And would he find anything there? Ah, where, where in this hateful
world was there refuge for a man saddled with responsibilities, who
wanted to do his best and was given no opportunity? Mr. May had
travelled in his Pullman car and gone straight to the best hotel in the
town, like any other American with money--in America. He had done it
smart, too. And now, in this grubby penny-picking England, he saw his
boots being worn-down at the heel, and was afraid of being stranded
without cash even for a railway ticket. If he had to clear out without
paying his hotel bill--well, that was the world's fault. He had to
live. But he must perforce keep enough in hand for a ticket to
Birmingham. He always said his wife was in London. And he always walked
down to Lumley to post his letters. He was full of evasions.
So again he walked down to Lumley to post his letters. And he looked
at Lumley. And he found it a damn god-forsaken hell of a hole. It
was a long straggle of a dusty road down in the valley, with a
pale-grey dust and spatter from the pottery, and big chimneys
bellying forth black smoke right by the road. Then there was a short
cross-way, up which one saw the iron foundry, a black and rusty
place. A little further on was the railway junction, and beyond
that, more houses stretching to Hathersedge, where the stocking
factories were busy. Compared with Lumley, Woodhouse, whose church
could be seen sticking up proudly and vulgarly on an eminence, above
trees and meadow-slopes, was an idyllic heaven.
Mr. May turned in to the Derby Hotel to have a small whiskey. And of
course he entered into conversation.
"You seem somewhat quiet at Lumley," he said, in his odd,
refined-showman's voice. "Have you _nothing at all_ in the way of
amusement?"
"They all go up to Woodhouse, else to Hathersedge."
"But couldn't you support some place of your own--some _rival_ to
Wright's Variety?"
"Ay--'appen--if somebody started it."
And so it was that James was inoculated with the idea of starting a
cinema on the virgin soil of Lumley. To the women he said not a
word. But on the very first morning that Mr. May broached the
subject, he became a new man. He fluttered like a boy, he fluttered
as if he had just grown wings.
"Let us go down," said Mr. May, "and look at a site. You pledge
yourself to nothing--you don't compromise yourself. You merely have
a site in your mind."
And so it came to pass that, next morning, this oddly assorted
couple went down to Lumley together. James was very shabby, in his
black coat and dark grey trousers, and his cheap grey cap. He bent
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