Mr. Spruce found The Home of the Muses less dull than he expected it to be, in spite of its ridiculous name. For six days he amused himself very tolerably in contemplating the novelty of his surroundings, and in getting what amusement he could out of the same. Desiring "something new," after the fashion of the Athenians, he explored Bethnal Green more or less thoroughly, and learned that the seamy side of life here exhibited had attractions for a keen-witted observer, as he truly was. People in the West End were always on the look-out for money with which to indulge their fancies; people in this neighbourhood hunted likewise for the nimble shilling, but used it when obtained to keep a roof over their heads and bread in their mouths. But the excitement of the money-chase was always the same, and Spruce watched the same with great interest. In fact he took part in the hunt for dollars himself, as he also had to live in such comfort as his depleted purse could command.
That Destiny had not dealt lavishly with Spruce was due to his own crooked way of propitiating the whimsical goddess, since he disliked honest toil. On leaving college and entering the great world, he had enjoyed a fair fortune nursed for years by jealous guardians, which ought to have kept him in luxury for the whole of his useless life. But the Nut, thinking he possessed the purse of Fortunatus, dipped into it too freely, and like the earthen pot at once smashed when the brass pots dashed against him. He entered a fast set, fascinating and expensive, whose members gambled heavily, who flirted freely with free-lance ladies and who ran up bills on every occasion. A few years of this life reduced Spruce to living on his wits, and as these were sharp enough, he managed to scramble along somehow and keep his head above water.
But not making money fast enough honestly, he attempted to cheat at cards, and therefore was expelled from his profligate paradise. For this reason he had come to rusticate in Bethnal Green, and intended to return as soon as he could make sure of being tolerated in his former haunts and by his former associates. But as he had committed the one crime which society, however rapid, will never condone, the prospect of his being whitewashed was not very promising. However, the little man knew that money covers a multitude of sins, and would go far to excuse the particular sin of cheating, which had ruined him. He therefore looked here, there and everywhere during his retirement in the hope of making money, so that he could return with full pockets to the West End. But it must be admitted that Bethnal Green was not exactly Tom Tiddler's ground, and little gold and silver did Spruce pick up.
The Nut certainly won a certain amount of money from Madame Alpenny, who was a born gambler, and staked her jewellery when coin was wanting. She was always hard up, as she frankly informed Spruce when she came to know him better, and had long since turned what money she possessed into the costly ornaments she wore. Zara earned enough to keep her mother and herself at the boarding-house, but otherwise spent her earnings on herself, knowing, as she did, that Madame Alpenny would only gamble away what was given her. Therefore the old woman sometimes had to sell a brooch or a bracelet in order to get funds for her gambling. She was clever at cards, but scarcely so clever, and it may be added unscrupulous, as Spruce, so by the end of the week her person was not quite so lavishly decorated with jewellery as it had been when the Nut first set eyes on her. But in spite of her bad luck, the Hungarian lady always behaved amiably towards Spruce, as she took him at his own valuation and believed him to be a rich young man indulging in the fantastic whim of living in Mrs. Tesk's house. It did not take much time for the Nut to see that Madame Alpenny's agreeable demeanour was due to the hope she entertained that he would make love to Zara, and perhaps become her son-in-law. Spruce had about as much idea of courting the dancer as of flying, but he allowed the lady to think that he admired her daughter so that she might continue to gamble. Being quite deceived as to his real status and his real intentions, she did; so Spruce found himself much better off in pocket by the end of the week, and about the time when Owain Hench was expected back.
The little man was waiting for Hench, as he greatly desired to see if any money could be made out of him. People who travelled about the world, as Hench apparently did, often found gold-mines, or knew of some hidden treasure, or had an idea of how to make money in large quantities. Spruce was very vague as to how he could exploit Hench to his own advantage, as he had not seen him for eight years and did not know his possibilities. However, he was assured that while residing under the same roof as Hench he would soon be able to learn if he was worth making a friend of, and so waited anxiously for the young man's return. Meanwhile he gambled with Madame Alpenny; made himself agreeable to the ex-school-mistress, whom he found a frightful bore; and went several times to the Bijou Music-hall to see Mademoiselle Zara dance. To his surprise he found that she was really a very brilliant artist, who was entirely thrown away on a Bethnal Green audience, and asked himself quite seriously if it would not be worth while to marry her and secure for her an engagement at the West End. If she made a success there--as he was sure she would do--then she could support him in luxury and the old woman could be got rid of somehow. Oh, Spruce found many ideas in The Home of the Muses which might result in the gain of money, although he saw plainly that to bring the same to fruition time was necessary. At all events, he was making a living out of Madame Alpenny; foresaw possibilities in Zara's dancing with the chance of profit to himself, and always kept in his scheming little mind that Hench might prove to be a valuable acquaintance. Therefore, the six days prior to the young man's return proved to be amusing and profitable and promising. As Spruce had become an adventurer and a picker-up of unconsidered trifles, after the fashion of Autolycus, he was quite content with the progress he had made so far in his new camping-ground. For that it was, since Spruce had no idea of having a home, and disliked domesticity.
It was on Sunday afternoon that Hench returned. Madame Alpenny was lying down for a rest, as she always did on the seventh day; Zara had slipped out for a walk with Bracken; and Mrs. Tesk was laboriously reading a religious book, which she found extremely dull, but considered the correct thing to peruse on the Sabbath. Spruce being left very much to his own devices, had amused himself by sorting his wardrobe, and towards five o'clock was beginning to find time hang heavy on his hands. With a yawn he descended to the smoking-room to idle away an hour with a cigarette and the Sunday papers. In the bleak little apartment devoted to the goddess Nicotine--a goddess unknown to the Olympians, it may be remarked--he came suddenly upon a tall young man who was puffing his pipe and listlessly staring out of the window. Rather from intuition than from positive knowledge, the Nut guessed that this was the returned wanderer.
"Hullo, Hench, and how are you?" was his greeting, and he advanced with a gracious smile and an outstretched hand.
The young man rose slowly, looking very much astonished, but mechanically accepted the proferred grasp. Apparently he did not recognize that this resplendent being was his old schoolfellow, and hinted as much in a rough and ready fashion. "Who the deuce are you?" he demanded with a puzzled expression.
"Cuthbert Spruce!" replied the Nut, nettled as a vain man would be by the want of recognition.
"Cuthbert Spruce! Well?" Hench still appeared to be ignorant and waited for some light to be cast upon the subject of this hearty greeting.
"Oh, come now, you are an ass, Hench. Don't you remember Winchester, and the day you picked me up when I got lost during the hare and hounds run?"
Hench stared at the pink and white cherubic face and a smile broke over his face, as he shook the little man's hand heartily. "Of course. Little Spruce, isn't it?"
"I have already said as much," retorted the mortified Nut dryly.
"Well, I didn't see much of you at Winchester, you know," confessed the stalwart young man, sitting down for a chat; "you were in a different set, anyhow. And I don't fancy I cared much for your set, such as it was. H'm!" Hench stared hard at the other and pulled hard at his pipe. "Yes. Little Spruce, of course, commonly called The Cherub. And by gad, Spruce, you're a cherub still."
"No one could call you so, Hench," said Spruce affably, sitting down and producing a dainty cigarette-case; "you are more like Hercules, big and stolid and dull and honest."
"What a mixture of depreciation and compliment," said Hench coolly. "Well, I am glad to see you, in spite of your somewhat free speech. After all, one's heart warms to a chap from the old school."
"Rather!"