, "Hands up!"