So he had taken to
cabs. In all exterior magnificence and lavishness he equalled even the
great Harold Etches, of whom he had once been afraid; and like Etches he
became a famous _habitue_ of Llandudno pier. But whereas Etches
lived with his wife in a superb house at Bleakridge, Denry lived with
his mother in a ridiculous cottage in ridiculous Brougham Street. He had
a regiment of acquaintances and he accepted a lot of hospitality, but he
could not return it at Brougham Street. His greatness fizzled into
nothing in Brougham Street. It stopped short and sharp at the corner of
St Luke's Square, where he left his cabs. He could do nothing with his
mother. If she was not still going out as a sempstress the reason was,
not that she was not ready to go out, but that her old clients had
ceased to send for her. And could they be blamed for not employing at
three shillings a day the mother of a young man who wallowed in
thousands sterling? Denry had essayed over and over again to instil
reason into his mother, and he had invariably failed. She was too
independent, too profoundly rooted in her habits; and her character had
more force than his.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230