The Good Comrade Part 30

"But I can't go to London," Julia said; "it is out of the question for me to leave home even if I could afford the fare, which I cannot."

Joost answered there was no need; he could arrange everything for her.

"I can take the daffodil to London with me," he said. "It must be lifted--you have a flower pot, then it must be tied with care, and it will travel quite safely."

"But," Julia objected; "if it is exhibited with my name, and you say my name as the grower must appear, your father will hear of it and then he will know that you gave me a bulb--it cannot be exhibited. I do not care about a certificate of merit or whatever one gets."

"It must be exhibited," Joost said; "as to my father, he knows already, I have told him; that does not stand in the way."

To this Julia had nothing to say; perhaps in her heart she was a little ashamed because she had suspected him of the half honesty of only telling what was necessary when it was necessary, that she herself was likely to have practised in his case.

"Now you must call your flower a name," he said, "as I called mine Vrouw Van Heigen."

"I will call it after you," Julia said.

But Joost would not have that. "That will not do; the blue daffodil is already a Van Heigen; there cannot be another, it will make confusion."

"Well, I'll call it the honest man, then; that will be you."

Joost did not like that either; he thought it very unsuitable. "Why not name it after"--he began; he had meant to say "your father," but recalling that gentleman, he changed it to--"some one of whom you are fond."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Now you must call your flower a name,' he said"]

Julia hesitated. "I like the honest man," she said; "but as you say it is not suitable, the blue daffodil is really the honest one, this is too mixed--I shall call it after Johnny; I am fond of him."

But Joost was romantic; it was only natural with the extreme and almost childish simplicity of his nature there should be some romance, and there was nothing to satisfy that sentiment in Mr. Gillat.

"Johnny?" he said; "yes, but it is not very pretty; it does not suggest a beautiful flower. Why not call it after the heroine of some book or a friend or comrade? Perhaps"--Joost was only human--"he with whom you went walking on the Dunes."

"Him?" Julia said. "I never thought of that. He was a friend certainly, and a good comrade; he tried hard to get me out of that sc.r.a.pe; he would have stood by me if I had let him--the same as you did--you were both comrades to me then. I tell you what, shall I call it 'The Good Comrade?' Then it would be after you both and Johnny too; Johnny would certainly stand by me through thick and thin, share his last crust with me, or father, give me the whole of it. Yes, we will call the daffodil 'The Good Comrade,' and it shall have three G.o.dfathers."

With this Joost was satisfied, even though he had to share what honour there was with two others. Mr. Gillat, of course, when he was told, was much pleased; he even found he was now able to admire the wonderful flower, though before, he had agreed with Julia's opinion of it. To Captain Polkington not much was said about it.

"Johnny," Julia said, as they stood watching Joost pot the bulb, "you are not to tell father how valuable this is. He will find out quite soon enough; people are sure to bother me to sell it after it has been exhibited, and I am not going to."

"No," Johnny said; "of course not, naturally not."

So Captain Polkington had no idea why Joost carried away a carefully tied-up flower pot when he left the cottage that afternoon. He only thought the young man must have a most remarkable enthusiasm for flowers to so burden himself on a long walk.

And in due time the wonderful streaked daffodil, "Narcissus Triandrus Striatum, The Good Comrade," grown by Miss Snooks of White's Cottage, Halgrave, was exhibited at the Temple Show. And bulb growers, professional and amateur, waxed enthusiastic over it. And the general public who went to the show, admired it or not, as their taste and education allowed them. And among the general public who went, was a Miss Lillian Farham, a girl who, last September, had travelled north with carnations in her coat and Rawson-Clew in a corner of the railway carriage. Miss Farham was an enthusiastic gardener, and having means and leisure and a real taste for it, she had some notable successes in the garden of her beautiful home; and when she was in town she never missed an opportunity of attending a good show, seeing something new, and learning what she could. She was naturally much interested in the new streaked daffodil; so much so, that she spoke of it afterwards, not only to those people who shared her taste, but also to at least one who did not.

Rawson-Clew was back in London. He had not been back long, but already he had begun the preliminaries of a search for Mr. Gillat. He decided that it would be easier to find him than Julia, who might possibly have changed her name to oblige her family, and who certainly would be better able to hide herself, if she had a mind to, than Mr. Gillat. He had not as yet been able to devote many days to the search, and had got no further than preliminaries; still he could already see that it was not going to be easy and might possibly be long. He did not go to the show of spring flowers; he did not feel the least interest in it, but when by chance he met Lillian Farham she spoke of it to him and also of the new daffodil.

"It was grown at Halgrave, too," she said; "that is not so very far from your part of Norfolk, is it?"

"Fifteen or twenty miles," Rawson-Clew answered.

"Is it so much as that?" she said; "I thought it was nearer; of course, then, you can't tell me anything about the grower."

He could not; it is probable even if the place had been much nearer, he still could not, seeing that it was some years since he had been to "his part of Norfolk." However, he gave polite attention to Miss Farham, who went on to describe the wonderful flower of mixed yellow and blue.

"Blue?" Rawson-Clew's interest became more real; he had once heard of blue in connection with a daffodil. It was one evening on a long flat Dutch road--the evening he had tied Julia's shoe. She had spoken of it, she had begun to say, when he stopped the confession that he thought she would afterwards regret, that she could not take the blue daffodil.

"What is the name?" he asked; he meant of the grower in Norfolk, though he would have been puzzled to say why he asked.

Miss Farham, however, mistook his meaning and thought he was asking about the flower. "'The Good Comrade,'" she said, and fortunately she did not see his surprise. "Rather quaint, is it not?" she went on.

"Easier to remember, too, than some obscure grand d.u.c.h.ess, or the name of the grower or his wife after whom new flowers are usually called.

The blue daffodil, you know, is called after one of the grower's relatives--Vrouw Van Heigen."

Rawson-Clew said "Yes," though he did not know it before. It struck him as interesting now; the Van Heigens had a blue daffodil then, and Julia went to them for some purpose besides earning a pittance as companion. She had not taken a blue daffodil; she said so; she also said at another time she had failed in the object of her coming and that failure and success would have been alike discreditable. Poor Julia! And now here was some one in Norfolk exhibiting a daffodil of mixed blue and yellow called, by a strange coincidence, "The Good Comrade." Of course, it was only a coincidence and yet, when reason is not helping as much as it ought, one is inclined to take notice of signs and coincidences.

"What is the name of the grower of this new flower?" Rawson-Clew asked.

Miss Farham told him.

"Snooks," he repeated thoughtfully; she imagined he was trying to remember if he had heard the name before. He was not; he was wondering if any one ever really started in life with such a name; if, rather, it did not sound more like the pseudonym of one who was indifferent to public credence, and possibly public opinion.

Rawson-Clew was not able to tell Miss Farham anything about the grower of the streaked daffodil; he was obliged to own that he had never heard of her before. But he made it his business to find out what he could in the shortest possible time; this he did not mention to Miss Farham. What he discovered did not amount to much, very little in fact, but such as it was, it was enough to bring him to Halgrave.

CHAPTER XVIII

BEHIND THE CHOPPING-BLOCK

Captain Polkington, Johnny and Julia were busy in the garden. It was a fine afternoon following after two or three wet days and the ground was in splendid condition for planting, also for sticking to clothes.

The sandy road to Halgrave dried quickly, but the garden, of heavier soil, did not, as was testified by Julia's boots--she had bought a small pair of plough-boy's boots that spring and was wearing them now, very pleased with the investment. By and by the sound of a motor broke the silence; the Captain and Johnny left off work to listen; at least, Johnny did; the Captain was hardly in a position to leave off, seeing that he was off most of his time.

"It sounds like a motor-car," Johnny said, as if he had made a discovery.

"Then it must have lost its way," Julia answered, giving all her attention to her cabbage plants.

Johnny said "Yes." It certainly seemed likely enough; the ubiquitous motor-car went everywhere certainly; even, it was possible to imagine, to remote and uninteresting Halgrave. But along the ill-kept sandy road which led to White's Cottage and nowhere else, none had been yet, nor was it in the least likely that one would ever come except by accident.

The sounds drew nearer. "It certainly is coming this way," the Captain said; "I will go and explain the mistake to the people."

The Captain went to the gate; but he did not stop there, nor did he explain anything. His eyesight, never having been subjected to strain or over work, was good, and the car, owing to the loose nature of the road, was not coming very fast; he saw it had only one occupant, a man who seemed familiar to him. For a second the Captain stared, then he turned and went into the house in surprising haste. He had not the least idea what had brought this man here; indeed, when he came to think about it, he was sure it must have been some mistake about the road. But he had no desire to explain; he felt he was not the person to do so, seeing that the last (and first) time he had seen the man was in an unpleasant interview at Marbridge. He connected several painful things, humiliation, undeserved epithets, and so on, with that interview and with the face of Rawson-Clew. Accordingly, he went into the house and waited, and the car came nearer and stopped.

Johnny and Julia went on with their work; they imagined the Captain was talking to the strangers; they had no idea of his discreet withdrawal until Julia came round the corner of the house to fetch a trowel, and saw Rawson-Clew coming up the path.

Julia's first feeling was blank amazement, but being a Polkington, and being that before she took to the simple life and its honest ways, she allowed nothing more than polite surprise to appear.

"Why!" she said, "I had no idea you were anywhere near here."

"I had no idea that you were until recently," he returned.

She wondered how recently; if it was this minute when chance brought her for the trowel--very likely it was, and he was here by accident.