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It was really terrible the way she took integrity for granted. To be sure his father had a reputation with the family. He remembered how Sir Joseph used to praise him to his face as the only honest dealer in London. But Sir Joseph was in the habit of buying books, not selling them. He rose and turned away, evading her innocent eyes. "I hope not. I'll see Mr. Pilkington about it.
Men went smash for want of will, for want of brains, for want of courage and capital. Above all for want of capital. As if any man need want capital so long as he had the pluck to borrow, that is to say, to buy it. So ran his dream. And Isaac believed in his dream, and what was more, he had made Mr. Richard Pilkington, Financial Agent, of Shaftesbury Avenue, believe in it.
Badly as Underhill behaved, she undoubtedly loved him. It would be the best possible thing that could happen if they could be brought together. It is my dearest wish to see Jill comfortably settled. I was half hoping that she might marry young Pilkington." "Good God! The Pilker!" "He is quite a nice young fellow," argued Uncle Chris.
Jill perceived with chagrin that she had been mistaken after all. It was the love-light. The tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles sprayed it all over her like a couple of searchlights. Otis Pilkington was looking exactly like a sheep, and she knew from past experience that that was the infallible sign. When young men looked like that, it was time to go. "I'm afraid I must be off," she said.
"Freddie got Mr Pilkington to put him in the chorus of the piece. He was rehearsing when I arrived at the theatre this morning, and having a terrible time with Mr Miller. And, later on, Mr Goble had a quarrel with the man who was playing the Englishman, and the man threw up his part and Mr Goble said he could get any one in the chorus to play it just as well, and he chose Freddie.
She would almost have patted this unfortunate young man's head, if she could have reached it. "I shouldn't worry about the piece," she said. "I've read somewhere or heard somewhere that it's the surest sign of a success when actors don't like a play." Mr Pilkington drew his chair an imperceptible inch nearer. "How sympathetic you are!"
Plainly this case is one of a grapple between the two Governments which have been and are now contending for the control of Ireland: the Government of the Queen of Ireland, which authorises Pilkington to take and farm a piece of land, and the Government of the National League, which forbids him to do this.
"I shall be safe. You will do your best for me." It was a statement, but he met it as if it had been a question. "I will indeed." He saw that it was in identifying his father with him that she left it to their honour. Dicky Pilkington did not belong to the aristocracy of finance. Indeed, finance had not in any form claimed him at the first.
For some seconds he stood looking at her; then, raising a stubby finger, he let his eye travel over the company, and seemed to be engrossed in some sort of mathematical calculation. "Thirteen," he said at length. "I make it thirteen." He rounded on Mr Pilkington. "I told you we were going to have a chorus of twelve." Mr Pilkington blushed and stumbled over his feet.
Mr Saltzburg swung round on the music-stool, a startled and apprehensive man, and nearly fell off it. The divine afflatus left him like air oozing from a punctured toy-balloon, and, like such a balloon, he seemed to grow suddenly limp and flat. He stared with fallen jaw at the new arrival. Two men had entered the room. One was the long Mr Pilkington.
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