Uneasy Money · Chapter 9 (2/2)

The results were instantaneous. One or two bee policemen, who were doing fixed-post duty near the opening, scuttled hastily back into the hive; and from within came a muffled buzzing as other bees, all talking at once, worried the perplexed officials with foolish questions, a buzzing that became less muffled and more pronounced as Elizabeth lifted the edge of the cover and directed more smoke through the crack. This done, she removed the cover, set it down on the grass beside her, lifted the supercover and applied more smoke, and raised her eyes to where Bill stood watching. His face wore a smile of pleased interest.

Elizabeth’s irritation became painful. She resented his smile. Nutty, on the famous occasion when she had induced him to help her open a hive, had wabbled with pure terror. She hung the smoker on the side of the hive.

“The stool, please, and the screw driver.”

She seated herself beside the hive and began to loosen the outside section. Then taking the brood frame by the projecting ends she pulled it out and handed it to her companion. She did it as one who plays an ace of trumps.

“Would you mind holding this, Mr. Chalmers?”

This was the point in the ceremony at which the wretched Nutty had broken down absolutely, and not inexcusably, considering the severity of the test. The surface of the frame was black with what appeared at first sight to be a thick, bubbling fluid of some sort, pouring viscously to and fro as if some hidden fire had been lighted beneath it. Only after a closer inspection was it apparent to the lay eye that this seeming fluid was in reality composed of mass upon mass of bees. They shoved and writhed and muttered and jostled, for all the world like a collection of home-seeking New Yorkers trying to secure standing room on a subway express at half-past five in the afternoon.

Nutty, making this discovery, had emitted one wild yell, dropped the frame, and started at full speed for the house, his retreat expedited by repeated stings from the nervous bees. Bill, more prudent, remained absolutely motionless. He eyed the seething frame with interest but without apparent panic.

“I want you to help me here, Mr. Chalmers. You have stronger wrists than I have. I will tell you what to do. Hold the frame tightly.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Jerk it down as sharply as you can to within a few inches of the door, and then jerk it up again. You see that shakes them off.”

“It would me,” agreed Bill cordially, “if I were a bee.”

Elizabeth had the feeling that she had played her ace of trumps and by some miracle lost the trick. If this grisly operation did not daunt the man, nothing, not even the transferring of honey, would. She watched him as he raised the frame and jerked it down with a strong swiftness which her less powerful wrists had never been able to achieve. The bees tumbled off in a dense shower, asking questions to the last, then sighting the familiar entrance to the hive they bustled in without waiting to investigate the cause of the earthquake.

Lord Dawlish watched them go with a kindly interest.

“It has always been a mystery to me,” he said, “why they never seem to think of manhandling the Johnny who does that to them. They don’t seem able to connect cause and effect. I suppose the only way they can figure it out is that the bottom has suddenly dropped out of everything, and they are so busy lighting out for home that they haven’t time to go to the root of things. But it’s a ticklish job for all that, if you’re not used to it. I know when I first did it I shut my eyes and wondered whether they would bury my remains or cremate them.”

“When you first did it?” Elizabeth was staring at him blankly. “Have you done it before?”

Her voice shook. Bill met her gaze frankly.

“Done it before? Rather! Thousands of times. You see, I spent a year on a bee farm once, learning the business.”

For a moment mortification was the only emotion of which Elizabeth was conscious. She felt supremely ridiculous. For this she had schemed and plotted⁠—to give a practiced expert the opportunity of doing what he had done a thousand times before!

And then her mood changed in a flash. Nature has decreed that there are certain things in life which shall act as hoops of steel, grappling the souls of the elect together. Golf is one of these; a mutual love of horseflesh another; but the greatest of all is bees. Between two beekeepers there can be no strife. Not even a tepid hostility can mar their perfect communion. The petty enmities which life raises to be barriers between man and man and between man and woman vanish, once it is revealed to them that they are linked by this great bond. Envy, malice, hatred and all uncharitableness disappear, and they look into each other’s eyes and say “My brother!”

The effect of Bill’s words on Elizabeth was revolutionary. They crashed through her dislike, scattering it like an explosive shell. She had resented this golden young man’s presence at the farm. She had thought him in the way. She had objected to his becoming aware that she did such prosaic tasks as cooking and washing up. But now her whole attitude toward him was changed. He could stay there as long as he liked, the longer the better.

“You have really kept bees?”

“Not actually kept them, worse luck; I couldn’t raise the capital. You see, money was a bit tight⁠—”

“I know,” said Elizabeth sympathetically. “Money is like that, isn’t it?”

“The general impression seemed to be that I should be foolish to try anything so speculative as beekeeping, so it fell through. Some very decent old boys got me another job.”

“What job?”

“Secretary of a club.”

“In London, of course?”

“Yes.”

“And all the time you wanted to be in the country keeping bees!”

Elizabeth could hardly control her voice, her pity was so great.

“I should have liked it,” said Bill wistfully. “London’s all right, but I love the country. My ambition would be to have a whacking big farm, a sort of ranch miles away from anywhere⁠—”

He broke off. This was not the first time he had caught himself forgetting how his circumstances had changed in the past two weeks. It was ridiculous to be telling hard-luck stories about not being able to buy a farm, when he had the wherewithal to buy dozens of farms. It took a lot of getting used to, this business of being a millionaire.

“That’s my ambition too,” said Elizabeth eagerly. This was the very first time she had met a congenial spirit. Nutty’s views on farming and the Arcadian life generally were saddening to an enthusiast. “If I had the money I should get an enormous farm, and in the summer I should go through the East Side and borrow all the children I could find there, and take them out to it and let them wallow in it.”

“Wouldn’t they do a lot of damage?”

“I shouldn’t mind. I should be too rich to worry about the damage. If they ruined the place beyond repair I’d go and buy another.” She laughed. “It isn’t so impossible as it sounds. I came very near being able to do it.” She paused for a moment, but went on almost at once. After all, if you cannot confide your intimate troubles to a fellow bee-lover to whom can you confide them? “An uncle of mine⁠—”

Bill felt himself flushing. He looked away from her. He had a sense of almost unbearable guilt, as if he had just done some particularly low crime and was contemplating another.

“An uncle of mine would have left me enough money to buy all the farms I wanted, only an awful person⁠—an English lord⁠—I wonder if you have heard of him?⁠—Lord Dawlish⁠—got hold of uncle somehow and induced him to make a will leaving all the money to him.”

She looked at Bill for sympathy, and was touched to see that he was crimson with emotion. He must be a perfect dear to take other people’s misfortunes to heart like that.

“I don’t know how he managed it,” she went on. “He must have worked and plotted and schemed, for Uncle Ira wasn’t a weak sort of man whom you could do what you liked with. He was very obstinate. But anyway this Lord Dawlish succeeded in doing it somehow, and then”⁠—her eyes blazed at the recollection⁠—“he had the insolence to write to me through his lawyers, offering me half. I suppose he was hoping to satisfy his conscience. Naturally I refused it.”

“But⁠—but⁠—but why?”

“Why! Why did I refuse it? Surely you don’t think I was going to accept charity from the man who had cheated me?”

“But⁠—but perhaps he didn’t mean it like that. What I mean to say is⁠—as charity, you know.”

“He did! But don’t let’s talk of it any more. It makes me angry to think of him, and there’s no use spoiling a lovely day like this by getting angry.”

Bill sighed. He had never dreamed before that it could be so difficult to give money away. He was profoundly glad that he had not revealed his identity, as he had been on the very point of doing just when she began her remarks. He understood now why that curt refusal had come in answer to his lawyer’s letter. Well, there was nothing to be done, nothing but wait and hope that time might accomplish something.

“What do you want me to do next?” he said. “Why did you open the hive? Did you want to take a look at the queen?”

Elizabeth hesitated. She blushed with pure shame. She had had but one motive in opening the hive, and that had been to annoy him. She scorned to take advantage of the loophole he had provided. Beekeeping is a freemasonry. A beekeeper cannot deceive a brother mason.

She faced him bravely.

“I didn’t want to take a look at anything, Mr. Chalmers. I opened that hive because I wanted you to drop the frame, as my brother did, and get stung, as he was; because I thought that would drive you away, because I thought then that I didn’t want you down here. I’m ashamed of myself, and I don’t know where I’m getting the nerve to tell you this. I hope you will stay on⁠—on and on and on.”

Bill was aghast.

“Good Lord! If I’m in the way⁠—”

“You aren’t in the way.”

“But you said⁠—”

“But don’t you see that it’s so different now? I didn’t know then that you were fond of bees. You must stay, if my telling you hasn’t made you feel that you want to catch the next train. You will save our lives⁠—mine and Nutty’s too. Oh dear, you’re hesitating! You’re trying to think up some polite way of getting out of the place! You mustn’t go, Mr. Chalmers; you simply must stay. There aren’t any mosquitoes, no jellyfish⁠—nothing! At least there are, but what do they matter? You don’t mind them. Do you play golf?”

“Yes.”

“There are links here. You can’t go until you’ve tried them. What is your handicap?”

“Plus two.”

“So is mine.”

“By Jove! Really?”

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes dancing.

“Why, we’re practically twin souls, Mr. Chalmers! Tell me! I know your game is nearly perfect, but if you have a fault, is it a tendency to putt too hard?”

“Why, by Jove, yes, it is!”

“I knew it. Something told me. It’s the curse of my life too! Well, after that you can’t go away.”

“But if I’m in the way⁠—”

“In the way! Mr. Chalmers, will you come in now and help me wash the breakfast things?”

“Rather!” said Lord Dawlish.