we have heard much of a man in the land of uz whose name was job. we know that he was perfect and upright, feared god, and eschewed evil; and we are told how, on a disastrous afternoon, messenger after messenger came to him to announce one calamity after the other, culminating in the annihilation of his entire family, and how the final scorbutic affliction came shortly afterwards, the anti-climax, it must be confessed, of his woes, which drove the patient man to open his mouth and curse his day. between job and dr. quixtus i doubt whether the like avalanche of disasters, pelion on ossa and kinchinjunga on pelion of misfortunes, ever came thundering down on the head of an upright and evil-eschewing human creature.
the tale of these successive misfortunes can only be briefly narrated; for to examine in detail the train of circumstances which led up to them, and the intricate nexus of human motive in which they were complicated would be foreign to the purpose of this chronicle. except passively or negatively, perhaps, quixtus had no hand in their happening. as in the case of job the thunderbolts fell from a cloudless sky. his moral character was blameless, his position as assured, his life as happy as the patriarch’s. he had done no man harm all his days, and he had no cause to fear evil from any quarter. a tithe or more of his goods he gave in generous charity; and not only did he not proclaim the fact aloud like the pharisee, but never mentioned the matter to himself—for the simple reason that keeping no accounts of his expenditure he had not the remotest notion of the amount of his eleemosynary expenses. you would have far to go to meet a man more free from petty-mindedness or vanity than ephraim quixtus. he was mild, urbane, and for all his scholarly reading, pal?olithic knowledge, and wide travel, singularly modest. if you contradicted him, instead of asserting himself, as most men do, with increased vigour, he forthwith put back to find, if possible, the flaw in his own argument. when complimented on his undoubted attainments, he always sought to depreciate them. the achievement of others, even in his own special department of learning, moved his generous admiration. yet he had one extraordinary vanity—which made him fall short of the perfection of his prototype in the land of uz—the doctorial title which he possessed by virtue of his ph.d. degree from the university of heidelberg. through signing his articles in learned publications “ephraim quixtus, ph.d.,” his brethren among the learned who rent him respectfully to pieces in other learned publications, invariably alluded to him as dr. quixtus. through being thus styled by his brethren both in print and conversation, he began to give his name as dr. quixtus to the stentorian functionary at the doors of banquets and receptions of the learned, and derived infinite gratification from hearing it loudly proclaimed to all assembled. from that to announcing himself as “dr. quixtus” to the parlour-maid or butler in the homes of the worldly was but a step.
now it may be questioned whether on the rolls kept by the incorporated law society there is a solicitor who would style himself doctor. it would be as foreign to the ordinary solicitor’s notions of professional propriety as to interview his clients in a surplice. the title does not suggest a solicitor—any more than quixtus himself did in person. he was a stranger, an anomaly, a changeling in the corporation. he ought never to have been a solicitor. he was a very bad solicitor—and that was what the judge said, among other things of a devastating nature, when he was giving evidence at a certain memorable trial, which took place not long after he had re-entered the stormy horizon of clementina wing, and his portrait had been hung above the presidential chair of the anthropological society.
it is but justice to say that quixtus was a solicitor not by choice but by inheritance and filial affection. his father had an old-fashioned lucrative family practice, into which, as it was his father’s earnest desire, his kindly nature allowed him to drift. when his father died suddenly, almost as soon as his articles were completed and he was admitted into partnership, he stared in dismay at the prospect before him. he could no more draw up a conveyance of land, or administer a bankrupt estate, or prepare a brief for a barrister, than he could have steered an atlantic liner into new york harbour. and he had not the faintest desire to know how to draw up a conveyance or administer an estate. beyond acquiring from text-books the bare information requisite for the passing of his examinations, he had never attempted to probe deeper into the machinery of the law. his mind attributed far greater importance to the sharp flint instruments wherewith primitive men settled their quarrels by whanging each other over the head than to the miserable instruments on parchment which adjusted the sordid wrangles of the present generation. by entering the profession he had merely gratified a paternal whim. there had been a “quixtus and son” in lincoln’s inn for a hundred years, and it was the dearest wish of the old man’s heart that “quixtus and son” should remain there in s?cula s?culorum. while his father was alive ephraim had scarcely thought of this desirable continuity. but his father dead, it behoved him to see piously to its establishment.
the irksome part of the matter was that he had no financial reason for proceeding with an abominated profession. as hunger drives the wolves abroad, according to fran?ois villon, so might hunger have driven him from his pal?olithic forest. but there was no chance of his being hungry. not only did his father and his mother each leave him a comfortable fortune, but he was the declared heir of an uncle, his father’s elder brother, who possessed large estates in devonshire, and had impressed ephraim from his boyhood up as one in advanced and palsied old age.
yet “quixtus and son” had to be carried on. how? he consulted the confidential clerk, marrable, who had been in the office since boyhood. marrable at once suggested a solution of the difficulty which almost caused ephraim to throw himself into his arms for joy. it was wonderful! it was immense! quixtus welcomed it as henry viii. welcomed cromwell’s suggestion for getting rid of queen katherine. the solution was nothing less than that ephraim should take him into partnership on generous terms. the deed of partnership was drawn up and signed, and quixtus entered upon a series of happy and prosperous years. he attended the office occasionally, signed letters and interviewed old family clients, whom he entertained with instructive though irrelevant gossip until they went away comforted. when they insisted on business advice instead of comfort, he rang the bell, and marrable appeared like a djinn out of a bottle. nothing could be simpler, nothing could work more satisfactorily. not only did clients find their affairs thoroughly looked after, but they were flattered at having bestowed upon them the concentrated legal acumen and experience of the firm. you may say that, as a solicitor, quixtus was a humbug; that he ought never to have accepted the position. but show me a man who has never done that which he ought not to have done, and you will show me either an irresponsible idiot or an angel masquerading in mortal vesture. i have my doubts whether job himself before his trials was quite as perfect as he is made out to be. quixtus was neither idiot nor angel. at the most he was a scholarly ineffectual gentleman of comfortable means, forced by filial tenderness into a distasteful and bewildering pursuit. he had neither the hard-heartedness to kill the one, nor the strength of will to devote himself to the mastery of the other. he compromised, you may say, with the devil. well, the devil is notoriously insidious, and quixtus was entirely unconscious of subscribing to a bargain. at any rate, the devil had a hand in his undoing and appointed a zealous agent of iniquity in the person of mr. samuel marrable.
when quixtus went to lincoln’s inn fields one morning and found, instead of his partner, a letter from him stating that he had gone abroad and would remain there without an address for an indefinite time, quixtus was surprised. when he had summoned the managing clerk and together they had opened marrable’s safe, both he and the clerk were bewildered; and after he had spent an hour or two with a chartered accountant, for whom he had hurriedly telephoned, he grew sick from horror and amazement. later in the day he heard through the police that a warrant was out for samuel marrable’s arrest. in the course of time he learned that samuel marrable had done everything that a solicitor should not do. he had misappropriated trust-funds; he had made away with bearer-bonds; he had falsified accounts; he had forged transfers; he had speculated in wild-cat concerns; he had become the dupe of a gang of company promoters known throughout the city as “gehenna unlimited.” he had robbed the widow; he had robbed the orphan; he had robbed the firm; he had robbed with impunity for many years; but when, in desperation, he had tried to rob “gehenna unlimited,” they were too much for him. so samuel marrable had fled the country.
thus fell the first thunderbolt. quixtus saw the fair repute of “quixtus and son” shattered in an instant, his own name tarnished, himself—and this was the most cruel part of the matter—betrayed and fooled by the man in whom he had placed his boundless trust. marrable, whom he had known since he was a child of five; with whom he had gone to pantomimes, exhibitions, and such like junketings when he was a boy; who had first guided his reluctant feet through the mazes of the law; who had stood with him by his father’s death-bed; who was bound to him by all the intimacies of a lifetime; on whose devotion he had counted as unquestioningly as a child on his mother’s love—marrable to be a rogue and a rascal, not a man at his wits’ end yielding to a sudden temptation, but a deliberate, systematic villain—it was all but unthinkable. yet here were irrefragable proofs, as the law took its course. and all through the nightmare time that followed until the trial—for the poor fugitive was soon hunted down and haled back to london—when his days were spent in helpless examination of confusing figures and bewildering transactions, the insoluble human problem was uppermost in his mind. how could the man have done these things? marrable had sobbed over his father’s grave and had put his arm affectionately round his shoulders and led him away to the mourning coach. marrable had stood with him by another open grave, that of his dead wife, and had comforted him with affectionate sympathy. to the very end not a sinister look had appeared in his honest, capable eyes. on the very day of his flight he had lunched with quixtus in the savoy grill-room. he had laughed and jested and told quixtus a funny story or two. when they parted:
“shall i see you at the office this afternoon? no? well good-bye, ephraim. god bless you.”
he had smiled and waved a cheery hand. how could a man shower upon another his tears, his sympathy, his laughter, his implied loyalty, his blessings, and all the time be a treacherous scoundrel working his ruin? all his knowledge of prehistoric man would not answer the question.
“i wonder whether there are many people in the world like marrable?” he questioned.
and from that moment he began to look at all clear-eyed honest folk and speculate, in a dreary way, whether they were like marrable.
the family honour being imperilled, duty summoned him to an interview with matthew quixtus, his father’s elder brother, the head of the family, and owner of a large estate at croxton, in devonshire, and other vast possessions. he paid him a week-end visit. the old man, nearly ninety, received him with every mark of courtesy. he went out of his way to pay deference to him as a man of high position in the learned world. instead of the “mr. ephraim,” which had been his designation in the house ever since the “master ephraim” had been dropped in the dim past, it was pointedly as “dr. quixtus” that butler and coachman and the rest of the household heard him referred to. quixtus, who had always regarded his uncle as a fiery ancient, hot with family pride and quick to quarrel on the point of honour, was greatly relieved by his unexpected suavity of demeanour. he listened to his nephew’s account of the great betrayal with a kindly smile, and wasted upon him bottles of the precious ‘54 port which the butler, with appropriate ritual, only brought up for the inner brotherhood of dionysus. on all previous occasions, ephraim, at whose deplorably uncultivated palate the old man had shrugged pitying shoulders, had been treated to an unconsidered vintage put upon the table after dinner rather as a convention than (in the host’s opinion) as a liquid fit for human throttle. he was sympathetic over the disaster and alluded to marrable in picturesquely old-world terms of depreciation.
“it’ll cost you a pretty penny, one way or the other,” said he.
“i shall have to make good the losses. i dare say i can make arrangements extending over a period of years.”
“fly kites, eh? well, i shan’t live for ever. but i’m not dead yet. by george, sir, no!” and his poor old hand shook pitifully as he raised his glass to his lips. “my grandfather—your great grandfather lived to be a hundred and four.”
“it will be a matter of pride and delight to all who know you,” said quixtus smiling and bowing, glass in hand, across the table, “if you champion the modern world and surpass him in longevity.”
“the property will come in very handy though, won’t it?” asked the old man.
“i confess,” said quixtus, “that, if i pay the liabilities out of my own resources, i may be somewhat embarrassed.”
“and what will you do with yourself when you’ve shut up the shop?”
“i shall devote myself more closely to my favourite pursuits.”
the old man nodded and finished his glass of port.
“a damned gentlemanly occupation,” said he, “without any confounded modern commercialism about it.”
quixtus was pleased. hitherto his uncle had not regarded his anthropological studies with too sympathetic an eye. he had lived, all his life, a country gentleman, looking shrewdly after his estates, building cottages, draining fields, riding to hounds and shooting all things that were to be shot in their season. in science and scholarship he took no interest. it was therefore all the more gratifying to quixtus to hear his studious scheme of life so heartily commended. the end of the visit was marked by the same amenity as the beginning, and quixtus returned to town somewhat strengthened for the ordeal that lay before him.
up to the time of the trial he had met with nothing but the kindly sympathy of friends and the courteous addressing of those with whom he came into business relations. his first battering against the sharp and merciless edges of the world took place in open court. he stood in the witness-box a lone, piteous spectacle, a saint sebastian among witnesses, unsaved by miraculous interposition, like the lucky sebastian, from personal discomfort. that he was an upright sensitive gentleman mattered nothing to judge and counsel; just as the fact of sebastian’s being a goodly and gallant youth did not affect his would-be executioners. at every barb shot at him by judge and counsel he quivered visibly. they were within their rights. in their opinion, he deserved to quiver. at the back of their legal minds they were all kindly gentlemen, and out of court had human minds like yours and mine—but in their legal minds, judge, counsel for the prosecution, counsel for the defence, all considered quixtus a fortunate man in being in the witness-box at all; he ought to have been in the dock. there had never been such fantastically culpable negligence. he did not know this; he had not inquired into that; such a transaction he had just been aware of but never understood; he had not examined the documents in question. everything brought him by marrable for signature, he signed as a matter of course, without looking at it.
“if mr. marrable had brought you a cheque for ￡20,000 drawn in his favour on your own private bankers, would you have signed it?” asked counsel.
“certainly,” said quixtus.
“why?”
“i should not have looked at it.”
“but supposing the writing on the cheque had, as it were, leaped to your eyes?”
“i should have taken it for granted that it had to do with the legitimate business of the firm.”
“if that is the case,” remarked the judge, “i don’t think that men like you ought to be allowed to go about loose.”
whereat there arose laughter in court, and sudden, hellish hatred of judges in the heart of quixtus.
“can you give the court any reason why you drifted into such criminal carelessness?” asked counsel.
“it never entered my head to doubt my partner’s integrity.”
“do you carry this childlike faith in human nature into all departments of life?”
“up to now i have had no reason to distrust my fellow creatures.”
“i congratulate you as a solicitor on having had a unique experience,” said the judge acidly.
counsel continued. “i put it to you—suppose two or three plausible strangers told you a glittering tale, and one asked you to entrust him with a hundred pounds to show your confidence in him—would you do it?”
“i am not in the habit of consorting with vulgar strangers,” retorted quixtus, with twitching lip.
“which means that you are too learned and lofty a person to deal with the common clay of this low world?”
“i cannot deal with you,” said quixtus.
counsel grew red and angry, as there was laughter in which the judge joined.
“the witness,” said the latter, “is not quite such a fool as he would give us to imagine, mr. smithers.”
thus the only blow that quixtus could give was turned against him. also, counsel, smarting under the hit, mishandled him severely, so that at the end of his examination he stepped down from the witness-box, less a man than a sentient bruise. he remained in court till the very end, deathly pale, pain in his eyes, and his mouth drawn into the lines of that of a child about to cry. the trial proceeded. there was no doubt of the guilt of the miserable wretch in the dock. the judge summed up, and it was then that he said the devastating things about quixtus that inflamed his newly born hatred of judges to such an extent that it thenceforth blackened his candid and benevolent soul. the jury gave their verdict without retiring, and marrable, at the age of sixty, was condemned to seven years’ penal servitude.
quixtus left the court dazed and broken. he was met in the corridor by tommy, who gripped him by the arm, led him down into the street and put him into a cab. he had not been in court, being a boy of delicate feelings.
“you must buck up, you know,” he said to the silent, grey-faced man beside him. “it will all come right. what you want now is a jolly stiff brandy-and-soda.”
quixtus smiled faintly. “i think i do,” said he.
a few minutes later tommy superintended the taking of his prescription in the dining-room in russell square, and eyed quixtus triumphantly as he set down the empty glass.
“there! that’ll set you straight. there’s nothing like it.”
quixtus held out his hand. “you’re a good boy, tommy. thanks for taking care of me. i’ll be all right now.”
“don’t you think i might be of some use if i stayed? it’s a bit lonesome here.”
“i have a big box of stuff from the valley of the dordogne, which i haven’t opened yet,” said quixtus. “i was saving it up for this evening, so i shan’t be lonesome.”
“well be sure to have a good dinner and a bottle of fizz,” said tommy. after which sage counsel he went reluctantly away.
just as clementina was sitting down to dinner tommy rushed in with a crumpled evening newspaper in his hand, incoherent with rage. had she seen the full report? what did she think of it? how dared they say such things of a high-minded honourable gentleman? counsel on both sides were a disgrace to the bar, the judge a blot on the bench. they ought not to be allowed to cumber the earth. they ought to be shot on sight. out west they would never have left the court alive. had he lived in a simpler age, or in a more primitive society, the young paladin would have gone forth and slaughtered them in the bosom of their families. fortunately, all he could do by way of wreaking his vengeance was to tear the newspaper in half, throw it on the floor, and stamp on it.
“feel better?” asked clementina, who had listened to his heroics rather sourly. “if so, sit down and have some food.”
but tommy declined nourishment. he was too sore to eat. his young spirit revolted against the injustice of the world. it clamoured for sympathy.
“say you think it damnable.”
“anything to do with the law is always damnable,” said clementina. “you shouldn’t put yourself within its clutches. please pass me the potatoes.”
tommy handed her the dish. “i believe you’re as hard as nails, clementina.”
“all right, believe it,” she replied grimly. and she would not say more, for in what she thought was her heart she agreed with the judge.
