Bertie was as excited at the news but at the same time he remained puzzled as Algie appeared not to go out a lot, “How did you come by the news? As far as I recall you said you don’t get out a lot after your injury and when you are up, you are working most of the day.” Algie went on to explain how the news arrived, “I received a letter today from an old friend of ours; do you remember Charlie Palmerston, Algie?”
“My Lord, there’s a name from the past, Bertie, the last I recall about him is he had been admitted to the Bell club several years ago.”
“Charlie asked me to meet him in the club tomorrow evening; he said he had some important information which he wanted me to know, as he feared he may not return from a journey which he has been asked to undertake and he wants me to write a good article to explain something about a search he is going on.”
“My! That sounds terrible; did he say where is going or when?”
Algie wondered how he would explain the next news to his friend, as Bertie was very sceptical about the sciences, “No, all he said was it may be a weird journey and involve some science project he is working on.”
Bertie smiled a warm smile which twitched his beard and moustache and said, “He always thought science is the way to help things move faster, I’m not sure tampering with the natural order is a good thing to do. I remember, in school he tried to prove time may be an evolving mass of events rather than a continuing stream as we were taught.”
Algie smoothed his tattered moustache and replied, “I remember the discussions the two of you had; they often got heated as you both were adamant your point was the correct stand point.”
“I believe now as then; if things are meant to develop, we should allow them to move at their own pace and trying to speed them up will cause problems for whoever or whatever is involved, time is a stream and we travel in one direction, try to tamper with the order and who knows what will result; I am certain nothing good will be the ending. Are you going to meet him?”
In Algie’s mind there had been no doubts that Charlie’s ideas although far-fetched at sometime may work, but he is a writer, even if unpaid and an imagination is important to succeed. Now, in the dawn of Bertie’s realistic views, he began to question his views on Charlie’s ideas.
The two friends wandered down the lanes and alleyways and eventually found their way back to the Morpeth Arms Hotel, where Bertie was an honoured guest; the money earned through knowledge of the market and investing well had set him up with a steady – if small – income and for this the hotel allowed their guest to have a room with a balcony on the South side which allowed Bertie access to the park when the area closed at night. Bertie unlocked the front door with his pass key and showed Algie inside as a guest; Algie stood and looked in awe of all the trimmings and plush curtains, this was a long way from the squalid room which his pitiful earning allowed him.
Chandeliers glistened and tinkled as the light breezes from the doors touched their droplets of glass; sounding like water running through cobbles and reminding Algie of the differences between himself and his close fiend. The only sound water meant to Algie was the broken tiles on the rood which let the water in and kept his room damp. All the same, he realised he would never see the inside of such hotels other than as a guest, this he considered to be the natural order of things.
The friends passed through halls with paintings of battles and beautiful ladies painted by a few of the guests, others had beengifted from rich families as payment for the honour of staying at the Morpeth Arms; Algie never considered the differences between writers and painters until this day, “I work all day and get nothing,” he sighed.
“I beg your pardon, did you say something, Algie?” asked Bertie.
“I was thinking that I would never make this amount of money, Bertie, I love the writing but the work doesn’t pay