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Updated: May 15, 2025
I know what it was that he wrote to Gafferson, I couldn't understand it when he first told me, but afterwards I saw through it, and it was merely a maudlin misapprehension of his. He'd got three or four things all mixed up together. You've never met your friend Tavender, I believe? You'd enjoy him at Hadlow House. He smells of rum a hundred yards off.
"Quite true," Thorpe assented, with patrician kindliness. "You need fear nothing of that sort here, Gafferson. We give you a free hand. Whatever you want, you have only to let us know. And you can't do things too well to please us." "Thank you, sir," said Gafferson, and really, as Thorpe thought about it, the interview seemed at an end.
The bitter thought of going back and giving him a half-crown rose in Thorpe's inventive mind, and he paused for an instant, his hand on the door-knob, to think it over. The gratuity would certainly put Gafferson in his place, but then the spirit in which it was offered would be wholly lost on his dull brain. And moreover, was it so certain that he would take it?
If there was discoverable in the man's manner or glance the least evidence of a malevolent intention he would know what to do. Ah, what was it that he would do? He could not say, beyond that it would be bad for Gafferson. He instinctively clenched the fists in the pockets of his jacket as he quickened his pace. Inside the congeries of glazed houses he was somewhat at sea.
It came to him that the person he had in mind was a fellow named Gafferson, who had kept an impoverished and down-at-the-heels sort of hotel and general store on the road from Belize to Boon Town, in British Honduras. Yes, it undoubtedly was Gafferson. What on earth was he doing here? Thorpe gave but brief consideration to this problem.
Yet it seemed to pass between the two men that Gafferson was surprised, and that there were abundant grounds for his surprise. "Why, yes," said Thorpe, with as much nonchalance as he could summon, "your master is one of my directors. I've taken a fancy to him, and I'm going to make a rich man of him.
Gafferson slowly rose from his slouching posture, surveyed the other while his faculties in leisurely fashion worked out the problem of recognition, aud then raised his finger to his cap-brim. "Good-evening, sir," he said. This gesture of deference was eloquently convincing. Thorpe, after an instant's alert scrutiny, smiled upon him.
Hell! You must remember that!" "That would have been the Chavica pertusum," said Gafferson, thoughtfully. He seemed to rouse himself to an interest in the story itself with some difficulty. "Yes I remember it," he admitted, finally. "I shouldn't have known you though. I'm the worst in the world about remembering people. It seems to be growing on me.
He could even recall a certain pity for the unbusiness-like scale of charges, and the lack of perception of opportunity, which characterized the bill in question. He remembered now his impression that Gafferson would never do any good. It would be interesting to know what kind of an impression he, in turn, had produced on his thriftless host.
"Show me the way to this breakfast that you've been serenading about." Out in the greenhouse, meanwhile, Gafferson continued to regard blankly the shrivelled, fatty leaves of the plant he had taken up. "Thorpe," he said aloud, as if addressing the tabid gloxinia "Thorpe yes I remember his initials J. S. Thorpe. Now, who's the man that told me about him? and what was it he told me?"
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