The Reverberator Part 11

"About some kinds certainly. You know a lot of people it's difficult to get at unless one takes some extraordinary measures, as you've done."

"What do you mean? What measures have I done?"

"Well, THEY have--to get right hold of you--and its the same thing.

Pouncing on you, to secure you first--I call that energetic, and don't you think I ought to know?" smiled Mr. Flack with much meaning. "I thought _I_ was energetic, but they got in ahead of me. They're a society apart, and they must be very curious."

"Yes, they're very curious," Francie admitted with a resigned sigh. Then she said: "Do you want to put them in the paper?"

George Flack cast about--the air of the question was so candid, suggested so complete an exemption From prejudice. "Oh I'm very careful about what I put in the paper. I want everything, as I told you; Don't you remember the sketch I gave you of my ideals? But I want it in the right way and of the right brand. If I can't get it in the shape I like it I don't want it at all; first-rate first-hand information, straight from the tap, is what I'm after. I don't want to hear what some one or other thinks that some one or other was told that some one or other believed or said; and above all I don't want to print it. There's plenty of that flowing in, and the best part of the job's to keep it out.

People just yearn to come in; they make love to me for it all over the place; there's the biggest crowd at the door. But I say to them: 'You've got to do something first, then I'll see; or at any rate you've got to BE something!'"

"We sometimes see the Reverberator. You've some fine pieces," Francie humanely replied.

"Sometimes only? Don't they send it to the old gentleman--the weekly edition? I thought I had fixed that," said George Flack.

"I don't know; it's usually lying round. But Delia reads it more than I; she reads pieces aloud. I like to read books; I read as many as I can."

"Well, it's all literature," said Mr. Flack; "it's all the press, the great inst.i.tution of our time. Some of the finest books have come out first in the papers. It's the history of the age."

"I see you've got the same aspirations," Francie remarked kindly.

"The same aspirations?"

"Those you told me about that day at Saint-Germain."

"Oh I keep forgetting that I ever broke out to you that way.

Everything's so changed."

"Are you the proprietor of the paper now?" the girl went on, determined not to catch this sentimental echo.

"What do you care? It wouldn't even be delicate in me to tell you; for I DO remember the way you said you'd try and get your father to help me.

Don't say you've forgotten it, because you almost made me cry. Anyway, that isn't the sort of help I want now and it wasn't the sort of help I meant to ask you for then. I want sympathy and interest; I want some one to say to me once in a while 'Keep up your old heart, Mr. Flack; you'll come out all right.' You see I'm a working-man and I don't pretend to be anything else," Francie's companion went on. "I don't live on the acc.u.mulations of my ancestors. What I have I earn--what I am I've fought for: I'm a real old travailleur, as they say here. I rejoice in it, but there's one dark spot in it all the same."

"And what's that?" Francie decided not quite at once to ask.

"That it makes you ashamed of me."

"Oh how can you say?" And she got up as if a sense of oppression, of vague discomfort, had come over her. Her visitor troubled such peace as she had lately arrived at.

"You wouldn't be ashamed to go round with me?"

"Round where?"

"Well, anywhere: just to have one more walk. The very last." George Flack had got up too and stood there looking at her with his bright eyes, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. As she hesitated he continued: "Then I'm not such a friend after all."

She rested her eyes a moment on the carpet; then raising them: "Where would you like to go?"

"You could render me a service--a real service--without any inconvenience probably to yourself. Isn't your portrait finished?"

"Yes, but he won't give it up."

"Who won't give it up?"

"Why Mr. Waterlow. He wants to keep it near him to look at it in case he should take a fancy to change it. But I hope he won't change it--it's so lovely as it is!" Francie made a mild joke of saying.

"I hear it's magnificent and I want to see it," said George Flack.

"Then why don't you go?"

"I'll go if you'll take me; that's the service you can render me."

"Why I thought you went everywhere--into the palaces of kings!" Francie cried.

"I go where I'm welcome, not where I ain't. I don't want to push into that studio alone; he doesn't want me round. Oh you needn't protest,"

the young man went on; "if a fellow's made sensitive he has got to stay so. I feel those things in the shade of a tone of voice. He doesn't like newspaper-men. Some people don't, you know. I ought to tell you that frankly."

Francie considered again, but looking this time at her visitor. "Why if it hadn't been for you "--I'm afraid she said "hadn't have been"--"I'd never have sat to him."

Mr. Flack smiled at her in silence for a little. "If it hadn't been for me I think you'd never have met your future husband."

"Perhaps not," said Francie; and suddenly she blushed red, rather to her companion's surprise.

"I only say that to remind you that after all I've a right to ask you to show me this one little favour. Let me drive with you to-morrow, or next day or any day, to the Avenue de Villiers, and I shall regard myself as amply repaid. With you I shan't be afraid to go in, for you've a right to take any one you like to see your picture. That's the rule here."

"Oh the day you're afraid, Mr. Flack--!" Francie laughed without fear.

She had been much struck by his reminder of what they all owed him; for he truly had been their initiator, the instrument, under providence, that had opened a great new interest to them, and as she was more listless about almost anything than at the sight of a person wronged she winced at his describing himself as disavowed or made light of after the prize was gained. Her mind had not lingered on her personal indebtedness to him, for it was not in the nature of her mind to linger; but at present she was glad to spring quickly, at the first word, into the att.i.tude of acknowledgement. It had the effect of simplification after too multiplied an appeal--it brought up her spirits.

"Of course I must be quite square with you," the young man said in a tone that struck her as "higher," somehow, than any she had ever heard him use. "If I want to see the picture it's because I want to write about it. The whole thing will go bang into the Reverberator. You must understand that in advance. I wouldn't write about it without seeing it.

We don't DO that"--and Mr. Flack appeared to speak proudly again for his organ.

"J'espere bien!" said Francie, who was getting on famously with her French. "Of course if you praise him Mr. Waterlow will like it."

"I don't know that he cares for my praise and I don't care much whether HE likes it or not. For you to like it's the princ.i.p.al thing--we must do with that."

"Oh I shall be awfully proud."

"I shall speak of you personally--I shall say you're the prettiest girl that has ever come over."

"You may say what you like," Francie returned. "It will be immense fun to be in the newspapers. Come for me at this hour day after to-morrow."

"You're too kind," said George Flack, taking up his hat. He smoothed it down a moment with his glove; then he said: "I wonder if you'll mind our going alone?"

"Alone?"

"I mean just you and me."

"Oh don't you be afraid! Father and Delia have seen it about thirty times."