A Summer Serial—IV

Samuel Deronda

BY JOHN WAIN

Samuel Deronda, anxious to impress his sweetheart, Minnie Stroney, discovers that he has a gift for writing 'poetry,' as under- stood in certain literary circles. Dizzy with success, he gets an invitation to a party at the office of the editor who has accepted his work, and invites Minnie, thereby scoring his first victory over Dennis, his rival. But at the party things begin to go curiously wrong. Samuel is laughed at by other guests when he mentions that his poem has been accepted.

RANDOLPH SEED came across the room with his arm round Minnie's waist,. He ignored Samuel and spoke to the leather-faced fat man who called himself Henry Gibson 'I've got a candidate for the job, Len,' he said. 'The lady tells me she's fond of reading.'

'Fond• of reading good books, I said,' Minnie put in demurely. 'They have to be good books, to intress me . . . you know, serious.'

She looked round for approbation, but not, Samuel noticed, to him.

'You don't have to worry,' Randolph Seed assured her. He had taken his arm from round her waist, but he now held her hand, as if absent-mindedly. 'Len only does good books. He's a top- notcher.'

'What job's this you're offering her?' demanded the man in the plastic raincoat. He began eyeing Henry Gibson suspiciously, and Samuel noticed for the first time the narrowness of his eyes in that ferrety face. 'You're up to the old synopsis game, are you?' he went on in an unpleasantly harsh voice.

'Yes, Mr. Gibson, what would my duties be?' Minnie asked eagerly. She was thoroughly enjoying the evening; the agreeable sensation of finding herself at the centre of a knot of males, while familiar enough to her in Rayner's Lane, seemed more heady than ever in strange surroundings. 'I assume the job's only part-time,' she continued.

'Just secretarial duties,' said Henry Gibson quickly, trying to turn. away. 'Get in touch with me later,' he added. But the man in the plastic raincoat would not let him sidle out of the con- versation. Under the amused eye of Randolph Seed, he gripped Henry Gibson's shoulder and continued his questioning.

'It is, isn't it, Len'? It's the old synopsis game you're on, isn't it?'

When Henry Gibson did not answer, he turned to Minnie. `I'll tell you what your duties'll be,' he said venomously. 'Len reviews novels. At any rate that's his story. He's had a regular berth reviewing novels every week for twenty years, and in all that time he hasn't read one of them to the end. If you take the job, he'll get you to read the novels for him, six or eight every week, and give him a note of the plots. That's how he saves himself from silly mistakes when he writes his review.'

'So what'?' Henry Gibson demanded, flushing dully. 'The people that wrote the novels mostly bought their plots from other people before they wrote them up, anyway.'

`So this,' grated the man in the plastic raincoat. 'You slammed my novel without even looking up your notes right. I could see, even if no one else could, that your secretary had slipped up or else you had. You thought it was about the Australian bush.'

Henry Gibson groaned wildly. 'Are we going to have all that again?' he demanded. 'That was six years ago, Norm. You know I've always said I'll make it up when you do another. You can write it up yourself and I'll sign it. Provided I get the money for it, of course,' he added.

'To hell with it!' Norm shouted. 'You know I'll never do another. Nobody'd publish it after what you and your gang said about the last one.'

Minnie had been listening interestedly. If Norm thought that he was going to diminish Henry Gibson's credit by revealing his strategy as a novel-reviewer, he had miscalculated badly. Minnie was eager to begin her work, which sounded refreshingly easy. She was fond of recounting, at length, the plots of films she had seen, and this would be like doing the same thing and getting paid for it. Besides, these people were so wonderfully interesting.

Samuel, too, was looking at Henry Gibson with increased respect. At heart a sound business man, he was beginning to realise that this racket had possibilities. If people wrote novels for which they paid other people to think up plots, and others in turn reviewed these novels while paying still others to do the actual reading of them, it began to look as if he had strayed into a world where nobody ever did anything at first hand. And this was the kind of world for which Samuel's temperament best fitted him.

But where did Seed fit in? What was his racket?

`Mr. Seed,' he jerked out nervously, plucking at the editor's sleeve. 'I was wondering . . . phew domine me asking. . .

`Later, friend, later,' said Seed absently. He was still holding Minnie's hand, and seemed to be working out how best to get her away from the others. 'Don't you find it very hot in here?' Samuel heard him asking. 'Perfeckly boiling,' she agreed.

Samuel turned away, only to find that Norm, the man in the plastic raincoat, was sneering down at him, his eyes full of pitying contempt.

'What was it you were going to ask Ran?' he probed.

Samuel was going to make an evasive reply, but it struck him that there was no harm in being frank for once. 'I was just trina get a date out of him.'

'Make a date with him, you mean?'

'No, a publication date, see? Ask him when he thought of printing my poem.'

Norm laughed nastily. He looked around to see if there was anyone standing near by that he could share the joke with. But Samuel was on his mettle and determined not to give Norm this satisfaction again.

'Yes, you've 'ad one laugh already over it,' he said, flushing over the dropped aspirate and resolving inwardly to put in some practice on his diction. 'You and that geezer with a face like a dart-board. But you never got round to tellin' me what you was laughing at.'

For answer, Norm laughed again, but so artificially that it carried no conviction at all. This round was Samuel's, and they both knew it. Norm looked savagely at him.

'I'll tell you what I was laughing at, little man,' he said curtly, not smiling. 'Randolph Seed never rejects a poem. Every poem that comes in to him he accepts.'

`What for?' Samuel asked, his voice harsh and urgent. He was in it now, and he must find out the secrets of this world as soon as possible.

Norm tried to laugh again, but this time the artificiality was really grotesque. It was obvious that the subject was in reality a very painful one to him. 'What for?' he demanded, gesturing. 'Why the hell do you think anyone would buy his lousy magazine if he didn't? Whereas if there's a permanent nucleus of 500 people who are buying every issue because they hope to see their pathetic little poems in it—well, that's business.'

'But how long does it take them before they start askin' what he's up to?' he said.

'Oh, they're always asking,' said Norm bitterly. 'They come round to the office. They write to him. They ring him up. That's why he disguises his voice over the telephone. He's trying to make you think he's a woman, so that he can say he's his secretary and that he's out.'

This sentence was lacking in clarity, but Samuel saw the drift. He looked at Norm shrewdly.

'And if they get too troublesome, he asks 'em to parties?'

`You're learning, boy,' said Norm heavily. 'You'll see it all if you just hang about and keep your eyes open. And mind you. I don't say they all have to wait for nothing. Some of them actually do get their poems published. After all, if a chap who's been writing poems for years, and never had one published yet, suddenly sees himself in print, what's the first thing he does'?'

'Get drunk?' asked Samuel vaguely.

'Yes, but before that,' Norm said earnestly, leaning forward. 'He goes out and buys twenty-five copies of the magazine to give his friends. People will do anything for a bit of prestige—that's the first thing to learn in this racket. Money's nothing to it. Just give 'ern a chance to impress their friends a bit. Why is Seed a big shot in his lousy way? Because he grasped that fact. Why is that illiterate swine Len able to make a living, and not put behind bars where he ought to be? Because his job consists of trading in people's self-esteem. He doesn't bother to read those books he reviews, or to think about them at all, for that matter. He just hangs about the right pubs and the right flats, keeping his ears clean, finding out who's due to be praised and who's due to be kicked. Gawd, it's a lovely caper !' he finished, his voice sharp with envy. Samuel looked at him curiously.

'Watcher tellin' me all this for?' he asked.

The pitying contempt came back into Norm's eyes. He glared at Samuel.

'Because, you poor little cheesemite,' he grated, 'I'm too tender- hearted to watch you getting caught up in it. Here you are, just another sucker, anxious to gain a bit of credit in whatever smelly little milieu you come from, and full of pathetic little ambitions that play you straight into the hands of scum like Seed. And I can't bear to watch it.'

The words fell on Samuel like lashes. Norm had sized him up so mercilessly and so rightly. Dennis had his number at home, Norm had it here. Was there nothing he could do to make a little progress?

Norm turned away. The guests had been moving off while they talked, and now only half a dozen people were left in the dingy office. Might as well pack up and go home, Samuel thought helplessly. This is just one more thing that's no good any more.

Turning, he found Randolph Seed at his elbow. The editor was actually about to address him, and for an instant hope flickered in Samuel's heart.

'Yes, there you are, friend,' Seed purred. 'I just wanted to say don't bother about the girl-friend. I'll be seeing her home.' 'Where is she?' Samuel asked dully.

'Outside in the street. I'm taking her home in a taxi.'

'In a taxi? To Rayner's Lane?'

Seed grinned, the office light flashing off one gold canine. 'Not to her home. To mine.'

Abruptly, Samuel turned away. Let them have her. Let them have everything. He felt like a man who has challenged a syndi- cate of card-sharpers to a game of poker in a train. But suddenly he thought of Minnie, and how much he wanted her, and how equally much he didn't want Dennis, or Randolph Seed, or Len, to have her. His jaw stiffened. The pride of the Derondas, so long dormant, was stirring.

No one was watching him. He side-stepped back into the office. Everyone else had drifted on to the landing. There was a small space behind a metal filing cabinet, big enough for him to squeeze into and be hidden. He dived for it.

'Everyone out?' said Randolph Seed. 'Where's Antirrhinum, or whatever his name is? Gone out, I suppose. Well, that's every- body.'

He switched the light off. Samuel, alone in the darkened office, heard him go down the stairs and out. Through the open window came his voice, saying something to Minnie, and her answering . squeal of laughter. A taxi drove up, purred, banged its door, and drove off.

Still Samuel waited. He wanted to make quitessurc of not being disturbed. He had a plan.

(To be continued in two further instalments)