Wallace Edgar
The Duke in the Suburbs

He returned to England a pronounced misogynist with a slight limp.

Of his other ventures the Sea Gold Extraction Syndicate is the most notorious; his attempt to break the bank at Monte Carlo; his adventures as correspondent in the Balkans, these events are too recent to need particularizing.

Summing up his life, one might say that he had indeed a great future behind him.

As Tuppy himself would say, with a suspicion of tears in his eyes —

"My dear old bird! I never had a chance. I was saddled with rank an' bridled by circumstance. I'm a rumbustious error of judgment, a livin' mark of interrogation against the Wisdom of Providence!"

Let no man think that Tuppy was a fool; he was a poet. His play was in blank verse. Nor accuse him of improvidence: he was a philosopher who scorned the conventional obligations of life. He never paid his bills because he never had the money to pay. If he had possessed the means, he would have discharged his liabilities, for he was an honest man. It has been argued that in his circumstances it was wholly wrong to contract such liabilities, but Tuppy had an answer to such a twiddling splitting of hairs.

"Dear old feller," he was wont to say, "you talk like a foolish one. Must I forgo my last shreds of faith in human nature and the mysterious workin's of providence? Must I, because of temp'ray misfortune, refuse to recognize the illimitable possibilities of the future? I have three cousins each with pots of money, and one at least coopered up with asthma – it runs in the family – who might pop off at any minute."

Thus Tuppy justified his optimism.

If Tuppy had a failing it was his antipathy to his father's second wife. To the dowager he ascribed all his misfortunes, in every piece of bad luck he saw the dowager's hand.

She, poor soul, was a mild colourless lady with a weakness for bridge, who spent her life in a vain attempt to restrict her requirements to the circumscribed limits of a small annuity payable quarterly.

Tuppy rented a flat in Charles Street, W. He was at breakfast when Hal's letter arrived, and the young man's interesting communication might well have gone unread, for Tuppy's man was handling the morning post.

"Bill from Roderer's, m'lord."

"Chuck it in the fire."

"Letter from the lawyers about Colgate's account."

"Chuck it in the fire."

"Letter E.C. – no name on the back."

"Let me look at that, Bolt – um – typewritten – posted at 6.30 p.m. That's the time all bills are posted; chuck it in the fire."

"Better open it, m'lord – might be a director's fee."

Tuppy shook his head sadly.

"Not likely – still open it."

So Hal's proposal came before his lordship.

"Dear Tuppy," read the man.

"Who the devil 'Tuppies' me on a typewriter?" demanded the peer.

The servant turned to the signature.

"Hal Tailor," he read.

"Tanneur," corrected Tuppy, "he's the sort of cove who would Tuppy me on a typewriter – go on."

"DEAR TUPPY, —

"I've got a great scheme for you. The governor will let you have a house rent free – "

"I'll bet there's something wrong with the house," said Tuppy uncharitably.

" – if you don't mind living in Suburbia."

Tuppy sat bolt upright.

"Where," he asked.

"In Suburbia," repeated Bolt.

Tuppy rose and pushed back his chair.

"Bolt," he said solemnly, "it's a shade of odds on this being a scheme of dowager's to get me out of the country. Bolt – I'll not go. I'll see this Tanner man to the devil before I expatriate myself!"

"Beg pardon m'lord – "

But Tuppy stopped him with an uncompromising hand.

"It's no bet, Bolt. Here we are and here we'll stay. Blessed gracious!" he swore fiercely. "I would sooner pay my rent here!"

"I was going to say, m'lord," said the patient Bolt, "that he means the suburbs. Brixton an' Clapham an' Tootin' Bec an' that sort of thing."

Tuppy looked at him suspiciously.

"Where is Tooting Bec and that sort of thing?" he demanded.

"Near Wandsworth Prison," began Bolt.

"What! Then I won't go – I won't go, Bolt." Tuppy was considerably agitated. "It's a rotten idea; a house rent free, d'ye see, Bolt? it's this demmed Tanneur person's gentle hint … a paltry matter of three hundred pounds" – he paced the room furiously – "that's the scheme – the dowager is behind all this – oh woman, woman!"

He apostrophized the ceiling.

"Better finish the letter, m'lord."

"Chuck it in the fire, Bolt; chuck it in!"

Bolt quickly skimmed the letter and mastered its contents.

"It's in Brockley, m'lord," he said quickly.

"Chuck it in the fire – where's Brockley."

"On the main road to Folkestone," said the diplomatic Bolt.

"Main road to Folkestone is half-way to the Continent," said Tuppy explosively, "chuck it in the fire!"

"He said he'll allow you £500 for upkeep, m'lord."

"Eh."

Tuppy stopped in his stride.

"Five hundred," he hesitated, "that's a lot of money – there'll be some shootin'."

"Certain to be, m'lord."

"An' people?"

"Yes, m'lord."

Tuppy shook his head doubtingly.

"I've never heard of anybody livin' at Brockley – I knew a chap who lived at Harrogate, poor chap with one lung."

Tuppy thought.

"Five hundred and shooting – any fishin'?"

"The river's close by, m'lord – there's Greenwich – " Tuppy brightened up.

"Greenwich! of course, whitebait. Must be devilish amusin' fishin' for whitebait: you eat 'em with brown bread, you know, like oysters – "

He wrote to Hal that day, tentatively accepting the offer. Hal made an appointment for his lordly tenant, and fumed for three hours in his city office until Tuppy turned up.

"I say!" said the aggrieved Hal ostentatiously displaying his watch; "I say, Tuppy, old man, dash it! You said eleven and it's two! Hang it all!"

"Don't be peevish," begged the peer, "if I'd said two it would have been five."

"Time is money," complained Hal.

"Wise old bird," said Tuppy earnestly, "your interestin' and perfectly original apothegm merely elucidates my position. It's the habit of years to overdraw my account."

Hal who had no soul for subtle reasoning, plunged into the object of the meeting.

"The fact is, Tuppy," he said, leaning back in his padded chair, and cocking one leg on to the desk before him, "the fact is," he repeated, "there's a man, a Duke man, that the governor's anxious to run out of Brockley."

"Dear, dear!" commented Tuppy with polite interest.

"He's not one of our dukes: he's a French Duke from America, and he's been acting the goat and getting upsides with the governor and blithering generally – do you understand."

"Very pithily put," murmured Tuppy, "the whole situation is revealed in one illuminatin' flash."

"Very good," said Hal complacently. "Well, being in the suburbs – the Duke – and the suburbs being – "

"In the suburbs," suggested the helpful Tuppy as Hal paused for an illustration.

"Exactly … It stands to reason that a lot of these bounders have gone in for a sort of hero-worship. See?" Tuppy nodded slowly.

"The fact being," explained Hal, "that these suburban people are such absolute rotters and – and – "

"Pifflers?" suggested Tuppy.

"And pifflers and outsiders – that was the word I wanted – that they really don't know the genuine article from the spurious."

"Very natural," Tuppy agreed.

"So the governor and I (it was really my idea but you know what sort of chap the governor is for adopting other people's ideas as his own), we thought a good idea would be, to plant one of the genuine article right in their midst, so that they could see for themselves the sort of Johnny the other chap was."

"I see," said Tuppy thoughtfully, "sort of look on this picture-an'-look-on-that, compare the genuine goods before patronizin' rival establishments?"

"Tuppy," said Hal with solemn admiration, "you've got the whole thing in a nut-shell."

Tuppy picked up his hat and examined it intently.

"No bet," he said.

"Eh?"

Hal could hardly believe his ears.

"No bet," said Tuppy with decision, "awfully obliged to you for the offer and all that; but no bet."

"Why not – you get a house rent free; the governor furnishes it from Baring's, you get five hundred – "

"The five hundred is badly wanted," admitted Tuppy sadly, "an' if anything would tempt me, it would be five hundred of the brightest and best, but, Tanny, old chick, it can't be done."

"But why not?" protested Hal.

Tuppy was still examining his hat.

"Dignity, old friend," said Tuppy categorically. "House of Lords, family traditions, pride of birth, ancient lineage – the whole damn thing's wrong. Besides, it would get into the papers, 'Noble Lord caretaker in the suburbs: Tuppy's latest!' ugh!"

He shuddered.

"An' again," he went on. "Where is Brockley, what is Brockley, who has ever lived in Brockley: what part has Brockley played in the stirrin' story of our national life? Is there a Lord Brockley, or a Bishop of Brockley or a Lord of the Manor. Yes, there is a 'Lord of the Manor,'" he amended bitterly. "It's the name of a public-house. It's no go, dear old boy, it can't be done. I've looked it up, found it on a map, an' read about it in the A.B.C. Time Table. It's all back-gardens an' workman's trains, an' stipendiary magistrates, an' within walkin' distance of the County Court."

He shook his head so vigorously that his eyeglass fell out.

He replaced it carefully and pulled on his gloves.

"Now look here, Tuppy," said Hal impatiently, "for heaven's sake, don't be a raving ass!"

"Neatly put," commended Tuppy.

"You get this house free; you get the money – cash down; you get what you haven't got now – unlimited credit."

"Pardon, pardon," corrected Tuppy carefully, "my credit is exceptionally good, if the tradesmen only knew it; it's the rotten conservatism of English business methods that is paralysin' my budget, an' the socialistic tendencies of the tradin' classes that is interferin' with my economic adjustments. Tanny, old sparrow, it's no go."

He shook his head.

"No shootin' except cats; no fishin' except with worms – I particularly loath worms and spiders – no society."

"There is the Duke."

Tuppy had forgotten the Duke, and Hal's sarcasm was effective. "Duke?" Tuppy frowned. "The Duke – of course."

"Now what on earth is the Duke doin' there?" he burst forth in a tone of extreme annoyance, "an' what duke is it?"

"I've told you a dozen times," said the exasperated Hal, "he's an obscure foreign duke – "

"Name?"

"De Montvillier – quite an unknown – "

"Steady the Buffs," warned Tuppy, "de Montvillier? Best house in France. Tanny, my impulsive soul, the Montvilliers are devils of chaps. Obscure! Phew."

He looked at Hal reproachfully.

Then he shook his head for the fourteenth time.

"Five hundred pounds an' a back garden," he considered, "an' the Duke. He's pretty sure to play picquet. By the blessed shades of the original Smith, I've a good mind – "

He pondered sucking his index finger.

"I dare say we'd get on well together – "

"Look here, Tuppy!"

Hal was pardonably indignant.

"You don't think we want you to go down to Brockley to keep the Duke amused, do you? We want you to cut him out, make him look like a tallow candle by the side of a searchlight.

"Oh, I'll cut him out all right," said Tuppy with confidence, "there are few chaps who can beat me at piquet."

Hal protesting, Tuppy serenely indifferent to the requirement of the other contracting parties, but obligingly agreeing with all their conditions, it was arranged that from September 16 No. 62. should be for the nonce the London house of Baron Tupping of Clarilaw in the county of Wigsmouth.

IX

It would seem that up to this moment the feud that existed between the ducal establishment and the knight bachelors entourage was of a private character. That Brockley pursued an even and a passionless way unconscious of the titanic storm that was brewing in its midst. Outwardly there was no sign of the struggle. The milkmen came at dawn, the grocer called for orders, and the laundrymen brought home other people's collars, and shirts that looked like other people's shirts, but which proved on close examination to be the shirts that were sent, but slightly deckled about the edges. Brockley may have been mildly interested in the announcement that a new paper was to make its appearance, at least so much of Brockley as read the announcement.

Not to make any mystery of Brockley's attitude, I must say that Brockley really wasn't particularly interested in Itself. For one thing, It only slept at Brockley and spent week-ends there. The greater part of Its life was spent in the City and upon the admirable rolling stock of the South Eastern Railway. Except when It went down to the Broadway to change the library books, It seldom saw Itself.

In a word It had no esprit de corps, no local patriotism. It was neither proud of Itself, nor ashamed of Itself. Its politics were very high indeed: Imperialism was freely discussed at the local debating societies; there was a golf club and a constitutional club, and (very properly in Deptford) a Liberal club.

It had a church parade on the Hilly Fields, which ranked high as a fashionable function, for Sunday found a strolling procession of top hats, and dainty creations. And there were immaculate young men in creased trousers and purple socks; and hatless young men belonging to the no-hat brigade who strolled about in trios blissfully unconscious of the notice they attracted. Yes.

A careful, and I hope an impartial observer, I noted no extraordinary disposition on the part of Brockley either to participate in, or comment upon the Duke's quarrel until after the Aristocrat had made its first appearance.

A summary of the contents of that remarkable new-comer to the ranks of journalism might be instructive. I produce haphazard from the table of contents on page 4.

1. News of the Day.

2. Leading Article: "Change for a Tanner."

3. Dukes I have met: by Roderick B. Nape.

4. "Driven from Home" (a short story).

5. Landlordism and crime.

There were other articles, bearing unmistakable evidence of their authorship. Mr. Nape's translation from the sinister realms of crime to the more healthy atmosphere of journalism had not entirely divorced him from his first love. It changed his aspect certainly. From being a participant he became a spectator. Thus, "Cigarette Ash as a Clue," an article displaying considerable powers of observation and deduction, rivalled in style and interest the famous monograph on "Cigar Ash," by another criminal scientist. "Bloodhounds I have trained," by a famous detective, although published anonymously, may, in all probability, be traced to the same source.

"Jacko is riotin' across these fair pages," commented Hank, with the first number of the Aristocrat in his hands, "like a colony of Phylloxera across a vineyard."

The Duke nodded.

"We've got to have something to fill the space," said the Duke philosophically, "if we can't get advertisements."

Hank blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling and pondered.

"I anticipate trouble," he said.

"From the stainless knight?"

"From the stainless knight," said Hank. "Say, Duke, these effete European institutions do surely impress me."

He paused.

"Here's a duke," mused Hank, "a real duke. Not a hand-me-down duke with a saggin' collar, not a made-to-measure-in-ten-minutes duke, but a proper bespoke duke, cut from patterns. Here's a knight with golden spurs, rather stout but otherwise knightly, especially about the coat of arms: here's a lord – Baron This and That of This-Shire, walked straight from his baronial castle in Regent Street to harry the marshes of Brockley – "

The Duke sat up.

"Now," he said with deliberate politeness, "now that you have thoroughly mystified the audience, are you offering a prize for the solution or are you holding it over till the next number? The Duke with his admirable qualities, I instantly recognize; the knight is apparent, in spite of his spurs. Who is the baron? Is he allegorical or illustrative or a figure of speech?"

"He's 62," said Hank.

The Duke's face bore a look of patient resignation.

"There must be a prize offered," he reflected aloud.

"In fact," elucidated Hank, "62's a real baron – a lord – His Nibs."

"The deuce he is!" the Duke was alert. "Quit fooling, Hank. Our new neighbour – "

"Is Baron Tupping of Tupping," said Hank solemnly, "a perfect English gentleman – I heard him cussin' in the back garden."

"Tuppy!"

The Duke whooped his delight.

He grabbed Hank's arm and the pair raced through the conservatory into the garden.

Somebody next door was annoyed, and his voice rose plaintively.

"Bring the Sacred Ladder," ordered the Duke.

In the middle of the garden stood Tuppy, monocle in eye, hat tilted to the back of his head, and a cigarette drooping feebly, his face expressive of despair.

The Duke hailed him.

"Tuppy, you beggar."

Tuppy looked up; his face lit joyfully.

"Monty, by the High Heavens!" he exclaimed. Then he smacked his forehead, "Monty – Montvillier – you ain't my Duke are you?"

"I'm your Duke – your liege Duke of life and limb and earthly regard – "

"Half a mo," said the vulgarly practical Tuppy, "I'm comin' over."

He came over the wall, silk hat awry, joyously dusty.

He all but fell upon the Duke's neck.

"My dear old bird," he cried ecstatically, "of all the wonderful coincidences that ever made a novelist's fortune, this is the wonderfullest – this is the exalted top-notcher. If the dowager knew, she'd go ravin' mad. I've a jolly good mind to write an' tell her."

Arm in arm they passed into the house.

That night:

Tuppy wrote to Tummy Clare – his one confidant.

"Tummy, old friend," the letter ran, "the unfailing mystery of solar phenomena, the unswerving accuracy of the comet's flight, the ordered perambulations of the whole damn planetary system, all these pale to insignificance beside the phenomena of human movement. In other words, the trick some chaps have of turning up in unexpected places … Monty! You remember the beggar, in your house at Eton … didn't know he was a duke … riotous and profitable night … piquet … I rubiconed him twice, piqued, re-piqued, capotted and … I held fourteen aces six times in succession … won about ten pounds…"

That night:

"I think," said Sir Harry rubbing his hands cheerfully, "that we have said, 'Check to the Duke person.'"

"Tuppy's arrived?" asked Hal.

"Yes; Smith put him into the house, and Rake is putting him into the paper. I rather fancy that if Tuppy plays his cards well, he will score heavily."

As we have seen, Tuppy played his cards very well, and indeed did score heavily.

X

"You will like Tuppy," said the Duke earnestly.

To the scandal of the neighbourhood, he insisted upon conducting his courtship in the manner it began, and he addressed Alicia from the top platform of the Sacred Ladder.

"Tuppy has faults," the Duke continued, "but so have we all, or nearly all," he corrected modestly. "As poor old Tuppy says, life's song is played by a pianolo. A thousand ancestors have helped to perforate the roll and the tune is inevitable."

"A philosopher," said Alicia drily.

"Tuppy complains bitterly about the unreasonableness of a world that expects cantatas from the roll in which generations of Tuppings have been punching comic songs. You'll like Tuppy."

"In spite of his mission?" she smiled.

"To cut me out?" The Duke shook his head tolerantly.

"Poor old chap, he recognizes the hopelessness of that. No; Tuppy is not that kind. I say!" he said enthusiastically. "There's Tuppy in his garden."

"Monty!" said a voice.

"That's him," said the Duke ungrammatically, but with an air of proprietorship.

"Monty!" said the voice again, "give me a leg up, dear boy – I'm comin' over for a cocktail."

Miss Alicia Terrill raised her eyebrows.

"He means a cup of tea," said the Duke hastily.

"I should like to meet Tuppy," said Alicia calmly, "whilst you are giving him a l – whilst you are rendering him the necessary assistance I will find the ladder."

Tuppy scrambling over the wall met the scrutiny of a pair of grey eyes, and balanced himself with difficulty. When I say he wore his oldest suit, that he had pale green socks and a pair of old slippers, and that owing to his exertions his trouser leg was rucked up to display his sock-suspenders, you will realize that but for his noble breeding Tuppy would have been embarrassed, and would have made a precipitate and undignified retreat.

But Tuppy was above all things self-possessed.

He paused astride the wall.

"Let me introduce Lord Tupping," said the Duke gravely.

Tuppy held on to the wall with one hand and raised his cap with the other.

"Delighted," he said politely.

Alicia averted her eyes from the pale green socks with the scarlet suspenders and addressed him at a tangent.

"Mother will be glad to see Lord Tupping," she said to the Duke. Somehow she did not consider it quite maidenly to speak direct to the suspenders.

"Mother will be glad to see you," repeated the Duke primly.

"And I," said Tuppy gracefully, "shall consider it an honour to wait upon your lady mother: it would seem to me that no greater obligation – and it is typical of the blightin' decadence of our language that a word meanin' 'a sympathetic bindin'' should be degraded to the sordid service of bills at three months – than the respect an' reverence due to the maternal element in our midst. The spirit of chivalry – "

At this point in the labour of his oratory Tupping lost his balance and fell into the Duke's arms.

He would have continued his speech but for the arrival of the Duke's discreet servant.

"Yes?" said the Duke inquiringly.

"Two gentlemen to see you, m'lord."

"Two – who are they."

"I don't know, m'lord – they asked for your lordship – "

"Yes?"

"One I thought smelt of drink, and the other was a little furtive."

Tuppy laid his hand upon the Duke's arm.

"Monty, dear boy," he said solemnly, "I know 'em."

"You."

"Me," said Tuppy wagging his head wisely, "One smellin' of drink an' the other sneakin' round the corner – brokers."