Kipps H. G. Wells (best thriller novels to read .txt) 📖

gathered, was over. Presently he got up and went slowly across the grass to its stucco portal again. He stood and his mouth shaped the precious word, “Hughenden.” It was all right! He looked over his shoulder as if in appeal to the old gentleman, then turned and went his way. The old gentleman was so evidently past all reason!

He hung for a moment some distance along the parade, as though some invisible string was pulling him back. When he could no longer see the house from the pavement he went out into the road. Then with an effort he snapped the string.

He went on down a quiet side street, unbuttoned his coat furtively, took out three bank notes in an envelope, looked at them and replaced them. Then he fished up five new sovereigns from his trouser pocket and examined them. To such a confidence had his exact resemblance to his dead mother’s portrait carried Messrs. Watson and Bean.

It was right enough.

It really was all right.

He replaced the coins with grave precaution and went his way with a sudden briskness. It was all right⁠—he had it now⁠—he was a rich man at large. He went up a street and round a corner and along another street, and started towards the Pavilion and changed his mind and came round back, resolved to go straight to the Emporium and tell them all.

He was aware of someone crossing a road far off ahead of him, someone curiously relevant to his present extraordinary state of mind. It was Chitterlow. Of course it was Chitterlow who had told him first of the whole thing! The playwright was marching buoyantly along a cross street. His nose was in the air, the yachting cap was on the back of his head and the large freckled hand grasped two novels from the library, a morning newspaper, a new hat done up in paper and a lady’s net bag full of onions and tomatoes.⁠ ⁠…

He passed out of sight behind the wine merchant’s at the corner, as Kipps decided to hurry forward and tell him of the amazing change in the Order of the Universe that had just occurred.

Kipps uttered a feeble shout, arrested as it began, and waved his umbrella. Then he set off at a smart pace in pursuit. He came round the corner and Chitterlow had gone; he hurried to the next and there was no Chitterlow, he turned back unavailingly and his eyes sought some other possible corner. His hand fluttered to his mouth and he stood for a space at the pavement edge, staring about him. No good!

But the sight of Chitterlow was a wholesome thing, it connected events together, joined him on again to the past at a new point, and that was what he so badly needed.⁠ ⁠…

It was all right⁠—all right.

He became suddenly very anxious to tell everybody at the Emporium, absolutely everybody, all about it. That was what wanted doing. He felt that telling was the thing to make this business real. He gripped his umbrella about the middle and walked very eagerly.

He entered the Emporium through the Manchester department. He flung open the door (over whose ground glass he had so recently, in infinite apprehension, watched the nose of Chitterlow) and discovered the second apprentice and Pierce in conversation. Pierce was prodding his hollow tooth with a pin and talking in fragments about the distinctive characteristics of Good Style.

Kipps came up in front of the counter.

“I say,” he said; “what d’yer think?”

“What?” said Pierce over the pin.

“Guess.”

“You’ve slipped out because Teddy’s in London.”

“Something more.”

“What?”

“Been left a fortune.”

“Garn!”

“I ’ave.”

“Get out!”

“Straight. I been lef’ twelve ’undred pounds⁠—twelve ’undred pounds a year!”

He moved towards the little door out of the department into the house, moving, as heralds say, regardant passant. Pierce stood with mouth wide open and pin poised in air. “No!” he said at last.

“It’s right,” said Kipps, “and I’m going.”

And he fell over the doormat into the house.

It happened that Mr. Shalford was in London buying summer sale goods⁠—and no doubt also interviewing aspirants to succeed Kipps.

So that there was positively nothing to hinder a wild rush of rumour from end to end of the Emporium. All the masculine members began their report with the same formula. “Heard about Kipps?”

The new girl in the cash desk had had it from Pierce and had dashed out into the fancy shop to be the first with the news on the fancy side. Kipps had been left a thousand pounds a year, twelve thousand pounds a year. Kipps had been left twelve hundred thousand pounds. The figures were uncertain, but the essential facts they had correct. Kipps had gone upstairs. Kipps was packing his box. He said he wouldn’t stop another day in the old Emporium, not for a thousand pounds! It was said that he was singing ribaldry about old Shalford.

He had come down! He was in the counting house. There was a general movement thither. Poor old Buggins had a customer and couldn’t make out what the deuce it was all about! Completely out of it was Buggins.

There was a sound of running to and fro and voices saying this, that and the other thing about Kipps. Ring-a-dinger, ring-a-dinger went the dinner bell all unheeded. The whole of the Emporium was suddenly bright-eyed, excited, hungry to tell somebody, to find at any cost somebody who didn’t know and be first to tell them, “Kipps has been left thirty⁠—forty⁠—fifty thousand pounds!”

“What!” cried the senior porter, “Him!” and ran up to the counting house as eagerly as though Kipps had broken his neck.

“One of our chaps just been left sixty thousand pounds,” said the first apprentice, returning after a great absence, to his customer.

“Unexpectedly?” said the customer.

“Quite,” said the first apprentice.⁠ ⁠…

“I’m sure if Anyone deserves it, it’s Mr. Kipps,” said Miss Mergle, and her train rustled as she hurried to the counting house.

There stood Kipps amidst a pelting shower of congratulations. His face was flushed and his hair disordered. He still clutched his hat and best