Chapter VII: Enter--David Salmon

“You see, it’s absolutely necessary that my girls should marry well,” Mrs. Friedberg said confidentially. “Business has been bad of late--there has been a slump in the trade, you know,--and Ben’s position is not what it used to be. Of course, I can’t expect them all to do as well as Adeline; but I must see that they are properly provided for. Otherwise, I am sure that there is no one I should like better for a son-in-law than you, Dave, having known your poor pa when he was a _barmitzvah_[6] boy, and you from the time you were eight days old.”

David Salmon smiled good-humouredly. He was a curly-headed young fellow of about five and twenty, with nothing but his good looks and easy-going temperament to recommend him. Mrs. Friedberg would have liked him very much as a husband for Maud or Lottie, had it not been for his unfortunate aptitude for spending money as quickly as he earned it.

He had just returned from South Africa, where, instead of making a fortune, as he had intended doing, he had lost the little money he had possessed. Yet he was not by any means despondent, for in the dim future there loomed forth largely, a hope--the substantial hope of an ample balance at the bankers, and immunity from certain blue documents which found their way to his address with irritating persistency.

On the strength of this hope, he played bluff on board ship with the nonchalance of a millionaire, and when it came to squaring up, proffered a gold nugget as security. The nugget was not his--it had been committed to his care by Bernie Franks, and was intended as a present for Bernie’s daughter,--but it brought him luck, and, by the time he landed at Southampton, he was over £30 in pocket.

He had never troubled to consider what he would have done if he had lost the nugget or part of its value. It was characteristic of David Salmon never to think of the consequences of any rash act of his. If he muddled into a scrape, he managed to muddle out of it again somehow; and always relied on his indomitable bounce to carry him through.

It was by means of a letter of introduction from Ben Friedberg, that he had made the acquaintance of Bernie Franks. The financier lived by himself in a house that was little more than a shanty, and subsisted on a sum which the least of his clerks would have considered very poor salary. Most people were of opinion that money-grabbing had turned his brain. He was certainly eccentric and miserly, and looked on all men with suspicion. David Salmon found it hard to convince him that he wanted nothing out of him, and that, although he possessed scarcely a brass farthing of his own, he would not accept a penny from the financier, either as a loan or as a gift. By dint of perseverance, he won himself into the old man’s good graces; and by the time he left the Cape, was quite satisfied with the result of their acquaintance. So far as actual money was concerned, he was not one penny the richer; but he had gained Bernie Frank’s consent to his marriage with his daughter Celia, and therein lay the fulfilment of his great hope.

“I should certainly have liked to marry one of your girls,” he said to Mrs. Friedberg; “but I’ve scarcely a sixpence to bless myself with, so of course I must marry some one with money. I regard it as almost providential that Celia Franks should be under your very roof. I hadn’t the slightest idea, when I left Capetown, that I should find her with you.”

“Yes, it is lucky for you, David,” returned Mrs. Friedberg, complacently. “You will find it much easier to do your courting here than you would if she were in Durlston. I am sure you have my best wishes, and I will do all I can to help you. I can’t say more than that, can I?”

“No, indeed not; and I’ll give you a very handsome present on my wedding-day. I shall be able to afford it then; for, however niggardly Bernie Franks may be about his own personal expenditure, he is generous enough where Celia is concerned. He has promised to give her a dowry of thirty thousand pounds--providing she marries a Jew; and there will be the prospect of a fortune at his death.”

“Providing she marries a Jew!” repeated Mrs. Friedberg, as she paused in the act of threading a needle. “That is a very sensible stipulation, and I think that Celia ought to be made aware of it. She has been talking a good deal about a young Christian fellow in Durlston--a doctor, I believe; I hope she hasn’t any idea of marrying him, though.”

“Do you think I shall have any difficulty in getting her consent to our engagement?” asked Salmon, somewhat anxiously. “You must remember that I don’t know a bit what sort of girl she is, and I haven’t even seen her yet.”

For answer, Mrs. Friedberg walked over to a console-table and lifted up a framed photograph. “There she is,” she said, handing it to her visitor. “She is a lovely girl, as you can see, and she will be a still more lovely woman. She has a good voice too--I believe she will make her mark in a few years’ time. You will have to mind your p’s and q’s, David, I am sure of that. Celia is not an ordinary girl, by any means, and she has curious ideas about some things. She seems to have been mixed up with a regular English churchy set of people in Durlston; you would scarcely take her for a Jewess.”

“Does she play solo whist?” he asked, as if that were a test.

“Not she. When we sit down to our game, she goes up to her own room and plays the piano, or moons about with a book of poetry. Do you know any poetry, Dave? If not, you had better learn a few yards.”

The young man made a grimace. He was not fond of poetry.

“Is she that kind of girl?” he said.

Mrs. Friedberg laughed. “I don’t know what ‘that kind of girl’ is like,” she answered. “But she is at home. You can come up and see her for yourself.”

She led the way upstairs, and David Salmon, with some curiosity, followed. The house was unusually quiet, for the boys and Dinah were at school. On the fourth landing she paused, out of breath.

“It’s like climbing up to heaven, isn’t it, Dave?” she panted. “I gave Celia a room up here, because the children make such a noise downstairs. She has her friend, Miss Wilton, with her; they study their music together. I hope they won’t mind being disturbed.”

She tapped lightly at the door facing the stairs, and, receiving no answer, opened it, and stood on the threshold. The two girls were kneeling at a low table at the far side of the room. Their fair heads were bent close together, and they appeared to be absorbed.

Suddenly Celia gave a sigh of relief.

“Got him!” she exclaimed jubilantly. “I knew I should be able to do it if I could only get him to jump.”

“So that is what you call studying,” said Mrs. Friedberg, preceding her visitor into the room. “We expected to find you both deep in the mysteries of harmony; and, instead of that, you are amusing yourselves on the floor. What on earth are you doing?”

Celia rose from her knees, and came forward smoothing her skirt.

“Playing tiddley-winks,” she answered promptly. “We were doing some counterpoint, but the _canto fermo_ was a regular _canto inferno_, so we have given it up for to-day.”

David Salmon looked at her critically. Yes, she was undoubtedly a beautiful girl. Tall, erect, and graceful, her bearing had the effect of making him feel small and insignificant. And her hair--such wonderful hair! He wondered what its colour reminded him of; and, comically enough, could think of nothing else but Everton toffee. It was neither brown, nor auburn, nor golden; it was a blending of all three.

He glanced from her to Miss Wilton. She, also, was an attractive girl--she had splendid grey eyes; but her prettiness faded into mere insignificance when compared with the rich colouring of Celia’s hair and complexion.

Mrs. Friedberg introduced David to them both with some effusion. Celia gave him her hand, and favoured him with a smile which sent the blood coursing through his veins. It was quite a natural smile, disclosing a set of even white teeth, and there was a sweetness about it which was as fascinating as it was innocent. In after years, men came to regard her smile as a veritable danger-trap, but Celia herself was never conscious of its charm and power. She was genuinely pleased to see Mr. Salmon, and did not hesitate to tell him so. He had come straight from Capetown, and brought news of her father--that father whom she had almost relegated to the bygone era of her childhood, for he never came to see her and seldom wrote. She wanted to know all about him--how he looked, how he lived, and how he spoke; and David Salmon, with a great many mental reservations, answered her questions as clearly as he could.

Enid Wilton felt herself to be _de trop_; and would have left, but Celia absolutely refused to let her go.

David expressed a wish to be initiated into the game of tiddley-winks. It was a simple game, and required but little teaching, but he pretended to be very dense, and was a slow pupil. He was clumsy too, and his hand frequently came into contact with Celia’s, as he endeavoured to make his yellow counters spring into the cup.

Mrs. Friedberg watched them with a smile of gratification. David had evidently made a good impression, for Celia was more charming and vivacious than she had ever seen her as yet.

After the game was finished, he produced the gold nugget, which was carefully wrapped up in tissue paper. It had brought him luck, and he felt a little lingering regret in parting with it.

Mrs. Friedberg examined it with keen interest. “It must be worth a large sum,” she observed, turning it over. “What shall you do with it, Celia?”

“Keep it, I suppose,” she answered doubtfully. “It isn’t really of any use to me, but I shall value it as a present from my father. I can’t go about with it slung round my neck, can I?”

“You could realize on it,” suggested the young man. “I should think you would get quite £100 for it.”

“Yes; but Celia doesn’t want money,” put in Mrs. Friedberg. “Ben had better put it away in his safe for the present.”

The girl readily acquiesced; for except that the nugget came from her father, she felt no interest in it whatever. David Salmon half wished that he had delayed a little longer before giving it to her, for it was of much more use to him than it was to her. However, he had hopes of having it in his possession even yet, for when Celia was his _fiancée_, he would express the desire to keep it as a souvenir of his visit to Capetown, and of course she would be only too pleased to gratify such a wish.

He went home that evening well pleased with Celia and with himself. If she had been an ugly and ill-tempered old hag, he would have been willing to marry her just the same; but he was sincerely glad that, in addition to possessing a fortune, she was such an altogether charming girl. He saw that he would have to use some amount of tact during his courtship; it would never do to let her know that her money was of the slightest consideration, for instance; but he was confident that he would succeed in his undertaking; and already, in imagination, he beheld himself under the wedding canopy with Celia as his bride.