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THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE.
A. CONAN DOYLE
TO MY OLD FRIEND
PROFESSOR WILLIAM K. BURTON,
OF THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY, TOKYO,
WHO FIRST ENCOURAGED ME, YEARS AGO, TO PROCEED WITH
THIS LITTLE STORY,
I DESIRE AFFECTIONATELY TO
DEDICATE IT.
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE
I cannot let this small romance go to press without prefacing it with a
word of cordial thanks to Mr. P. G. Houlgrave, of 28, Millman Street,
Bedford Row. To this gentleman I owe the accuracy of my African
chapters, and I am much indebted to him for the copious details with
which he furnished me.
A. CONAN DOYLE.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER.
I. MR. JOHN HARSTON KEEPS AN APPOINTMENT.
II. CHARITY A LA MODE.
III. THOMAS GILRAY MAKES AN INVESTMENT.
IV. CAPTAIN HAMILTON MIGGS OF THE "BLACK EAGLE".
V. MODERN ATHENIANS.
VI. A RECTORIAL ELECTION.
VII. ENGLAND VERSUS SCOTLAND.
VIII. A FIRST PROFESSIONAL.
IX. A NASTY CROPPER.
X. DWELLERS IN BOHEMIA.
XI. SENIOR AND JUNIOR.
XII. A CORNER IN DIAMONDS.
XIII. SHADOW AND LIGHT.
XIV. A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING
XV. AN ADDITION TO THE HOUSE.
XVI. THE FIRST STEP.
XVII. THE LAND OF DIAMONDS.
XVIII. MAJOR TOBIAS CLUTTERBUCK COMES IN FOR A THOUSAND POUNDS.
XIX. NEWS FROM THE URALS.
XX. MR. HECTOR O'FLAHERTY FINDS SOMETHING IN THE PAPER.
XXI. AN UNEXPECTED BLOW.
XXII. ROBBERS AND ROBBED.
XXIII. A MOMENTOUS RESOLUTION.
XXIV. A DANGEROUS PROMISE.
XXV. A CHANGE OF FRONT.
XXVI. BREAKING GROUND.
XXVII. MRS. SCULLY OF MORRISON'S.
XXVIII. BACK IN BOHEMIA.
XXIX. THE GREAT DANCE AT MORRISON'S.
XXX. AT THE "COCK AND COWSLIP".
XXXI. A CRISIS AT ECCLESTON SQUARE.
XXXII. A CONVERSATION IN THE ECCLESTON SQUARE LIBRARY.
XXXIII. THE JOURNEY TO THE PRIORY.
XXXIV. THE MAN WITH THE CAMP-STOOL.
XXXV. A TALK ON THE LAWN.
XXXVI. THE INCIDENT OF THE CORRIDOR.
XXXVII. A CHASE AND A BRAWL.
XXXVIII. GIRDLESTONE SENDS FOR THE DOCTOR.
XXXIX. A GLEAM OF LIGHT.
XL. THE MAJOR HAS A LETTER.
XLI. THE CLOUDS GROW DARKER.
XLII. THE THREE FACES AT THE WINDOW.
XLIII. THE BAIT ON THE HOOK.
XLIV. THE SHADOW OF DEATH.
XLV THE INVASION OF HAMPSHIRE.
XLVI. A MIDNIGHT CRUISE.
XLVII LAW AND ORDER.
XLVIII. CAPTAIN HAMILTON MIGGS SEES A VISION.
XLIX. A VOYAGE IN A COFFIN SHIP.
L. WINDS UP THE THREAD AND TIES TWO KNOTS AT THE END.
THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE.
CHAPTER I.
MR. JOHN HARSTON KEEPS AN APPOINTMENT.
The approach to the offices of Girdlestone and Co. was not a very
dignified one, nor would the uninitiated who traversed it form any
conception of the commercial prosperity of the firm in question.
Close to the corner of a broad and busy street, within a couple of
hundred yards of Fenchurch Street Station, a narrow doorway opens into a
long whitewashed passage. On one side of this is a brass plate with the
inscription "Girdlestone and Co., African Merchants," and above it a
curious hieroglyphic supposed to represent a human hand in the act of
pointing. Following the guidance of this somewhat ghostly emblem, the
wayfarer finds himself in a small square yard surrounded by doors, upon
one of which the name of the firm reappears in large white letters, with
the word "Push" printed beneath it. If he follows this laconic
invitation he will make his way into a long, low apartment, which is the
counting-house of the African traders.
On the afternoon of which we speak things were quiet at the offices.
The line of pigeon-holes in the wire curtain was deserted by the public,
though the linoleum-covered floor bore abundant traces of a busy
morning. Misty London light shone hazily through the glazed windows and
cast dark shadows in the corners. On a high perch in the background a
weary-faced, elderly man, with muttering lips and tapping fingers, cast
up endless lines of figures. Beneath him, in front of two long shining
mahogany desks, half a score of young men, with bent heads and stooping
shoulders, appeared to be riding furiously, neck and neck, in the race
of life. Any _habitue_ of a London office might have deduced from their
relentless energy and incorruptible diligence that they were under the
eyes of some member of the firm.
The member in question was a broad-shouldered, bull-necked young man,
who leaned against the marble mantel-piece, turning over the pages of an
almanac, and taking from time to time a stealthy peep over the top of it
at the toilers around him. Command was imprinted in every line of his
strong, square-set face and erect, powerful frame. Above the medium
size, with a vast spread of shoulder, a broad aggressive jaw, and bright
bold glance, his whole pose and expression spoke of resolution pushed to
the verge of obstinacy. There was something classical in the regular
olive-tinted features and black, crisp, curling hair fitting tightly to
the well-rounded head. Yet, though classical, there was an absence of
spirituality. It was rather the profile of one of those Roman emperors,
splendid in its animal strength, but lacking those subtle softnesses of
eye and mouth which speak of an inner life. The heavy gold chain across
the waistcoat and the bright stone which blazed upon the finger were the
natural complement of the sensuous lip and curving chin. Such was Ezra,
only child of John Girdlestone, and heir to the whole of his vast
business. Little wonder that those who had an eye to the future bent
over their ledgers and worked with a vigour calculated to attract the
attention of the junior partner, and to impress him with a due sense of
their enthusiastic regard for the interests of the firm.
It was speedily apparent, however, that the young gentleman's estimate
of their services was not entirely based upon their present performance.
With his eyes still fixed upon the almanac and a sardonic smile upon his
dark face, he uttered a single word--
"Parker!"
A flaxen-haired clerk, perched at the further end of the high glistening
desk, gave a violent start, and looked up with a scared face.
"Well, Parker, who won?" asked the junior partner.
"Won, sir!" the youth stammered.
"Yes, who won?" repeated his employer.
"I hardly understand you, sir," the clerk said, growing very red and
confused.
"Oh yes, you do, Parker," young Girdlestone remarked, tapping his
almanac sharply with the paper-knife. "You were playing odd man out
with Robson and Perkins when I came in from lunch. As I presume you
were at it all the time I was away, I have a natural curiosity to know
who won."
The three unhappy clerks fixed their eyes upon their ledgers to avoid
the sarcastic gaze of their employer. He went on in the same quiet
tones--
"You gentlemen draw about thirty shillings a week from the firm.
I believe I am right in my figures, Mr. Gilray?" addressing the senior
clerk seated at the high solitary desk apart from the others. "Yes, I
thought so. Now, odd man out is, no doubt, a very harmless and
fascinating game, but you can hardly expect us to encourage it so far as
to pay so much an hour for the privilege of having it played in our
counting-house. I shall therefore recommend my father to deduct five
shillings from the sum which each of you will receive upon Saturday.
That will cover the time which you have devoted to your own amusements
during the week."
He paused, and the three culprits were beginning to cool down and
congratulate themselves, when he began again.
"You will see, Mr. Gilray, that this deduction is made," he said,
"and at the same time I beg that you will deduct ten shillings from your
own salary, since, as senior clerk, the responsibility of keeping order
in this room in the absence of your employers rests with you, and you
appear to have neglected it. I trust you will look to this, Mr.
Gilray."
"Yes, sir," the senior clerk answered meekly. He was an elderly man
with a large family, and the lost ten shillings would make a difference
to the Sunday dinner. There was nothing for it but to bow to the
inevitable, and his little pinched face assumed an expression of gentle
resignation. How to keep his ten young subordinates in order, however,
was a problem which vexed him sorely.
The junior partner was silent, and the remaining clerks were working
uneasily, not exactly knowing whether they might not presently be
included in the indictment. Their fears were terminated, however, by
the sharp sound of a table-gong and the appearance of a boy with the
announcement that Mr. Girdlestone would like a moment's conversation
with Mr. Ezra. The latter gave a keen glance at his subjects and
withdrew into the back office, a disappearance which was hailed by ten
pens being thrown into the air and deftly caught again, while as many
derisive and triumphant young men mocked at the imploring efforts of old
Gilray in the interests of law and order.
The sanctum of Mr. John Girdlestone was approached by two doors, one of
oak with ground-glass panels, and the other covered with green baize.
The room itself was small, but lofty, and the walls were ornamented by
numerous sections of ships stuck upon long flat boards, very much as the
remains of fossil fish are exhibited in museums, together with maps,
charts, photographs, and lists of sailings innumerable. Above the
fire-place was a large water-colour painting of the barque _Belinda_ as
she appeared when on a reef to the north of Cape Palmas. An inscription
beneath this work of art announced that it had been painted by the
second officer and presented by him to the head of the firm. It was
generally rumoured that the merchants had lost heavily over this
disaster, and there were some who quoted it as an instance of
Girdlestone's habitual strength of mind that he should decorate his wall
with so melancholy a souvenir. This view of the matter did not appear
to commend itself to a flippant member of Lloyd's agency, who contrived
to intimate, by a dexterous use of his left eyelid and right forefinger,
that the vessel may not have been so much under-insured, nor the loss to
the firm so enormous as was commonly reported.
John Girdlestone, as he sat at his square office-table waiting for his
son, was undeniably a remarkable-looking man. For good or for evil no
weak character lay beneath that hard angular face, with the strongly
marked features and deep-set eyes. He was clean shaven, save for an
iron-grey fringe of ragged whisker under each ear, which blended with
the grizzled hair above. So self-contained, hard-set, and immutable was
his expression that it was impossible to read anything from it except
sternness and resolution, qualities which are as likely to be associated
with the highest natures as with the most dangerous. It may have been
on account of this ambiguity of expression that the world's estimate of
the old merchant was a very varying one. He was known to be a fanatic
in religion, a purist in morals, and a man of the strictest commercial
integrity. Yet there were some few who looked askance at him, and none,
save one, who could apply the word "friend" to him.
He rose and stood with his back to the fire-place as his son entered.
He was so tall that he towered above the younger man, but the latter's
square and compact frame made him, apart from the difference of age, the
stronger man.
The young man had dropped the air of sarcasm which he found was most
effective with the clerks, and had resumed his natural manner, which was
harsh and brusque.
"What's up!" he asked, dropping back into a chair, and jingling the
loose coins in his trouser pockets.
"I have had news of the _Black Eagle_," his father answered. "She is
reported from Madeira."
"Ah!" cried the junior partner eagerly. "What luck?"
"She is full, or nearly so, according to Captain Hamilton Miggs'
report."
"I wonder Miggs was able to send a report at all, and I wonder still
more that you should put any faith in it," his son said impatiently.
"The fellow is never sober."
"Miggs is a good seaman, and popular on the coast. He may indulge at
times, but we all have our failings. Here is the list as vouched for by
our agent. 'Six hundred barrels of palm oil'--"
"Oil is down to-day," the other interrupted.
"It will rise before the _Black Eagle_ arrives," the merchant rejoined
confidently. "Then he has palm nuts in bulk, gum, ebony, skins,
cochineal, and ivory."
The young man gave a whistle of satisfaction. "Not bad for old Miggs!"
he said. "Ivory is at a fancy figure."
"We are sorely in need of a few good voyages," Girdlestone remarked,
"for things have been very slack of late. There is one very sad piece
of intelligence here which takes away the satisfaction which we might
otherwise feel. Three of the crew have died of fever. He does not
mention the names."
"The devil!" said Ezra. "We know very well what that means.
Three women, each with an armful of brats, besieging the office and
clamouring for a pension. Why are seamen such improvident dogs?"
His father held up his white hand deprecatingly. "I wish," he said,
"that you would treat these subjects with more reverence. What could be
sadder than that the bread-winner of a family should be cut off? It has
grieved me more than I can tell."
"Then you intend to pension the wives?" Ezra said, with a sly smile.
"By no means," his father returned with decision. "Girdlestone and Co.
are not an insurance office. The labourer is worthy of his hire, but
when his work in this world is over, his family must fall back upon what
has been saved by his industry and thrift. It would be a dangerous
precedent for us to allow pensions to the wives of these sailors, for it
would deprive the others of all motive for laying their money by, and
would indirectly encourage vice and dissipation."
Ezra laughed, and continued to rattle his silver and keys.
"It is not upon this matter that I desired to speak to you," Girdlestone
continued. "It has, however, always been my practice to prefer matters
of business to private affairs, however pressing. John Harston is said
to be dying, and he has sent a message to me saying that he wishes to
see me. It is inconvenient for me to leave the office, but I feel that
it is my Christian duty to obey such a summons. I wish you, therefore,
to look after things until I return."
"I can hardly believe that the news is true," Ezra said, in
astonishment. "There must be some mistake. Why, I spoke to him on
'Change last Monday."
"It is very sudden," his father answered, taking his broad-brimmed hat
from a peg. "There is no doubt about the fact, however. The doctor
says that there is very little hope that he will survive until evening.
It is a case of malignant typhoid."
"You are very old friends?" Ezra remarked, looking thoughtfully at his
father.
"I have known him since we were boys together," the other replied, with
a slight dry cough, which was the highest note of his limited emotional
gamut. "Your mother, Ezra, died upon the very day that Harston's wife
gave birth to this daughter of his, seventeen years ago. Mrs. Harston
only survived a few days. I have heard him say that, perhaps, we should
also go together. We are in the hands of a higher Power, however, and
it seems that one shall be taken and another left."
"How will the money go if the doctors are right?" Ezra asked keenly.
"Every penny to the girl. She will be an heiress. There are no other
relations that I know of, except the Dimsdales, and they have a fair
fortune of their own. But I must go."
"By the way, malignant typhoid is very catching, is it not?"
"So they say," the merchant said quietly, and strode off through the
counting-house.
Ezra Girdlestone remained behind, stretching his legs In front of the
empty grate. "The governor is a hard nail," he soliloquized, as he
stared down at the shining steel bars. "Depend upon it, though, he
feels this more than he shows. Why, it's the only friend he ever had in
the world--or ever will have, in all probability. However, it's no
business of mine," with which comforting reflection he began to whistle
as he turned over the pages of the private day-book of the firm.
It is possible that his son's surmise was right, and that the gaunt,
unemotional African merchant felt an unwonted heartache as he hailed a
hansom and drove out to his friend's house at Fulham. He and Harston
had been charity schoolboys together, had roughed it together, risen
together, and prospered together. When John Girdlestone was a raw-boned
lad and Harston a chubby-faced urchin, the latter had come to look upon
the other as his champion and guide. There are some minds which are
parasitic in their nature. Alone they have little vitality, but they
love to settle upon some stronger intellect, from which they may borrow
their emotions and conclusions at second-hand. A strong, vigorous brain
collects around it in time many others, whose mental processes are a
feeble imitation of its own. Thus it came to pass that, as the years
rolled on, Harston learned to lean more and more upon his old
school-fellow, grafting many of his stern peculiarities upon his own
simple vacuous nature, until he became a strange parody of the original.
To him Girdlestone was the ideal man, Girdlestone's ways the correct
ways, and Girdlestone's opinions the weightiest of all opinions.
Forty years of this undeviating fidelity must, however he might conceal
it, have made an impression upon the feelings of the elder man.
Harston, by incessant attention to business and extreme parsimony, had
succeeded in founding an export trading concern. In this he had
followed the example of his friend. There was no fear of their
interests ever coming into collision, as his operations were confined to
the Mediterranean. The firm grew and prospered, until Harston began to
be looked upon as a warm man in the City circles. His only child was
Kate, a girl of seventeen. There were no other near relatives, save Dr.
Dimsdale, a prosperous West-end physician. No wonder that Ezra
Girdlestone's active business mind, and perhaps that of his father too,
should speculate as to the disposal of the fortune of the dying man.
Girdlestone pushed open the iron gate and strode down the gravel walk
which led to his friend's house. A bright autumn sun shining out of a
cloudless heaven bathed the green lawn and the many-coloured flower-beds
in its golden light. The air, the leaves, the birds, all spoke of life.
It was hard to think that death was closing its grip upon him who owned
them all. A plump little gentleman in black was just descending the
steps.
"Well, doctor," the merchant asked, "how is your patient?"
"You've not come with the intention of seeing him, have you?" the doctor
asked, glancing up with some curiosity at the grey face and overhanging
eyebrows of the merchant.
"Yes, I am going up to him now."
"It is a most virulent case of typhoid. He may die in an hour or he may
live until nightfall, but nothing can save him. He will hardly
recognize you, I fear, and you can do him no good. It is most
infectious, and you are incurring a needless danger. I should strongly
recommend you not to go."
"Why, you've only just come down from him yourself, doctor."
"Ah, I'm there in the way of duty."
"So am I," said the visitor decisively, and passing up the stone steps
of the entrance strode into the hall. There was a large sitting-room
upon the ground floor, through the open door of which the visitor saw a
sight which arrested him for a moment. A young girl was sitting in a
recess near the window, with her lithe, supple figure bent forward, and
her hands clasped at the back of her head, while her elbows rested upon
a small table in front of her. Her superb brown hair fell in a thick
wave on either side over her white round arms, and the graceful curve of
her beautiful neck might have furnished a sculptor with a study for a
mourning Madonna. The doctor had just broken his sad tidings to her,
and she was still in the first paroxysm of her grief--a grief too acute,
as was evident even to the unsentimental mind of the merchant, to allow
of any attempt at consolation. A greyhound appeared to think
differently, for he had placed his fore-paws upon his young mistress's
lap, and was attempting to thrust his lean muzzle between her arms and
to lick her face in token of canine sympathy. The merchant paused
irresolutely for a moment, and then ascending the broad staircase he
pushed open the door of Harston's room and entered.
The blinds were drawn down and the chamber was very dark. A pungent
whiff of disinfectants issued from it, mingled with the dank, heavy
smell of disease. The bed was in a far corner. Without seeing him,
Girdlestone could hear the fast laboured breathing of the invalid.
A trimly dressed nurse who had been sitting by the bedside rose, and,
recognizing the visitor, whispered a few words to him and left the room.
He pulled the cord of the Venetian blind so as to admit a few rays of
daylight. The great chamber looked dreary and bare, as carpet and
hangings had been removed to lessen the chance of future infection.
John Girdlestone stepped softly across to the bedside and sat down by
his dying friend.
The sufferer was lying on his back, apparently unconscious of all around
him. His glazed eyes were turned upwards towards the ceiling, and his
parched lips were parted, while the breath came in quick, spasmodic
gasps. Even the unskilled eye of the merchant could tell that the angel
of death was hovering very near him. With an ungainly attempt at
tenderness, which had something pathetic in it, he moistened a sponge
and passed it over the sick man's feverish brow. The latter turned his
restless head round, and a gleam of recognition and gratitude came into
his eyes.
"I knew that you would come," he said.
"Yes. I came the moment that I got your message."
"I am glad that you are here," the sufferer continued with a sigh of
relief. From the brightened expression upon his pinched face, it seemed
as if, even now in the jaws of death, he leaned upon his old
schoolfellow and looked to him for assistance. He put a wasted hand
above the counterpane and laid it upon Girdlestone's.
"I wish to speak to you, John," he said. "I am very weak. Can you hear
what I say?"
"Yes, I hear you."
"Give me a spoonful from that bottle. It clears my mind for a time.
I have been making my will, John."
"Yes," said the merchant, replacing the medicine bottle.
"The lawyer made it this morning. Stoop your head and you will hear me
better. I have less than fifty thousand. I should have done better had
I retired years ago."
"I told you so," the other broke in gruffly.
"You did--you did. But I acted for the best. Forty thousand I leave to
my dear daughter Kate."
A look of interest came over Girdlestone's face. "And the balance?" he
asked.
"I leave that to be equally divided among the various London
institutions for educating the poor. We were both poor boys ourselves,
John, and we know the value of such schools."
Girdlestone looked perhaps a trifle disappointed. The sick man went on
very slowly and painfully--
"My daughter will have forty thousand pounds. But it is so tied up that
she can neither touch it herself nor enable any one else to do so until
she is of age. She has no friends, John, and no relations, save only my
cousin, Dr. George Dimsdale. Never was a girl left more lonely and
unprotected. Take her, I beg of you, and bring her up under your own
eye. Treat her as though she were your child. Guard her above all from
those who would wreck her young life in order to share her fortune.
Do this, old friend, and make me happy on my deathbed."
The merchant made no answer. His heavy eyebrows were drawn down, and
his forehead all puckered with thought.
"You are the one man," continued the sufferer, "whom I know to be just
and upright. Give me the water, for my mouth is dry. Should, which God
forbid, my dear girl perish before she marries, then--" His breath
failed him for a moment, and he paused to recover it.
"Well, what then?"
"Then, old friend, her fortune reverts to you, for there is none who
will use it so well. Those are the terms of the will. But you will
guard her and care for her, as I would myself. She is a tender plant,
John, too weak to grow alone. Promise me that you will do right by
her--promise it?"
"I do promise it," John Girdlestone answered in a deep voice. He was
standing up now, and leaning over to catch the words of the dying man.
Harston was sinking rapidly. With a feeble motion he pointed to a
brown-backed volume upon the table.
"Take up the book," he said.
The merchant picked it up.
"Now, repeat after me, I swear and solemnly pledge myself--"
"I swear and solemnly pledge myself--
"To treasure and guard as if she were my own--" came the tremulous voice
from the bed.
"To treasure and guard as if she were my own--" in the deep bass of the
merchant.
"Kate Harston, the daughter of my deceased friend--"
"Kate Harston, the daughter of my deceased friend--"
"And as I treat her, so may my own flesh and blood treat me!"
"And as I treat her, so may my own flesh and blood treat me!"
The sick man's head fell back exhausted upon his pillow. "Thank God!"
he muttered, "now I can die in peace."
"Turn your mind away from the vanities and dross of this world," John
Girdlestone said sternly, "and fix it upon that which is eternal, and
can never die."
"Are you going?" the invalid asked sadly, for he had taken up his hat
and stick.
"Yes, I must go; I have an appointment in the City at six, which I must
not miss."
"And I have an appointment which I must not miss," the dying man said
with a feeble smile.
"I shall send up the nurse as I go down," Girdlestone said.
"Good-bye!"
"Good-bye! God bless you, John!"
The firm, strong hand of the hale man enclosed for a moment the feeble,
burning one of the sufferer. Then John Girdlestone plodded heavily down
the stair, and these friends of forty years' standing had said their
last adieu.
The African merchant kept his appointment in the City, but long before
he reached it John Harston had gone also to keep that last terrible
appointment of which the messenger is death.
CHAPTER II.
CHARITY A LA MODE.
It was a dull October morning in Fenchurch Street, some weeks after the
events with which our story opened. The murky City air looked murkier
still through the glazed office windows. Girdlestone, grim and grey, as
though he were the very embodiment of the weather, stooped over his
mahogany table. He had a long list in front of him, on which he was
checking off, as a prelude to the day's work, the position in the market
of the various speculations in which the capital of the firm was
embarked. His son Ezra lounged in an easy chair opposite him, looking
dishevelled and dark under the eyes, for he had been up half the night,
and the Nemesis of reaction was upon him.
"Faugh!" his father ejaculated, glancing round at him with disgust.
"You have been drinking already this morning."
"I took a brandy and seltzer on the way to the office," he answered
carelessly. "I needed one to steady me."
"A young fellow of your age should not want steadying. You have a
strong constitution, but you must not play tricks with it. You must
have been very late last night. It was nearly one before I went to
bed."
"I was playing cards with Major Clutterbuck and one or two others.
We kept it up rather late."
"With Major Clutterbuck?"
"Yes."
"I don't care about your consorting so much with that man. He drinks
and gambles, and does you no good. What good has he ever done himself?
Take care that he does not fleece you." The merchant felt
instinctively, as he glanced at the shrewd, dark face of his son, that
the warning was a superfluous one.
"No fear, father," Ezra answered sulkily; "I am old enough to choose my
own friends."
"Why such a friend as that?"
"I like to know men of that class. You are a successful man, father,
but you--well, you can't be much help to me socially. You need some one
to show you the ropes, and the major is my man. When I can stand alone,
I'll soon let him know it."
"Well, go your own way," said Girdlestone shortly. Hard to all the
world, he was soft only in this one direction. From childhood every
discussion between father and son had ended with the same words.
"It is business time," he resumed. "Let us confine ourselves to
business. I see that Illinois were at 112 yesterday."
"They are at 113 this morning."
"What! have you been on 'Change already?"
"Yes, I dropped in there on my way to the office. I would hold on to
those. They will go up for some days yet."
The senior partner made a pencil note on the margin of the list.
"We'll hold on to the cotton we have," he said.
"No, sell out at once," Ezra answered with decision, "I saw young
Featherstone, of Liverpool, last night, or rather this morning. It was
hard to make head or tail of what the fool said, but he let fall enough
to show that there was likely to be a drop."
Girdlestone made another mark upon the paper. He never questioned his
son's decisions now, for long experience had shown him that they were
never formed without solid grounds. "Take this list, Ezra," he said,
handing him the paper, "and run your eye over it. If you see anything
that wants changing, mark it."
"I'll do it in the counting-house," his son answered. "I can keep my
eye on those lazy scamps of clerks. Gilray has no idea of keeping them
in order."
As he went out he cannoned against an elderly gentleman in a white
waistcoat, who was being shown in, and who ricochetted off him into the
office, where he shook hands heartily with the elder Girdlestone.
It was evident from the laboured cordiality of the latter's greeting
that the new-comer was a man of some importance. He was, indeed, none
other than the well-known philanthropist, Mr. Jefferson Edwards, M.P.
for Middlehurst, whose name upon a bill was hardly second to that of
Rothschild.
"How do, Girdlestone, how do?" he exclaimed, mopping his face with his
handkerchief. He was a fussy little man, with a brusque, nervous
manner. "Hard at it as usual, eh? Always pegging away. Wonderful man.
Ha, ha! Wonderful!"
"You look warm," the merchant answered, rubbing his hands. "Let me
offer you some claret. I have some in the cupboard."
"No, thank you," the visitor answered, staring across at the head of the
firm as though he were some botanical curiosity. "Extraordinary fellow.
'Iron' Girdlestone, they call you in the City. A good name, too--
ha! ha!--an excellent name. Iron-grey, you know, and hard to look at,
but soft here, my dear sir, soft here." The little man tapped him with
his walking-stick over the cardiac region and laughed boisterously,
while his grim companion smiled slightly and bowed to the compliment.
"I've come here begging," said Mr. Jefferson Edwards, producing a
portentous-looking roll of paper from an inner pocket. "Know I've come
to the right place for charity. The Aboriginal Evolution Society, my
dear boy. All it wants are a few hundreds to float it off. Noble aim,
Girdlestone--glorious object."
"What _is_ the object?" the merchant asked.
"Well, the evolution of the aborigines," Edwards answered in some
confusion. "Sort of practical Darwinism. Evolve 'em into higher types,
and turn 'em all white in time. Professor Wilder gave us a lecture
about it. I'll send you round a _Times_ with the account. Spoke about
their thumbs. They can't cross them over their palms, and they have
rudimentary tails, or had until they were educated off them. They wore
all the hair off their backs by leaning against trees. Marvellous
things! All they want is a little money."
"It seems to be a praiseworthy object," the merchant said gravely.
"I knew that you would think so!" cried the little philanthropist
enthusiastically. "Of course, bartering as you do with aboriginal
races, their development and evolution is a matter of the deepest
importance to you. If a man came down to barter with you who had a
rudimentary tail and couldn't bend his thumb--well, it wouldn't be
pleasant, you know. Our idea is to elevate them in the scale of
humanity and to refine their tastes. Hewett, of the Royal Society, went
to report on the matter a year or so back, and some rather painful
incident occurred. I believe Hewett met with some mishap--in fact, they
go the length of saying that he was eaten. So you see we've had our
martyrs, my dear friend, and the least that we can do who stay at home
at ease is to support a good cause to the best of our ability."
"Whose names have you got?" asked the merchant.
"Let's see," Jefferson Edwards said, unfolding his list. "Spriggs, ten;
Morton, ten; Wigglesworth, five; Hawkins, ten; Indermann, fifteen;
Jones, five; and a good many smaller amounts."
"What is the highest as yet?"
"Indermann, the tobacco importer, has given fifteen."
"It is a good cause," Mr. Girdlestone said, dipping his pen into the
ink-bottle. "'He that giveth'--you know what the good old Book says.
Of course a list of the donations will be printed and circulated?"
"Most certainly."
"Here is my cheque for twenty-five pounds. I am proud to have had this
opportunity of contributing towards the regeneration of those poor souls
whom Providence has placed in a lower sphere than myself."
"Girdlestone," said the member of Parliament with emotion, as he
pocketed the cheque, "you are a good man. I shall not forget this, my
friend; I shall never forget it."
"Wealth has its duties, and charity is among them," Girdlestone
answered with unction, shaking the philanthropist's extended hand.
"Good-bye, my dear sir. Pray let me know if our efforts are attended
with any success. Should more money be needed, you know one who may be
relied on."
There was a sardonic smile upon the hard face of the senior partner as
he closed the door behind his visitor. "It's a legitimate investment,"
he muttered to himself as he resumed his seat. "What with his
Parliamentary interest and his financial power, it's a very legitimate
investment. It looks well on the list, too, and inspires confidence.
I think the money is well spent."
Ezra had bowed politely as the great man passed through the office, and
Gilray, the wizened senior clerk, opened the outer door. Jefferson
Edwards turned as he passed him and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Lucky fellow," he said in his jerky way. "Good employer--model to
follow--great man. Watch him, mark him, imitate him--that's the way to
get on. Can't go wrong," and he trotted down the street in search of
fresh contributions towards his latest fad.
CHAPTER III.
THOMAS GILRAY MAKES AN INVESTMENT.
The shambling little clerk was still standing at the door watching the
retreating figure of the millionaire, and mentally splicing together his
fragmentary remarks into a symmetrical piece of advice which might be
carried home and digested at leisure, when his attention was attracted
to a pale-faced woman, with a child in her arms, who was hanging about
the entrance. She looked up at the clerk in a wistful way, as if
anxious to address him and yet afraid to do so. Then noting, perhaps,
some gleam of kindness in his yellow wrinkled face, she came across to
him.
"D'ye think I could see Muster Girdlestone, sir," she asked, with a
curtsey; "or, maybe, you're Mr. Girdlestone yourself?" The woman was
wretchedly dressed, and her eyelids were swollen and red as from long
crying.
"Mr. Girdlestone is in his room," said the head clerk kindly. "I have
no doubt that he will see you if you will wait for a moment." Had he
been speaking to the grandest of the be-silked and be-feathered dames
who occasionally frequented the office; he could not have spoken with
greater courtesy. Verily in these days the spirit of true chivalry has
filtered down from the surface and has found a lodgment in strange
places.
The merchant looked with a surprised and suspicious eye at his visitor
when she was ushered in. "Take a seat, my good woman," he said.
"What can I do for you?"
"Please, Mr. Girdlestone, I'm Mrs. Hudson," she answered, seating
herself in a timid way upon the extreme edge of a chair. She was weary
and footsore, for she had carried the baby up from Stepney that morning.
"Hudson--Hudson--can't remember the name," said Girdlestone, shaking his
head reflectively.
"Jim Hudson as was, sir, he was my husband, the bo'sun for many a year
o' your ship the _Black Eagle_. He went out to try and earn a bit for
me and the child, sir, but he's dead o' fever, poor dear, and lying in
Bonny river, wi' a cannon ball at his feet, as the carpenter himself
told me who sewed him up, and I wish I was dead and with him, so I do."
She began sobbing in her shawl and moaning, while the child, suddenly
awakened by the sound, rubbed its eyes with its wrinkled mottled hands,
and then proceeded to take stock of Mr. Girdlestone and his office with
the critical philosophy of infancy.
"Calm yourself, my good woman, calm yourself," said the senior partner.
He perceived that the evil prophesied by his son had come upon him, and
he made a mental note of this fresh instance of Ezra's powers of
foresight.
"It was hard, so it was," said Mrs. Hudson, drying her eyes, but still
giving vent to an occasional tempestuous sob. "I heard as the _Black
Eagle_ was comin' up the river, so I spent all I had in my pocket in
makin' Jim a nice little supper--ham an' eggs, which was always his
favourite, an' a pint o' bitter, an' a quartern o' whiskey that he could
take hot after, bein' naturally o' a cold turn, and him comin' from a
warm country, too. Then out I goes, and down the river, until I sees
the _Black Eagle_ a-comin' up wi' a tug in front of her. Well I knowed
the two streaks o' white paint, let alone the screechin' o' the parrots
which I could hear from the bank. I could see the heads o' some of the
men peepin' over the side, so I waves my handkercher, and one o' them he
waves back. 'Trust Jim for knowin' his little wife,' says I, proud like
to myself, and I runs round to where I knew as they'd dock her.
What with me being that excited that I couldn't rightly see where I was
going, and what with the crowd, for the men was comin' from work, I
didn't get there till the ship was alongside. Then I jumps aboard, and
the first man I seed was Sandy McPherson, who I knowed when we lived in
Binnacle Lane. 'Where's Jim?' I cried, running forward, eager like, to
the forecastle, but he caught me by the arm as I passed him.
'Steady, lass, steady!' Then I looked up at him, and his face was very
grave, and my knees got kind o' weak. 'Where's Jim?' says I.
'Don't ask,' says he. 'Where is he, Sandy?' I screeches; and then,
'Don't say the word, Sandy, don't you say it.' But, Lor' bless ye, sir,
it didn't much matter what he said nor what he didn't, for I knowed all,
an' down I flops on the deck in a dead faint. The mate, he took me home
in a cab, and when I come to there was the supper lying, sir, and the
beer, and the things a-shinin', and all so cosy, an' the child askin'
where her father was, for I told her he'd bring her some things from
Africa. Then, to think of him a-lyin' dead in Bonny river, why, sir, it
nigh broke my heart."
"A sore affliction," the merchant said, shaking his grizzled head.
"A sad visitation. But these things are sent to try us, Mrs. Hudson.
They are warnings to us not to fix our thoughts too much upon the dross
of this world, but to have higher aims and more durable aspirations.
We are poor short-sighted creatures, the best of us, and often mistake
evil for good. What seems so sad to-day may, if taken in a proper
spirit, be looked back upon as a starting-point from which all the good
of your life has come."
"Bless you, sir!" said the widow, still furtively rubbing her eyes with
the corner of her little shawl. "You're a real kind gentleman. It does
me good to hear you talk."
"We have all our burdens and misfortunes," continued the senior partner.
"Some have more, some have less. To-day is your turn, to-morrow it may
be mine. But let us struggle on to the great goal, and the weight of
our burden need never cause us to sink by the wayside. And now I must
wish you a very good morning, Mrs. Hudson. Believe me, you have my
hearty sympathy."
The woman rose and then stood irresolute for a moment, as though there
was something which she still wished to mention.
"When will I be able to draw Jim's back pay, sir?" she asked nervously.
"I have pawned nigh everything in the house, and the child and me is
weak from want of food."
"Your husband's back pay," the merchant said, taking down a ledger from
the shelf and turning rapidly over the leaves. "I think that you are
under a delusion, Mrs. Hudson. Let me see--Dawson, Duffield, Everard,
Francis, Gregory, Gunter, Hardy. Ah, here it is--Hudson, boatswain of
the _Black Eagle_. The wages which he received amounted, I see, to five
pounds a month. The voyage lasted eight months, but the ship had only
been out two months and a half when your husband died."
"That's true, sir," the widow said, with an anxious look at the long
line of figures in the ledger.
"Of course, the contract ended at his death, so the firm owed him twelve
pounds ten at that date. But I perceive from my books that you have
been drawing half-pay during the whole eight months. You have
accordingly had twenty pounds from the firm, and are therefore in its
debt to the amount of seven pounds ten shillings. We'll say nothing of
that at present," the senior partner concluded with a magnificent air.
"When you are a little better off you can make good the balance, but
really you can hardly expect us to assist you any further at present."
"But, sir, we have nothing," Mrs. Hudson sobbed.
"It is deplorable, most deplorable. But we are not the people to apply
to. Your own good sense will tell you that, now that I have explained
it to you. Good morning. I wish you good fortune, and hope you will
let us know from time to time how you go on. We always take a keen
interest in the families of those who serve us." Mr. Girdlestone opened
the door, and the heart-sick little woman staggered away across the
office, still bearing her heavy child.
When she got into the open air she stared around her like one dazed.
The senior clerk looked anxiously at her as he stood at the open door.
Then he glanced back into the office. Ezra Girdlestone was deep in some
accounts, and his brother clerks were all absorbed in their work. He
stole up to the woman, with an apologetic smile, slipped something into
her hand, and then hurried back into the office with an austere look
upon his face, as if his whole mind were absorbed in the affairs of the
firm. There are speculations above the ken of business men. Perhaps,
Thomas Gilray, that ill-spared half-crown of yours may bring in better
interest than the five-and-twenty pounds of your employer.
CHAPTER IV.
CAPTAIN HAMILTON MIGGS OF THE "BLACK EAGLE."
The head of the firm had hardly recovered his mental serenity after the
painful duty of explaining her financial position to the Widow Hudson,
when his quick ear caught the sound of a heavy footstep in the
counting-house. A gruff voice was audible at the same time, which
demanded in rather more energetic language than was usually employed in
that orderly establishment, whether the principal was to be seen or not.
The answer was evidently in the affirmative, for the lumbering tread
came rapidly nearer, and a powerful double knock announced that the
visitor was at the other side of the door.
"Come in," cried Mr. Girdlestone, laying down his pen.
This invitation was so far complied with that the handle turned, and the
door revolved slowly upon its hinges. Nothing more substantial than a
strong smell of spirituous liquors, however, entered the apartment.
"Come in," the merchant repeated impatiently.
At this second mandate a great tangled mass of black hair was slowly
protruded round the angle of the door. Then a copper-coloured forehead
appeared, with a couple of very shaggy eyebrows and eventually a pair of
eyes, which protruded from their sockets and looked yellow and
unhealthy. These took a long look, first at the senior partner and then
at his surroundings, after which, as if reassured by the inspection, the
remainder of the face appeared--a flat nose, a large mouth with a lower
lip which hung down and exposed a line of tobacco-stained teeth, and
finally a thick black beard which bristled straight out from the chin,
and bore abundant traces of an egg having formed part of its owner's
morning meal. The head having appeared, the body soon followed it,
though all in the same anaconda-like style of progression, until the
individual stood revealed. He was a stoutly-built sea-faring man,
dressed in a pea jacket and blue trousers and holding his tarpaulin hat
in his hand. With a rough scrape and a most unpleasant leer he advanced
towards the merchant, a tattoed and hairy hand outstretched in sign of
greeting.
"Why, captain," said the head of the firm, rising and grasping the
other's hand with effusion, "I am glad to see you back safe and well."
"Glad to see ye, sir--glad to see ye."
His voice was thick and husky, and there was an indecision about his
gait as though he had been drinking heavily. "I came in sort o'
cautious," he continued, "'cause I didn't know who might be about.
When you and me speaks together we likes to speak alone, you bet."
The merchant raised his bushy eyebrows a little, as though he did not
relish the idea of mutual confidences suggested by his companion's
remark. "Hadn't you better take a seat?" he said.
The other took a cane-bottomed chair and carried it into the extreme
corner of the office. Then having looked steadily at the wall behind
him, and rapped it with his knuckles, he sat down, still throwing an
occasional apprehensive glance over his shoulder. "I've got a touch of
the jumps," he remarked apologetically to his employer. "I likes to
_know_ as there ain't no one behind me."
"You should give up this shocking habit of drinking," Mr. Girdlestone
said seriously. "It is a waste of the best gifts with which Providence
has endowed us. You are the worse for it both in this world and in the
next."
Captain Hamilton Miggs did not seem to be at all impressed by this very
sensible piece of advice. On the contrary, he chuckled boisterously to
himself, and, slapping his thigh, expressed his opinion that his
employer was a "rum 'un"--a conviction which he repeated to himself
several times with various symptoms of admiration.
"Well, well," Girdlestone said, after a short pause, "boys will be boys,
and sailors, I suppose, will be sailors. After eight months of anxiety
and toil, ending in success, captain--I am proud to be able to say the
words--some little licence must be allowed. I do not judge others by
the same hard and fast lines by which I regulate my own conduct."
This admirable sentiment also failed to elicit any response from the
obdurate Miggs, except the same manifestations of mirth and the same
audible aside as to the peculiarities of his master's character.
"I must congratulate you on your cargo, and wish you the same luck for
your next voyage," the merchant continued.
"Ivory, an' gold dust, an' skins, an' resin, an' cochineal, an' gums,
an' ebony, an' rice, an' tobacco, an' fruits, an' nuts in bulk.
If there's a better cargo about, I'd like to see it," the sailor said
defiantly.
"An excellent cargo, captain; very good indeed. Three of your men died,
I believe?"
"Ay, three of the lubbers went under. Two o' fever and one o'
snake-bite. It licks me what sailors are comin' to in these days.
When I was afore the mast we'd ha' been ashamed to die o' a trifle like
that. Look at me. I've been down wi' coast fever sixteen times, and
I've had yellow jack an' dysentery, an' I've been bit by the black cobra
in the Andamans. I've had cholera, too. It broke out in a brig when I
was in the Sandwich Island trade, and I was shipmates wi' seven dead out
o' a crew o' ten. But I ain't none the worse for it--no, nor never will
be. But I say, gov'nor, hain't you got a drop of something about the
office?"
The senior partner rose, and taking a bottle from the cupboard filled
out a stiff glass of rum. The sailor drank it off eagerly, and laid
down the empty tumbler with a sigh of satisfaction.
"Say, now," he said, with an unpleasant confidential leer, "weren't you
surprised to see us come back--eh? Straight now, between man and man?"
"The old ship hangs together well, and has lots of work in her yet," the
merchant answered.
"Lots of work! God's truth, I thought she was gone in the bay! We'd a
dirty night with a gale from the west-sou'-west, an' had been goin' by
dead reckonin' for three days, so we weren't over and above sure o'
ourselves. She wasn't much of a sea-going craft when we left England,
but the sun had fried all the pitch out o' her seams, and you might ha'
put your finger through some of them. Two days an' a night we were at
the pumps, for she leaked like a sieve. We lost the fore topsail, blown
clean out o' the ringbolts. I never thought to see Lunnon again."
"If she could weather a gale like that she could make another voyage."
"She could start on another," the sailor said gloomily, "but as like as
not she'd never see the end o't."
"Come, come, you're not quite yourself this morning, Miggs. We value
you as a dashing, fearless fellow--let me fill your glass again--who
doesn't fear a little risk where there's something to be gained.
You'll lose your good name if you go on like that."
"She's in a terrible bad way," the captain insisted. "You'll have to do
something before she can go."
"What shall we have to do?"
"Dry dock her and give her a thorough overhaul. She might sink before
she got out o' the Channel if she went as she is just now."
"Very well," the merchant said coldly. "If you insist on it, it must be
done. But, of course, it would make a great difference in your salary."
"Eh?"
"You are at present getting fifteen pounds a month, and five per cent.
commission. These are exceptional terms in consideration of any risk
that you may run. We shall dry dock the _Black Eagle_, and your salary
is now ten pounds a month and two and a half commission."
"Belay, there, belay!" the sailor shouted. His coppery face was a shade
darker than usual, and his bilious eyes had a venomous gleam in them.
"Don't you beat me down, curse you!" he hissed, advancing to the table
and leaning his hands upon it while he pushed his angry face forward
until it was within a foot of that of the merchant. "Don't you try that
game on, mate, for I am a free-born British seaman, and I am under the
thumb of no man."
"You're drunk," said the senior partner. "Sit down!"
"You'd reduce my screw, would ye?" roared Captain Hamilton Miggs,
working himself into a fury. "Me that has worked for ye, and slaved for
ye, and risked my life for ye. You try it on, guv'nor; just you try it
on! Suppose I let out that little story o' the painting out o' the
marks--where would the firm of Girdlestone be then! I guess you'd
rather double my wage than have that yarn goin' about."
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? You don't know what I mean, do you? Of course not.
It wasn't you as set us on to go at night and paint out the Government
Plimsoll marks and then paint 'em in again higher up, so as to be able
to overload. That wasn't you, was it?"
"Do you mean to assert that it was?"
"In course I do," thundered the angry seaman.
The senior partner struck the gong which stood upon the table.
"Gilray," he said quietly, "go out and bring in a policeman."
Captain Hamilton Miggs seemed to be somewhat startled by this sudden
move of his antagonist. "Steady your helm, governor," he said.
"What are ye up to now?"
"I'm going to give you in charge."
"What for?"
"For intimidation and using threatening language, and endeavouring to
extort money under false pretences."
"There's no witnesses," the sailor said in a half-cringing, half-defiant
manner.
"Oh yes, there are," Ezra Girdlestone remarked, coming into the room.
He had been standing between the two doors which led to the
counting-house, and had overheard the latter portion of the
conversation. "Don't let me interrupt you. You were saying that you
would blacken my father's character unless he increased your salary."
"I didn't mean no harm," said Captain Hamilton Miggs, glancing nervously
from the one to the other. He had been fairly well known to the law in
his younger days, and had no desire to renew the acquaintance.
"Who painted out those Plimsoll marks?" asked the merchant.
"It was me."
"Did any one suggest it to you?"
"No."
"Shall I send in the policeman, sir?" asked Gilray, opening the door.
"Ask him to wait for a moment," Girdlestone answered.
"And now, captain, to return to the original point, shall we dry dock
the _Black Eagle_ and reduce the salary, or do you see your way to going
back in her on the same terms?"
"I'll go back and be damned to it!" said the captain recklessly,
plunging his hands into the pockets of his pea jacket and plumping back
into his chair.
"That's right," his grim employer remarked approvingly.
"But swearing is a most sinful practice. Send the policeman away,
Ezra."
The young man went out with an amused smile, and the two were left
together again.
"You'll not be able to pass the Government inspector unless you do
something to her," the seaman said after a long pause, during which he
brooded over his wrongs.
"Of course we shall do something. The firm is not mean, though it
avoids unnecessary expense. We'll put a coat of paint on her, and some
pitch, and do up the rigging. She's a stout old craft, and with one of
the smartest sailors afloat in command of her--for we always give you
credit for being that--she'll run many a voyage yet."
"I'm paid for the risk, guv'nor, as you said just now," the sailor
remarked. "But don't it seem kind o' hard on them as isn't--on the
mates an' the hands?"
"There is always a risk, my dear captain. There is nothing in the world
without risk. You remember what is said about those who go down to the
sea in ships. They see the wonders of the deep, and in return they
incur some little danger. My house in Eccleston Square might be shaken
down by an earthquake, or a gale might blow in the walls, but I'm not
always brooding over the chance of it. There's no use your taking it
for granted that some misfortune will happen to the _Black Eagle_."
The sailor was silenced, but not convinced by his employer's logic.
"Well, well," he said sulkily, "I am going, so there's an end of it, and
there's no good in having any more palaver about it. You have your
object in running rotten ships, and you make it worth my while to take
my chances in them. I'm suited, and you're suited, so there's no more
to be said."
"That's right. Have some more rum?"
"No, not a spot."
"Why not?"
"Because I likes to keep my head pretty clear when I'm a-talkin' to you,
Muster Girdlestone. Out o' your office I'll drink to further orders,
but I won't do business and muddle myself at the same time. When d'ye
want me to start?"
"When she's unloaded and loaded up again. Three weeks or a month yet.
I expect that Spender will have come in with the _Maid of Athens_ by
that time."
"Unless some accident happens on the way," said Captain Hamilton Miggs,
with his old leer. "He was at Sierra Leone when we came up the coast.
I couldn't put in there, for the swabs have got a warrant out ag'in me
for putting a charge o' shot into a nigger."
"That was a wicked action--very wrong, indeed," the merchant said
gravely. "You must consider the interests of the firm, Miggs. We can't
afford to have a good port blocked against our ships in this fashion.
Did they serve this writ on you?"
"Another nigger brought it aboard."
"Did you read it?"
"No; I threw it overboard."
"And what became of the negro?"
"Well," said Miggs with a grin, "when I threw the writ overboard he
happened to be a-holdin' on to it. So, ye see, he went over, too.
Then I up anchor and scooted."
"There are sharks about there?"
"A few."
"Really, Miggs," the merchant said, "you must restrain your sinful
passions. You have broken the fifth commandment, and closed the trade
of Freetown to the _Black Eagle_."
"It never was worth a rap," the sailor answered. "I wouldn't give a
cuss for any of the British settlements. Give me real niggers, chaps as
knows nothing of law or civilizing, or any rot of the sort. I can pull
along with them.
"I have often wondered how you managed it," Girdlestone said curiously.
"You succeed in picking up a cargo where the steadiest and best men
can't get as much as a bag of nuts. How do you work it?"
"There's many would like to know that," Miggs answered, with an
expressive wink.
"It is a secret, then?"
"Well, it ain't a secret to you, 'cause you ain't a skipper, and it
don't matter if you knows it or not. I don't want to have 'em all at
the same game."
"How is it, then?"
"I'll tell ye," said Miggs. He seemed to have recovered his serenity by
this time, and his eyes twinkled as he spoke of his own exploits.
"I gets drunk with them. That's how I does it."
"Oh, indeed."
"Yes, that's how it's worked. Lord love ye, when these fust-class
certificated, second-cousin-to-an-earl merchant skippers comes out they
move about among the chiefs and talks down to them as if they was tin
Methuselahs on wheels. The Almighty's great coat wouldn't make a
waistcoat for some o' these blokes. Now when I gets among 'em I has 'em
all into the cabin, though they're black an' naked, an' the smell ain't
over an' above pleasant. Then I out with the rum and it's 'help
yourself an' pass the bottle.' Pretty soon, d'ye see, their tongues get
loosened, and as I lie low an' keep dark I gets a pretty good idea o'
what's in the market. Then when I knows what's to be got, it's queer if
I don't manage to get it. Besides, they like a little notice, just as
Christians does, and they remembers me because I treat them well."
"An excellent plan, Miggs--a capital plan!" said the senior partner.
"You are an invaluable servant."
"Well," the captain said, rising from his chair, "I'm getting a great
deal too dry with all this palaver. I don't mind gettin' drunk with
nigger chiefs, but I'm darned if I'll--" He paused, but the grim smile
on his companion's face showed that he appreciated the compliment.
"I say," he continued, giving his employer a confidential nudge with his
elbow, "suppose we'd gone down in the bay this last time, you'd ha' been
a bit out in your reckoning--eh, what?"
"Why so?"
"Well, we were over-insured on our outward passage. An accident then
might ha' put thousands in your pocket, I know. Coming back, though,
the cargo was worth more than the insurance, I reckon. You'd ha' been
out o' pocket if we'd foundered. It would ha' been a case o' the
engineer hoisted on his own Peter, as Shakspere says."
"We take our chance of these things," the merchant said with dignity.
"Well, good morning, guv'nor," Captain Hamilton Miggs said brusquely.
"When you wants me you can lay your hands on me at the old crib, the
_Cock and Cowslip_, Rotherhithe."
As he passed out through the office, Ezra rejoined his father.
"He's a curious chap," he remarked, jerking his head in the direction
which Miggs had taken. "I heard him bellowing like a bull, so I thought
I had best listen to what he had to say. He's a useful servant,
though."
"The fellow's half a savage himself," his father said. "He's in his
element among them. That's why he gets on so well with them."
"He doesn't seem much the worse for the climate, either."
"His body does not, but his soul, Ezra, his soul? However, to return to
business. I wish you to see the underwriters and pay the premium of the
_Black Eagle_. If you see your way to it, increase the policy; but do
it carefully, Ezra, and with tact. She will start about the time of the
equinoctial gales. If anything _should_ happen to her, it would be as
well that the firm should have a margin on the right side."
CHAPTER V.
MODERN ATHENIANS.
Edinburgh University may call herself with grim jocoseness the "alma
mater" of her students, but if she be a mother at all she is one of a
very heroic and Spartan cast, who conceals her maternal affection with
remarkable success. The only signs of interest which she ever designs
to evince towards her alumni are upon those not infrequent occasions
when guineas are to be demanded from them. Then one is surprised to
find how carefully the old hen has counted her chickens, and how
promptly the demand is conveyed to each one of the thousands throughout
the empire who, in spite of neglect, cherish a sneaking kindness for
their old college. There is symbolism in the very look of her, square
and massive, grim and grey, with never a pillar or carving to break the
dead monotony of the great stone walls. She is learned, she is
practical, and she is useful. There is little sentiment or romance in
her composition, however, and in this she does but conform to the
instincts of the nation of which she is the youngest but the most
flourishing teacher.
A lad coming up to an English University finds himself In an enlarged
and enlightened public school. If he has passed through Harrow and Eton
there is no very abrupt transition between the life which he has led in
the sixth form and that which he finds awaiting him on the banks of the
Cam and the Isis. Certain rooms are found for him which have been
inhabited by generations of students in the past, and will be by as many
in the future. His religion is cared for, and he is expected to put in
an appearance at hall and at chapel. He must be within bounds at a
fixed time. If he behave indecorously he is liable to be pounced upon
and reported by special officials, and a code of punishments is hung
perpetually over his head. In return for all this his University takes
a keen interest in him. She pats him on the back if he succeeds.
Prizes and scholarships, and fine fat fellowships are thrown plentifully
in his way if he will gird up his loins and aspire to them.
There is nothing of this in a Scotch University. The young aspirant
pays his pound, and finds himself a student. After that he may do
absolutely what he will. There are certain classes going on at certain
hours, which he may attend if he choose. If not, he may stay away
without the slightest remonstrance from the college. As to religion, he
may worship the sun, or have a private fetish of his own upon the
mantelpiece of his lodgings for all that the University cares. He may
live where he likes, he may keep what hours he chooses, and he is at
liberty to break every commandment in the decalogue as long as he
behaves himself with some approach to decency within the academical
precincts. In every way he is absolutely his own master. Examinations
are periodically held, at which he may appear or not, as he chooses.
The University is a great unsympathetic machine, taking in a stream of
raw-boned cartilaginous youths at one end, and turning them out at the
other as learned divines, astute lawyers, and skilful medical men.
Of every thousand of the raw material about six hundred emerge at the
other side. The remainder are broken in the process.
The merits and faults of this Scotch system are alike evident.
Left entirely to his own devices in a far from moral city, many a lad
falls at the very starting-point of his life's race, never to rise
again. Many become idlers or take to drink, while others, after wasting
time and money which they could ill afford, leave the college with
nothing learned save vice. On the other hand, those whose manliness and
good sense keep them straight have gone through a training which lasts
them for life. They have been tried, and have not been found wanting.
They have learned self-reliance, confidence, and, in a word, have become
men of the world while their _confreres_ in England are still magnified
schoolboys.
High up in a third flat in Howe Street one, Thomas Dimsdale, was going
through his period of probation in a little bedroom and a large
sitting-room, which latter, "more studentium," served the purpose of
dining-room, parlour, and study. A dingy sideboard, with four still
more dingy chairs and an archaeological sofa, made up the whole of the
furniture, with the exception of a circular mahogany centre-table,
littered with note-books and papers. Above the mantelpiece was a
fly-blown mirror with innumerable cards and notices projecting in a
fringe all around, and a pair of pipe racks flanking it on either side.
Along the centre of the side-board, arranged with suspicious neatness,
as though seldom disturbed, stood a line of solemn books, Holden's
_Osteology_, Quain's _Anatomy_, Kirkes' _Physiology_, and Huxley's
_Invertebrata_, together with a disarticulated human skull. On one side
of the fireplace two thigh bones were stacked; on the other a pair of
foils, two basket-hilted single-sticks, and a set of boxing-gloves.
On a shelf in a convenient niche was a small stock of general
literature, which appeared to have been considerably more thumbed than
the works upon medicine. Thackeray's _Esmond_ and Meredith's _Richard
Feveret_ rubbed covers with Irving's _Conquest of Granada_ and a
tattered line of paper-covered novels. Over the sideboard was a framed
photograph of the Edinburgh University Football Fifteen, and opposite it
a smaller one of Dimsdale himself, clad in the scantiest of garb, as he
appeared after winning the half-mile at the Inter-University Handicap.
A large silver goblet, the trophy of that occasion, stood underneath
upon a bracket. Such was the student's chamber upon the morning in
question, save that in a roomy arm-chair in the corner the young
gentleman himself was languidly reclining, with a short wooden pipe in
his mouth, and his feet perched up upon the side of the table.
Grey-eyed, yellow-haired, broad in the chest and narrow in the loins,
with the strength of a bullock and the graceful activity of a stag, it
would be hard to find a finer specimen of young British manhood.
The long, fine curves of the limbs, and the easy pose of the round,
strong head upon the thick, muscular neck, might have served as a model
to an Athenian sculptor. There was nothing in the face, however, to
recall the regular beauty of the East. It was Anglo-Saxon to the last
feature, with its honest breadth between the eyes and its nascent
moustache, a shade lighter in colour than the sun-burned skin. Shy,
and yet strong; plain, and yet pleasing; it was the face of a type of
man who has little to say for himself in this world, and says that
little badly, but who has done more than all the talkers and the writers
to ring this planet round with a crimson girdle of British possessions.
"Wonder whether Jack Garraway is ready!" he murmured, throwing down the
_Scotsman_, and staring up at the roof. "It's nearly eleven o'clock."
He rose with a yawn, picked up the poker, stood upon the chair, and
banged three times upon the ceiling. Three muffled taps responded from
the room above. Dimsdale stepped down and began slowly to discard his
coat and his waistcoat. As he did so there was a quick, active step
upon the stair, and a lean, wiry-looking, middle-sized young fellow
stepped into the room. With a nod of greeting he pushed the table over
to one side, threw off his two upper garments, and pulled on a pair of
the boxing-gloves from the corner. Dimsdale had already done the same,
and was standing, a model of manly grace and strength, in the centre of
the room.
"Practice your lead, Jack. About here." He tapped the centre of his
forehead with his swollen gauntlet.
His companion poised himself for a moment, and then, lashing out with
his left hand, came home with a heavy thud on the place indicated.
Dimsdale smiled gently and shook his head.
"It won't do," he said.
"I hit my hardest," the other answered apologetically.
"It won't do. Try again."
The visitor repeated the blow with all the force that he could command.
Dimsdale shook his head again despondently. "You don't seem to catch
it," he said. "It's like this." He leaned forward, there was the sound
of a sharp clip, and the novice shot across the room with a force that
nearly sent his skull through the panel of the door.
"That's it," said Dimsdale mildly.
"Oh, it is, is it?" the other responded, rubbing his head.
"It's deucedly interesting, but I think I would understand it better if
I saw you do it to some one else. It is something between the explosion
of a powder magazine and a natural convulsion."
His instructor smiled grimly. "That's the only way to learn," he said.
"Now we shall have three minutes of give-and-take, and so ends the
morning lesson."
While this little scene was being enacted in the lodgings of the
student, a very stout little elderly man was walking slowly down Howe
Street, glancing up at the numbers upon the doors. He was square and
deep and broad, like a bottle of Geneva, with a large ruddy face and a
pair of bright black eyes, which were shrewd and critical, and yet had a
merry twinkle of eternal boyishness in their depths. Bushy side
whiskers, shot with grey, flanked his rubicund visage, and he threw out
his feet as he walked with the air of a man who is on good terms with
himself and with every one around him.
At No.13 he stopped and rapped loudly upon the door with the head of his
metal-headed stick. "Mrs. McTavish?" he asked, as a hard-lined, angular
woman responded to his summons.
"That's me, sir."
"Mr. Dimsdale lives with you, I believe?"
"Third floor front, sir."
"Is he in?"
Suspicion shone in the woman's eyes. "Was it aboot a bill?" she asked.
"A bill, my good woman! No, no, nothing of the kind. Dr. Dimsdale is
my name. I am the lad's father--just come up from London to see him.
I hope he has not been overworking himself?"
A ghost of a smile played about the woman's face. "I think not, sir,"
she answered.
"I almost wish I had come round in the afternoon," said the visitor,
standing with his thick legs astride upon the door-mat. "It seems a
pity to break his chain of thought. The morning is his time for study."
"Houts! I wouldna' fash aboot that."
"Well! well! The third floor, you say. He did not expect me so early,
I shall surprise the dear boy at his work."
The landlady stood listening expectantly in the passage. The sturdy
little man plodded heavily up the first flight of stairs. He paused on
the landing.
"Dear me!" he murmured. "Some one is beating carpets. How can they
expect poor Tom to read?"
At the second landing the noise was much louder. "It must be a dancing
school," conjectured the doctor.
When he reached his son's door, however, there could no longer be any
doubt as to whence the sounds proceeded. There was the stamp and
shuffle of feet, the hissing of in-drawn breath, and an occasional soft
thud, as if some one were butting his head against a bale of wool.
"It's epilepsy," gasped the doctor, and turning the handle he rushed
into the room.
One hurried glance showed him the struggle which was going on.
There was no time to note details. Some maniac was assaulting his Tom.
He sprang at the man, seized him round the waist, dragged him to the
ground, and seated himself upon him. "Now tie his hands," he said
complacently, as he balanced himself upon the writhing figure.
CHAPTER VI.
A RECTORIAL ELECTION.
It took some little time before his son, who was half-choked with
laughter, could explain to the energetic doctor that the gentleman upon
whom he was perched was not a dangerous lunatic, but, on the contrary, a
very harmless and innocent member of society. When at last it was made
clear to him, the doctor released his prisoner and was profuse in his
apologies.
"This is my father, Garraway," said Dimsdale. "I hardly expected him so
early."
"I must offer you a thousand apologies, sir. The fact is that I am
rather short-sighted, and had no time to put my glasses on. It seemed
to me to be a most dangerous scuffle."
"Don't mention it, sir," said Garraway, with great good humour.
"And you, Tom, you rogue, is this the way you spend your mornings?
I expected to find you deep in your books. I told your landlady that I
hardly liked to come up for fear of disturbing you at your work. You go
up for your first professional in a few weeks, I understand?"
"That will be all right, dad," said his son demurely. "Garraway and I
usually take a little exercise of this sort as a preliminary to the
labours of the day. Try this armchair and have a cigarette."
The doctor's eye fell upon the medical works and the disarticulated
skull, and his ill-humour departed.
"You have your tools close at hand, I see," he remarked.
"Yes, dad, all ready."
"Those bones bring back old memories to me. I am rusty in my anatomy,
but I dare say I could stump you yet. Let me see now. What are the
different foramina of the sphenoid bone, and what structures pass
through them? Eh?"
"Coming!" yelled his son. "Coming!" and dashed out of the room.
"I didn't hear any one call," observed the doctor.
"Didn't you, sir?" said Garraway, pulling on his coat. "I thought I
heard a noise."
"You read with my son, I believe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then perhaps you can tell me what the structures are which pass through
the foramina of the sphenoid?"
"Oh yes, sir. There is the--All right, Tom, all right! Excuse me, sir!
He is calling me;" and Garraway vanished as precipitately as his friend
had done. The doctor sat alone, puffing at his cigarette, and brooding
over his own dullness of hearing.
Presently the two students returned, looking just a little shame-faced,
and plunged instantly into wild talk about the weather, the town, and
the University--anything and everything except the sphenoid bone.
"You have come in good time to see something of University life," said
young Dimsdale. "To-day we elect our new Lord Rector. Garraway and I
will take you down and show you the sights."
"I have often wished to see something of it," his father answered.
"I was apprenticed to my profession, Mr. Garraway, in the old-fashioned
way, and had few opportunities of attending college."
"Indeed, sir."
"But I can imagine it all. What can be more charming than the sight of
a community of young men all striving after knowledge, and emulating
each other in the ardour of their studies? Not that I would grudge them
recreation. I can fancy them strolling in bands round the classic
precincts of their venerable University, and amusing themselves by
discussing the rival theories of physiologists or the latest additions
to the pharmacopoeia."
Garraway had listened with becoming gravity to the commencement of this
speech, but at the last sentence he choked and vanished for the second
time out of the room.
"Your friend seems amused," remarked Dr. Dimsdale mildly.
"Yes. He gets taken like that sometimes," said his son. "His brothers
are just the same. I have hardly had a chance yet to say how glad I am
to see you, dad."
"And I to see you, my dear boy. Your mother and Kate come up by the
night train. I have private rooms at the hotel."
"Kate Harston! I can only remember her as a little quiet girl with long
brown hair. That was six years ago. She promised to be pretty."
"Then she has fulfilled her promise. But you shall judge that for
yourself. She is the ward of John Girdlestone, the African merchant,
but we are the only relations she has upon earth. Her father was my
second cousin. She spends a good deal of her time now with us at
Phillimore Gardens--as much as her guardian will allow. He prefers to
have her under his own roof, and I don't blame him, for she is like a
ray of sunshine in the house. It was like drawing his teeth to get him
to consent to this little holiday, but I stuck at it until I wearied him
out--fairly wearied him out." The little doctor chuckled at the thought
of his victory, and stretched out his thick legs towards the fire.
"This examination will prevent me from being with you as much as I
wish."
"That's right, my boy; let nothing interfere with your work."
"Still, I think I am pretty safe. I am glad they have come now, for
next Wednesday is the international football match. Garraway and I are
the two Scotch half-backs. You must all come down and see it."
"I'll tell you what, Dimsdale," said Garraway, reappearing in the
doorway, "if we don't hurry up we shall see nothing of the election.
It is close on twelve."
"I am all ready," cried Dr. Dimsdale, jumping to his feet and buttoning
his coat.
"Let us be off, then," said his son; and picking up hats and sticks they
clattered off down the lodging-house stairs.
A rectorial election is a peculiarly Scotch institution, and, however it
may strike the impartial observer, it is regarded by the students
themselves as a rite of extreme solemnity and importance from which
grave issues may depend. To hear the speeches and addresses of rival
orators one would suppose that the integrity of the constitution and the
very existence of the empire hung upon the return of their special
nominee. Two candidates are chosen from the most eminent of either
party and a day is fixed for the polling. Every undergraduate has a
vote, but the professors have no voice in the matter. As the duties are
nominal and the position honourable, there is never any lack of
distinguished aspirants for a vacancy. Occasionally some well-known
literary or scientific man is invited to become a candidate, but as a
rule the election is fought upon strictly political lines, with all the
old-fashioned accompaniments of a Parliamentary contest.
For months before the great day there is bustle and stir. Secret
committees meet, rules are formulated, and insidious agents prowl about
with an eye to the political training of those who have not yet nailed
their colours to any particular mast. Then comes a grand meeting of the
Liberal Students' Association, which is trumped by a dinner of the
Undergraduates' Conservative Society. The campaign is then in full
swing. Great boards appear at the University gates, on which pithy
satires against one or other candidate, parodies on songs, quotations
from their speeches, and gaudily painted cartoons are posted. Those who
are supposed to be able to feel the pulse of the University move about
with the weight of much knowledge upon their brows, throwing out hints
as to the probable majority one way or the other. Some profess to know
it to a nicety. Others shake their heads and remark vaguely that there
is not much to choose either way. So week after week goes by, until the
excitement reaches a climax when the date of the election comes round.
There was no need upon that day for Dr. Dimsdale or any other stranger
in the town to ask his way to the University, for the whooping and
yelling which proceeded from that usually decorous building might have
been heard from Prince's Street to Newington. In front of the gates was
a dense crowd of townspeople peering through into the quadrangle, and
deriving much entertainment from the movements of the lively young
gentlemen within. Large numbers of the more peaceable undergraduates
stood about under the arches, and these quickly made a way for the
newcomers, for both Garraway and Dimsdale as noted athletes commanded a
respect among their fellow-students which medallists and honours men
might look for in vain.
The broad open quadrangle, and all the numerous balconies and terraces
which surround it, were crowded with an excited mob of students. The
whole three thousand odd electors who stand upon the college rolls
appeared to be present, and the noise which they were making would have
reflected credit on treble their number. The dense crowd surged and
seethed without pause or rest. Now and again some orator would be
hoisted up on the shoulders of his fellows, when an oscillation of the
crowd would remove his supporters and down he would come, only to be
succeeded by another at some other part of the assembly. The name of
either candidate would produce roars of applause and equally vigorous
howls of execration. Those who were lucky enough to be in the balconies
above hurled down missiles on the crowd beneath--peas, eggs, potatoes,
and bags of flour or of sulphur; while those below, wherever they found
room to swing an arm, returned the fusillade with interest.
The doctor's views of academical serenity and the high converse of
pallid students vanished into thin air as he gazed upon the mad
tumultuous scene. Yet, in spite of his fifty years, he laughed as
heartily as any boy at the wild pranks of the young politicians, and the
ruin which was wrought upon broad-cloth coat and shooting jacket by the
hail of unsavoury projectiles.
The crowd was most dense and most noisy in front of the class-room in
which the counting of the votes was going forward. At one the result
was to be announced, and as the long hand of the great clock crept
towards the hour, a hush of expectation fell upon the assembly.
The brazen clang broke harshly out, and at the same moment the folding
doors were flung open, and a knot of men rushed out into the crowd, who
swirled and eddied round them. The centre of the throng was violently
agitated, and the whole mass of people swayed outwards and inwards.
For a minute or two the excited combatants seethed and struggled without
a clue as to the cause of the commotion. Then the corner of a large
placard was elevated above the heads of the rioters, on which was
visible the word "Liberal" in great letters, but before it could be
raised further it was torn down, and the struggle became fiercer than
ever. Up came the placard again--the other corner this time--with the
word "Majority" upon it, and then immediately vanished as before.
Enough had been seen, however, to show which way the victory had gone,
and shouts of triumph arose everywhere, with waving of hats and clatter
of sticks. Meanwhile, in the centre the two parties fought round the
placard, and the commotion began to cover a wider area, as either side
was reinforced by fresh supporters. One gigantic Liberal seized the
board, and held it aloft for a moment, so that it could be seen in its
entirety by the whole multitude:
LIBERAL MAJORITY,
241.
But his triumph was short-lived. A stick descended upon his head, his
heels were tripped up, and he and his placard rolled upon the ground
together. The victors succeeded, however, in forcing their way to the
extreme end of the quadrangle, where, as every Edinburgh man knows, the
full-length statue of Sir David Brewster looks down upon the classic
ground which he loved so well. An audacious Radical swarmed up upon the
pedestal and balanced the obnoxious notice on the marble arms of the
professor. Thus converted into a political partisan, the revered
inventor of the kaleidoscope became the centre of a furious struggle,
the vanquished politicians making the most desperate efforts to destroy
the symbol of their opponents' victory, while the others offered an
equally vigorous resistance to their attacks. The struggle was still
proceeding when Dimsdale removed his father, for it was impossible to
say what form the riot might assume.
"What Goths! what barbarians!" cried the little doctor, as they walked
down the Bridges. "And this is my dream of refined quiet and studious
repose!"
"They are not always like that, sir," said his son apologetically.
"They were certainly a little jolly to-day."
"A little jolly!" cried the doctor. "You rogue, Tom. I believe if I
had not been there you would have been their ringleader."
He glanced from one to the other, and it was so evident from the
expression of their faces that he had just hit the mark, that he burst
into a great guffaw of laughter, in which, after a moment's hesitation,
his two young companions heartily joined.
CHAPTER VII.
ENGLAND VERSUS SCOTLAND.
The rectorial election had come and had gone, but another great event
had taken its place. It was the day of the England and Scotland Rugby
match.
Better weather could not have been desired. The morning had been hazy,
but as the sun shone out the fog had gradually risen, until now there
remained but a suspicion of it, floating like a plume, above the
frowning walls of Edinburgh Castle, and twining a fairy wreath round the
unfinished columns of the national monument upon the Calton Hill.
The broad stretch of the Prince's Street Gardens, which occupy the
valley between the old town and the new, looked green and spring-like,
and their fountains sparkled merrily in the sunshine. Their wide
expanse, well-trimmed and bepathed, formed a strange contrast to the
rugged piles of grim old houses which bounded them upon the other side
and the massive grandeur of the great hill beyond, which lies like a
crouching lion keeping watch and ward, day and night, over the ancient
capital of the Scottish kings. Travellers who have searched the whole
world round have found no fairer view.
So thought three of the genus who were ensconced that forenoon in the
bow windows of the _Royal Hotel_ and gazed across the bright green
valley at the dull historical background beyond. One we already know, a
stoutish gentleman, ruddy-faced and black-eyed, with check trousers,
light waistcoat and heavy chain, legs widely parted, his hands in his
pockets, and on his face that expression of irreverent and critical
approval with which the travelled Briton usually regards the works of
nature. By his side was a young lady in a tight-fitting travelling
dress, with trim leather belt and snow-white collar and cuffs.
There was no criticism in her sweet face, now flushed with excitement--
nothing but unqualified wonder and admiration at the beautiful scene
before her. An elderly placid-faced woman sat in a basket chair in the
recess, and looked up with quiet loving eyes at the swift play of
emotions which swept over the girl's eager features.
"Oh, Uncle George," she cried, "it is really too heavenly. I cannot
realize that we are free. I can't help fearing that it is all a dream,
and that I shall wake up to find myself pouring out Ezra Girdlestone's
coffee, or listening to Mr. Girdlestone as he reads the morning
quotations."
The elder woman stroked the girl's hand caressingly with her soft,
motherly palm. "Don't think about it," she murmured.
"No, don't think about it," echoed the doctor. "My wife is quite right.
Don't think about it. But, dear me, what a job I had to persuade your
guardian to let you go. I should have given it up in despair--I really
should--if I had not known that you had set your heart upon it."
"Oh, how good you both are to me!" cried the girl, in a pretty little
gush of gratitude.
"Pooh, pooh, Kate! But as to Girdlestone, he is perfectly right. If I
had you I should keep you fast to myself, I promise you. Eh, Matilda?"
"That we would, George."
"Perfect tyrants, both of us. Eh, Matilda?"
"Yes, George."
"I am afraid that I am not very useful in a household," said the girl.
"I was too young to look after things for poor papa. Mr. Girdlestone,
of course, has a housekeeper of his own. I read the _Financial News_ to
him after dinner every day, and I know all about stock and Consols and
those American railways which are perpetually rising and falling. One
of them went wrong last week, and Ezra swore, and Mr. Girdlestone said
that the Lord chastens those whom He loves. He did not seem to like
being chastened a bit though. But how delightful this is! It is like
living in another world."
The girl was a pretty figure as she stood in the window, tall, lithe,
and graceful, with the long soft curves of budding womanhood. Her face
was sweet rather than beautiful, but an artist would have revelled in
the delicate strength of the softly rounded chin, and the quick bright
play of her expression. Her hair, of a deep rich brown, with a bronze
shimmer where a sunbeam lay athwart it, swept back in those thick
luxuriant coils which are the unfailing index of a strong womanly
nature. Her deep blue eyes danced with life and light, while her
slightly _retrousse_ nose and her sensitive smiling mouth all spoke of
gentle good humour. From her sunny face to the dainty little shoe
which peeped from under the trim black skirt, she was an eminently
pleasant object to look upon. So thought the passers-by as they glanced
up at the great bow window, and so, too, thought a young gentleman who
had driven up to the hotel door, and who now bounded up the steps and
into the room. He was enveloped in a long shaggy ulster, which
stretched down to his ankles, and he wore a velvet cap trimmed with
silver stuck carelessly on the back of his powerful yellow curled head.
"Here is the boy!" cried his mother gaily.
"How are you, mam dear?" he cried, stooping over her to kiss her.
"How are you, dad? Good morning, Cousin Kate. You must come down and
wish us luck. What a blessing that it is pretty warm. It is miserable
for the spectators when there is an east wind. What do you think of it,
dad?"
"I think you are an unnatural young renegade to play against your mother
country," said the sturdy doctor.
"Oh, come, dad! I was born in Scotland, and I belong to a Scotch club.
Surely that is good enough."
"I hope you lose, then."
"We are very likely to. Atkinson, of the West of Scotland, has strained
his leg, and we shall have to play Blair, of the Institution, at full
back--not so good a man by a long way. The odds are five to four on the
English this morning. They are said to be the very strongest lot that
ever played in an International match. I have brought a cab with me, so
the moment you are ready we can start."
There were others besides the students who were excited about the coming
struggle. All Edinburgh was in a ferment. Football is, and always has
been, the national game of Scotland among those who affect violent
exercise, while golf takes its place with the more sedately inclined.
There is no game so fitted to appeal to a hardy and active people as
that composite exercise prescribed by the Rugby Union, in which fifteen
men pit strength, speed, endurance, and every manly attribute they
possess in a prolonged struggle against fifteen antagonists. There is
no room for mere knack or trickery. It is a fierce personal contest in
which the ball is the central rallying point. That ball may be kicked,
pushed, or carried; it may be forced onwards in any conceivable manner
towards the enemy's goal. The fleet of foot may seize it and by
superior speed thread their way through the ranks of their opponents.
The heavy of frame may crush down all opposition by dead weight. The
hardiest and most enduring must win.
Even matches between prominent local clubs excite much interest in
Edinburgh and attract crowds of spectators. How much more then when the
pick of the manhood of Scotland were to try their strength against the
very cream of the players from the South of the Tweed. The roads which
converged on the Raeburn Place Grounds, on which the match was to be
played, were dark with thousands all wending their way in one direction.
So thick was the moving mass that the carriage of the Dimsdale party had
to go at a walk for the latter half of the journey, In spite of the
objurgations of the driver, who, as a patriot, felt the responsibility
which rested upon him in having one of the team in his charge, and the
necessity there was for delivering him up by the appointed time.
Many in the crowd recognized the young fellow and waved their hands to
him or called out a few words of encouragement. Miss Kate Harston and
even the doctor began to reflect some of the interest and excitement
which showed itself on every face around them. The youth alone seemed
to be unaffected by the general enthusiasm, and spent the time in
endeavouring to explain the principles of the game to his fair
companion, whose ignorance of it was comprehensive and astounding.
"You understand," he said, "that there are fifteen players on each side.
But it would not do for the whole of these fifteen men to play in a
crowd, for, in that case, if the other side forced the ball past them,
they would have nothing to fall back upon--no reserves, as it were.
Therefore, as we play the game in Scotland, ten men are told off to play
in a knot. They are picked for their weight, strength, and endurance.
They are called the forwards, and are supposed to be always on the ball,
following it everywhere, never stopping or tiring. They are opposed, of
course, by the forwards of the other side. Now, immediately behind the
forwards are the two quarter-backs. They should be very active fellows,
good dodgers and fast runners. They never join in the very rough work,
but they always follow on the outskirts of the forwards, and if the ball
is forced past it is their duty to pick it up and make away with it like
lightning. If they are very fast they may succeed in carrying it a long
way before they are caught--'tackled,' as we call it. It is their duty
also to keep their eye on the quarter-backs of the enemy, and to tackle
them if they get away. Behind them again are the two half-backs--or
'three-quarters,' as they call them in England. I am one of them.
They are supposed to be fast runners too, and a good deal of the
tackling comes to their lot, for a good runner of the other side can
often get past the quarters, and then the halves have got to bring him
down. Behind the half-backs is a single man--the back. He is the last
resource when all others are past. He should be a sure and long kicker,
so as to get the ball away from the goal by that means--but you are not
listening."
"Oh yes, I am," said Kate. As a matter of fact the great throng and the
novel sights were distracting her so much that she found it hard to
attend to her companion's disquisition.
"You'll understand it quickly enough when you see it," the student
remarked cheerily. "Here we are at the grounds."
As he spoke the carriage rattled through a broad gateway into a large
open grassy space, with a great pavilion at one side of it and a staked
enclosure about two hundred yards long and a hundred broad, with a
goal-post at each end. This space was marked out by gaily coloured
flags, and on every side of it, pressing against the barrier the whole
way round, was an enormous crowd, twenty and thirty deep, with others
occupying every piece of rising ground or coign of vantage behind them.
The most moderate computation would place the number of spectators at
fifteen thousand. At one side there was a line of cabs in the
background, and thither the carriage of the Dimsdales drove, while Tom
rushed off with his bag to the pavilion to change.
It was high time to do so, for just as the carriage took up its position
a hoarse roar burst from the great multitude, and was taken up again and
again. It was a welcome to the English team, which had just appeared
upon the ground. There they were, clad in white knickerbockers and
jerseys, with a single red rose embroidered upon their breasts; as
gallant-looking a set of young fellows as the whole world could produce.
Tall, square-shouldered, straight-limbed, as active as kittens and as
powerful as young bullocks, it was clear that they would take a lot of
beating. They were the pick of the University and London clubs, with a
few players from the northern counties; not a man among them whose name
was not known wherever football was played. That tall, long-legged
youth is Evans, the great half-back, who is said to be able to send a
drop-kick further than any of his predecessors in the annals of the
game. There is Buller, the famous Cambridge quarter, only ten stone in
weight, but as lithe and slippery as an eel; and Jackson, the other
quarter, is just such another--hard to tackle himself, but as tenacious
as a bulldog in holding an adversary. That one with the straw-coloured
hair is Coles, the great forward; and there are nine lads of metal who
will stand by him to-day through thick and thin. They were a
formidable-looking lot, and betting, which had been five on four to them
in the morning, showed symptoms of coming to five to three. In the
meantime, by no means abashed at finding themselves the cynosure of so
many eyes, the Englishmen proceeded to keep up their circulation by
leap-frog and horse-play, for their jerseys were thin and the wind
bleak.
But where were their adversaries? A few impatient moments slowly
passed, and then from one corner of the ground there rose a second
cheer, which rippled down the long line of onlookers and swelled into a
mighty shout as the Scotchmen vaulted over the barrier into the arena.
It was a nice question for connoisseurs in physical beauty as to which
team had the best of it in physique. The Northerners in their blue
jerseys, with a thistle upon their breasts, were a sturdy, hard-bitten
lot, averaging a couple of pounds more in weight than their opponents.
The latter were, perhaps, more regularly and symmetrically built, and
were pronounced by experts to be the faster team, but there was a
massive, gaunt look about the Scotch forwards which promised well for
their endurance. Indeed, it was on their forwards that they principally
relied. The presence of three such players as Buller, Evans, and
Jackson made the English exceptionally strong behind, but they had no
men in front who were individually so strong and fast as Miller, Watts,
or Grey. Dimsdale and Garraway, the Scotch half-backs, and Tookey, the
quarter, whose blazing red head was a very oriflamme wherever the
struggle waxed hottest, were the best men that the Northerners could
boast of behind.
The English had won the choice of goals, and elected to play with what
slight wind there was at their backs. A small thing may turn the scale
between two evenly balanced teams. Evans, the captain, placed the ball
in front of him upon the ground, with his men lined all along on either
side, as eager as hounds in leash. Some fifty yards in front of him,
about the place where the ball would drop, the blue-vested Scots
gathered in a sullen crowd. There was a sharp ring from a bell, a
murmur of excitement from the crowd. Evans took two quick steps
forward, and the yellow ball flew swift and straight, as if it had been
shot from a cannon, right into the expectant group in front of him.
For a moment there was grasping and turmoil among the Scotchmen.
Then from the crowd emerged Grey, the great Glasgow forward, the ball
tucked well under his arm, his head down, running like the wind, with
his nine forwards in a dense clump behind him, ready to bear down all
opposition, while the other five followed more slowly, covering a wider
stretch of ground. He met the Englishmen who had started full cry after
the ball the moment that their captain had kicked it. The first hurled
himself upon him. Grey, without slackening his pace, swerved slightly,
and he missed him. The second he passed in the same way, but the third
caught quickly at his legs, and the Scot flew head over heels and was
promptly collared. Not much use collaring him now! In the very act of
falling he had thrown the ball behind him. Gordon, of Paisley, caught
it and bore it on a dozen yards, when he was seized and knocked down,
but not before he had bequeathed his trust to another, who struggled
manfully for some paces before he too was brought to the ground.
This pretty piece of "passing" had recovered for the Scotch all the
advantage lost by the English kick-off, and was greeted by roars of
applause from the crowd.
And now there is a "maul" or "scrimmage." Was there ever another race
which did such things and called it play! Twenty young men, so blended
and inextricably mixed that no one could assign the various arms and
legs to their respective owners, are straining every muscle and fibre of
their bodies against each other, and yet are so well balanced that the
dense clump of humanity stands absolutely motionless. In the centre is
an inextricable chaos where shoulders heave and heads rise and fall. At
the edges are a fringe of legs--legs in an extreme state of tension--
ever pawing for a firmer foothold, and apparently completely independent
of the rest of their owners, whose heads and bodies have bored their way
Into the _melee_. The pressure in there is tremendous, yet neither side
gives an inch. Just on the skirts of the throng, with bent bodies and
hands on knees, stand the cool little quarter-backs, watching the
gasping giants, and also keeping a keen eye upon each other. Let the
ball emerge near one of these, and he will whip it up and be ten paces
off before those in the "maul" even know that it is gone. Behind them
again are the halves, alert and watchful, while the back, with his hands
in his pockets, has an easy consciousness that he will have plenty of
warning before the ball can pass the four good men who stand between the
"maul" and himself.
Now the dense throng sways a little backwards and forwards. An inch is
lost and an inch is gained. The crowd roar with delight. "Mauled,
Scotland!" "Mauled England!" "England!" "Scotland!" The shouting
would stir the blood of the mildest mortal that ever breathed.
Kate Harston stands in the carriage, rosy with excitement and enjoyment.
Her heart is all with the wearers of the rose, in spite of the presence
of her old play-mate in the opposite ranks. The doctor is as much
delighted as the youngest man on the ground, and the cabman waves his
arms and shouts in a highly indecorous fashion. The two pounds'
difference in weight is beginning to tell. The English sway back a yard
or two. A blue coat emerges among the white ones. He has fought his
way through, but has left the ball behind him, so he dashes round and
puts his weight behind it once more. There is a last upheaval, the maul
is split in two, and through the rent come the redoubtable Scotch
forwards with the ball amongst them. Their solid phalanx has scattered
the English like spray to right and left. There is no one in front of
them, no one but a single little man, almost a boy in size and weight.
Surely he cannot hope to stop the tremendous rush. The ball is a few
yards in advance of the leading Scot when he springs forward at it.
He seizes it an instant before his adversary, and with the same motion
writhes himself free from the man's grasp. Now is the time for the
crack Cambridge quarter-back to show what he is made of. The crowd yell
with excitement. To right and left run the great Scotch forwards,
grasping, slipping, pursuing, and right in the midst of them, as quick
and as erratic as a trout in a pool, runs the calm-faced little man,
dodging one, avoiding another, slipping between the fingers of two
others. Surely he is caught now. No, he has passed all the forwards
and emerges from the ruck of men, pelting along at a tremendous pace.
He has dodged one of the Scotch quarters, and outstripped the other.
"Well played, England!" shout the crowd. "Well run, Buller!"
"Now, Tookey!" "Now, Dimsdale!" "Well collared, Dimsdale; well
collared, indeed!" The little quarter-back had come to an end of his
career, for Tom had been as quick as he and had caught him round the
waist as he attempted to pass, and brought him to the ground.
The cheers were hearty, for the two half-backs were the only University
men in the team, and there were hundreds of students among the
spectators. The good doctor coloured up with pleasure to hear his boy's
name bellowed forth approvingly by a thousand excited lungs.
The play is, as all good judges said it would be, very equal. For the
first forty minutes every advantage gained by either side had been
promptly neutralized by a desperate effort on the part of the other.
The mass of struggling players has swayed backwards and forwards, but
never more than twenty or thirty yards from the centre of the ground.
Neither goal had been seriously threatened as yet. The spectators fail
to see how the odds laid on England are justified, but the "fancy" abide
by their choice. In the second forty it is thought that the superior
speed and staying power of the Southerners will tell over the heavier
Scots. There seems little the matter with the latter as yet, as they
stand in a group, wiping their grimy faces and discussing the state of
the game; for at the end of forty minutes the goals are changed and
there is a slight interval.
And now the last hour is to prove whether there are good men bred in the
hungry North as any who live on more fruitful ground and beneath warmer
skies. If the play was desperate before, it became even more so now.
Each member of either team played as if upon him alone depended the
issue of the match. Again and again Grey, Anderson, Gordon, and their
redoubtable phalanx of dishevelled hard-breathing Scots broke away with
the ball; but as often the English quarter and half-backs, by their
superior speed, more than made up for the weakness of their forwards,
and carried the struggle back into the enemy's ground. Two or three
time Evans, the long-kicker, who was credited with the power of reaching
the goal from almost any part of the ground, got hold of the ball, but
each time before he could kick he was charged by some one of his
adversaries. At last, however, his chance came. The ball trickled out
of a maul into the hands of Buller, who at once turned and threw it to
the half-back behind him. There was no time to reach him. He took a
quick glance at the distant goal, a short run forward, and his long limb
swung through the air with tremendous force. There was a dead silence
of suspense among the crowd as the ball described a lofty parabola.
Down it came, down, down, as straight and true as an arrow, just grazing
the cross-bar and pitching on the grass beyond, and the groans of a few
afflicted patriots were drowned in the hearty cheers which hailed the
English goal.
But the victory was not won yet. There were ten minutes left for the
Scotchmen to recover this blow or for the Englishmen to improve upon it.
The Northerners played so furiously that the ball was kept down near the
English goal, which was only saved by the splendid defensive play of
their backs. Five minutes passed, and the Scots in turn were being
pressed back. A series of brilliant runs by Buller, Jackson, and Evans
took the fight into the enemy's country, and kept it there. It seemed
as if the visitors meant scoring again, when a sudden change occurred in
the state of affairs. It was but three minutes off the calling of time
when Tookey, one of the Scotch quarter-backs, got hold of the ball, and
made a magnificent run, passing right through the opposing forwards and
quarters. He was collared by Evans, but immediately threw the ball
behind him. Dimsdale had followed up the quarter-back and caught the
ball when it was thrown backwards. Now or never! The lad felt that he
would sacrifice anything to pass the three men who stood between him and
the English goal. He passed Evans like the wind before the half-back
could disentangle himself from Tookey. There were but two now to oppose
him. The first was the other English half-back, a broad-shouldered,
powerful fellow, who rushed at him; but Tom, without attempting to avoid
him, lowered his head and drove at him full tilt with such violence that
both men reeled back from the collision. Dimsdale recovered himself
first, however, and got past before the other had time to seize him.
The goal was now not more than twenty yards off, with only one between
Tom and it, though half a dozen more were in close pursuit. The English
back caught him round the waist, while another from behind seized the
collar of his jersey, and the three came heavily to the ground together.
But the deed was done. In the very act of falling he had managed to
kick the ball, which flickered feebly up into the air and just cleared
the English bar. It had scarcely touched the ground upon the other side
when the ringing of the great bell announced the termination of the
match, though its sound was entirely drowned by the tumultuous shouting
of the crowd. A thousand hats were thrown into the air, ten thousand
voices joined in the roar, and meanwhile the cause of all this outcry
was still sitting on the ground, smiling, it is true, but very pale, and
with one of his arms dangling uselessly from his shoulder.
Well, the breaking of a collar-bone is a small price to pay for the
saving of such a match as that. So thought Tom Dimsdale as he made for
the pavilion, with his father keeping off the exultant crowd upon one
side and Jack Garraway upon the other. The doctor butted a path through
the dense half-crazy mob with a vigour which showed that his son's
talents in that direction were hereditary. Within half an hour Tom was
safely ensconced in the corner of the carriage, with his shoulder braced
back, _secundum artem_, and his arm supported by a sling. How quietly
and deftly the two women slipped a shawl here and a rug there to save
him from the jarring of the carriage! It is part of the angel nature of
woman that when youth and strength are maimed and helpless they appeal
to her more than they can ever do in the pride and flush of their power.
Here lies the compensation of the unfortunate. Kate's dark blue eyes
filled with ineffable compassion as she bent over him; and he, catching
sight of that expression, felt a sudden new unaccountable spring of joy
bubble up in his heart, which made all previous hopes and pleasures seem
vapid and meaningless. The little god shoots hard and straight when his
mark is still in the golden dawn of life. All the way back he lay with
his head among the cushions, dreaming of ministering angels, his whole
soul steeped in quiet contentment as it dwelt upon the sweet earnest
eyes which had looked so tenderly into his. It had been an eventful day
with the student. He had saved his side, he had broken his collar-bone,
and now, most serious of all, he had realized that he was hopelessly in
love.
CHAPTER VIII.
A FIRST PROFESSIONAL.
Within a few weeks of his recovery from his accident Tom Dimsdale was to
go up for his first professional examination, and his father, who had
now retired from practice with a fair fortune, remained in Edinburgh
until that event should come off. There had been some difficulty in
persuading Girdlestone to give his consent to this prolongation of his
ward's leave, but the old merchant was very much engrossed with his own
affairs about that time, which made him more amenable than he might
otherwise have been. The two travellers continued, therefore, to reside
in their Princes Street hotel, but the student held on to his lodgings
in Howe Street, where he used to read during the morning and afternoon.
Every evening, however, he managed to dine at the _Royal_, and would
stay there until his father packed him off to his books once more.
It was in vain for him to protest and to plead for another half-hour.
The physician was inexorable. When the fated hour came round the
unhappy youth slowly gathered together his hat, his gloves, and his
stick, spreading out that operation over the greatest possible extent of
time which it could by any means be made to occupy. He would then
ruefully bid his kinsfolk adieu, and retire rebelliously to his books.
Very soon, however, he made a discovery. From a certain seat in the
Princes Street Gardens it was possible to see the interior of the
sitting-room in which the visitors remained after dinner. From the time
when this fact dawned upon him, his rooms in the evening knew him no
more. The gardens were locked at night, but that was a mere trifle.
He used to scramble over the railings like a cat, and then, planting
himself upon the particular seat, he would keep a watch upon the hotel
window until the occupants of the room retired to rest. It might happen
that his cousin remained invisible. Then he would return to his rooms
in a highly dissatisfied state, and sit up half the night protesting
against fate and smoking strong black tobacco. On the other hand, if he
had the good luck to see the graceful figure of his old playfellow, he
felt that that was the next best thing to being actually in her company,
and departed eventually in a more contented frame of mind. Thus, when
Dr. Dimsdale fondly imagined his son to be a mile away grappling with
the mysteries of science, that undutiful lad was in reality perched
within sixty yards of him, with his thoughts engrossed by very different
matters.
Kate could not fail to understand what was going on. However young and
innocent a girl may be, there is always some subtle feminine instinct
which warns her that she is loved. Then first she realizes that she has
passed the shadowy frontier line which divides the child-life from that
of the woman. Kate felt uneasy and perplexed, and half involuntarily
she changed her manner towards him.
It had been frank and sisterly; now it became more distant and
constrained. He was quick to observe the change, and in private raved
and raged at it. He even made the mistake of showing his pique to her,
upon which she became still more retiring and conventional. Then be
bemoaned himself in the sleepless watches of the night, and confided to
his bed-post that in his belief such a case had never occurred before in
the history of the world, and never by any chance could or would happen
again. He also broke out into an eruption of bad verses, which were
found by his landlady during her daily examination of his private
papers, and were read aloud to a select audience of neighbours, who were
all much impressed, and cackled sympathetically among themselves.
By degrees Tom developed other symptoms of the distemper which had come
upon him so suddenly. He had always been remarkable for a certain
towsiness of appearance and carelessness of dress which harmonized with
his Bohemian habits. All this he suddenly abjured. One fine morning he
paid successive visits to his tailor, his boot-maker, his hatter, and
his hosier, which left all those worthy tradesmen rubbing their hands
with satisfaction. About a week afterwards he emerged from his rooms in
a state of gorgeousness which impressed his landlady and amazed his
friends. His old college companions hardly recognized Tom's honest phiz
as it looked out above the most fashionable of coats and under the
glossiest of hats.
His father was anything but edified by the change.
"I don't know what's coming over the lad, Kate," he remarked after one
of his visits. "If I thought he was going to turn to a fop, by the Lord
Harry I'd disown him! Don't you notice a change in him yourself?"
Kate managed to evade the question, but her bright blush might have
opened the old man's eyes had he observed it. He hardly realized yet
that his son really was a man, and still less did he think of John
Harston's little girl as a woman. It is generally some comparative
stranger who first makes that discovery and brings it home to friends
and relatives.
Love has an awkward way of intruding itself at inconvenient times, but
it never came more inopportunely than when it smote one who was reading
for his first professional examination. During these weeks, when Tom
was stumping about in boots which were two sizes too small for him, in
the hope of making his muscular, well-formed foot a trifle more elegant,
and was splitting gloves in a way which surprised his glover, all his
energies ought by rights to have been concentrated upon the mysteries of
botany, chemistry, and zoology. During the precious hours that should
have been devoted to the mastering of the sub-divisions of the
celenterata or the natural orders of endogenous plants, he was expending
his energies in endeavouring to recall the words of the song which his
cousin had sung the evening before, or to recollect the exact intonation
with which she remarked to him that it had been a fine day, or some
other equally momentous observation. It follows that, as the day of the
examination came round, the student, in his lucid intervals, began to
feel anxious for the result. He had known his work fairly well,
however, at one time, and with luck he might pull through. He made an
energetic attempt to compress a month's reading into a week, and when
the day for the written examination came round he had recovered some of
his lost ground. The papers suited him fairly well, and he felt as he
left the hall that he had had better fortune than he deserved. The
_viva voce_ ordeal was the one, however, which he knew would be most
dangerous to him, and he dreaded it accordingly.
It was a raw spring morning when his turn came to go up. His father and
Kate drove round with him to the University gates.
"Keep up your pluck, Tom," the old gentleman said. "Be cool, and have
all your wits about you. Don't lose your head, whatever you do."
"I seem to have forgotten the little I ever knew," Tom said dolefully,
as he trudged up the steps. As he looked back he saw Kate wave her hand
to him cheerily, and it gave him fresh heart.
"We shall hope to see you at lunch time," his father shouted after him.
"Mind you bring us good news." As he spoke the carriage rattled away
down the Bridges, and Tom joined the knot of expectant students who were
waiting at the door of the great hall.
A melancholy group they were, sallow-faced, long-visaged and dolorous,
partly from the effects of a long course of study and partly from their
present trepidation. It was painful to observe their attempts to appear
confident and unconcerned as they glanced round the heavens, as if to
observe the state of the weather, or examined with well-feigned
archaeological fervour the inscriptions upon the old University walls.
Most painful of all was it, when some one, plucking up courage, would
venture upon a tiny joke, at which the whole company would gibber in an
ostentatious way, as though to show that even in this dire pass the
appreciation of humour still remained with them. At times, when any of
their number alluded to the examination or detailed the questions which
had been propounded to Brown or Baker the day before, the mask of
unconcern would be dropped, and the whole assembly would glare eagerly
and silently at the speaker. Generally on such occasions matters are
made infinitely worse by some Job's comforter, who creeps about
suggesting abstruse questions, and hinting that they represent some
examiner's particular hobby. Such a one came to Dimsdale's elbow, and
quenched the last ray of hope which lingered in the young man's bosom.
"What do you know about cacodyl?" was his impressive question.
"Cacodyl?" Tom cried aghast. "It's some sort of antediluvian reptile,
isn't it?"
The questioner broke into a sickly smile. "No," he said. "It's an
organic explosive chemical compound. You're sure to be asked about
cacodyl. Tester's dead on it. He asks every one how it is prepared."
Tom, much perturbed at these tidings, was feverishly endeavouring to
extract some little information from his companion concerning the
compound, when a bell rang abruptly inside the room and a janitor with a
red face and a blue slip of paper appeared at the door.
"Dillon, Dimsdale, Douglas," this functionary shouted in a very pompous
voice, and three unhappy young men filed through the half-opened door
into the solemn hall beyond.
The scene inside was not calculated to put them at their ease. Three
tables, half a dozen yards from each other, were littered with various
specimens and scientific instruments, and behind each sat two elderly
gentlemen, stern-faced and critical. At one side were stuffed specimens
of various small beasts, numerous skeletons and skulls, large jars
containing fish and reptiles preserved in spirits of wine, jawbones with
great teeth which grinned savagely at the unfortunate candidate, and
numerous other zoological relics. The second table was heaped over with
a blaze of gorgeous orchids and tropical plants, which looked strangely
out of place in the great bleak room. A row of microscopes bristled
along the edge. The third was the most appalling of all, for it was
bare with the exception of several sheets of paper and a pencil.
Chemistry was the most dangerous of the many traps set to ensnare the
unwary student.
"Dillon--botany; Dimsdale--zoology; Douglas--chemistry," the janitor
shouted once more, and the candidates moved in front of the respective
tables. Tom found himself facing a great spider crab, which appeared to
be regarding him with a most malignant expression upon its crustacean
features. Behind the crab sat a little professor, whose projecting eyes
and crooked arms gave him such a resemblance to the creature in front
that the student could not help smiling.
"Sir," said a tall, clean-shaven man at the other end of the table, "be
serious. This is no time for levity."
Tom's expression after that would have made the fortune of a mute.
"What is this?" asked the little professor, handing a small round object
to the candidate.
"It is an echinus--a sea-urchin," Tom said triumphantly.
"Have they any circulation?" asked the other examiner.
"A water vascular system."
"Describe it."
Tom started off fluently, but it was no part of the policy of the
examiners to allow him to waste the fifteen minutes allotted them in
expatiating upon what he knew well. They interrupted him after a few
sentences.
"How does this creature walk?" asked the crab-like one.
"By means of long tubes which it projects at pleasure."
"How do the tubes enable the creature to walk?"
"They have suckers on them."
"What are the suckers like?"
"They are round hollow discs."
"Are you sure they are round?" asked the other sharply.
"Yes," said Tom stoutly, though his ideas on the subject were rather
vague."
"And how does this sucker act?" asked the taller examiner.
Tom began to feel that these two men were exhibiting a very unseemly
curiosity. There seemed to be no satiating their desire for
information. "It creates a vacuum," he cried desperately.
"How does it create a vacuum?"
"By the contraction of a muscular pimple in the centre," said Tom, in a
moment of inspiration.
"And what makes this pimple contract?"
Tom lost his head, and was about to say "electricity," when he happily
checked himself and substituted "muscular action."
"Very good," said the examiners, and the student breathed again. The
taller one returned to the charge, however, with, "And this muscle--is
it composed of striped fibres or non-striped?"
"Non-striped," shrieked Tom at a venture, and both examiners rubbed
their hands and murmured, "Very good, indeed!" at which Tom's hair began
to lie a little flatter, and he ceased to feel as if he were in a
Turkish bath.
"How many teeth has a rabbit?" the tall man asked suddenly.
"I don't know," the student answered with candour.
The two looked triumphantly at one another.
"He doesn't know!" cried the goggle-eyed one decisively.
"I should recommend you to count them the next time you have one for
dinner," the other remarked. As this was evidently meant for a joke,
Tom had the tact to laugh, and a very gruesome and awe-inspiring laugh
it was too.
Then the candidate was badgered about the pterodactyl, and concerning
the difference in anatomy between a bat and a bird, and about the
lamprey, and the cartilaginous fishes, and the amphioxus. All these
questions he answered more or less to the satisfaction of the
examiners--generally less. When at last the little bell tinkled which
was the sign for candidates to move on to other tables, the taller man
leaned over a list in front of him and marked down upon it the following
hieroglyphic:--
"S. B.--."
This Tom's sharp eye at once detected, and he departed well pleased, for
he knew that the "S. B." meant _satis bene_, and as to the minus sign
after it, it mattered little to him whether he had done rather more than
well or rather less. He had passed in zoology, and that was all which
concerned him at present.
CHAPTER IX.
A NASTY CROPPER.
But there were pitfalls ahead. As he moved to the botany table a
grey-bearded examiner waved his hand in the direction of the row of
microscopes as an intimation that the student was to look through them
and pronounce upon what he saw. Tom seemed to compress his whole soul
into his one eye as he glared hopelessly through the tube at what
appeared to him to resemble nothing so much as a sheet of ice with the
marks of skates upon it.
"Come along, come along!" the examiner growled impatiently. Courtesy is
conspicuous by its absence in most of the Edinburgh examinations.
"You must pass on to the next one, unless you can offer an opinion."
This venerable teacher of botany, though naturally a kind-hearted man,
was well known as one of the most malignant species of examiners, one of
the school which considers such an ordeal in the light of a trial of
strength between their pupils and themselves. In his eyes the candidate
was endeavouring to pass, and his duty was to endeavour to prevent him,
a result which, in a large proportion of cases, he successfully
accomplished.
"Hurry on, hurry on!" he reiterated fussily.
"It's a section of a leaf," said the student.
"It's nothing of the sort," the examiner shouted exultantly.
"You've made a bad mistake, sir; a very bad one, indeed. It's the
spirilloe of a water plant. Move on to the next."
Tom, in much perturbation of mind, shuffled down the line and looked
through the next brazen tube. "This is a preparation of stomata," he
said, recognizing it from a print in his book on botany.
The professor shook his head despondingly. "You are right," he said;
"pass on to the next."
The third preparation was as puzzling to the student as the first had
been, and he was steeling himself to meet the inevitable when an
unexpected circumstance turned the scale in his favour. It chanced that
the other examiner, being somewhat less of a fossil than his
_confreres_, and having still vitality enough to take an interest in
things which were foreign to his subject, had recognized the student as
being the young hero who had damaged himself in upholding the honour of
his country. Being an ardent patriot himself his heart warmed towards
Tom, and perceiving the imminent peril in which he stood he interfered
in his behalf, and by a few leading questions got him on safer ground,
and managed to keep him there until the little bell tinkled once more.
The younger examiner showed remarkable tact in feeling his way, and
keeping within the very limited area of the student's knowledge. He
succeeded so well, however, that although his colleague shook his hoary
head and intimated in other ways his poor opinion of the candidate's
acquirements, he was forced to put down another "S. B." upon the paper
in front of him. The student drew a long breath when he saw it, and
marched across to the other table with a mixture of trepidation and
confidence, like a jockey riding at the last and highest hurdle in a
steeple-chase.
Alas! it is the last hurdle which often floors the rider, and Thomas too
was doomed to find the final ordeal an insurmountable one. As he
crossed the room some evil chance made him think of the gossip outside
and of his allusion to the abstruse substance known as cacodyl.
Once let a candidate's mind hit upon such an idea as this, and nothing
will ever get it out of his thoughts. Tom felt his head buzz round, and
he passed his hand over his forehead and through his curly yellow hair
to steady himself. He felt a frenzied impulse as he sat down to
inform the examiners that he knew very well what they were going to ask
him, and that it was hopeless for him to attempt to answer it.
The leading professor was a ruddy-faced, benevolent old gentleman, with
spectacles and a kindly manner. He made a few commonplace remarks to
his colleagues with the good-natured intention of giving the
confused-looking student before him time to compose himself.
Then, turning blandly towards him, he said in the mildest of tones--
"Have you ever rowed in a pond?"
Tom acknowledged that he had.
"Perhaps, on those occasions," the examiner continued, "you may have
chanced to touch the mud at the bottom with your oar."
Tom agreed that it was possible.
"In that case you may have observed that a large bubble, or a succession
of them has risen from the bottom to the surface. Now, of what gas was
that bubble composed?"
The unhappy student, with the one idea always fermenting on his brain,
felt that the worst had come upon him. Without a moment's hesitation or
thought he expressed his conviction that the compound was cacodyl.
Never did two men look more surprised, and never did two generally grave
_savants_ laugh more heartily than did the two examiners when they
realized what the candidate had answered. Their mirth speedily brought
him back to his senses. He saw with a feeling of despair that it was
marsh gas which they had expected--one of the simplest and commonest of
chemical combinations. Alas! it was too late now. He knew full well
that nothing could save him. With poor marks in botany and zoology,
such an error in chemistry was irreparable. He did what was perhaps the
best thing under the circumstances. Rising from his chair he made a
respectful bow to the examiners, and walked straight out of the room--to
the great astonishment of the janitor, who had never before witnessed
such a breach of decorum. As the student closed the door behind him he
looked back and saw that the other professors had left their respective
tables and were listening to an account of the incident from one of the
chemists--and a roar of laughter the moment afterwards showed that they
appreciated the humour of it. His fellow-students gathered round Tom
outside in the hope of sharing in the joke, but he pushed them angrily
aside and strode through the midst of them and down the University
steps. He knew that the story would spread fast enough without his
assistance. His mind was busy too in shaping a certain resolution which
he had often thought over during the last few months.
The two old people and Miss Kate Harston waited long and anxiously in
their sitting-room at the hotel for some news of the absentee. The
doctor had, at first, attempted a lofty cynicism and general assumption
of indifference, which rapidly broke down as the time went by, until at
last he was wandering round the room, drumming upon the furniture with
his fingers and showing every other sign of acute impatience.
The window was on the first floor, and Kate had been stationed there as
a sentinel to watch the passing crowd and signal the first sign of
tidings.
"Can't you see him yet?" the doctor asked for the twentieth time.
"No, dear, I don't," she answered, glancing up and down the street.
"He must be out now. He should have come straight to us. Come away
from the window, my dear. We must not let the young monkey see how
anxious we are about him."
Kate sat down by the old man and stroked his broad brown hand with her
tender white one. "Don't be uneasy, dear," she said; "it's sure to be
all right."
"Yes, he is sure to pass," the doctor answered; "but--bless my soul,
who's this?"
The individual who caused this exclamation was a very broad-faced and
rosy-cheeked little girl, coarsely clad, with a pile of books and a
slate under her arm, who had suddenly entered the apartment.
"Please sir," said this apparition, with a bob, "I'm Sarah Jane."
"Are you, indeed?" said the doctor, with mild irony. "And what d'ye
want here, Sarah Jane?"
"Please, sir, my mithar, Mrs. McTavish, asked me if I wudna' gie ye this
letter frae the gentleman what's lodgin' wi' her." With these words the
little mite delivered her missive and, having given another bob,
departed upon her ways.
"Why," the doctor cried in astonishment, "it's directed to me and in
Tom's writing. What can be the meaning of this?"
"Oh dear! oh dear!" Mrs. Dimsdale cried, with the quick perception of
womanhood; "it means that he has failed."
"Impossible!" said the doctor, fumbling with nervous fingers at the
envelope. "By Jove, though," he continued, as he glanced over the
contents, "you're right. He has. Poor lad! he's more cut up about it
than we can be, so we must not blame him."
The good physician read the letter over several times before he finally
put it away in his note-book, and he did so with a thoughtful face which
showed that it was of importance. As it has an influence upon the
future course of our story we cannot end the chapter better than by
exercising our literary privilege, and peeping over the doctor's
shoulder before he has folded it up. This is the epistle
_in extenso_:--
"My Dear Father,
"You will be sorry to hear that I have failed in my exam.
I am very cut up about it, because I fear that it will
cause you grief and disappointment, and you deserve
neither the one nor the other at my hands."
"It is not an unmixed misfortune to me, because it helps
me to make a request which I have long had in my mind.
I wish you to allow me to give up the study of medicine
and to go in for commerce. You have never made a secret
of our money affairs to me, and I know that if I took my
degree there would never be any necessity for me to practise.
I should therefore have spent five years of my life in
acquiring knowledge which would not be of any immediate
use to me. I have no personal inclination towards medicine,
while I have a very strong objection to simply living in the
world upon money which other men have earned. I must therefore
turn to some fresh pursuit for my future career, and surely it
would be best that I should do so at once. What that fresh
pursuit is to be I leave to your judgment. Personally, I think
that if I embarked my capital in some commercial undertaking
I might by sticking to my work do well. I feel too much cast
down at my own failure to see you to-night, but to-morrow I hope
to hear what you think from your own lips."
"TOM."
"Perhaps this failure will do no harm after all," the doctor muttered
thoughtfully, as he folded up the letter and gazed out at the cold glare
of the northern sunset.
CHAPTER X.
DWELLERS IN BOHEMIA.
The residence of Major Tobias Clutterbuck, late of the 119th Light
Infantry, was not known to any of his friends. It is true that at times
he alluded in a modest way to his "little place," and even went to the
length of remarking airily to new acquaintances that he hoped they would
look him up any time they happened to be in his direction. As he
carefully refrained, however, from ever giving the slightest indication
of which direction that might be, his invitations never led to any
practical results. Still they had the effect of filling the recipient
with a vague sense of proffered hospitality, and occasionally led to
more substantial kindness in return.
The gallant major's figure was a familiar one in the card-room of the
_Rag and Bobtail_, at the bow-window of the Jeunesse Doree. Tall and
pompous, with a portly frame and a puffy clean-shaven face which peered
over an abnormally high collar and old-fashioned linen cravat, he stood
as a very type and emblem of staid middle-aged respectability.
The major's hat was always of the glossiest, the major's coat was
without a wrinkle, and, in short, from the summit of the major's bald
head to his bulbous finger-tips and his gouty toes, there was not a flaw
which the most severe critic of deportment--even the illustrious
Turveydrop himself--could have detected. Let us add that the
conversation of the major was as irreproachable as his person--that he
was a distinguished soldier and an accomplished traveller, with a
retentive memory and a mind stuffed with the good things of a
lifetime. Combine all these qualities, and one would naturally regard
the major as a most desirable acquaintance.
It is painful to have to remark, however, that, self-evident as this
proposition might appear, it was vehemently contradicted by some of the
initiated. There were rumours concerning the major which seriously
compromised his private character. Indeed, such a pitch had they
reached that when that gallant officer put himself forward as a
candidate for a certain select club, he had, although proposed by a lord
and seconded by a baronet, been most ignominiously pilled. In public
the major affected to laugh over this social failure, and to regard it
as somewhat in the nature of a practical joke, but privately he was
deeply incensed. One day he momentarily dropped his veil of unconcern
while playing billiards with the Honourable Fungus Brown, who was
generally credited with having had some hand in the major's exclusion.
"Be Ged! sir," the veteran suddenly exclaimed, inflating his chest and
turning his apoplectic face upon his companion, "in the old days I would
have called the lot of you out, sir, every demned one, beginning with
the committee and working down; I would, be George!" At which savage
attack the Honourable Fungus's face grew as white as the major's was
red, and he began to wish that he had been more reserved in his
confidences to some of his acquaintances respecting the exclusiveness of
the club in question, or at least refrained from holding up the major's
pilling as a proof thereof.
The cause of this vague feeling of distrust which had gone abroad
concerning the old soldier was no very easy matter to define. It is
true that he was known to have a book on every race, and to have secret
means of information from stud-grooms and jockeys which occasionally
stood him in good stead; but this was no uncommon thing among the men
with whom he consorted. Again, it is true that Major Clutterbuck was
much addicted to whist, with guinea points, and to billiard matches for
substantial sums, but these stimulating recreations are also habitual to
many men who have led eventful lives and require a strong seasoning to
make ordinary existence endurable. Perhaps one reason may have been
that the major's billiard play in public varied to an extraordinary
degree, so that on different occasions he had appeared to be aiming at
the process termed by the initiated "getting on the money." The warm
friendships, too, which the old soldier had contracted with sundry
vacuous and sappy youths, who were kindly piloted by him into
quasi-fashionable life and shown how and when to spend their money, had
been most uncharitably commented upon. Perhaps the vagueness about the
major's private residence and the mystery which hung over him outside
his clubs may also have excited prejudice against him. Still, however
his detractors might malign him, they could not attempt to deny the fact
that Tobias Clutterbuck was the third son of the Honourable Charles
Clutterbuck, who again was the second son of the Earl of Dunross, one of
the most ancient of Hibernian families. This pedigree the old soldier
took care to explain to every one about him, more particularly to the
sappy youths aforementioned.
It chanced that on the afternoon of which we speak the major was
engrossed by this very subject. Standing at the head of the broad stone
steps which lead up to the palatial edifice which its occupiers
irreverently term the _Rag and Bobtail_, he was explaining to a
bull-necked, olive-complexioned young man the series of marriages and
inter-marriages which had culminated in the production of his own
portly, stiff-backed figure. His companion, who was none other than
Ezra Girdlestone, of the great African firm of that name, leaned against
one of the pillars of the portico and listened gloomily to the major's
family reminiscences, giving an occasional yawn which he made no attempt
to conceal.
"It's as plain as the fingers of me hand," the old soldier said in a
wheezy muffled brogue, as if he were speaking from under a feather-bed.
"See here now, Girdlestone--this is Miss Letitia Snackles of Snackleton,
a cousin of old Sir Joseph." The major tapped his thumb with the silver
head of his walking-stick to represent the maiden Snackles. "She
marries Crawford, of the Blues--one o' the Warwickshire Crawfords;
that's him"--here he elevated his stubby forefinger; "and here's their
three children, Jemima, Harold, and John." Up went three other fingers.
"Jemima Crawford grows up, and then Charley Clutterbuck runs away with
her. This other thumb o' mine will stand for that young divil Charley,
and then me fingers--"
"Oh, hang your fingers," Girdlestone exclaimed with emphasis.
"It's very interesting, major, but it would be more intelligible if you
wrote it out."
"And so I shall, me boy!" the major cried enthusiastically, by no means
abashed at the sudden interruption. "I'll draw it up on a bit o'
foolscap paper. Let's see; Fenchurch Street, eh? Address to the
offices, of course. Though, for that matter, 'Girdlestone, London,'
would foind you. I was spakin' of ye to Sir Musgrave Moore, of the
Rifles, the other day, and he knew you at once. 'Girdlestone?' says he.
'The same,' says I. 'A merchant prince?' says he. 'The same,' says I.
'I'd be proud to meet him,' says he. 'And you shall,' says I. He's the
best blood of county Waterford."
"More blood than money, I suppose," the young man said, smoothing out
his crisp black moustache.
"Bedad, you've about hit it there. He went to California, and came back
with five and twinty thousand pounds. I met him in Liverpool the day he
arrived. 'This is no good to me, Toby,' says he. 'Why not?' I asks.
'Not enough,' says he; 'just enough to unsettle me.' 'What then?' says
I. 'Put it on the favourite for the St. Leger,' says he. And he did
too, every pinny of it, and the horse was beat on the post by a short
head. He dropped the lot in one day. A fact, sir, 'pon me honour!
Came to me next day. 'Nothing left!' says he. 'Nothing?' says I.
'Only one thing,' says he. 'Suicide?' says I. 'Marriage,' says he.
Within a month he was married to the second Miss Shuttleworth, who had
five thou. in her own right, and five more when Lord Dungeness turns up
his toes."
"Indeed?" said his companion languidly.
"Fact, 'pon me honour! By the way--ah, here comes Lord Henry Richardson.
How d'ye do, Richardson, how d'ye do? Ged, I remember Richardson when
he was a tow-headed boy at Clongowes, and I used to lam him with a
bootjack for his cheek. Ah, yes; I was going to say--it seems a demned
awkward incident--ha! ha!--ridiculous, but annoying, you know. The fact
is, me boy, coming away in a hurry from me little place, I left me purse
on the drawers in the bedroom, and here's Jorrocks up in the
billiard-room afther challenging me to play for a tenner--but I won't
without having the money in me pocket. Tobias Clutterbuck may be poor,
me dear friend, but"--and here he puffed out his chest and tapped on it
with his round, sponge-like fist--"he's honest, and pays debts of
honour on the nail. No, sir, there's no one can say a word against
Tobias, except that he's a half-pay old fool with more heart than
brains. However," he added, suddenly dropping the sentimental and
coming back to the practical, "if you, me dear boy, can obloige me with
the money until to-morrow morning, I'll play Jorrocks with pleasure.
There's not many men that I'd ask such a favour of, and even from you
I'd never accept anything more than a mere timporary convanience."
"You may stake your life on that," Ezra Girdlestone said with a sneer,
looking sullenly down and tracing figures with the end of his stick on
the stone steps. "You'll never get the chance. I make it a rule never
to lend any one money, either for short or long periods."
"And you won't let me have this throifling accommodation?"
"No," the young man said decisively.
For a moment the major's brick-coloured, weather-beaten face assumed an
even darker tint, and his small dark eyes looked out angrily from under
his shaggy brows at his youthful companion. He managed to suppress the
threatened explosion, however, and burst into a loud roar of laughter.
"'Pon me sowl!" he wheezed, poking the young man in the ribs with his
stick, an implement which he had grasped a moment before as though he
meditated putting it to a less pacific use, "you young divils of
business-men are too much for poor old Tobias. Ged, sir, to think of
being stuck in the mud for the want of a paltry tenner! Tommy Heathcote
will laugh when he hears of it. You know Tommy of the 81st? He gave me
good advice: 'Always sew a fifty-pound note into the lining of each
waistcoat you've got. Then you can't go short.' Tried it once, and, be
George! if me demned man-servant didn't stale that very waistcoat and
sell it for six and sixpence. You're not going, are you?"
"Yes; I'm due in the City. The governor leaves at four. Good-bye.
Shall I see you to-night?"
"Card-room, as per usual," quoth the clean-shaven warrior. He looked
after the retreating figure of his late companion with anything but a
pleasant expression upon his face. The young man happened to glance
round as he was half-way down the street, on which the major smiled
after him paternally, and gave a merry flourish with his stick.
As the old soldier stood on the top of the club steps, pompous,
pigeon-chested, and respectable, posing himself as though he had been
placed there for the inspection of passers-by as a sample of the
aristocracy within, he made several attempts to air his grievances to
passing members touching the question of the expectant Jorrocks and the
missing purse. Beyond, however, eliciting many sallies of wit from the
younger spirits, for it was part of the major's policy to lay himself
open to be a butt, his laudable perseverance was entirely thrown away.
At last he gave it up in disgust, and raising his stick hailed a passing
'bus, into which he sprang, taking a searching glance round to see that
no one was following him. After a drive which brought him to the other
side of the City, he got out in a broad, busy thoroughfare, lined with
large shops. A narrow turning from the main artery led into a long,
dingy street, consisting of very high smoke-coloured houses, which ran
parallel to the other, and presented as great a contrast to it as the
back of a painting does to the front.
Down this sombre avenue the major strutted with all his wonted
pomposity, until about half-way down he reached a tall, grim-looking
house, with many notices of "apartments" glaring from the windows.
The line of railings which separated this house from the street was
rusty, and broken and the whole place had a flavour of mildew.
The major walked briskly up the stone steps, hollowed out by the feet of
generations of lodgers, and pushing open the great splotchy door, which
bore upon it a brass plate indicating that the establishment was kept by
a Mrs. Robins, he walked into the hall with the air of one who treads
familiar ground. Up one flight of stairs, up two flights of stairs, and
up three flights of stairs did he climb, until on the fourth landing he
pushed open a door and found himself in a small room, which formed for
the nonce the "little place" about which he was wont at the club to make
depreciatory allusions, so skilfully introduced that the listener was
left in doubt as to whether the major was the happy possessor of a
country house and grounds, or whether he merely owned a large suburban
villa. Even this modest sanctum was not entirely the major's own, as
was shown by the presence of a ruddy-faced man with a long, tawny beard,
who sat on one side of the empty fire-place, puffing at a great
china-bowled pipe, and comporting himself with an ease which showed
that he was no casual visitor.
As the other entered, the man in the chair gave vent to a guttural grunt
without removing the mouthpiece of his pipe from between his lips; and
Major Clutterbuck returned the greeting with an off-handed nod.
His next proceeding was to take off his glossy hat and pack it away in a
hat-box. He then removed his coat, his collar, his tie, and his
gaiters, with equal solicitude, and put them in a place of safety.
After which he donned a long purple dressing-gown and a smoking-cap, in
which garb he performed the first steps of a mazurka as a sign of the
additional ease which he experienced.
"Not much to dance about either, me boy," the old soldier said, seating
himself in a camp-chair and putting his feet upon another one.
"Bedad, we're all on the verge. Unless luck takes a turn there's no
saying what may become of us."
"We have been badder than this before now many a time," said the
yellow-bearded man, in an accent which proclaimed him to be a German.
"My money vill come, or you vill vin, or something vill arrive to set
all things right."
"Let's hope so," the major said fervently. "It's a mercy to get out of
these stiff and starched clothes; but I have to be careful of them, for
me tailor--bad cess to him!--will give no credit, and there's little of
the riddy knocking about. Without good clothes on me back I'd be like a
sweeper without a broom."
The German nodded his intense appreciation of the fact, and puffed a
great blue cloud to the ceiling. Sigismond von Baumser was a political
refugee from the fatherland, who had managed to become foreign clerk in
a small London firm, an occupation which just enabled him to keep body
and soul together. He and the major had lodged in different rooms in
another establishment until some common leaven of Bohemianism had
brought them together. When circumstances had driven them out of their
former abode, it had occurred to the major that by sharing his rooms
with Von Baumser he would diminish his own expenses, and at the same
time secure an agreeable companion, for the veteran was a sociable soul
in his unofficial hours and had all the Hibernian dislike to solitude.
The arrangement commended itself to the German, for he had a profound
admiration for the other's versatile talents and varied experiences; so
he grunted an acquiescence and the thing was done. When the major's
luck was good there were brave times in the little fourth floor back.
On the other hand, if any slice of good fortune came in the German's
way, the major had a fair share of the prosperity. During the hard
times which intervened between these gleams of opulence, the pair
roughed it uncomplainingly as best they might. The major would
sometimes create a fictitious splendour by dilating upon the beauties of
Castle Dunross, in county Mayo, which is the headquarters of all the
Clutterbucks. "We'll go and live there some day, me boy," he would say,
slapping his comrade on the back. "It will be mine from the dungeons
forty foot below the ground, right up, bedad, to the flagstaff from
which the imblem of loyalty flaunts the breeze." At these speeches the
simple-minded German used to rub his great red hands together with
satisfaction, and feel as pleased as though he had actually been
presented with the fee simple of the castle in question.
"Have you had your letter?" the major asked with interest, rolling a
cigarette between his fingers. The German was expecting his quarterly
remittance from his friends at home, and they were both anxiously
awaiting it.
Von Baumser shook his head.
"Bad luck to them! they should have sent a wake ago. You should do what
Jimmy Towler did. You didn't know Towler, of the Sappers? When he and
I were souldiering in Canada he was vexed at the allowance which he had
from ould Sir Oliver, his uncle, not turning up at the right time.
'Ged, Toby,' he says to me, 'I'll warm the old rascal up.' So he sits
down and writes a letter to his uncle, in which he told him his
unbusiness-like ways would be the ruin of them, and more to the same
effect. When Sir Oliver got the letter he was in such a divil's own
rage, that while he was dictating a codicil to his will he tumbled off
the chair in a fit, and Jimmy came in for a clean siven thousand a
year."
"Dat was more dan he deserved," the German remarked. "But you--how do
you stand for money?"
Major Clutterbuck took ten sovereigns out of his trouser pocket and
placed them upon the table. "You know me law," he said; "I never, on
any consideration, break into these. You can't sit down to play cards
for high stakes with less in your purse, and if I was to change one, be
George! they'd all go like a whiff o' smoke. The Lord knows when I'd
get a start again then. Bar this money I've hardly a pinny."
"Nor me," said Von Baumser despondently, slapping his pockets.
"Niver mind, me boy! What's in the common purse, I wonder?"
He looked up at a little leather bag which hung from a brass nail on the
wall. In flush times they were wont to deposit small sums in this, on
which they might fall back in their hours of need.
"Not much, I fear," the other said, shaking his head.
"Well, now, we want something to pull us together on a dull day like
this. Suppose we send out for a bottle of sparkling, eh?"
"Not enough money," the other objected.
"Well, well, let's have something cheaper. Beaune, now; Beaune's a good
comforting sort of drink. What d'ye say to splitting a bottle of
Beaune, and paying for it from the common purse?"
"Not enough money," the other persisted doggedly.
"Well, claret be it," sighed the major. "Maybe it's better in this sort
of weather. Let us send Susan out for a bottle of claret?"
The German took down the little leather bag and turned it upside down.
A threepenny-piece and a penny rolled out. "Dat's all," he said.
"Not enough for claret."
"But there is for beer," cried the major radiantly. "Bedad, it's just
the time for a quart of fourpinny. I remimber ould Gilder, when he was
our chief in India, used to say that a man who got beyond enjoying beer
and a clay pipe at a pinch was either an ass or a coxcomb. He smoked a
clay at the mess table himself. Draper, who commanded the division,
told him it was unsoldier-like. 'Unsoldier-like be demned,' he said.
Ged, they nearly court-martialled the ould man for it. He got the V.C.
at the Quarries, and was killed at the Redan."
A slatternly, slipshod girl answered the bell, and having received her
orders and the united available funds of the two comrades, speedily
returned with a brace of frothing pint pots. The major ruminated
silently over his cigarette for some time, on some unpleasant subject,
apparently, for his face was stem and his brows knitted. At last he
broke out with an oath.
"Be George! Baumser, I can't stand that young fellow Girdlestone.
I'll have to chuck him up. He's such a cold-blooded, flinty-hearted,
calculating sort of a chap, that--" The remainder of the major's
sentence was lost in the beer flagon.
"What for did you make him your friend, then?"
"Well," the old soldier confessed, "it seemed to me that if he wanted
to fool his money away at cards or any other divilment, Tobias
Clutterbuck might as well have the handling of it as any one else.
Bedad, he's as cunning as a basketful of monkeys. He plays a safe game
for low stakes, and never throws away a chance. Demned if I don't think
I've been a loser in pocket by knowing him, while as to me character,
I'm very sure I'm the worse there."
"Vat's de matter mit him?"
"What's not the matter with him. If he's agrayable he's not natural,
and if he's natural he's not agrayable. I don't pretind to be a saint.
I've seen some fun in me day, and hope to see some more before I die;
but there are some things that I wouldn't do. If I live be cards it's
all fair and aboveboard. I never play anything but games o' skill, and
I reckon on me skill bringing me out on the right side, taking one night
with another through the year. Again, at billiards I may not always
play me best, but that's gineralship. You don't want a whole room to
know to a point what your game is. I'm the last man to preach, but,
bedad, I don't like that chap, and I don't like that handsome, brazen
face of his. I've spint the greater part of my life reading folks'
faces, and never very far out either."
Von Baumser made no remark, and the two continued to smoke silently,
with an occasional pull at their flagons.
"Besides, it's no good to me socially," the major continued.
"The fellow can't keep quiet, else he might pass in a crowd; but that
demned commercial instinct will show itself. If he went to heaven he'd
start an agency for harps and crowns. Did I tell you what the
Honourable Jack Gibbs said to me at the club? Ged, he let me have it
straight! 'Buck,' he said, 'I don't mind you. You're one o' the right
sort when all's said and done, but if you ever inthroduce such a chap as
that to me again, I'll cut you as well as him for the future.' I'd
inthroduced them to put the young spalpeen in a good humour, for, being
short, as ye know, I thought it might be necessary to negotiate a loan
from him."
"Vat did you say his name vas?" Von Baumser asked suddenly.
"Girdlestone."
"Is his father a Kauffmann?"
"What the divil is a Kauffmann?" the major asked impatiently. "Is it a
merchant you mean?"
"Ah, a merchant. One who trades with the Afrikaner?"
"The same."
Von Baumser took a bulky pocket-book from his inside pocket, and scanned
a long list of names therein. "Ah, it is the same," he cried at last
triumphantly, shutting up the book and replacing it. "Girdlestone &
Co., African kauf--dat is, merchants--Fenchurch Street, City."
"Those are they."
"And you say dey are rich?"
"Yes."
"Very rich?"
"Yes."
The major began to think that his companion had been imbibing in his
absence, for there was an unfathomable smile upon his face, and his red
beard and towsy hair seemed to bristle from some internal excitement.
"Very rich! Ho, ho! Very rich!" he laughed. "I know dem; not as
friends, Gott bewahre! but I know dem and their affairs."
"What are you driving at? Let's have it. Out with it, man."
"I tell you," said the German, suddenly becoming supernaturally solemn
and sawing his hand up and down in the air to emphasize his remarks,
"in tree or four months, or a year at the most, there vill be no firm of
Girdlestone. They are rotten, useless--whoo! He blew an imaginary
feather up into the air to demonstrate the extreme fragility of the
house in question.
"You're raving, Baumser," said Major Clutterbuck excitedly. "Why, man,
their names are above suspicion. They are looked upon as the soundest
concern in the City."
"Dat may be; dat may be," the German answered stolidly. "Vat I know, I
know, and vat I say I say."
"And how d'ye know it? D'ye tell me that you know lore about it than
the men on 'Change and the firms that do business with them?"
"I know vat I know, and I say vat I say," the other repeated.
"Dat tobacco-man Burger is a rogue. Dere is five-and-thirty in the
hundred of water in this canaster tobacco, and one must be for ever
relighting."
"And you won't tell me where you heard this of the Girdlestones?"
"It vould be no good to you. It Is enough dat vat I say is certain.
Let it suffice that dere are people vat are bound to tell other people
all dat dey know about anything whatever."
"You don't make it over clear now," the old soldier grumbled. "You mane
that these secret societies and Socialists let each other know all that
comes in their way and have their own means of getting information."
"Dat may be, and dat may not be," the German answered, in the same
oracular voice. "I thought, in any case, my good friend Clutterbuck,
dat I vould give you vat you call in English the straight tap. It is
always vell to have the straight tap."
"Thank ye, me boy," the major said heartily. "If the firm's in a bad
way, either the youngster doesn't know of it, or else he's the most
natural actor that ever lived. Be George! there's the tay-bell; let's
get down before the bread and butther is all finished."
Mrs. Robbins was in the habit of furnishing her lodgers with an evening
meal at a small sum per head. There was only a certain amount of bread
and butter supplied for this, however, and those who came late were
likely to find an empty platter. The two Bohemians felt that the
subject was too grave a one to trifle with, so they suspended their
judgment upon the Girdlestones while they clattered down to the
dining-room.
CHAPTER XI.
SENIOR AND JUNIOR.
Although not a whisper had been heard of it in ordinary commercial
circles, there was some foundation for the forecast which Von Baumser
had made as to the fate of the great house of Girdlestone. For some
time back matters had been going badly with the African traders. If the
shrewd eyes of Major Tobias Clutterbuck were unable to detect any
indications of this state of affairs in the manner or conversation of
the junior partner, the reason simply was that that gentleman was
entirely ignorant of the imminent danger which hung over his head. As
far as he knew, the concern was as prosperous and as flourishing as it
had been at the time of the death of John Harston. The momentous secret
was locked in the breast of his grim old father, who bore it about with
him as the Spartan lad did the fox--without a quiver or groan to
indicate the care which was gnawing at his heart. Placed face to face
with ruin, Girdlestone fought against it desperately, and, withal,
coolly and warily, throwing away no chance and leaving no stone
unturned. Above all, he exerted himself--and exerted himself
successfully--to prevent any rumour of the critical position of the firm
from leaking out in the city. He knew well that should that once occur
nothing could save him. As the wounded buffalo is gored to death by the
herd, so the crippled man of business may give up all hope when once his
position is known by his fellows. At present, although Von Baumser and
a few other such Ishmaelites might have an inkling from sources of their
own as to how matters stood, the name of Girdlestone was still regarded
by business men as the very synonym for commercial integrity and
stability. If anything, there seemed to be more business in Fenchurch
Street and more luxury at the residence at Eccleston Square than in
former days. Only the stern-faced and silent senior partner knew how
thin the veneer was which shone so deceptively upon the surface.
Many things had contributed towards this state of affairs. The firm had
been involved in a succession of misfortunes, some known to the world,
and others known to no one save the elder Girdlestone. The former had
been accepted with such perfect stoicism and cheerfulness that they
rather increased than diminished the reputation of the concern; the
latter were the more crushing, and also the more difficult to bear.
Lines of fine vessels from Liverpool and from Hamburg were running to
the West Coast of Africa, and competition had cut down freightage to the
lowest possible point. Where the Girdlestones had once held almost a
monopoly there were now many in the field. Again, the negroes of the
coast were becoming educated and had a keen eye to business, so that the
old profits were no longer obtainable. The days had gone by when
flint-lock guns and Manchester prints could be weighed in the balance
against ivory and gold dust.
While these general causes were at work a special misfortune had
befallen the house of Girdlestone. Finding that their fleet of old
sailing vessels was too slow and clumsy to compete with more modern
ships, they had bought in two first-rate steamers. One was the
_Providence_, a fine screw vessel of twelve hundred tons, and the other
was the _Evening Star_, somewhat smaller in size, but both classed A1 at
Lloyd's. The former cost twenty-two thousand pounds, and the latter
seventeen thousand. Now, Mr. Girdlestone had always had a weakness for
petty savings, and in this instance he determined not to insure his new
vessels. If the crazy old tubs, for which he had paid fancy premiums
for so many years with an eye to an ultimate profit, met with no
disaster, surely those new powerful clippers were safe. With their
tonnage and horse-power they appeared to him to be superior to all the
dangers of the deep. It chanced, however, by that strange luck which
would almost make one believe that matters nautical were at the mercy of
some particularly malignant demon, that as the _Evening Star_ was
steaming up Channel in a dense fog on her return from her second voyage,
she ran right into the _Providence_, which had started that very morning
from Liverpool upon her third outward trip. The _Providence_ was almost
cut in two, and sank within five minutes, taking down the captain and
six of the crew, while the _Evening Star_ was so much damaged about the
bows that she put into Falmouth in a sinking condition. That day's work
cost the African firm more than five and thirty thousand pounds.
Other mishaps had occurred to weaken the firm, apart from their trade
with the coast. The senior partner had engaged in speculation without
the knowledge of his son, and the result had been disastrous. One of
the Cornish tin mines in which he had sunk a large amount of money, and
which had hitherto yielded him a handsome return, became suddenly
exhausted, and the shares went down to zero. No firm could stand
against such a run of bad luck, and the African trading company reeled
before it. John Girdlestone had not said a word yet of all this to his
son. As claims arose he settled them in the best manner he could, and
postponed the inevitable day when he should have to give a true account
of their financial position. He hoped against hope that the chapter of
accidents or the arrival of some brilliant cargoes from the coast might
set the concern on its legs again.
From day to day he had been expecting news of one of his vessels.
At last one morning he found a telegram awaiting him at the office.
He tore it eagerly open, for it bore the Madeira mark. It was from his
agent, Jose Alveciras, and announced that the voyage from which he had
hoped so much had been a total failure. The cargo was hardly sufficient
to defray the working expenses. As the merchant read it, his head
dropped over the table and he groaned aloud. Another of the props which
upheld him from ruin had snapped beneath him.
There were three letters lying beside the telegram. He glanced through
them, but there was no consolation in any of them. One was from a bank
manager, informing him that his account was somewhat overdrawn.
Another from Lloyd's Insurance Agency, pointing out that the policies on
two of his vessels would lapse unless paid within a certain date.
The clouds were gathering very darkly over the African firm, yet the old
man bore up against misfortune with dauntless courage. He sat alone in
his little room, with his head sunk upon his breast, and his thatched
eye-brows drawn down over his keen grey eyes. It was clear to him that
the time had come when he must enlighten his son as to the true state of
their affairs. With his co-operation he might carry out a plan which
had been maturing some months in his brain.
It was a hard task for the proud and austere merchant to be compelled to
confess to his son that he had speculated without his knowledge in the
capital of the company, and that a large part of that capital had
disappeared. These speculations in many instances had promised large
returns, and John Girdlestone had withdrawn money from safer concerns,
and reinvested it in the hope of getting a higher rate of interest.
He had done this with his eyes open to the risk, and knowing that his
son was of too practical and cautious a nature to embark in such
commercial gambling, he had never consulted him upon the point, nor had
he made any entry of the money so invested in the accounts of the firm.
Hence Ezra was entirely ignorant of the danger which hung over them, and
his father saw that, in order to secure his energetic assistance in the
stroke which he was contemplating, it was absolutely necessary that he
should know how critical their position was.
The old man had hardly come to this conclusion when he heard the sharp
footfall of his son in the outer office and the harsh tones of his voice
as he addressed the clerks. A moment or two later the green baize door
flew open, and the young man came in, throwing his hat and coat down on
one of the chairs. It was evident that something had ruffled his
temper.
"Good-morning," he said brusquely, nodding his head to his father.
"Good-morning, Ezra," the merchant answered meekly.
"What's the matter with you, father?" his son asked, looking at him
keenly. "You don't look yourself, and haven't for some time back."
"Business worries, my boy, business worries," John Girdlestone answered
wearily.
"It's the infernal atmosphere of this place," Ezra said impatiently.
"I feel it myself sometimes. I wonder you don't start a little country
seat with some grounds. Just enough to ask a fellow to shoot over, and
with a good billiard board, and every convenience of that sort.
It would do for us to spend the time from Saturday to Monday, and allow
us to get some fresh air into our lungs. There are plenty of men who
can't afford it half as well, and yet have something of the sort.
What's the use of having a good balance at your banker's, if you don't
live better than your neighbours?"
"There is only one objection to it," the merchant said huskily, and with
a forced laugh; "I have not got a good balance at the banker's."
"Pretty fair, pretty fair," his son said knowingly, picking up the long
thin volume in which the finance of the firm was recorded and tapping it
against the table.
"But the figures there are not quite correct, Ezra," his father said,
still more huskily. "We have not got nearly so much as that."
"What!" roared the junior partner.
"Hush! For God's sake don't let the clerks hear you. We have not so
much as that. We have very little. In fact, Ezra, we have next to
nothing in the bank. It is all gone."
For a moment the young man stood motionless, glaring at his father.
The expression of incredulity which had appeared on his features faded
away before the earnestness of the other, and was replaced by a look of
such malignant passion that it contorted his whole face.
"You fool!" he shrieked, springing forward with the book upraised as
though he would have struck the old merchant. "I see it now. You have
been speculating on your own hook, you cursed ass! What have you done
with it?" He seized his father by the collar and shook him furiously in
his wrath.
"Keep your hands off me!" the senior partner cried, wrenching himself
free from his son's grasp. "I did my best with the money. How dare you
address me so?"
"Did your best!" hissed Ezra, hurling the ledger down on the table with
a crash. "What did you mean by speculating without my knowledge, and
telling me at the same time that I knew all that was done? Hadn't I
warned you a thousand times of the danger of it? You are not to be
trusted with money."
"Remember, Ezra," his father said with dignity, re-seating himself in
the chair from which he had risen, in order to free himself from his
son's clutches, "if I lost the money, I also made it. This was a
flourishing concern before you were born. If the worst comes to the
worst you are only where I started. But we are far from being
absolutely ruined as yet."
"To think of it!" Ezra cried, flinging himself upon the office sofa, and
burying his face in his hands. "To think of all I have said of our
money and our resources! What will Clutterbuck and the fellows at the
club say? How can I alter the ways of life that I have learned?"
Then, suddenly clenching his hands, and turning upon his father he broke
out, "We must have it back, father; we _must_, by fair means or foul.
You must do it, for it was you who lost it. What can we do? How long
have we to do it in? Is this known in the City? Oh, I shall be ashamed
to show my face on 'Change." So he rambled on, half-maddened by the
pictures of the future which rose up in his mind.
"Be calm, Ezra, be calm!" his father said imploringly. "We have many
chances yet if we only make the best of them. There is no use lamenting
the past. I freely confess that I was wrong in using this money without
your knowledge, but I did it from the best of motives. We must put our
heads together now to retrieve our losses, and there are many ways in
which that may be done. I want your clear common sense to help me in
the matter."
"Pity you didn't apply to that before," Ezra said sulkily.
"I have suffered for not doing so," the older man answered meekly.
"In considering how to rally under this grievous affliction which has
come upon us, we must remember that our credit is a great resource, and
one upon which we have never drawn. That gives us a broad margin to
help us while we are carrying out our plans for the future."
"What will our credit be worth when this matter leaks out?"
"But it can't leak out. No one suspects it for a moment. They might
imagine that we are suffering from some temporary depression of trade,
but no one could possibly know the sad truth. For Heaven's sake don't
you let it out!"
His son broke into an impatient oath.
A flush came into Girdlestone's sallow cheeks, and his eyes sparkled
angrily.
"Be careful how you speak, Ezra. There are limits to what I will endure
from you, though I make every allowance for your feelings at this sudden
catastrophe, for which I acknowledge myself responsible."
The young man shrugged his shoulders, and drummed his heel against the
ground impatiently.
"I have more than one plan in my head," the merchant said, "by which our
affairs may be re-established on their old footing. If we can once get
sufficient money to satisfy our present creditors, and so tide over this
run of bad luck, the current will set in the other way, and all will go
well. And, first of all, there is one question, my boy, which I should
like to ask you. What do you think of John Harston's daughter?"
"She's right enough," the young man answered brusquely.
"She's a good girl, Ezra--a thoroughly good girl, and a rich girl too,
though her money is a small thing in my eyes compared to her virtue."
Young Girdlestone sneered. "Of course," he said impatiently. "Well, go
on--what about her?"
"Just this, Ezra, that there is no girl in the world whom I should like
better to receive as my daughter-in-law. Ah, you rogue! you could come
round her; you know you could." The old man poked his long bony finger
In the direction of his son's ribs with grim playfulness.
"Oh, that's the idea, is it?" remarked the junior partner, with a very
unpleasant smile.
"Yes, that is one way out of our difficulties. She has forty thousand
pounds, which would be more than enough to save the firm. At the same
time you would gain a charming wife."
"Yes, there are a good many girls about who might make charming wives,"
his son remarked dubiously. "No matrimony for me yet awhile."
"But it is absolutely necessary," his father urged.
"A very fine necessity," Ezra broke in savagely. "I am to tie myself up
for life and you are to use all the money in rectifying your blunders.
It's a very pretty division of labour, is that."
"The business is yours as well as mine. It is your interest to invest
the money in it, for if it fails you are as completely ruined as I
should be. You think you could win her if you tried?"
Ezra stroked his dark moustache complacently, and took a momentary
glance at his own bold handsome features in the mirror above the
fire-place. "If we are reduced to such an expedient, I think I can
answer for the result," he said. "The girl's not a bad-looking one.
But you said you had several plans. Let us hear some of the other ones.
If the worst comes to the worst I might consent to that--on condition,
of course, that I should have the whole management of the money."
"Quite so--quite so," his father said hurriedly. "That's a dear, good
lad. As you say, when all other things fail we can always fall back
upon that. At present I intend to raise as much money as I can upon our
credit, and invest it in such a manner as to bring in a large and
immediate profit."
"And how do you intend to do this?" his son asked doubtfully.
"I intend," said John Girdlestone, solemnly rising up and leaning his
elbow against the mantelpiece--"I intend to make a corner in diamonds."
CHAPTER XII.
A CORNER IN DIAMONDS.
John Girdlestone propounded his intention with such dignity and emphasis
that he evidently expected the announcement to come as a surprise upon
his son. If so, he was not disappointed, for the young man stared
open-eyed.
"A corner in diamonds!" he repeated. "How will you do that?"
"You know what a corner is," his father explained. "If you buy up all
the cotton, say, or sugar in the market, so as to have the whole of it
in your own hands, and to be able to put your own price on it in selling
it again--that is called making a corner in sugar or cotton. I intend
to make a corner in diamonds."
"Of course, I know what a corner is," Ezra said impatiently. "But how
on earth are you going to buy all the diamonds in? You would want the
capital of a Rothschild?"
"Not so much as you think, my boy, for there are not any great amount of
diamonds in the market at any one time. The yield of the South African
fields regulates the price. I have had this idea in my head for some
time, and have studied the details. Of course, I should not attempt to
buy in all the diamonds that are in the market. A small portion of them
would yield profit enough to float the firm off again."
"But if you have only a part of the supply in your hands, how are you to
regulate the market value? You must come down to the prices at which
other holders are selling."
"Ha! Ha! Very good! very good!" the old merchant said, shaking his head
good-humouredly. "But you don't quite see my plan yet. You have not
altogether grasped it. Allow me to explain it to you."
His son lay back upon the sofa with a look of resignation upon his face.
Girdlestone continued to stand upon the hearth-rug and spoke very slowly
and deliberately, as though giving vent to thoughts which had been long
and carefully considered.
"You see, Ezra," he said, "diamonds, being a commodity of great value,
of which there is never very much in the market at one time, are
extremely sensitive to all sorts of influences. The value of them
varies greatly from time to time. A very little thing serves to
depreciate their price, and an equally small thing will send it up
again."
Ezra Girdlestone grunted to show that he followed his father's remarks.
"I did some business in diamonds myself when I was a younger man, and so
I had an opportunity of observing their fluctuations in the market.
Now, there is one thing which invariably depreciates the price of
diamonds. That is the rumour of fresh discoveries of mines in other
parts of the world. The instant such a thing gets wind the value of the
stones goes down wonderfully. The discovery of diamonds in Central
India not long ago had that effect very markedly, and they have never
recovered their value since. Do you follow me?"
An expression of interest had come over Ezra's face, and he nodded to
show that he was listening.
"Now, supposing," continued the senior partner, with a smile on his thin
lips, "that such a report got about. Suppose, too, that we were at this
time, when the market was in a depressed condition, to invest a
considerable capital in them. If these rumours of an alleged discovery
turned out to be entirely unfounded, of course the value of the stones
which we held would go up once more, and we might very well sell out for
double or treble the sum that we invested. Don't you see the sequence
of events?"
"There seems to me to be rather too much of the 'suppose' in it,"
remarked Ezra. "How do we know that such rumours will get about; and if
they do, how do we know that they will prove to be unfounded?"
"How are we to know?" the merchant cried, wriggling his long lank body
with amusement. "Why, my lad, if we spread the rumours ourselves we
shall have pretty good reason to believe that they are unfounded.
Eh, Ezra? Ha! ha! You see there are some brains in the old man yet."
Ezra looked at his father in considerable surprise and some admiration.
"Why, damn it!" he exclaimed, "it's dishonest. I'm not sure that it's
not actionable."
"Dishonest! Pooh!" The merchant snapped his fingers. "It's finesse, my
boy, commercial finesse. Who's to trace it, I should like to know.
I haven't worked out all the details--I want your co-operation over
that--but here's a rough sketch of my plan. We send a man we can depend
upon to some distant part of the world--Chimborazo, for example, or the
Ural Mountains. It doesn't matter where, as long as it is out of the
way. On arriving at this place our agent starts a report that he has
discovered a diamond mine. We should even go the length, if he
considers it necessary, of hiding a few rough stones in the earth, which
he can dig up to give colour to his story. Of course the local press
would be full of this. He might present one of the diamonds to the
editor of the nearest paper. In course of time a pretty coloured
description of the new diamond fields would find its way to London and
thence to the Cape. I'll answer for it that the immediate effect is a
great drop in the price of stones. We should have a second agent at the
Cape diamond fields, and he would lay our money out by buying in all
that he could while the panic lasted. Then, the original scare having
proved to be all a mistake, the prices naturally go up once more, and we
get a long figure for all that we hold. That's what I mean by making 'a
corner in diamonds.' There is no room in it for any miscalculation. It
is as certain as a proposition of Euclid, and as easily worked out."
"It sounds very nice," his son remarked thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure
about its working, though."
"It must work well. As far as human calculation can go there is no
possibility of failure. Besides, my boy, never lose sight of the fact
that we shall be speculating with other people's money. We ourselves
have nothing to lose, absolutely nothing."
"I am not likely to lose sight of it," said Ezra angrily, his mind
coming back to his grievance.
"I reckon that we can raise from forty to fifty thousand pounds without
much difficulty. My name is, as you know, as good as that of any firm
in the City. For nearly forty years it has been above stain or
suspicion. If we carry on our plans at once, and lay this money out
judiciously, all may come right."
"It's Hobson's choice," the young man remarked. "We must try some bold
stroke of the sort. Have you chosen the right sort of men for agents?
You should have men of some standing to set such reports going.
They would have more weight then."
John Girdlestone shook his head despondingly. "How am I to get a man of
any standing to do such a piece of business?" he said.
"Nothing easier," answered Ezra, with a cynical laugh. "I could pick
out a score of impecunious fellows from the clubs who would be only too
glad to earn a hundred or two in any way you can mention. All their
talk about honour and so forth is very pretty and edifying, but it's not
meant for every day use. Of course we should have to pay him."
"Them, you mean?"
"No, we should only want one man."
"How about our purchaser at the diamond fields?"
"You don't mean to say," Ezra said roughly, "that you would be so absurd
as to trust any man with our money. Why, I wouldn't let the Archbishop
of Canterbury out of my sight with forty thousand pounds of mine. No, I
shall go myself to the diamond fields--that is, if I can trust you here
alone."
"That is unkind, Ezra," said his father. "Your idea is an excellent
one. I should have proposed it myself but for the discomforts and
hardships of such a journey."
"There's no use doing things by halves," the young man remarked. "As to
our other agent, I have the very man--Major Tobias Clutterbuck. He is a
shrewd, clever fellow, and he's always hard up. Last week he wanted to
borrow a tenner from me. The job would be a godsend to him, and his
social rank would be a great help to our plan. I'll answer for his
jumping at the idea."
"Sound him on the subject, then."
"I will."
"I am glad," said the old merchant, "that you and I have had this
conversation, Ezra. The fact of my having speculated without your
knowledge, and deceived you by a false ledger, has often weighed heavily
upon my conscience, I assure you. It is a relief to me to have told you
all."
"Drop the subject, then," Ezra said curtly. "I must put up with it, for
I have no redress. The thing is done and nothing can undo it; but I
consider that you have willfully wasted the money."
"Believe me, I have tried to act for the best. The good name of our
firm is everything to me. I have spent my whole life in building it up,
and if the day should come when it must go, I trust that I may have gone
myself. There is nothing which I would not do to preserve it."
"I see they want our premiums," Ezra said, glancing at the open letter
upon the table. "How is it that none of those ships go down?
That would give us help."
"Hush! hush!" John Girdlestone cried imploringly. "Speak in a whisper
when you talk of such things."
"I can't understand you," said Ezra petulantly. "You persistently
over-insure your ships, year after year. Look at the _Leopard_; it is
put at more than twice what she was worth as new. And the _Black
Eagle_, I dare say, is about the same. Yet you never have an accident
with them, while your two new uninsured clippers run each other down."
"Well, what more can I do?" replied the merchant "They are thoroughly
rotten. I have done nothing for them for years. Sooner or later they
must go. I cannot do any more."
"I'd make 'em go down quick enough," muttered Ezra, with an oath.
"Why don't you make old Miggs bore a hole in them, or put a light to a
barrel of paraffin? Bless your soul! the thing's done every day.
What's the use of being milk-and-watery about it?"
"No, no, Ezra!" cried his father. "Not that--not that. It's one thing
letting matters take their course, and it is another thing giving
positive orders to scuttle a ship. Besides, it would put us in Miggs'
power. It would be too dangerous."
"Please yourself," said Ezra, with a sneer. "You've got us into the
mess and you must take us out again. If the worst comes to the worst
I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll marry Kate Harston, wash my hands of
the firm, leave you to settle matters with the creditors, and retire
with the forty thousand pounds;" with which threat the junior partner
took up his hat and swaggered out of the office.
After his departure, John Girdlestone spent an hour in anxious thought,
arranging the details of the scheme which he had just submitted to his
son. As he sat, his eye chanced to fall upon the two letters lying on
his desk, and it struck him that they had better be attended to. It did
not suit his plans to fall back upon his credit just yet. It has been
already shown that he was a man of ready resource. He rang the bell and
summoned his senior clerk.
"Good morning, John," he said affably.
"Good morning, Mr. Girdlestone, good morning, sir," said wizened little
John Gilray, rubbing his thin yellow hands together, as a sign of his
gratification.
"I hear, John, that you have come into a legacy lately," Mr. Girdlestone
said.
"Yes, sir. Fifteen hundred pounds, sir. Less legacy duty and
incidental expenses, fourteen hundred and twenty-eight six and
fourpence. My wife's brother Andrew left it, sir, and a very handsome
legacy too."
John Girdlestone smiled with the indulgent smile of one to whom such a
sum was absolutely nothing.
"What have you done with the money, then, John?" he asked carelessly.
"Banked it, sir, in the United Metropolitan."
"In the United Metropolitan, John? Let me see. Their present rate of
interest is three and a half?"
"Three, sir," said John.
"Three! Dear me, John, that is poor interest, very poor indeed. It is
most fortunate that I made these inquiries. I was on the point of
drawing fourteen hundred pounds from one of my correspondents as a
temporary convenience. For this I should pay him five per cent. I have
no objection, John, as you are an old servant of the firm, to giving you
the preference in this matter. I cannot take more than fourteen
hundred--but I shall be happy to accommodate you up to that sum at the
rate named."
John Gilray was overwhelmed by this thoughtful and considerate act. "It
is really too generous and kind, sir," he said. "I don't know how to
thank you."
"Don't mention it, John," the senior partner said grandly. "The firm is
always glad to advance the interests of its employees in any reasonable
manner. Have you your cheque-book with you? Fill it up for fourteen
hundred. No more, John; I cannot oblige you by taking any more."
The head clerk having made out his cheque for the amount, and having
signed his name to it in a cramped little quaint handwriting, which
reminded one of his person, was duly presented with a receipt and
dismissed to his counting-house. There he entertained the other clerks
by a glowing description of the magnanimity of his employer.
John Girdlestone took some sheets of blue official paper from a drawer,
and his quill pen travelled furiously over them with many a screech and
splutter.
"Sir," he said to the bank manager, "I enclose fourteen hundred pounds,
which represents the loose cash about the office. I shall make a heavy
deposit presently. In the meantime, you will, of course, honour
anything that may be presented.--Yours truly, JOHN GIRDLESTONE."
To Lloyd's Insurance Agency he wrote:--"Sir,--Enclosed you will find
cheque for 241 pounds seven shillings and sixpence, being amount due as
premium on the _Leopard_, _Black Eagle_, and _Maid of Athens_. Should
have forwarded cheque before, but with so many things of importance to
look after these trifles are liable to be overlooked."
These two epistles having been sealed, addressed, and despatched, the
elder Girdlestone began to feel somewhat more easy in his mind, and to
devote himself once more to the innocent amusement of planning how a
corner might best be created in diamonds.
CHAPTER XIII.
SHADOW AND LIGHT.
John Girdlestone's private residence in Eccleston Square was a large and
substantial house in a district which the wave of fashion had passed
over in its westward course. It might still, however, be said to be
covered by a deposit of eminent respectability. The building was stern
and hard, and massive in its external appearance, but the interior was
luxury itself, for the old merchant, in spite of his ascetic appearance,
was inclined to be a sybarite at heart, and had a due appreciation of
the good things of this world. Indeed, there was an oriental and almost
barbarous splendour about the great rooms, where the richest of
furniture was interspersed with skins from the Gaboon, hand-worked ivory
from Old Calabar, and the thousand other strange valuables which were
presented by his agents to the African trader.
After the death of his friend, Girdlestone had been as good as his word.
He had taken Kate Harston away from the desolate house at Fulham and
brought her to live with him. From the garrets of that palatial edifice
to the cellars she was at liberty to roam where she would, and do what
she chose. The square garden too, with its smoke-dried trees and faded
lawn, was at her disposal, in which she might walk, or work, or read.
No cares or responsibilities were imposed upon her. The domestic
affairs were superintended by a stern housekeeper, who bore a quaint
resemblance to Girdlestone himself in petticoats, and who arranged every
detail of housekeeping. The young girl had apparently only to exist and
to be happy.
Yet the latter item was not so easy as it might seem. It was not a
congenial atmosphere. Her whole society consisted of the stern,
unemotional merchant and his vulgar, occasionally brutal, son.
At first, while the memory of her father was still fresh, she felt her
new surroundings acutely, contrasting, as they did, with her happy
Fulham home. Gradually, however, as time deadened the sting, she came
to accommodate herself to circumstances. The two men left her very much
to her own devices. Girdlestone was so engrossed in his business that
he had little time to inquire into her pursuits, and Ezra, being
addicted to late hours, was seldom seen except at breakfast-time, when
she listened with awe to his sporting slang and cynical comments upon
men and manners.
John Girdlestone had been by no means overjoyed upon the return of the
Dimsdales from Edinburgh to learn that his ward had been thrown into the
company of her young cousin. He received her coldly and forbade her to
visit Phillimore Gardens for some time to come. He took occasion also
to speak of Tom, and to assure her that he had received very serious
accounts as to his spiritual state. "He is addicted to all manner of
debasing pursuits," he remarked, "and it is my particular wish that you
should avoid him." Learning that young Dimsdale was in London, he even
took the precaution of telling off a confidential footman to walk behind
her on all occasions, and to act either as an escort or as a sentry.
It chanced, however, that one day, a few weeks after her return, Kate
found an opportunity of recovering her freedom. The footman had been
despatched upon some other duty, so she bethought herself that a book
was to be bought and some lace to be matched, and several other
important feminine duties to be fulfilled. It happened, however, that
as she walked sedately down Warwick Street, her eyes fell upon a very
tall and square-shouldered young man, who was lounging in her direction,
tapping his stick listlessly against the railings, as is the habit of
idle men. At this Kate forgot incontinently all about the book and the
lace, while the tall youth ceased to tap the railings, and came striding
towards her with long springy footsteps and a smiling face.
"Why Cousin Tom, who would have thought of meeting you here?" she
exclaimed, when the first greetings had been exchanged. "It is a most
surprising thing."
It is possible that the incident would not have struck her as so very
astonishing after all, had she known that Tom had spent six hours a day
for the last fortnight in blockading the entrances to Eccleston Square.
"Most remarkable!" said the young hypocrite. "You see, I haven't
anything to do yet, so I walk about London a good deal. It was a lucky
chance that sent me in this direction."
"And how is the doctor?" Kate asked eagerly. "And Mrs. Dimsdale, how is
she? You must give my love to them both."
"How is it that you have never been to see us?" Tom asked reproachfully.
"Mr. Girdlestone thinks that I have been too idle lately, and that I
should stay at home. I am afraid it will be some little time before I
can steal away to Kensington."
Tom consigned her guardian under his breath to a region warmer even than
the scene of that gentleman's commercial speculations.
"Which way are you going?" he asked.
"I was going to Victoria Street to change my book, and then to Ford
Street."
"What a strange thing!" the young man exclaimed; "I was going in that
direction too." It seemed the more strange, as he was walking in the
opposite direction when she met him. Neither seemed inclined to make
any comment upon the fact, so they walked on together. "And you have
not forgotten the days in Edinburgh yet?" Tom asked, after a long pause.
"No, indeed," his companion answered with enthusiasm. "I shall never
forget them as long as I live."
"Nor I," said Tom earnestly. "You remember the day we had at the
Pentlands?"
"And the drive round Arthur's Seat."
"And the time that we all went to Roslin and saw the chapel."
"And the day at Edinburgh Castle when we saw the jewels and the armoury.
But you must have seen all these things many times before? You could
not have enjoyed it as much as we did for the first time."
"Oh yes, I did," Tom said stoutly, wondering to himself how it was that
the easy grace with which he could turn compliments to maidens for whom
he cared nothing had so entirely deserted him. "You see, Kate-well--you
were not there when I saw them before."
"Ah," said Kate demurely, "what a beautiful day it is? I fancied in the
morning that it was going to rain."
Tom was not to be diverted from his subject by any meteorological
observations. "Perhaps some time your guardian will allow the dad to
take you on another little holiday," he said hopefully.
"I'm afraid he won't," answered Kate.
"Why not?"
"Because he seemed so cross when I came back this last time."
"Why was he cross?" asked Tom.
"Because--" She was about to say that it was because she had been
brought in contact with him; but she recollected herself in time.
"Because what?"
"Because he happened to be in a bad temper," she answered.
"It is too bad that you should have to submit to any one's whims and
tempers," the young man said, switching his stick angrily backwards and
forwards.
"Why not?" she asked, laughing. "Everybody has some one over them.
If you hadn't, you would never know right from wrong."
"But he is unkind to you."
"No, indeed," said Kate, with decision. "He is really very kind to me.
He may appear a little stern at times, but I know that he means it for
my own good, and I should be a very foolish girl if I resented it.
Besides, he is so pious and good that what may seem a little fault to us
would appear a great thing in his eyes."
"Oh, he is very pious and good, then," Tom remarked, in a doubtful
voice. His shrewd old father had formed his own views as to John
Girdlestone's character, and his son had in due course imbibed them from
him.
"Yes, of course he is," answered Kate, looking up with great wondering
eyes. "Don't you know that he is the chief supporter of the Purbrook
Street Branch of the Primitive Trinitarians, and sits in the front pew
three times every Sunday?"
"Ah!" said Tom.
"Yes, and subscribes to all the charitable funds, and is a friend of
Mr. Jefferson Edwards, the great philanthropist. Besides, look how good
he has been to me. He has taken the place of my father."
"Hum!" Tom said dubiously; and then, with a little pang at his heart,
"Do you like Ezra Girdlestone too?"
"No, indeed," cried his companion with energy. "I don't like him in the
least. He is a cruel, bad-hearted man."
"Cruel! You don't mean cruel to you, of course."
"No, not to me. I avoid him as much as I can, and sometimes for weeks
we hardly exchange a word. Do you know what he did the other day?
It makes me shudder even to think of it. I heard a cat crying pitifully
in the garden, so I went out to see what was the matter. When I got
outside I saw Ezra Girdlestone leaning out of a window with a gun in his
hands--one of those air-guns which don't make any noise when they go
off. And there, in the middle of the garden, was a poor cat that he had
tied to a bush, and he had been practising at it for ever so long.
The poor creature was still alive, but oh! so dreadfully injured."
"The brute! What did you do?"
"I untied it and brought it inside, but it died during the night."
"And what did he say?"
"He put up his gun while I was untying it, as if he had half a mind to
take a shot at me. When I met him afterwards he said that he would
teach me to mind my own business. I didn't mind what he said though, as
long as I had the cat."
"Spoke like that, did he?" said Tom savagely, flushing up to his eyes.
"I wish I saw him now. I'd teach him manners, or--"
"You'll certainly get run over if you go on like that," interrupted
Kate.
Indeed, the young man in his indignation was striding over a crossing
without the slightest heed of the imminent danger which he ran from the
stream of traffic.
"Don't be so excitable, Cousin Tom," she said, laying her gloved hand
upon his arm; "there is nothing to be cross about."
"Isn't there?" he answered furiously. "It's a pretty state of things
that you should have to submit to insults from a brutal puppy like that
fellow Ezra Girdlestone." The pair had managed by this time to get
half-way across the broad road, and were halting upon the little island
of safety formed by the great stone base of a lamp-post. An
interminable stream of 'buses--yellow, purple, and brown--with vans,
hansoms, and growlers, blocked the way in front of them. A single
policeman, with his back turned to them, and his two arms going like an
animated semaphore, was the only human being in their immediate
vicinity. Amid all the roar and rattle of the huge city they were as
thoroughly left to themselves as though they were in the centre of
Salisbury Plain.
"You must have a protector," Tom said with decision.
"Oh, Cousin Tom, don't be foolish; I can protect myself very well."
"You must have some one who has a right to look after you." The young
man's voice was husky, for the back part of his throat had become
unaccountably dry of a sudden.
"You can pass now, sir," roared the constable, for there was a momentary
break in the traffic.
"Don't go for a moment," Tom cried, desperately detaining his companion
by the sleeve of her jacket. "We are alone here and can talk. Don't
you think--don't you think you could like me a little bit if you were to
try? I love you so, Kate, that I cannot help hoping that my love is not
all lost."
"All clear now, sir," shouted the constable once more.
"Don't mind him," said Tom, still detaining her on the little-island.
"Since I met you in Edinburgh, Kate, I have seemed to be walking in a
dream. Do what I will, go where I will, I still have you before my eyes
and hear your sweet voice in my ears. I don't believe any girl was ever
loved more dearly than I love you, but I find it so hard to put into
words the thoughts that I have in my mind. For Heaven's sake, give me
some little gleam of hope to carry away with me. You don't dislike me,
Kate, do you?"
"You know that I don't, Cousin Tom," said the young lady, with downcast
eyes. He had cornered her so skilfully against the great lamp that she
could move neither to the right nor to the left.
"Do you like me, then, Kate?" he asked eagerly, with a loving light in
his earnest grey eyes.
"Of course I do."
"Do you think you could love me?" continued this persistent young man.
"I don't mean all at once, and in a moment, because I know very well
that I am not worthy of it. But in time don't you think you could come
to love me?"
"Perhaps," murmured Kate, with averted face. It was such a very little
murmur that it was wonderful that it should be audible at all; yet it
pealed in the young man's ears above the rattle and the clatter of the
busy street. His head was very near to hers at the time.
"Now's your time, sir," roared the semaphoric policeman.
Had Tom been in a less exposed position it is possible that he might
have acted upon that well-timed remark from the cunning constable.
The centre of a London crossing is not, however, a very advantageous
spot for the performance of love passages. As they walked on, threading
their way among the vehicles, Tom took his companion's hand in his, and
they exchanged one firm grip, which each felt to be of the nature of a
pledge. How sunny and bright the dull brick-lined streets appeared to
those two young people that afternoon. They were both looking into a
future which seemed to be one long vista of happiness and love. Of all
the gifts of Providence, surely our want of knowledge of the things
which are to come upon us is the most merciful, and the one we could
least dispense with!
So happy and so light-hearted were these two lovers that it was not
until they found themselves in Warwick Street once more that they came
down from the clouds, and realized that there were some commonplace
details which must be dealt with in one way or another.
"Of course, I may tell my own people, dearest, about our engagement?"
Tom said.
"I wonder what your mother will say?" answered Kate, laughing merrily.
"She will be awfully astonished."
"How about Girdlestone?" asked Tom.
The thought of the guardian had never occurred to either of them before.
They stared at each other, and Kate's face assumed such an expression of
dismay that her companion burst out laughing.
"Don't be frightened, darling," he said. "If you like, I'll go in and
'beard the lion in his den.' There is no time like the present."
"No, no, dear Tom," she cried eagerly. "You must not do that." It was
impossible for her to tell him how especially Girdlestone had cautioned
her against him, but she felt that it would never do to allow the two to
meet. "We must conceal our engagement from Mr. Girdlestone."
"Conceal our engagement!"
"Yes, Tom. He has warned me so often against anything of the sort, that
really I don't know what he would do if he knew about it. He would
certainly make it very uncomfortable for me to live with him. Remember
I am nearly twenty now, so in a little more than a year I shall be
entirely free. That is not very long."
"I don't know about that," Tom said doubtfully. "However, if you will
be more comfortable, of course that settles the question. It seems
rather hard, though, that we should have to conceal it, simply in order
to pacify this old bear."
"It's only for a time, Tom; and you may tell them at home by all means.
Now, good-bye, dear; they will see you from the windows if you come
nearer."
"Good-bye, my darling."
They shook hands and parted, he hurrying away with the glad tidings to
Phillimore Gardens, she tripping back to her captivity with the lightest
heart that she had felt for a weary time. Passers-by glanced back at
the bright little face under the bright little bonnet, and Ezra
Girdlestone, looking down at her from the drawing-room window, bethought
him that if the diamond speculation should fail it would be no hardship
to turn to his father's word.
CHAPTER XIV.
A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING.
The revelation of the real state of the firm's finances was a terrible
blow to Ezra Girdlestone. To a man of his overbearing, tempestuous
disposition failure and poverty were bitter things to face. He had been
wont to tread down before him all such little difficulties and obstacles
as came across him in his former life. Now he encountered a great
barrier which could not be passed so easily, and he raged and chafed
before it. It made him still more wroth to think that the fault was
none of his. All his life he had reckoned, as a matter of course, that
when his father passed away he would be left almost a millionaire. A
single half-hour's conversation had shattered this delusion and left him
face to face with ruin. He lost his sleep and became restless and
hollow-eyed. Once or twice he was seen the worse for drink in the
daytime.
He was a man of strong character, however, and though somewhat
demoralized by the sudden shock, he threw away no point in the game
which he and his father were playing. He saw clearly that only a bold
stroke could save them. He therefore threw himself heart and soul into
the diamond scheme, and worked out the details in a masterly manner.
The more he looked into it the more convinced he became, not only of its
feasibility, but of its absolute safety. It seemed as though it were
hardly possible that it should fail.
Among other things he proceeded to qualify himself as a dealer in
diamonds. It happened that he was acquainted with one of the partners
of the firm of Fugger & Stoltz, who did the largest import trade in
precious stones. Through his kindness he received practical
instructions in the variety and value of diamonds, and learned to detect
all those little flaws and peculiarities which are only visible to the
eye of an expert, and yet are of the highest importance in determinating
the price of a stone. With such opportunities Ezra made rapid progress,
and within a few weeks there were not many dealers in the trade who had
a better grasp of the subject.
Both the Girdlestones recognized that the success of their plan depended
very largely upon their choice of an agent, and both were of the opinion
that in Major Tobias Clutterbuck they had just the man that they were in
want of. The younger merchant had long felt vaguely that the major's
social position, combined with his impecuniosity and the looseness of
his morality, as inferred from his mode of life, might some day make him
a valuable agent under delicate circumstances. As to the old soldier's
own inclinations, Ezra flattered himself that he knew the man's nature
to a nicety. It was simply a question of the price to be paid. No
doubt the figure would be substantial, but he recognized with a trader's
instinct that the article was a superior one, and he was content to
allow for the quality in estimating the value.
Early one April afternoon the major was strutting down St. James's
Street, frock-coated and kid-gloved, with protuberant chest and
glittering shoes which peeped out from beneath the daintiest of gaiters.
Young Girdlestone, who had been on the look-out from a club window, ran
across and intercepted him.
"How are you, my dear major?" he cried, advancing upon him with
outstretched hand and as much show of geniality as his nature permitted.
"How d'ye do? How d'ye do?" said the other somewhat pompously. He had
made up his mind that nothing was to be done with the young man, and yet
he was reluctant to break entirely with one whose purse was well lined
and who had sporting proclivities.
"I've been wishing to speak with you for some days, major," said Ezra.
"When could I see you?"
"You'll niver see me any plainer than you do at this very moment," the
old soldier answered, taking a sidelong glance of suspicion at his
companion.
"Ah, but I wish to speak to you quietly on a matter of business," the
young merchant persisted. "It's a delicate matter which may need some
talking over, and, above all, it is a private matter."
"Ged!" said the major, with a wheezy laugh, "you'd have thought I
wanted to borrow money if I had said as much. Look here now, we'll go
into White's private billiard-room, and I'll let you have two hunthred
out of five for a tinner--though it's as good as handing you the money
to offer you such odds. You can talk this over while we play."
"No, no, major," urged the junior partner. "I tell you it is a matter
of the greatest importance to both of us. Can you meet me at Nelson's
Cafe at four o'clock? I know the manager, and he'll let us have a
private room."
"I'd ask you round to me own little place," the major said, "but it's
rather too far. Nelson's at four. Right you are! 'Punctuality is next
to godliness,' as ould Willoughby of the Buffs used to say. You didn't
know Willoughby, eh? Gad, he was second to a man at Gib in '47.
He brought his man on the ground, but the opponents didn't turn up.
Two minutes after time Willoughby wanted his man to leave. 'Teach 'em
punctuality,' he said. 'Can't be done,' said his man. '_Must_ be
done,' said Willoughby. 'Out of the question,' said the man, and
wouldn't budge. Willoughby persisted; there were high words and a
quarrel. The docther put 'em up at fifteen paces, and the man shot
Willoughby through the calf of the leg. He was a martyr to punctuality.
Four o'clock-bye, bye!" The major nodded pleasantly and swaggered away,
flourishing his little cane jauntily in the air.
In spite of his admiration of punctuality, as exemplified in the person
of Willoughby of the Buffs, the major took good care to arrive at the
trysting-place somewhat behind the appointed time. It was clear to him
that some service or other was expected of him, and it was obviously his
game therefore to hang back and not appear to be too eager to enter into
young Girdlestone's views. When he presented himself at the entrance of
Nelson's Cafe the young merchant had been fuming and chafing in the
sitting-room for five and twenty minutes.
It was a dingy apartment, with a single large horse-hair chair and half
a dozen small wooden dittoes, placed with mathematical precision along
the walls. A square table in the centre and a shabby mirror over the
mantelpiece completed the furniture. With the instinct of an old
campaigner the major immediately dropped into the arm-chair, and,
leaning luxuriously back, took a cigar from his case and proceeded to
light it. Ezra Girdlestone seated himself near the table and twisted
his dark moustache, as was his habit when collecting himself.
"What will you drink?" he asked,
"Anything that's going."
"Fetch in a decanter of brandy and some seltzer water," said Ezra to the
waiter; "then shut the door and leave us entirely to ourselves."
When the liquor was placed upon the table he drank off his first glass
at a gulp, and then refilled it. The major placed his upon the
mantelpiece beside him without tasting it. Both were endeavouring to be
at their best and clearest in the coming interview, and each set about
it in his own manner.
"I'll tell you why I wanted to have a chat with you, major," Ezra said,
having first opened the door suddenly and glanced out as a precaution
against eavesdroppers. "I have to be cautious, because what I have to
say affects the interest of the firm. I wouldn't for the world have any
one know about it except yourself."
"What is it, me boy?" the major asked, with languid curiosity, puffing
at his weed and staring up at the smoke-blackened ceiling.
"You understand that in commercial speculations the least breath of
information beforehand may mean a loss of thousands on thousands."
The major nodded his head as a sign that he appreciated this fact.
"We have a difficult enterprise on which we are about to embark," Ezra
said, leaning forward and sinking his voice almost to a whisper.
"It is one which will need great skill and tact, though it may be made
to pay well if properly managed. You follow me?"
His companion nodded once more.
"For this enterprise we require an agent to perform one of the principal
parts. This agent must possess great ability, and, at the same time, be
a man on whom we can thoroughly rely. Of course we do not expect to
find such qualities without paying for them."
The major grunted a hearty acquiescence.
"My father," continued Ezra, "wanted to employ one of our own men.
We have numbers who are capable in every way of managing the business.
I interfered, however. I said that I had a good friend, named Major
Tobias Clutterbuck, who was well qualified for the position.
I mentioned that you were of the blood of the old Silesian kings. Was I
not right?"
"Begad you were not. Milesian, sir; Milesian!"
"Ah, Milesian. It's all the same."
"It's nothing of the sort," said the major indignantly.
"I mean it was all the same to my father. He wouldn't know the
difference. Well, I told him of your high descent, and that you were a
traveller, a soldier, and a man of steady and trustworthy habits."
"Eh?" ejaculated the major involuntarily. "Well, all right. Go on!"
"I told him all this," said Ezra slowly, "and I pointed out to him that
the sum of money which he was prepared to lay out would be better
expended on such a man than on one who had no virtues beyond those of
business."
"I didn't give you credit for so much sinse!" his companion exclaimed
with enthusiasm.
"I said to him that if the matter were left entirely in your hands we
could rely upon its being done thoroughly. At the same time, we should
have the satisfaction of knowing that the substantial sum which we are
prepared to pay our agent had come into worthy hands."
"You hit it there again," murmured the veteran.
"You are prepared, then," said Ezra, glancing keenly at him, "to put
yourself at our orders on condition that you are well paid for it?"
"Not so fast, me young friend, not so fast!" said the major, taking his
cigar from between his lips and letting the blue smoke curl round his
head. "Let's hear what it is that you want me to do, and then I'm riddy
to say what I'll agree to and what I won't. I remimber Jimmy Baxter in
Texas--"
"Hang Jimmy Baxter!" Ezra cried impatiently.
"That's been done already," observed the major calmly. "Lynched for
horse-stealing in '66. However, go on, and I'll promise not to stop you
until you have finished."
Thus encouraged, Ezra proceeded to unfold the plan upon which the
fortunes of the House of Girdlestone depended. Not a word did he say of
ruin or danger, or the reasons which had induced this speculation.
On the contrary, he depicted the affairs of the firm as being in a most
nourishing condition, and this venture as simply a small insignificant
offshoot from their business, undertaken as much for amusement as for
any serious purpose. Still, he laid stress upon the fact that though
the sum in question was a small one to the firm, yet it was a very large
one in other men's eyes. As to the morality of the scheme, that was a
point which Ezra omitted entirely to touch upon. Any comment upon that
would, he felt, be superfluous when dealing with such a man as his
companion.
"And now, major," he concluded, "provided you lend us your name and your
talents to help us in our speculation, the firm are prepared to meet you
in a most liberal spirit in the matter of remuneration. Of course your
voyage and your expenses will be handsomely paid. You will have to
travel by steamer to St. Petersburg, provided that we choose the Ural
Mountains as the scene of our imaginary find. I hear that there is high
play going on aboard these boats, and with your well-known skill you
will no doubt be able to make the voyage a remunerative one. We
calculate that at the most you will be in Russia about three months.
Now, the firm thought that it would be very fair if they were to
guarantee you two hundred and fifty pounds, which they would increase to
five hundred in case of success; of course by that we mean complete
success, such as would be likely to attend your exertions."
Now, had there been any third person in the room during this long
statement of the young merchant's, and had that third person been a man
of observation, he might have remarked several peculiarities in the
major's demeanour. At the commencement of the address he might have
posed as the very model and type of respectable composure. As the plan
was gradually unfolded, however, the old soldier began to puff harder at
his cigar until a continuous thick grey cloud rose up from him, through
which the lurid tip of the havannah shone like a murky meteor.
From time to time he passed his hand down his puffy cheeks, as was his
custom when excited. Then he moved uneasily in his chair, cleared his
throat huskily, and showed other signs of restlessness, all of which
were hailed by Ezra Girdlestone as unmistakable proofs of the
correctness of his judgment and of the not unnatural eagerness of the
veteran on hearing of the windfall which chance had placed in his way.
When the young man had finished, the major stood up with his face to the
empty fire-place, his legs apart, his chest inflated, and his body
rocking ponderously backwards and forwards.
"Let me be quite sure that I understand you," he said. "You wish me to
go to Russia?"
"Quite so," Ezra remarked, rubbing his hands pleasantly.
"You have the goodness to suggist that on me way I should rook me
fellow-passengers in the boat?"
"That is to say, if you think it worth your while."
"Quite so, if I think it worth me while. I am then to procade across
the counthry to some mountains--"
"The Urals."
"And there I am to pretind to discover certain diamond mines, and am to
give weight to me story by the fact that I am known to be a man of good
birth, and also by exhibiting some rough stones which you wish me to
take out with me from England?"
"Quite right, major," Ezra said encouragingly.
"I am then to tilegraph or write this lie to England and git it inserted
in the papers?"
"That's an ugly word," Ezra remonstrated. "This 'report' we will say.
A report may be either true or false, you know."
"And by this report, thin," the major continued, "you reckon that the
market will be so affected that your father and you will be able to buy
and sell in a manner that will be profitable to you, but by which you
will do other people out of their money?"
"You have an unpleasant way of putting it," said Ezra, with a forced
laugh; "but you have the idea right."
"I have another idea as well," roared the old soldier, flushing purple
with passion. "I've an idea that if I was twinty years younger I'd see
whether you'd fit through that window, Master Girdlestone. Ged! I'd
have taught you to propose such a schame to a man with blue blood in his
veins, you scounthrel!"
Ezra fell back in his chair. He was outwardly composed, but there was a
dangerous glitter in his eye, and his face had turned from a healthy
olive to a dull yellow tint.
"You won't do it?" he gasped.
"Do it! D'ye think that a man who's worn Her Majesty's scarlet jacket
for twinty years would dirty his hands with such a trick? I tell ye, I
wouldn't do it for all the money that iver was coined. Look here,
Girdlestone, I know you, but, by the Lord, you don't know me!"
The young merchant sat silently in his chair, with the same livid colour
upon his face and savage expression in his eyes. Major Tobias
Clutterbuck stood at the end of the table, stooping forward so as to
lean his hands upon it, with his eyes protuberant and his scanty grey
fringe in a bristle with indignation.
"What right had you to come to me with such a proposal? I don't set up
for being a saint, Lord knows, but, be George! I've some morals, such as
they are, and I mean to stick to them. One of me rules of life has been
niver to know a blackgaird, and so, me young friend, from this day forth
you and I go on our own roads. Ged! I'm not particular, but 'you must
draw the line somewhere,' as me frind, Charlie Monteith, of the Indian
Horse, used to say I when he cut his father-in-law. I draw it at you."
While the major was solemnly delivering himself of these sentiments,
Ezra continued to sit watching him in a particularly venomous manner.
His straight, cruel lips were blanched with passion, and the veins stood
out upon his forehead. The young man was a famous amateur bruiser, and
could fight a round with any professional in London. The old soldier
would be a child in his hands. As the latter picked up his hat
preparatory to leaving the room, Ezra rose and bolted the door upon the
inside. "It's worth five pounds in a police court," he muttered to
himself, and knotting up his great hands, which glittered with rings, he
approached his companion with his head sunk upon his breast, his eyes
flashing from under his dark brows, and the slow, stealthy step of a
beast of prey. There was a characteristic refinement of cruelty about
his attack, as though he wished to gloat over the helplessness of his
victim, and give him time to realize his position before he set upon
him.
If such were his intention he failed signally in producing the desired
effect. The instant the major perceived his manoeuvre he pulled himself
up to his full height, as he might have done on parade, and slipping his
hand beneath the tails of his frock-coat, produced a small glittering
implement, which he levelled straight at the young merchant's head.
"A revolver!" Ezra gasped, staggering back.
"No, a derringer," said the veteran blandly. "I got into the thrick of
carrying one when I was in Colorado, and I have stuck to it ever since.
You niver know when it may be useful." As he spoke he continued to hold
the black muzzle of his pistol in a dead line with the centre of the
young man's forehead, and to follow the latter's movements with a hand
which was as steady as a rock. Ezra was no coward, but he ceased his
advance and stood irresolute.
"Now, thin," cried the major, in sharp military accents, "undo that
door."
The young merchant took one look at the threatening apoplectic face of
his antagonist, and another at the ugly black spot which covered him.
He stooped, and pushed back the bolt.
"Now, open it! Ged, if you don't look alive I'll have to blow a hole in
you afther all. You wouldn't be the first man I've killed, nor the last
maybe."
Ezra opened the door precipitately.
"Now walk before me into the strate."
It struck the waiters at Nelson's well-known restaurant as a somewhat
curious thing that their two customers should walk out with such very
grave faces and in so unsociable a manner. "C'est la froideur
Anglaise!" remarked little Alphonse Lefanue to a fellow exile as they
paused in the laying of tables to observe the phenomenon. Neither of
them noticed that the stout gentleman behind with his hand placed
jauntily in the breast of his coat, was still clutching the brown handle
of a pistol.
There was a hansom standing at the door and Major Clutterbuck stepped
into it.
"Look ye here, Girdlestone," he said, as the latter stood looking
sulkily up and down the street. "You should learn a lesson from this.
Never attack a man unless you're sure that he's unarmed. You may git
shot, if you do."
Ezra continued to stare gloomily into vacancy and took no notice of his
late companion's remark.
"Another thing," said the major. "You must niver take it for granted
that every man you mate is as great a blackgaird as yourself."
The young merchant gave him a malignant glance from his dark eyes and
was turning to go, but the gentleman in the cab stretched out his hand
to detain him.
"One more lesson," he said. "Never funk a pistol unless you are sure
there's a carthridge inside. Mine hadn't. Drive on, cabby!"
With which parting shot the gallant major rattled away down Piccadilly
with a fixed determination never again to leave his rooms without a few
of Eley's No 4 central fires in his pocket.
CHAPTER XV.
AN ADDITION TO THE HOUSE.
There were rejoicings in Phillimore Gardens over Tom's engagement, for
the two old people were both heartily fond of Kate--"our Kate," as they
were wont proudly to call her. The physician chafed at first over the
idea of keeping the matter a secret from Girdlestone. A little
reflection served to show him, however, that there was nothing to be
gained by informing him, while Kate's life, during the time that she was
forced to remain under his roof, would be more tolerable as long as he
was kept in ignorance of it. In the meanwhile the lovers saw little of
each other, and Tom was only consoled by the thought that every day
which passed brought him nearer to the time when he could claim his
prize without concealment or fear. He went about as happy and as
light-hearted a man as any in all London. His mother was delighted at
his high spirits, but his bluff old father was not so well satisfied.
"Confound the lad!" he said to himself. "He is settling down to a life
of idleness. It suits him too well. We must get him to choose one way
or the other."
Accordingly, after breakfast one morning, the doctor asked his son to
step with him into the library, where he lit his long cherry-wood pipe,
as was his custom after every meal, and smoked for some time in silence.
"You must do something to keep you from mischief, my boy," he said at
last brusquely.
"I'm ready for anything, dad," replied Tom, "but I don't quite see what
I'm fitted for."
"First of all, what do you think of this?" the doctor asked abruptly,
handing a letter over to his son, who opened it and read as follows:--
"DEAR SIR,--
"It has come to my knowledge through my son that your boy has
abandoned the study of medicine, and that you are still
uncertain as to his future career. I have long had the
intention of seeking a young man who might join in our
business, and relieve my old shoulders of some of the
burden. Ezra urges me to write and propose that your
son should become one of us. If he has any taste for
business we shall be happy to advance his interest in
every way. He would, of course, have to purchase a share
in the concern, which would amount to seven thousand pounds,
on which he would be paid interest at the rate of five
per cent. By allowing this interest to accumulate, and
investing also his share of the profits, he might in time
absorb a large portion of the business. In case he joined
us upon this footing we should have no objection to his
name appearing as one of the firm. Should the idea commend
itself to you, I should be most happy to talk over details,
and to explain to you the advantages which the firm can offer,
at my office in Fenchurch Street, any day between ten and four."
"With kind regards to your family, and hoping that they enjoy
the great blessing of health, I remain sincerely yours,"
"JOHN GIRDLESTONE."
"What d'ye think of that?" the doctor asked, when his son had finished
reading it.
"I hardly know," said Tom; "I should like a little time to think it
over."
"Seven thousand pounds is a good round sum. It is more than half the
total capital which I have invested for you. On the other hand, I have
heard those who ought to know say there is not a sounder or better
managed concern in London. There's no time like the present, Tom.
Get your hat, and we'll go down to Fenchurch Street together and look
into it."
While father and son were rattling along in a cab from Kensington to the
City, the young man had time to turn the matter over in his mind.
He wanted to be at work, and why not take this up as well as anything
else. It is true that he disliked what he had seen of both the
Girdlestones, but, on the other hand, by becoming a member of the firm
he would probably be thrown in the way of meeting the old merchant's
ward. This last consideration decided the matter, and long before the
cab had pulled up at the long and dirty passage which led to the offices
of the great African firm, the party principally interested had fully
made up his mind as to the course he should adopt.
They were duly ushered into the small sanctum adorned with the dissected
ships, the maps, the charts, the lists of sailing, and the water-colour
picture of the barque _Belinda_, where they were received by the head of
the firm. With a charming personal modesty, tempered by a becoming
pride in the great business which he had himself created, he discoursed
upon its transactions and its importance. He took down ledgers and
flashed great rows of figures before the eyes of the good doctor,
explaining, at the same time, how month after month their receipts
increased and their capital grew. Then he spoke touchingly of his own
ripe years, and of the quiet and seclusion which he looked forward to
after his busy lifetime.
"With my young friend here," he said, patting Tom affectionately on the
shoulder, "and my own boy Ezra, both working together, there will be
young blood and life in the concern. They'll bring the energy, and when
they want advice they can come to the old man for it. I intend in a
year or so, when the new arrangement works smoothly, to have a run over
to Palestine. It may seem a weakness to you, but all my life I have
hoped some day to stand upon that holy ground, and to look down on those
scenes which we have all imagined to ourselves. Your son will start
with a good position and a fair income, which he will probably double
before he is five years older. The money invested by him is simply to
ensure that he shall have a substantial interest in promoting the
affairs of the firm." Thus the old man ran on, and when Tom and his
father left the office with the sound of great sums of money, and huge
profits, and heavy balances, and safe investments, all jostling each
other in their brains, they had both made up their minds as to the
future.
Hence in a couple of days there was a stir in the legal house of Jones,
Morgan, & Co., with much rustling of parchment, and signing of names,
and drinking of inferior sherry. The result of all which was that the
firm of Girdlestone & Co. were seven thousand pounds the richer, and
Thomas Dimsdale found himself a recognized member of a great commercial
house with all the rights and privileges appertaining thereto.
"A good day's work, Tom," said the old doctor, as they left the lawyer's
office together. "You have now taken an irrevocable step in life, my
boy. The world is before you. You belong to a first-class firm and you
have every chance. May you thrive and prosper."
"If I don't it won't be my fault," Tom answered with decision. "I shall
work with my whole heart and soul."
"A good day's work, Ezra," the African merchant was remarking at that
very moment in Fenchurch Street. "The firm is pinched again for working
expenses. This will help;" and he threw a little slip of green paper
across the table to his son.
"It will help us for a time," Ezra said, gloomily, glancing at the
figures. "It was fortunate that I was able to put you on his track.
It is only a drop in the ocean, however. Unless this diamond spec.
comes off, nothing can save us."
"But it shall come off," his father answered resolutely. He had
succeeded in obtaining an agent who appeared to be almost as well fitted
for the post as the recalcitrant major. This worthy had started off
already for Russia, where the scene of his operations was to lie.
"I hope so," said Ezra. "We have neglected no precaution. Langworthy
should be at Tobolsk by this time. I saw that he had a bag of rough
stones with him which would do well enough for his purpose."
"We have your money ready, too. I can rely upon rather over thirty
thousand pounds. Our credit was good for that, but I did not wish to
push it too far for fear of setting tongues wagging."
"I am thinking of starting shortly in the mail boat _Cyprian_," said
Ezra. "I should be at the diamond fields in little more than a month.
I dare say Langworthy won't show any signs for some time yet, but I may
as well be there as here. It will give me a little while to find my
way about. You see, if the tidings and I were to come almost
simultaneously, it might arouse suspicions. In the meantime, no one
knows our little game."
"Except your friend Clutterbuck."
A dark shadow passed over Ezra's handsome face, and his cruel lip
tightened in a way which boded little good to the old soldier should he
ever lie at his mercy.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FIRST STEP.
It was a proud day for the ex-medical student when he first entered the
counting-house of the African firm and realized that he was one of the
governing powers in that busy establishment. Tom Dimsdale's mind was an
intensely practical one, and although he had found the study of science
an irksome matter, he was able to throw himself into business with
uncommon energy and devotion. The clerks soon found that the sunburnt,
athletic-looking young man intended to be anything but a sleeping
partner, and both they and old Gilray respected him accordingly.
The latter had at first been inclined to resent the new arrangement as
far as his gentle down-trodden nature could resent anything. Hitherto
he had been the monarch of the counting-house in the absence of the
Girdlestones, but now a higher desk had been erected in a more central
portion of the room, and this was for the accommodation of the new
comer. Gilray, after his thirty years of service, felt this usurpation
of his rights very keenly; but there was such a simple kindness about
the invader, and he was so grateful for any assistance in his new
duties, that the old clerk's resentment soon melted away.
A little incident occurred which strengthened this kindly feeling.
It chanced that some few days after Tom's first appearance in the office
several of the clerks, who had not yet quite gauged what manner of man
this young gentleman might be, took advantage of the absence of the
Girdlestones to take a rise out of the manager. One of them, a great
rawboned Scotchman, named McCalister, after one or two minor exhibitions
of wit concluded by dropping a heavy ruler over the partition of the old
man's desk in such a way that it crashed down upon his head as he sat
stooping over his writing. Tom, who had been watching the proceedings
with a baleful eye, sprang off his stool and made across the office at
the offender. McCalister seemed inclined for a moment to brazen it out,
but there was a dangerous sling about Tom's shoulders and a flush of
honest indignation upon his face. "I didn't mean to hurt him," said the
Scotchman. "Don't hit him, sir!" cried the little manager. "Beg his
pardon," said Tom between his teeth. McCalister stammered out some lame
apology, and the matter was ended. It revealed the new partner,
however, in an entirely novel light to the inmates of the
counting-house. That under such circumstances a complaint should be
carried to the senior was only natural, but that the junior should
actually take the matter into his own hands and execute lynch law then
and there was altogether a new phenomenon. From that day Tom acquired a
great ascendancy in the office, and Gilray became his devoted slave.
This friendship with the old clerk proved to be very useful, for by
means of his shrewd hints and patient teaching the new comer gained a
grasp of the business which he could not have attained by any other
method.
Girdlestone called him into the office one day and congratulated him
upon the progress which he was making. "My dear young man," he said to
him in his patriarchal way, "I am delighted to hear of the way in which
you identify yourself with the interests of the firm. If at first you
find work allotted to you which may appear to you to be rather menial,
you must understand that that is simply due to our desire that you
should master the whole business from its very foundations."
"There is nothing I desire better," said Tom.
"In addition to the routine of office work, and the superintendence of
the clerks, I should wish you to have a thorough grasp of all the
details of the shipping, and of the loading and unloading of our
vessels, as well as of the storage of goods when landed. When any of
our ships are in, I should wish you to go down to the docks and to
overlook everything which is done."
Tom bowed and congratulated himself inwardly upon these new duties,
which promised to be interesting.
"As you grow older," said the senior partner, "you will find it of
inestimable value that you have had practical experience of what your
subordinates have to do. My whole life has taught me that. When you
are in doubt upon any subject you can ask Ezra for assistance and
advice. He is a young man whom you might well take as an example, for
he has great business capacity. When he has gone to Africa you can come
to me if there is anything which you do not understand."
John Girdlestone appeared to be so kindly and benevolent during this and
other interviews, that Tom's heart warmed towards him, and he came to
the conclusion that his father had judged the old merchant harshly.
More than once, so impressed was he by his kindness, that he was on the
point of disclosing to him his engagement to his ward, but on each
occasion there arose within him a lively recollection of Kate's
frightened face when he had suggested such a course, and he felt that
without her consent he had no right to divulge the secret.
If the elder Girdlestone improved upon acquaintance it was exactly the
reverse with his son Ezra. The dislike with which Tom had originally
regarded him deepened as he came in closer contact, and appeared to be
reciprocated by the other, so that they held but little intercourse
together. Ezra had taken into his own charge all the financial part of
the concern, and guarded it the more jealously when he realized that the
new partner was so much less simple than he had expected. Thus Tom had
no opportunity of ascertaining for himself how the affairs of the firm
stood, but believed implicitly, as did Gilray, that every outlay was
bringing in a large and remunerative return. Very much astonished would
both of them have been had they realized that the working expenses were
at present being paid entirely from their own capital until such time as
the plot should ripen which was to restore the fortunes of the African
company.
In one respect Tom Dimsdale was immeasurably the gainer by his
connection with the firm, for without that it is difficult to say how he
could have found opportunities for breaking through the barrier which
separated him from Kate. The surveillance of the merchant had become
stricter of late, and all invitations from Mrs. Dimsdale or other
friends who pitied the loneliness of the girl were repulsed by
Girdlestone with the curt intimation that his ward's health was not such
as to justify him in allowing her to incur any risk of catching a chill.
She was practically a prisoner in the great stone cage in Eccleston
Square, and even on her walks a warder in the shape of a footman was, as
we have seen, told off to guard her. Whatever John Girdlestone's
reasons may have been, he had evidently come to the conclusion that it
was of the highest importance that she should be kept secluded.
As it was, Tom, thanks to his position as one of the firm, was able
occasionally, in spite of every precaution to penetrate through the old
man's defensive works. If a question of importance arose at Fenchurch
Street during the absence of the senior partner, what more natural than
that Mr. Dimsdale should volunteer to walk round to Eccleston Square in
order to acquaint him with the fact. And if it happened that the
gentleman was not to be found there, how very natural that the young man
should wait half an hour for him, and that Miss Harston should take the
opportunity of a chat with an old friend? Precious, precious interviews
those, the more so for their rarity. They brightened the dull routine
of Kate's weary life and sent Tom back to the office full of spirit and
hope. The days were at hand when the memory of them was to shine out
like little rifts of light in the dark cloud of existence.
And now the time was coming when it was to be decided whether, by a last
bold stroke, the credit of the House of Girdlestone was to be saved, or
whether the attempt was to plunge them into deeper and more hopeless
ruin. An unscrupulous agent named Langworthy had, as already indicated,
been despatched to Russia well primed with instructions as to what to do
and how to do it. He had been in the employ of an English corn merchant
at Odessa, and had some knowledge of the Russian language which would be
invaluable to him in his undertaking. In the character of an English
gentleman of scientific tastes he was to establish himself in some
convenient village among the Ural Mountains. There he was to remain
some little time, so as to arouse confidence in the people before making
his pretended discovery. He was then to carry his rough diamonds to
Tobolsk, as the nearest large town, and to exhibit them there, backing
up his assertion by the evidence of villagers who had seen him dig them
up. The Girdlestones knew that that alone would be sufficient when
telegraphed to England to produce a panic in the sensitive diamond
market. Before any systematic inquiry could be made, Langworthy would
have disappeared, and their little speculation would have come off.
After that the sooner the people realized that it was a hoax the better
for the conspirators. In any case, there seemed to be no possibility
that the origin of the rumour could be traced. Meanwhile, Ezra
Girdlestone had secured his passage in the Cape mail steamer _Cyprian_.
On the night that he left he sat up late in the library at Eccleston
Square talking over the matter for the last time with his father.
The old man was pale and nervous. The one weak point in his character
was his affection for his son, an affection which he strove to hide
under an austere manner, but which was none the less genuine. He had
never before parted with him for any length of time, and he felt the
wrench keenly. As to Ezra, he was flushed and excited at the thought of
the new scenes which lay before him and the daring speculation in which
he was about to embark. He flung himself into a chair and stretched his
thick, muscular limbs out in front of him.
"I know as much about stones," he said exultantly, "as any man in
London. I was pricing a bag of rough ones at Van Helmer's to-day, and
he is reckoned a good judge. He said that no expert could have done it
better. Lord bless you! pure or splints, or cracked, or off colour, or
spotted, or twin stones, I'm up to them all. I wasn't a pound out in
the market value of any one of them."
"You deserve great credit for your quickness and perseverance," replied
his father. "Your knowledge will be invaluable to you when you are at
the fields. Be careful of yourself when you are there, my son, if only
for my sake. There are rough fellows at such places, and you must give
them soft words. I know that your temper is quick, but remember those
wise words, 'He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a
city.'"
"Never fear for me, dad," said Ezra, with a sinister smile, pointing to
a small leather case which lay among his things. "That's the best
six-shooter I could get for money. I've taken a tip, you see, from our
good friend, the major, and have six answers for any one that wants to
argue with me. If I had had that the other day he wouldn't have bounced
me so easily."
"Nay, but Ezra, Ezra," his father said, in great agitation, "you will
promise to be careful and to avoid quarrels and bloodshed. It is
against the great law, the new commandment."
"I won't get into any rows if I can help it," his son answered.
"That's not my game."
"But if you think that there is no mistake, if your opponent is
undoubtedly about to proceed to extremities, shoot him down at once, my
dear lad, before he has time to draw. I have heard those who have been
out there say that in such cases everything depends upon getting the
first shot. I am anxious about you, and shall not be easy until I see
you again."
"Blessed if he hasn't tears in his eyes!" Ezra exclaimed to himself,
much astonished at this unprecedented occurrence.
"When do you go?" his father asked.
"My train leaves in an hour or so. I reach the steamer at Southampton
about three in the morning, and she starts with the full tide at six."
"Look after your health," the old man continued. "Don't get your feet
wet, and wear flannel next your skin. Don't forget your religious
duties either. It has a good effect upon those among whom you do
business."
Ezra sprang from his chair with an exclamation of disgust and began to
pace up and down. "I wish to Heaven you would drop that sort of gammon
when we are alone," he said irritably.
"My dear boy," said the father, with a mild look of surprise upon his
face, "you seem to be under a misapprehension in this matter.
You appear to consider that we are embarking upon some unjustifiable
undertaking. This is not so. What we are doing is simply a small
commercial ruse--a finesse. It is a recognized maxim of trade to
endeavour to depreciate the price of whatever you want to buy, and to
raise it again when the time comes for selling."
"It's steering very close to the law," his son retorted.
"No speculating, now, while I am away; whatever comes in must go towards
getting us out of this scrape, not to plunging us deeper in the mire."
"I shall not expend an unnecessary penny."
"Well, then, good-bye." said the young man, rising up and holding out
his hand. "Keep your eye on Dimsdale and don't trust him."
"Good-bye, my son, good-bye--God bless you!"
The old merchant was honestly moved, and his voice quivered as he spoke.
He stood motionless for a minute or so until the heavy door slammed, and
then he threw open the window and gazed sorrowfully down the street at
the disappearing cab. His whole attitude expressed such dejection that
his ward, who had just entered the room, felt more drawn towards him
than she had ever done before. Slipping up to him she placed her warm
tender hand upon his sympathetically.
"He will soon be back, dear Mr. Girdlestone," she said. "You must not
be uneasy about him."
As she stood beside him in her white dress, with a single red ribbon
round her neck and a band of the same colour round her waist, she was as
fair a specimen of English girl-hood as could have been found in all
London. The merchant's features softened as he looked down at her fresh
young face, and he put out his hand as though to caress her, but some
unpleasant thought must have crossed his mind, for he assumed suddenly a
darker look and turned away from her without a word. More than once
that night she recalled that strange spasmodic expression of something
akin to horror which had passed over her guardian's features as he gazed
at her.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE LAND OF DIAMONDS.
The anxious father had not very long to wait before he heard tidings of
his son. Upon the first of June the great vessel weighed her anchor in
the Southampton Water, and steamed past the Needles into the Channel.
On the 5th she was reported from Madeira, and the merchant received
telegrams both from the agent of the firm and from his son. Then there
was a long interval of silence, for the telegraph did not extend to the
Cape at that time, but, at last on the 8th of August, a letter announced
Ezra's safe arrival. He wrote again from Wellington, which was the
railway terminus, and finally there came a long epistle from Kimberley,
the capital of the mining district, in which the young man described his
eight hundred miles drive up country and all the adventures which
overtook him on the way.
"This place, Kimberley," he said in his letter, "has grown into a
fair-sized town, though a few years ago it was just a camp. Now there
are churches, banks, and a club in it. There are a sprinkling of
well-dressed people in the streets, but the majority are grimy-looking
chaps from the diggings, with slouched hats and coloured shirts, rough
fellows to look at, though quiet enough as a rule. Of course, there are
blacks everywhere, of all shades, from pure jet up to the lightest
yellow. Some of these niggers have money, and are quite independent.
You would be surprised at their impertinence. I kicked one of them in
the hotel yesterday, and he asked me what the devil I was doing, so I
knocked the insolent scoundrel down. He says that he will sue me, but I
cannot believe that the law is so servile as to bolster up a black man
against a white one.
"Though Kimberley is the capital of the dry diggings, it is not there
that all the actual mining is done. It goes on briskly in a lot of
little camps, which are dotted along the Vaal River for fifty or sixty
miles. The stones are generally bought by licensed agents immediately
after they have been found, and are paid for by cheques on banks in
Kimberley. I have, therefore, transferred our money to the Standard
Bank here, and have taken my licence. I start to-morrow for Hebron,
Klipdrift, and other of the mining centres to see for myself how
business is done and to make friends with the miners, so as to get
myself known. As soon as the news comes I shall buy in all that offers.
Keep your eyes on that fellow Dimsdale, and let him know nothing of what
is going on."
He wrote again about a fortnight afterwards, and his letter, as it
crossed the Atlantic, passed the outward mail, which bore the news of
the wonderful diamond find made by an English geologist among the Ural
Mountains.
"I am now on a tour among the camps," he said. "I have worked right
through from Hebron to Klipdrift, Pniel, Cawood's Hope, Waldeck's Plant,
Neukirk's Hope, Winterrush, and Bluejacket. To-morrow I push on to
Delparte's Hope and Larkin's Flat. I am well received wherever I go,
except by the dealers, who are mostly German Jews. They hear that I am
a London capitalist, and fear that I may send up the prices.
They little know! I bought stones all the way along, but not very
valuable ones, for we must husband our resources.
"The process of mining is very simple. The men dig pits in loose gravel
lying along the banks of the river, and it is in these pits that the
diamonds are found. The black men, or 'boys,' as they call them, do all
the work, and the 'baas,' or master, superintends. Everything that
turns up belongs to the 'baas,' but the boys have a fixed rate of wages,
which never varies, whether the work is paying or not. I was standing
at Hebron watching one of the gangs working when the white chap gave a
shout, and dived his hand into a heap of stuff he had just turned over,
pulling out a dirty looking little lump about the size of a marble.
At his shout all the other fellows from every claim within hearing
gathered round, until there was quite a crowd.
"'It's a fine stone,' said the man that turned it up.
"'Fifty carats if it's one,' cried another, weighing it in the palm of
his hand.
"I had my scales with me, so I offered to weigh it. It was sixty-four
and a half carats. Then they washed it and examined it. There was a
lot of whispering among them and then the one who had found it came
forward.
"'You deal, don't you, Mr. Girdlestone?' he said.
"'Now and then,' I answered, 'but I'm not very keen about it. I came
out here more for pleasure than business.
"'Well,' he said, 'you may go far before you see a finer stone than
this. What will you bid for it?'
"I looked at it. 'It's off-coloured,' I said.
"'It's white,' said he and one or two of his chums.
"'Gentlemen,' I said, 'it is not white. There are two shades of yellow
in it. It is worth little or nothing.'
"'Why, if it is yellow it makes it all the more valuable,' said a big
fellow with a black beard and corduroy trousers. 'A yellow stone's as
good as a white.'
"'Yes,' I answered, 'a pure yellow stone is. But this is neither one
nor the other. It's off-colour, and you know that as well as I.'
"'Won't you bid for it, then?' said one of them.
"'I'll bid seventy pounds,' I said, 'but not a penny more.'
"You should have heard the howl they all set up. 'It's worth five
hundred,' the fellow cried.
"'All right,' I said, 'keep it and sell it for that; good day,' and I
went off. The stone was sent after me that evening with a request for
my cheque, and I sold it for a hundred two days afterwards.[1] You see
old Van Harmer's training has come in very handy. I just tell you this
little anecdote to let you see that though I'm new in the work I'm not
to be done. Nothing in the papers here from Russia. I am ready, come
when it may. What would you do if there should be any hitch and the
affair did not come off? Would you cut and run, or would you stand by
your colours and pay a shilling or so in the pound? The more I think of
it the more I curse your insanity in getting us into such a mess.
Good-bye."
"He is right. It was insanity," said the old merchant leaning his head
upon his hands. "It seems unkind of the lad to say so when he is so far
away, but he was always plain and blunt. 'If the affair did not come
off'--he must have some doubts about the matter, else he would not even
suppose such a thing. God knows what I should do then. There are other
ways--other ways." He passed his hand over his eyes as he spoke, as
though to shut out some ugly vision. Such a wan, strange expression
played over his grim features that he was hardly to be recognized as
the revered elder of the Trinitarian Chapel or the esteemed man of
business of Fenchurch Street.
He was lost in thought for some little time, and then, rising, he
touched the bell upon the table. Gilray trotted in upon the signal so
rapidly and noiselessly, that he might have been one of those convenient
genii in the Eastern fables, only that the little clerk's appearance,
from the tips of his ink-stained fingers to the toes of his seedy boots,
was so hopelessly prosaic that it was impossible to picture him as
anything but what he was.
"Ah, Gilray!" the merchant began, "is Mr. Dimsdale in the office?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's all right. He seems to be very regular in his attendance."
"Very, sir."
"And seems to take to the business very well."
"Uncommonly quick, sir, to be sure," said the head clerk. "What with
work among the ships, and work in the office, he's at it late and
early."
"That is very right," said the old man, playing with the letter weights.
"Application in youth, Gilray, leads to leisure in old age. Is the
_Maid of Athens_ unloading?"
"Mr. Dimsdale has been down to her this morning, sir. They're getting
the things out fast. He wants to call attention to the state of the
vessel, Mr. Girdlestone. He says that it's making water even in dock,
and that some of the hands say that they won't go back in her."
"Tut! tut!" John Girdlestone said peevishly. "What are the Government
inspectors for? There is no use paying them if we are to inspect
ourselves. If they insist upon any alterations they shall be made."
"They were there, sir, at the same time as Mr. Dimsdale," said Gilray,
diffidently.
"Well, what then?" asked his employer.
"He says, sir, that the inspectors went down to the cabin and had some
champagne with Captain Spender. They then professed themselves to be
very well satisfied with the state of the vessel and came away."
"There you are!" the senior partner cried triumphantly. "Of course
these men can see at a glance how things stand, and if things had really
been wrong they would have called attention to it. Let us have no more
of these false alarms. You must say a few words on the point to Mr.
Dimsdale, as coming from yourself, not from me. Tell him to be more
careful before he jumps to conclusions."
"I will, sir."
"And bring me ledger No. 33."
Gilray stretched up his arm and took down a fat little ledger from a
high shelf, which he laid respectfully before his employer.
Then, seeing that he was no longer wanted, he withdrew.
Ledger No. 33 was secured by a clasp and lock--the latter a patent one
which defied all tamperers. John Girdlestone took a small key from his
pocket and opened it with a quick snap. A precious volume this, for it
was the merchant's private book, which alone contained a true record of
the financial state of the firm, all others being made merely for show.
Without it he would have been unable to keep his son in the dark for so
many months until bitter necessity at last compelled him to show his
hand.
He turned the pages over slowly and sadly. Here was a record of the
sums sunk in the Lake Tanganyika Gold Company, which was to have paid 33
per cent., and which fell to pieces in the second month of its
existence. Here was the money advanced to Durer, Hallett, & Co., on the
strength of securities which proved to be the flimsiest of insecurities
when tested. Further on was the account of the dealings of the firm
with the Levant Petroleum Company, the treasurer of which had levanted
with the greater part of the capital. Here, too, was a memorandum of
the sums sunk upon the _Evening Star_ and the _Providence_, whose
unfortunate collision had well-nigh proved the death blow of the firm.
It was melancholy reading, and perhaps the last page was the most
melancholy of all. On it the old man had drawn up in a condensed form
an exact account of the present condition of the firm's finances.
Here it is exactly word for word as he had written it down himself.
GIRDLESTONE & CO.
October 1876
Debit. Credit.
Pounds Sterling Pounds Sterling
Debts incurred previous to | Ezra, in Africa, holds
disclosure to Ezra 34000 | this money with which
15000 pounds raised at six | to speculate. 35000
months, and 20000 pounds | Balance in bank,
at nine months 35000 | including what remains
Interest on said money at | of Dimsdale's premium. 8400
5 per cent. 1125 | Profit on the cargo of
Working expenses of the | _Maid of Athens_, now
firm during the next six | in port. 2000
months, including cost of | Profit on the cargoes
ships, at 150 pounds per | of _Black Eagle_,_Swan_
week 3900 | and _Panther_, calculated
Private expenses at | at the same rate. 6000
Ecclestone Square, say 1000 | Deficit 26425
Expenses of Langworthy |
in Russia, and of my dear |
son in Africa, say 600 |
Insurances 1200 |
Total 76825 | Total 76825
|
All this money must be found within |The possibility of the sinking
nine months at the outside. |of a ship must not be
|overlooked--that would bring in
|from 12000 to 20000 pounds.
"Come, it's not so very bad after all," the merchant muttered, after he
had gone over these figures very slowly and carefully. He leaned back
in his chair and looked up at the ceiling with a much more cheerful
expression upon his face. "At the worst it is less than thirty
thousand pounds. Why, many firms would think little of it. The fact
is, that I have so long been accustomed to big balances on the right
side that it seems to be a very dreadful thing now that it lies the
other way. A dozen things may happen to set all right. I must not
forget, however," he continued, with a darker look, "that I have dipped
into my credit so freely that I could not borrow any more without
exciting suspicion and having the whole swarm down on us. After all,
our hopes lie in the diamonds. Ezra cannot fail. He must succeed.
Who can prevent him?"
"Major Tobias Clutterbuck," cried the sharp, creaky voice of Gilray as
if in answer to the question, and the little clerk, who had knocked once
or twice unnoticed, opened the door and ushered in the old Campaigner.
[1] It may be well to remark, that this and succeeding incidents
occurred in the old Crown Colony days, before the diamond legislation
was as strict as it has since become.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MAJOR TOBIAS CLUTTERBUCK COMES IN FOR A THOUSAND POUNDS.
John Girdlestone had frequently heard his son speak of the major in the
days when they had been intimate, and had always attributed some of the
young man's more obvious vices to the effects of this ungodly
companionship. He had also heard from Ezra a mangled version of the
interview and quarrel in the private room of Nelson's Restaurant.
Hence, as may be imagined, his feelings towards his visitor were far
from friendly, and he greeted him as he entered with the coldest of
possible bows. The major, however, was by no means abashed by this
chilling reception, but stumped forward with beaming face and his pudgy
hand outstretched, so that the other had no alternative but to shake it,
which he did very gingerly and reluctantly.
"And how are ye?" said the major, stepping back a pace or two, and
inspecting the merchant as though he were examining his points with the
intention of purchasing him. "Many's the time I've heard talk of ye.
It's a real treat to see ye. How are ye?" Pouncing upon the other's
unresponsive hand, he wrung it again with effusion.
"I am indebted to Providence for fairly good health, sir," John
Girdlestone answered coldly. "May I request you to take a seat?"
"That was what me friend Fagan was trying to do for twelve years, and
ruined himself over it in the ind. He put up at Murphytown in the
Conservative interest, and the divil a vote did he get, except one, and
that was a blind man who signed the wrong paper be mistake, Ha! ha!"
The major laughed boisterously at his own anecdote, and mopped his
forehead with his handkerchief.
The two men, as they stood opposite each other, were a strange contrast,
the one tall, grave, white, and emotionless, the other noisy and
pompous, with protuberant military chest and rubicund features.
They had one common characteristic, however. From under the shaggy
eyebrows of the merchant and the sparse light-coloured lashes of the
major there came the same keen, restless, shifting glance. Both were
crafty, and each was keenly on his guard against the other.
"I have heard of you from my son," the merchant said, motioning his
visitor to a chair. "You were, I believe, in the habit of meeting
together for the purpose of playing cards, billiards, and other such
games, which I by no means countenance myself, but to which my son is
unhappily somewhat addicted."
"You don't play yourself," said the major, in a sympathetic voice.
"Ged, sir, it's never too late to begin, and many a man has put in a
very comfortable old age On billiards and whist. Now, if ye feel
inclined to make a start, I'll give ye seventy-five points in a hundred
for a commincement."
"Thank you," said the merchant drily. "It is not one of my ambitions.
Was this challenge the business upon which you came?"
The old soldier laughed until his merriment startled the clerks in the
counting-house. "Be jabers!" he said, In a wheezy voice, "d'ye think I
came five miles to do that? No, sir, I wanted to talk to you about your
son."
"My son!"
"Yes, your son. He's a smart lad--very smart indeed--about as quick as
they make 'em. He may be a trifle coarse at times, but that's the
spirit of the age, me dear sir. Me friend Tuffleton, of the Blues, says
that delicacy went out of fashion with hair powder and beauty patches.
he's a demned satirical fellow is Tuffleton. Don't know him, eh?"
"No, sir, I don't," Girdlestone said angrily; "nor have I any desire to
make his acquaintance. Let us proceed to business for my time is
valuable."
The major looked at him with an amiable smile. "That quick temper runs
in the family," he said. "I've noticed It in your son Ezra. As I said
before, he's a smart lad; but me friend, he's shockingly rash and
extremely indiscrate. Ye musk speak to him about it."
"What do you mean sir?" asked the merchant, white with anger.
"Have you come to insult him in his absence?"
"Absence?" said the soldier, still smiling blandly over his stock.
"That's the very point I wanted to get at. He is away in Africa--at the
diamond fields. A wonderful interprise, conducted with remarkable
energy, but also with remarkable rashness, sir--yes, bedad, inexcusable
rashness."
Old Girdlestone took up his heavy ebony ruler and played with it
nervously. He had an overpowering desire to hurl it at the head of his
companion.
"What would ye say, now," the veteran continued, crossing one leg over
the other and arguing the matter out in a confidential undertone--
"what would you say if a young man came to you, and, on the assumption
that you were a dishonest blackgaird, appealed to you to help him in a
very shady sort of a scheme? It would argue indiscretion on his part,
would it not?"
The merchant sat still, but grew whiter and whiter.
"And if on the top of that he gave you all the details of his schame,
without even waiting to see if you favoured it or not, he would be more
than indiscrate, wouldn't he? Your own good sinse, me dear sir, will
tell you that he would be culpably foolish--culpably so, bedad!"
"Well, sir?" said the old man, in a hoarse voice.
"Well," continued the major, "I have no doubt that your son told you of
the interesting little conversation that we had together. He was good
enough to promise that if I went to Russia and pretinded to discover a
fictitious mine, I should be liberally rewarded by the firm. I was
under the necessity of pointing out to him that certain principles on
which me family"--here the major inflated his chest--"on which me
family are accustomed to act would prevint me from taking advantage of
his offer. He then, I am sorry to say, lost his temper, and some words
passed between us, the result of which was that we parted so rapidly
that, be jabers! I had hardly time to make him realize how great an
indiscretion he had committed."
The merchant still sat perfectly still, tapping the table with his black
ebony ruler.
"Of course, afther hearing a skitch of the plan," continued the major,
"me curiosity was so aroused that I could not help following the details
with intherest. I saw the gintleman who departed for Russia--
Langworthy, I believe, was his name. Ged! I knew a chap of that name
in the Marines who used to drink raw brandy and cayenne pepper before
breakfast every morning. Did ye? Of course you couldn't. What was I
talking of at all at all?"
Girdlestone stared gloomily at his visitor. The latter took a pinch of
snuff from a tortoise-shell box, and flicked away a few wandering grains
which settled upon the front of his coat.
"Yes," he went on, I saw Langworthy off to Russia. Then I saw your son
start for Africa. He's an interprising lad, and sure to do well there.
_coelum non animam mutant_, as we used to say at Clongowes.
He'll always come to the front, wherever he is, as long as he avoids
little slips like this one we're spaking of. About the same time I
heard that Girdlestone & Co, had raised riddy money to the extint of
five and thirty thousand pounds. That's gone to Africa, too, I presume.
It's a lot o' money to invist in such a game, and it might be safe if
you were the only people that knew about it, but whin there are
others--"
"Others?"
"Why, me, of course," said the major. "I know about it, and more be
token I am not in the swim with you. Sure, I could go this very evening
to the diamond merchants about town and give them a tip about the coming
fall in prices that would rather astonish 'em."
"Look here, Major Clutterbuck," cried the merchant, in a voice which
quivered with suppressed passion, "you have come into possession of an
important commercial secret. Why beat about the bush any longer?
What is the object of your visit to-day? What is it that you want?"
"There now!" the major said, addressing himself and smiling more
amicably than ever. "That's business. Bedad, there's where you
commercial men have the pull. You go straight to the point and stick
there. Ah, when I look at ye, I can't help thinking of your son.
The same intelligent eye, the same cheery expression, the same
devil-may-care manner and dry humour--"
"Answer my question, will you?" the merchant interrupted savagely.
"And the same hasty timper," continued the major imperturbably.
"I've forgotten, me dear sir, what it was you asked me."
"What is it you want?"
"Ah, yes, of course. What is it I want?" the old soldier said
meditatively. "Some would say more, some less. Some would want half,
but that is overdoing it. How does a thousand pound stroike you?
Yes, I think we may put it at a thousand pounds."
"You want a thousand pounds?"
"Ged, I've been wanting it all me life. The difference is that I'm
going to git it now."
"And for what?"
"Sure, for silence--for neutrality. We're all in it now, and there's a
fair division of labour. You plan, your son works, I hold me tongue.
You make your tens of thousands, I make my modest little thousand.
We all git paid for our throuble."
"And suppose I refuse?"
"Ah! but you wouldn't--you couldn't," the major said suavely.
"Ged, sir, I haven't known ye long, but I have far too high an opinion
of ye to suppose ye could do anything so foolish. If you refuse, your
speculation is thrown away. There's no help for it. Bedad, it would be
painful for me to have to blow the gaff; but you know the old saying,
that 'charity begins at home.' You must sell your knowledge at the best
market."
Girdlestone thought intently for a minute or two, with his great
eyebrows drawn down over his little restless eyes.
"You said to my son," he remarked at last, "that you were too honourable
to embark in our undertaking. Do you consider it honourable to make use
of knowledge gained in confidence for the purpose of extorting money?"
"Me dear sir," answered the major, holding up his hand deprecatingly,
"you put me in the painful position of having to explain meself in plain
words. If I saw a man about to do a murther, I should think nothing of
murthering him. If I saw a pickpocket at work, I'd pick his pocket, and
think it good fun to do it. Now, this little business of yours is--
well, we'll say unusual, and if what I do seems a little unusual too,
it's to be excused. Ye can't throw stones at every one, me boy, and
then be surprised when some one throws one at you. You bite the diamond
holders, d'ye see, and I take a little nibble at you. It's all fair
enough."
The merchant reflected again for some moments. "Suppose we agree to
purchasing your silence at this price," he said, "what guarantee have we
that you will not come and extort more money, or that you may not betray
our secret after all?"
"The honour of a soldier and a gintleman," answered the major, rising
and tapping his chest with two fingers of his right hand.
A slight sneer played over Girdlestone's pale face, but he made no
remark. "We are in your power," he said, and have no resource but to
submit to your terms. You said five hundred pounds?"
"A thousand," the major answered cheerfully.
"It's a great sum of money."
"Deuce of a lot!" said the veteran cordially.
"Well, you shall have it. I will communicate with you." Girdlestone
rose as if to terminate the interview.
The major made no remark, but he showed his white teeth again, and
tapped Mr. Girdlestone's cheque-book with the silver head of his
walking-stick.
"What! Now?"
"Yes, now."
The two looked at each other for a moment and the merchant sat down
again and scribbled out a cheque, which he tossed to his companion. The
latter looked it over carefully, took a fat little pocket-book from the
depths of his breast pocket, and having placed the precious slip of
paper in it, laboriously pushed it back into its receptacle. Then he
very slowly and methodically picked up his jaunty curly-brimmed hat and
shining kid gloves, and with a cheery nod to his companion, who answered
it with a scowl, he swaggered off into the counting-house. There he
shook hands with Tom, whom he had known for some months, and having made
three successive offers--one to stand immediately an unlimited quantity
of champagne, a second to play him five hundred up for anything he would
name, and a third to lay a tenner for him at 7 to 4 on Amelia for the
Oaks--all of which offers were declined with thanks--he bowed himself
out, leaving a vague memory of smiles, shirt collars, and gaiters in the
minds of the awe-struck Clerks.
Whatever an impartial judge might think of the means whereby Major
Tobias Clutterbuck had successfully screwed a thousand pounds out of
the firm of Girdlestone, it is quite certain that that gentleman's
seasoned conscience did not reproach him in the least degree. On the
contrary, his whole being seemed saturated and impregnated with the
wildest hilarity and delight. Twice in less than a hundred yards, he
was compelled to stop and lean upon his cane owing to the breathlessness
which supervened upon his attempts to smother the delighted chuckles
which came surging up from the inmost recesses of his capacious frame.
At the second halt he wriggled his hand inside his tight-breasted coat,
and after as many contortions as though he were about to shed that
garment as a snake does its skin, he produced once more the little fat
pocket-book. From it he extracted the cheque and looked it over
lovingly. Then he hailed a passing hansom. "Drive to the Capital and
Counties Bank," he said. It had struck him that since the firm was in a
shaky state he had better draw the money as soon as possible.
In the bank a gloomy-looking cashier took the cheque and stared at it
somewhat longer than the occasion seemed to demand. It was but a few
minutes, yet it appeared a very long time to the major.
"How will you have it?" he asked at last, in a mournful voice. It tends
to make a man cynical when he spends his days in handling untold riches
while his wife and six children are struggling to make both ends meet at
home.
"A hunthred in gold and the rest in notes," said the major, with a sigh
of relief.
The cashier counted and handed over a thick packet of crisp rustling
paper and a little pile of shining sovereigns. The major stowed away
the first in the pocket-book and the latter in his trouser pockets.
Then he swaggered out with a great increase of pomposity and importance,
and ordered his cabman to drive to Kennedy Place.
Von Baumser was sitting in the major's campaigning chair, smoking his
china-bowled pipe and gazing dreamily at the long blue wreaths.
Times had been bad with the comrades of late, as the German's seedy
appearance sufficiently testified. His friends in Germany had ceased to
forward his small remittance, and Endermann's office, in which he had
been employed, had given him notice that for a time they could dispense
with his services. He had been spending the whole afternoon in perusing
the long list of "wanteds" in the _Daily Telegraph_, and his ink-stained
forefinger showed the perseverance with which he had been answering
every advertisement that could possibly apply to him. A pile of
addressed envelopes lay upon the table, and it was only the uncertainty
of his finances and the fact that the humble penny stamp mounts into
shillings when frequently employed, that prevented him from increasing
the number of his applications. He looked up and uttered a word of
guttural greeting as his companion came striding in.
"Get out of this," the major said abruptly. "Get away into the
bedroom."
"Potztausand! Vot is it then?" cried the astonished Teuton.
"Out with you! I want this room to meself."
Von Baumser shrugged his shoulders and lumbered off like a good-natured
plantigrade, closing the door behind him.
When his companion had disappeared the major proceeded to lay out all
his notes upon the table, overlapping each other, but still so arranged
that every separate one was visible. He then built in the centre ten
little golden columns in a circle, each consisting of ten sovereigns,
until the whole presented the appearance of a metallic Stonehenge upon a
plain of bank notes. This done, he cocked his head on one side, like a
fat and very ruddy turkey, and contemplated his little arrangement with
much pride and satisfaction.
Solitary delight soon becomes wearisome, however, so the veteran
summoned his companion. The Teuton was so dumbfounded by this display
of wealth, that he was bereft for a time of all faculty of speech, and
could only stare open-mouthed at the table. At last he extended a
fore-finger and thumb and rubbed a five pound note between them, as
though to convince himself of its reality, after which he began to
gyrate round the table in a sort of war dance, never taking his eyes
from the heap of influence in front of him. "Mein Gott!" he exclaimed,
"Gnadiger Vater! Ach Himmel! Was fur eine Schatze! Donnerwetter!" und
a thousand other cacophonous expressions of satisfaction and amazement.
When the old soldier had sufficiently enjoyed the lively emotion which
showed itself on every feature of the German's countenance, he picked up
the notes and locked them in his desk together with half the gold. The
other fifty pounds he returned into his pocket.
"Come on!" he said to his companion abruptly.
"Come vere? Vat is it?"
"Come on!" roared the major irascibly. "What d'ye want to stand asking
questions for? Put on your hat and come."
The major had retained the cab at the door, and the two jumped into it.
"Drive to Verdi's Restaurant," he said to the driver.
When they arrived at that aristocratic and expensive establishment, the
soldier ordered the best dinner for two that money could procure.
"Have it riddy in two hours sharp," he said to the manager. "None of
your half-and-half wines, mind! We want the rale thing, and, be ged! we
can tell the difference!"
Having left the manager much impressed, the two friends set out for a
ready-made clothing establishment. "I won't come in," the major said,
slipping ten sovereigns into Von Baumser's hand. "Just you go in and
till them ye want the best suit o' clothes they can give you. They've a
good seliction there, I know."
"Gott in Himmel!" cried the amazed German. "But, my dear vriend, you
cannot vait in the street. Come in mit me."
"No, I'll wait," the old soldier answered. "They might think I was
paying for the clothes if I came in."
"Well, but so you--"
"Eh, would ye?" roared the major, raising his cane, and Von Baumser
disappeared precipitately into the shop.
When he emerged once more at the end of twenty minutes, he was attired
in an elegant and close-fitting suit of heather tweed. The pair then
made successive visits to a shoe-maker, a hatter, and a draper, with the
result that Von Baumser developed patent leather boots, a jaunty brown
hat, and a pair of light yellow gloves. By the end of their walk there
seemed nothing left of the original Von Baumser except a tawny beard,
and an expression of hopeless and overpowering astonishment.
Having effected this transformation, the friends retraced their steps to
Verdi's and did full justice to the spread awaiting them, after which
the old soldier won the heart of the establishment by bestowing largess
upon every one who came in his way. As to the further adventures of
these two Bohemians, it would be as well perhaps to draw a veil over
them. Suffice it that, about two in the morning, the worthy Mrs.
Robins was awakened by a stentorian voice in the street below demanding
to know "Was ist das Deutsche Vaterland?"--a somewhat vexed question
which the owner of the said voice was propounding to the solitary
lamp-post of Kennedy Place. On descending the landlady discovered that
the author of this disturbance was a fashionably dressed gentleman, who,
upon closer inspection, proved to her great surprise to be none other
than the usually demure part proprietor of her fourth floor. As to the
major, he walked in quietly the next day about twelve o'clock, looking
as trim and neat as ever, but minus the balance of the fifty pounds, nor
did he think fit ever to make any allusion to this some what heavy
deficit.
CHAPTER XIX.
NEWS FROM THE URALS.
Major Tobias Clutterbuck had naturally reckoned that the longer he
withheld this trump card of his the greater would be its effect when
played. An obstacle appearing at the last moment produces more
consternation than when a scheme is still in its infancy. It proved,
however, that he had only just levied his blackmail in time, for within
a couple of days of his interview with the head of the firm news arrived
of the great discovery of diamonds among the Ural Mountains. The first
intimation was received through the Central News Agency in the form of
the following telegram:--
"Moscow, _August_ 22.--It is reported from Tobolsk that an important
discovery of diamond fields has been made amongst the spurs of the Ural
Mountains, at a point not very far from that city. They are said to
have been found by an English geologist, who has exhibited many
magnificent gems in proof of his assertion. These stones have been
examined at Tobolsk, and are pronounced to be equal, if not superior, in
quality to any found elsewhere. A company has been already formed for
the purpose of purchasing the land and working the mines."
Some days afterwards there came a Reuter's telegram giving fuller
details. "With regard to the diamond fields near Tobolsk," it said,
"there is every reason to believe that they are of great, and possibly
unsurpassed, wealth. There is no question now as to their authenticity,
since their discoverer proves to be an English gentleman of high
character, and his story is corroborated by villagers from this district
who have dug up stones for themselves. The Government contemplate
buying out the company and taking over the mines, which might be
profitably worked by the forced labour of political prisoners on a
system similar to that adopted in the salt mines of Siberia.
The discovery is universally regarded as one which has materially
increased the internal resources of the country, and there is some talk
of the presentation of a substantial testimonial to the energetic and
scientific traveller to whom it is due."
Within a week or ten days of the receipt of these telegrams in London
there came letters from the Russian correspondents of the various
journals giving fuller details upon a subject of so much general
interest. The _Times_ directed attention to the matter in a leader.
"It appears," remarked the great paper, "that a most important addition
has been made to the mineral wealth of the Russian Empire. The silver
mines of Siberia and the petroleum wells of the Caucasus are to be
outrivalled by the new diamond fields of the Ural Mountains. For untold
thousands of years these precious fragments of crystallized carbon have
been lying unheeded among the gloomy gorges waiting for the hand of man
to pick them out. It has fallen to the lot of one of our countrymen to
point out to the Russian nation the great wealth which lay untouched and
unsuspected in the heart of their realm. The story is a romantic one.
It appears that a Mr. Langworthy, a wealthy English gentleman of good
extraction, had, in the course of his travels in Russia, continued his
journey as far as the great mountain barrier which separates Europe from
Asia. Being fond of sport, he was wandering in search of game down one
of the Ural valleys, when his attention was attracted by the thick
gravel, which was piled up along the track of a dried-up water-course.
The appearance and situation of this gravel reminded him forcibly of the
South African diamond fields, and so strong was the impression that he
at once laid down his gun and proceeded to rake the gravel over and to
examine it. His search was rewarded by the discovery of several stones,
which he conveyed home with him, and which proved, after being cleaned,
to be gems of the first water. Elated at this success, he returned to
the spot next day with a spade, and succeeded in obtaining many other
specimens, and in convincing himself that the deposit stretched up and
down for a long distance on both sides of the torrent. Having satisfied
himself upon this point, our compatriot made his way to Tobolsk, where
he exhibited his prizes to several of the richest merchants, and
proceeded to form a company for the working of the new fields. He was
so successful in this that the shares are already far above par, and our
correspondent writes that there has been a rush of capitalists, all
eager to invest their money in so promising a venture. It is expected
that within a few months the necessary plant will have been erected and
the concern be in working order."
The _Daily Telegraph_ treated the matter from a jocose and historical
point of view.
"It has long been a puzzle to antiquaries and geologists," it remarked,
"as to where those jewels which Solomon brought from the East were
originally obtained. There has been much speculation, too, regarding
the source of those less apocryphal gems which sparkled in the regalia
of the Indian monarchs and adorned the palaces of Delhi and Benares.
As a nation we have a personal interest in the question, since the
largest and most magnificent of these stones is now in the possession of
our most gracious Queen. Mr. Langworthy has thrown a light upon this
obscure subject. According to this gentleman's researches these
treasures were unearthed amidst that dark and gloomy range of mountains
which Providence has interposed between a nascent civilization and a
continent of barbarians. Nor is Mr. Langworthy's opinion founded upon
theory alone. He lends point to his arguments by presenting to the
greedy eyes of the merchants of Tobolsk a bag filled with valuable
diamonds, each and every one of which he professes to have discovered in
these barren inhospitable valleys. This tweed-suited English tourist,
descending like some good spirit among these dreamy Muscovites, points
out to them the untold wealth which has lain for so many centuries at
their feet, and with the characteristic energy of his race shows them at
the same time how to turn the discovery to commercial advantage. If the
deposit prove to be as extensive as is supposed, it is possible that our
descendants may wear cut diamonds in their eye-glasses, should such
accessories be necessary, and marvel at the ignorance of those primitive
days when a metamorphosed piece of coal was regarded as the most
valuable product of nature."
The ordinary British paterfamilias, glancing over his morning paper,
bestowed probably but few passing thoughts on the incident, but among
business men and in the City its significance was at once understood.
Not only did it create the deepest consternation amongst all who were
connected with the diamond industry, but it reacted upon every other
branch of South African commerce. It was the chief subject of
conversation upon the Stock Exchange, and many were the surmises as to
what the effect of the news would be at the fields. Fugger, the father
of the diamond industry, was standing discussing the question, when a
little rosy-faced Jew, named Goldschmidt, came bustling up to him.
He was much excited, for he speculated in stones, and had just been
buying in for a rise.
"Misther Fugger," he cried, "you're shust the man I want to see.
My Gott, vot is to become of us all? Vot is to become of de diamond
trade ven one can pick them up like cockles on the sea shore?"
"We must wait for details," the great financier said phlegmatically.
His fortune was so enormous that it mattered little to him whether the
report was true or false.
"Details! It is nothing but details," cried the little Jew.
"The papers is full of them. I vish to the Lord that that Langworthy
had proke his neck in the Ural Mountains before he got up to any such
games. Vat business had he to go examining gravel and peeping about in
such places as them. Nobody that's any good would ever go to the Ural
Mountains at all."
"It won't hurt you," Fugger said; "you'll simply have to pay less for
your stones and sell them cheaper after they are cut. It won't make
much difference in the long run."
"Von't it, by Joves! Why, man, I've got over a hundred shtones on my
hands now. Vat am I going to do vid 'em."
"Ah, that's a bad job. You must make up your mind to lose on them."
"Von't you buy them yourself, Mr. Fugger?" asked the Hebrew, in an
insinuating voice. "Maybe this here story will all turn out wrong.
S'elp me bob I gave three thousand for the lot, and you shall have them
for two. Let's have a deal, my tear Mr. Fugger, do?"
"No more for me, thank you," Fugger said with decision. "As to the
story being wrong, I have telegraphed to Rotterdam, and they have sent
on a trusty man. He'll be weeks, however, before we hear from him."
"Here's Mr. Girdlestone, the great Mr. Girdlestone," cried Goldschmidt,
perceiving our worthy merchant of Fenchurch Street among the crowd.
"Oh, Misther Girdlestone, I've got diamonds here what is worth three
thousand pounds, and you shall have them for two--you shall, by chingo,
and we'll go together now and get them?"
"Don't pester me!" said Girdlestone, brushing the little Jew aside with
his long, bony arm. "Can I have a word with you, Fugger?"
"Certainly," replied the diamond dealer. Girdlestone was a very
well-known man upon 'Change, and one who was universally respected and
looked up to.
"What do you think about this report?" he asked, in a confidential
voice. "Do you imagine that it will affect prices in Africa?"
"Affect prices! My dear sir, if it proves true it will ruin the African
fields. The mere report coming in a circumstantial fashion will send
prices down fifty per cent."
"As much as that!" said the merchant, with an excellent affectation of
surprise. "I am anxious about it, for my boy is out there. It was a
hobby of his, and I let him go. I trust he will not be bitten."
"He is much more likely to do the biting," remarked Fugger bluntly.
He had met Ezra Girdlestone in business more than once, and had been
disagreeably impressed by the young gentleman's sharpness.
"Poor lad!" said his father. "He is young, and has had little
experience as yet. I hope all is well with him!" He shook his head
despondently, and walked slowly homewards, but his heart beat
triumphantly within him, for he was assured now that the report would
influence prices as he had foreseen, and the African firm reap the
benefit of their daring speculation.
CHAPTER XX.
MR. HECTOR O'FLAHERTY FINDS SOMETHING IN THE PAPER.
Ezra Girdlestone had taken up his quarters in two private rooms at the
_Central Hotel_, Kimberley, and had already gained a considerable
reputation in the town by the engaging "abandon" of his manners, and by
the munificent style in which he entertained the more prominent citizens
of the little capital. His personal qualities of strength and beauty
had also won him the respect which physical gifts usually command in
primitive communities, and the smart young Londoner attracted custom to
himself among the diggers in a way which excited the jealousy of the
whole tribe of elderly Hebrews who had hitherto enjoyed a monopoly of
the trade. Thus, he had already gained his object in making himself
known, and his name was a familiar one in every camp from Waldeck's
Plant to Cawood's Hope. Keeping his headquarters at Kimberley, he
travelled perpetually along the line of the diggings. All the time he
was chafing secretly and marvelling within himself how it was that no
whisper of the expected news had arrived yet from England.
One sunny day he had returned from a long ride, and, having dined,
strolled out into the streets, Panama hat upon head and cigar in mouth.
It was the 23rd of October, and he had been nearly ten weeks in the
colony. Since his arrival he had taken to growing a beard. Otherwise,
he was much as we have seen him in London, save that a ruddier glow of
health shone upon his sunburned face. The life of the diggings appeared
to agree with him.
As he turned down Stockdale Street, a man passed him leading a pair of
horses tired and dusty, with many a strap and buckle hanging down behind
them. After him came another leading a second pair, and after him
another with a third. They were taking them round to the stables.
"Hullo!" cried Ezra, with sudden interest; "what's up?"
"The mail's just in."
"Mail from Capetown?"
"Yes."
Ezra quickened his pace and strode down Stockdale Street into the Main
Street, which, as the name implies, is the chief thoroughfare of
Kimberley. He came out close to the office of the _Vaal River
Advertiser and Diamond Field Gazette_. There was a crowd in front of
the door. This _Vaal River Advertiser_ was a badly conducted newspaper,
badly printed upon bad paper, but selling at sixpence a copy, and
charging from seven shillings and sixpence to a pound for the insertion
of an advertisement. It was edited at present by a certain P. Hector
O'Flaherty, who having been successively a dentist, a clerk, a
provision merchant, an engineer, and a sign painter, and having failed
at each and every one of these employments, had taken to running a
newspaper as an easy and profitable occupation. Indeed, as managed by
Mr. O'Flaherty, the process was simplicity itself. Having secured by
the Monday's mail copies of the London papers of two months before, he
spent Tuesday in cutting extracts from them with the greatest
impartiality, chopping away everything which might be of value to him.
The Wednesday was occupied in cursing at three black boys who helped to
put up the type, and on the Thursday a fresh number of the _Vaal River
Advertiser and Diamond Field Gazette_ was given to the world.
The remaining three days were devoted by Mr. O'Flaherty to intoxication,
but the Monday brought him back once more to soda water and literature.
It was seldom, indeed, that the _Advertiser_ aroused interest enough to
cause any one to assemble round the Office. Ezra's heart gave a quick
flutter at the sight, and he gathered himself together like a runner who
sees his goal in view. Throwing away his cigar, he hurried on ad joined
the little crowd.
"What's the row?" he asked.
"There's news come by the mail," said one or two bystanders.
"Big news."
"What sort of news?"
"Don't know yet."
"Who said there was news?"
"Driver."
"Where is he?"
"Don't know."
"Who will know about it?"
"O'Flaherty."
Here there was a general shout from the crowd for O'Flaherty, and an
irascible-looking man, with a red bloated face and bristling hair came
to the office door.
"Now, what the divil d'ye want?" he roared, shaking a quill pen at the
crowd. "What are ye after at all? Have ye nothing betther to do than to
block up the door of a decent office?"
"What's the news?" cried a dozen voices.
"The news, is it?" roared O'Flaherty, more angrily than ever; "and can't
ye foind out that by paying your sixpences like men, and taking the
_Advertoiser_? It's a paper, though Oi says it as shouldn't, that would
cut out some o' these _Telegraphs_ and _Chronicles_ if it was only in
London. Begad, instead of encouraging local talent ye spind your toime
standing around in the strate, and trying to suck a man's news out of
him for nothing."
"Look here, boss," said a rough-looking fellow in the front of the
crowd, "you keep your hair on, and don't get slinging words about too
freely, or it may be the worse for you and for your office too.
We heard as there was big news, an' we come down to hear it, but as to
gettin' it without paying, that ain't our sort. I suppose we can call
it square if we each hands in sixpence, which is the price o' your
paper, and then you can tell us what's on."
O'Flaherty considered for a moment. "It's worth a shillin' each," he
said, "for it plays the divil with the circulation of a paper whin its
news gits out too soon."
"Well, we won't stick at that," said the miner. "What say you, boys?"
There was a murmur of assent, and a broad-brimmed straw hat was passed
rapidly from hand to band. It was half full of silver when it reached
O'Flaherty. The _Advertiser_ had never before had such a circulation,
for the crowd had rapidly increased during the preceding dialogue, and
now numbered some hundreds.
"Thank ye, gintlemen," said the editor.
"Well, what's the news?" cried the impatient crowd.
"Sure I haven't opened the bag yet, but I soon will. Whativer it is
it's bound to be there. Hey there, Billy, ye divil's brat, where's the
mail bag?"
Thus apostrophized, a sharp little Kaffir came running out with the
brown bag, and Mr. O'Flaherty examined it in a leisurely manner, which
elicited many an oath from the eager crowd.
"Here's the _Standard_ and the _Times_," he said, handing the various
papers out to his subordinate. "Begad, there's not one of ye knows the
expinse of k'aping a great paper loike this going, forebye the brains
and no profit at the ind of it. Here's the _Post_ and the _News_. If
you were men you'd put in an advertisement ivery wake, whether ye needed
it or not, just to encourage literature. Here's the _Cape Argus_--it'll
be in here whativer it is."
With great deliberation Mr. Hector O'Flaherty put on a pair of
spectacles and folded the paper carefully round, so as to bring the
principal page to the front. Then he cleared his throat, with the
pomposity which is inseparable with most men from the act of reading
aloud.
"Go it, boss!" cried his audience encouragingly.
"'Small-pox at Wellington'--that's not it, is it? 'Germany and the
Vatican'--'Custom House Duties at Port Elizabeth'--'Roosian Advances in
Cintral Asia' eh? Is that it--'Discovery of great Diamond Moines?'"
"That's it," roared the crowd; "let's hear about that." There was an
anxious ring in their voices, and their faces were grave and serious as
they looked up at the reader upon the steps of the office.
"'Diamond moines have been discovered in Roosia,'" read O'Flaherty,
"'which are confidently stated to exceed in riches anything which has
existed before. It is ginerally anticipated that this discovery, if
confirmed, will have a most prejudicial effect upon the African trade.'
That's an extract from the London news of the _Argus_."
A buzz of ejaculations and comments arose from the crowd. "Isn't there
any more about it?" they cried.
"Here's a later paper, boss," said the little Kaffir, who had been
diligently looking over the dates.
O'Flaherty opened it, and gave a whistle of astonishment.
"Here's enough to satisfy you," he said. "It's in big toipe and takes
up noigh the whole of the first page. I can only read ye the headings,
for we must get to work and have out a special edition. You'll git
details there, an' it'll be out in a few hours. Look here at the fuss
they've made about it." The editor turned the paper as he spoke, and
exhibited a series of large black headings in this style:--
RUSSIAN DIAMOND FIELDS.
EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY BY AN ENGLISHMAN.
THREATENED EXTINCTION OF THE CAPE INDUSTRY.
GREAT FALL IN PRICES.
OPINIONS OF THE LONDON PRESS.
FULL DETAILS.
"What d'ye think of that?" cried O'Flaherty, triumphantly, as if he had
had some hand in the matter. "Now I must git off to me work, and you'll
have it all before long in your hands. Ye should bliss your stars that
ye have some one among ye to offer ye the convanience of the latest
news. Good noight to ye all," and he trotted back into his office with
his hat and its silver contents in his hand.
The crowd broke up into a score of gesticulating chattering groups, and
wandered up or down the street. Ezra Girdlestone waited until they had
cleared away, and then stepped into the office of the _Advertiser_.
"What's the matter now?" asked O'Flaherty, angrily. He was a man who
lived in a state of chronic irritation.
"Have you a duplicate of that paper?"
"Suppose I have?"
"What will you sell it for?"
"What will you give?"
"Half a sovereign."
"A sovereign."
"Done!" and so Ezra Girdlestone walked out of the office with full
details in his hand, and departed to his hotel, where he read the
account through very slowly and deliberately. It appeared to be
satisfactory, for he chuckled to himself a good deal as he perused it.
Having finished it, he folded the paper up, placed it in his breast
pocket, and, having ordered his horse, set off to the neighbouring
township of Dutoitspan with the intention of carrying the news with him.
Ezra had two motives in galloping across the veldt that October night.
One was to judge with his own ears and eyes what effect the news would
have upon practical men. The other was a desire to gratify that
sinister pleasure which an ill-natured man has in being the bearer of
evil tidings. They had probably heard the report by this time, but it
was unlikely that any details had reached them. No one knew better than
young Girdlestone that this message from Europe would bring utter ruin
and extinction to many a small capitalist, that it would mean the
shattering of a thousand hopes, and the advent of poverty and misery to
the men with whom he had been associating. In spite of this knowledge,
his heart beat high, as his father's had done in London, and as he
spurred his horse onwards through the darkness, he was hardly able to
refrain from shouting and whooping in his exultation.
The track from Kimberley to Dutoitspan was a rough one, but the moon was
up, and the young merchant found no difficulty in following it. When he
reached the summit of the low hill over which the road ran, he saw the
lights of the little town sparkling in the valley beneath him. It was
ten o'clock before he galloped into the main street, and he saw at a
glance that the news had, as he expected, arrived before him. In front
of the Griqualand Saloon a great crowd of miners had assembled, who were
talking excitedly among themselves. The light of the torches shone down
upon herculean figures, glaring shirts, and earnest bearded faces.
The whole camp appeared to have assembled there to discuss the
situation, and it was evident from their anxious countenances and
subdued voices, that they took no light view of it.
The instant the young man alighted from his horse he was surrounded by a
knot of eager questioners. "You've just come from Kimberley," they
cried. "What is the truth of it, Mr. Girdlestone? Let us know the
truth of it."
"It's a bad business, my friends," he answered, looking around at the
ring of inquiring faces. "I have been reading a full account of it in
the _Cape Argus_. They have made a great find in Russia. There seems
to be no doubt at all about the matter."
"D'ye think it will send prices down here as much as they say?"
"I'm afraid it will send them very low. I hold a lot of stones myself,
and I should be very glad to get rid of them at any price. I fear it
will hardly pay you to work your claims now."
"And the price of claims will go down?"
"Of course it will."
"Eh, mister, what's that?" cried a haggard, unkempt little man, pushing
his way to the front and catching hold of Ezra's sleeve to ensure his
attention. "Did ye say it would send the price o' claims down?
You didn't say that, did you? Why, in course, it stands to reason that
what happened in Roosia couldn't make no difference over here.
That's sense, mates, ain't it?" He looked round him appealingly, and
laughed a little nervous laugh.
"You try," said Ezra coldly. "If you get one-third of what you gave for
your claim you'll be lucky. Why, man, you don't suppose we produce
diamonds for local consumption. They are for exporting to Europe, and
if Europe is already supplied by Russia, where are you to get your
market?"
"That's it?" cried several voices.
"If you take my advice," Ezra continued, "you'll get rid of what you
have at any loss, for the time may be coming when you'll get nothing at
all."
"Now, look at that!" cried the little man, throwing out his hands.
"They call me Unlucky Jim, and Unlucky Jim I'll be to the end of the
chapter. Why, boss, me and Sammy Walker has sunk every damned cent
we've got in that claim, the fruit o' nine years' hard work, and here
you comes ridin' up as cool as may be, and tells me that it's all gone
for nothing."
"Well, there are others who will suffer as well as you," said one of the
crowd.
"I reckon we're all hit pretty hard if this is true," remarked another.
"I'm fair sick of it," said the little man, passing his grimy hand
across his eyes and leaving a black smear as he did so. "This ain't the
first time--no, nor the second--that my luck has played me this trick.
I've a mighty good mind to throw up my hand altogether."
"Come in and have some whisky," said a rough sympathizer, and the
unlucky one was hustled in through the rude door of the Griqualand
Saloon, there to find such comfort as he might from the multitudinous
bottles which adorned the interior of that building. Liquor had lost
its efficacy that evening, however, and a dead depression rested over
the little town. Nor was it confined to Dutoitspan. All along the
diggings the dismal tidings spread with a rapidity which was
astonishing. At eleven o'clock there was consternation at Klipdrift.
At quarter-past one Hebron was up and aghast at the news. At three in
the morning a mounted messenger galloped into Bluejacket, and before
daybreak a digger committee was sitting at Delporte's Hope discussing
the situation. So during that eventful night down the whole long line
of the Vaal River there was ruin and heartburning and dismay, while five
thousand miles away an old gentleman was sleeping calmly and dreamlessly
in his comfortable bed, from whose busy brain had emanated all this
misery and misfortune.
Perhaps the said old gentleman might have slumbered a little less
profoundly could he have seen the sight which met his son's eyes on the
following morning. Ezra had passed the night at Dutoitspan, in the hut
of a hospitable miner. Having risen in the morning, he was dressing
himself in a leisurely, methodical fashion, when his host, who had been
inhaling the morning breeze, thrust his head through the window.
"Come out here, Mr. Girdlestone," he cried. "There's some fun on.
One of the boys is dead drunk, and they are carrying him in."
Ezra pulled on his coat and ran out. A little group of miners were
walking slowly up the main street. He and his host were waiting for the
procession to pass them with several jocose remarks appropriate to the
occasion ready upon their lips, when their eyes fell upon a horrible
splotchy red track which marked the road the party had taken. They both
ran forward with exclamations and inquiries.
"It's Jim Stewart," said one of the bearers. "Him that they used to
call Unlucky Jim."
"What's up with him?"
"He has shot himself through the head. Where d'ye think we found him?
Slap in the middle o' his own claim, with his fingers dug into the
gravel, as dead as a herring."
"He's a bad plucked 'un to knock under like that," Ezra's companion
remarked.
"Yes," said the croupier of the saloon gambling table. "If he'd waited
for another deal he might have held every trump. He was always a soft
chap, was Jim, and he was saying last night as how this spoiled the last
chance he was ever like to have of seeing his wife and childer in
England. He's blowed a fine clean hole in himself. Would you like to
see it, Mr. Girdlestone?" The fellow was about to remove the
blood-stained handkerchief which covered the dead man's face, but Ezra
recoiled in horror.
"Mr. Girdlestone looks faint like," some one observed.
"Yes," said Ezra, who was white to his very lips. "This has upset me
rather. I'll have a drop of brandy." As he walked back to the hut, he
wondered inwardly whether the incident would have discomposed his
father.
"I suppose he would call it part of our commercial finesse," he said
bitterly to himself. "However, we have put our hands to the plough, and
we must not let homicide stop us." So saying, he steadied his nerves
with a draught of brandy, and prepared for the labours of the day.
CHAPTER XXI.
AN UNEXPECTED BLOW.
The crisis at the African fields was even more acute than had been
anticipated by the conspirators. Nothing approaching to it had ever
been known in South Africa before. Diamonds went steadily down in value
until they were selling at a price which no dealer would have believed
possible, and the sale of claims reached such a climax that men were
glad to get rid of them for the mere price of the plant and machinery
erected at them. The offices of the various dealers at Kimberley were
besieged night and day by an importunate crowd of miners, who were
willing to sell at any price in order to save something from the general
ruin which they imagined was about to come upon the industry. Some,
more long-headed or more desperate than their neighbours, continued to
work their claims and to keep the stones which they found until prices
might be better. As fresh mails came from the Cape, however, each
confirming and amplifying the ominous news, these independent workers
grew fewer and more faint-hearted, for their boys had to be paid each
week, and where was the money to come from with which to pay them?
The dealers, too, began to take the alarm, and the most tempting offers
would hardly induce them to give hard cash in exchange for stones which
might prove to be a drug in the market. Everywhere there was misery and
stagnation.
Ezra Girdlestone was not slow to take advantage of this state of things,
but he was too cunning to do so in a manner which might call attention
to himself or his movements. In his wanderings he had come across an
outcast named Farintosh, a man who had once been a clergyman and a
master of arts of Trinity College, Dublin, but who was now a broken-down
gambler with a slender purse and a still more slender conscience.
He still retained a plausible manner and an engaging address, and these
qualities first recommended him to the notice of the young merchant.
A couple of days after the receipt of the news from Europe, Ezra sent
for this fellow and sat with him for some time on the verandah of the
hotel, talking over the situation.
"You see, Farintosh," he remarked, "it might be a false alarm, might it
not?"
The ex-clergyman nodded. He was a man of few words.
"If it should be, it would be an excellent thing for those who buy now."
Farintosh nodded once again.
"Of course," Ezra continued, "it looks as if the thing was beyond all
doubt. My experience has taught me, however, that there is nothing so
uncertain as a certainty. That's what makes me think of speculating
over this. If I lose it won't hurt me much, and I might win. I came
out here more for the sake of seeing a little of the world than anything
else, but now that this has turned up I'll have a shy at it."
"Quite so," said Farintosh, rubbing his hands.
"You see," Ezra continued, lighting a cheroot, "I have the name here of
having a long purse and of knowing which way the wind blows. If I were
to be seen buying others would follow my lead, and prices would soon be
as high as ever. Now, what I purpose is to work through you, d'ye see?
You can take out a licence and buy in stones on the quiet without
attracting much attention. Beat them down as low as you can, and give
this hotel as your address. When they call here they shall be paid,
which is better than having you carrying the money round with you."
The clergyman scowled as though he thought it was anything but better.
He did not make any remark, however.
"You can get one or two fellows to help you," said Ezra. "I'll pay for
their licences. I can't expect you to work all the camps yourself.
Of course, if you offer more for a stone than I care to give, that's
your look out, but if you do your work well you shall not be the loser.
You shall have a percentage on business done and a weekly salary as
well."
"How much money do you care to invest?" asked Farintosh.
"I'm not particular," Ezra answered. "If I do a thing I like to do it
well. I'll go the length of thirty thousand pounds."
Farintosh was so astonished at the magnitude of the sum that he sank
back in his chair in bewilderment. "Why, sir," he said, "I think just
at present you could buy the country for that."
Ezra laughed. "We'll make it go as far as we can," he said. "Of course
you may buy claims as well as stones."
"And I have carte blanche to that amount?"
"Certainly."
"All right, I'll begin this evening," said the ex-parson; and picking
up his slouched hat, which he still wore somewhat broader in the brim
than his comrades, in deference to old associations, he departed upon
his mission.
Farintosh was a clever man and soon chose two active subordinates.
These were a navvy, named Burt, and Williams, a young Welshman, who had
disappeared from home behind a cloud of forged cheques, and having
changed his name had made a fresh start in life to the south of the
equator. These three worked day and night buying in stones from the
more needy and impecunious miners, to whom ready money was a matter of
absolute necessity. Farintosh bought in the stock, too, of several
small dealers whose nerves had been shaken by the panic. In this way
bag after bag was filled with diamonds by Ezra, while he himself was to
all appearances doing nothing but smoking cigars and sipping
brandy-and-water in front of the _Central Hotel_.
He was becoming somewhat uneasy in his mind as to how long the delusion
would be kept up, or how soon news might come from the Cape that the
Ural find had been examined into and had proved to be a myth. In any
case, he thought that he would be free from suspicion. Still, it might
be as well for him by that time to be upon his homeward journey, for he
knew that if by any chance the true facts leaked out there would be no
hope of mercy from the furious diggers. Hence he incited Farintosh to
greater speed, and that worthy divine with his two agents worked so
energetically that in less than a week there was little left of five and
thirty thousand pounds.
Ezra Girdlestone had shown his power of reading character when he chose
the ex-clergyman as his subordinate. It is possible, however, that the
young man's judgment had been inferior to his powers of observation.
A clever man as a trusty ally is a valuable article, but when the said
cleverness may be turned against his employer the advantage becomes a
questionable one.
It was perfectly evident to Farintosh that though a stray capitalist
might risk a thousand pounds or so on a speculation of this sort,
Rothschild himself would hardly care to invest such a sum as had passed
through his hands without having some ground on which to go. Having
formed this conclusion, and having also turned over in his mind the
remarkable coincidence that the news of this discovery in Russia should
follow so very rapidly upon the visit of the junior partner of the House
of Girdlestone, the astute clergyman began to have some dim perception
of the truth. Hence he brooded a good deal as he went about his work,
and cogitated deeply in a manner which was once again distinctly
undesirable in so very intelligent a subordinate.
These broodings and cogitations culminated in a meeting, which was held
by him with his two sub-agents in the private parlour of the Digger's
Retreat. It was a low-roofed, smoke-stained room, with a profusion of
spittoons scattered over it, which, to judge by the condition of the
floor, the patrons of the establishment had taken some pains to avoid.
Round a solid, old-fashioned table in the centre of this apartment sat
Ezra's staff of assistants, the parson thoughtful but self-satisfied,
the others sullen and inquisitive. Farintosh had convened the meeting,
and his comrades had an idea that there was something in the wind.
They applied themselves steadily, therefore, to the bottle of Hollands
upon the table, and waited for him to speak.
"Well," the ex-clergyman said at last, "the game is nearly over, and
we'll not be wanted any more. Girdlestone's off to England in a day or
two."
Burt and Williams groaned sympathetically. Work was scarce in the
diggings during the crisis, and their agencies had been paying them
well.
"Yes, he's off," Farintosh went on, glancing keenly at his companions,
"and he takes with him five and thirty thousand pounds worth of diamonds
that we bought for him. Poor devils like us, Burt, have to do the work,
and then are thrown aside as you would throw your pick aside when you
are done with it. When he sells out in London and makes his pile, it
won't much matter to him that the three men who helped him are starving
in Griqualand."
"Won't he give us somethin' at partin'?" asked Burt, the navvy. He was
a savage-looking, hairy man, with a brick-coloured face and over-hanging
eyebrows. "Won't he give us nothing to remembrance him by?"
"Give you something!" Farintosh said with a sneer. "Why, man, he says
you are too well paid already."
"Does he, though?" cried the navvy, flushing even redder than nature had
made him. "Is that the way he speaks after we makes him? It ain't on
the square. I likes to see things honest an' above board betwixt man
an' man, and this pitchin' of them as has helped ye over ain't that."
Farintosh lowered his voice and bent further over the table.
His companions involuntarily imitated his movement, until the three
cunning, cruel faces were looking closely into one another's eyes.
"Nobody knows that he holds those stones," said Farintosh. "He's too
smart to let it out to any one but ourselves."
"Where does he keep 'em?" asked the Welshman.
"In a safe in his room."
"Where is the key?"
"On his watch-chain."
"Could we get an impression?"
"I have one."
"Then I can make one," cried Williams triumphantly.
"It's done," said Farintosh, taking a small key from his pocket.
"This is a duplicate, and will open the safe. I took the moulding from
his key while I was speaking to him."
The navvy laughed hoarsely. "If that don't lick creation for
smartness!" he cried. "And how are we to get to this safe? It would
serve him right if we collar the lot. It'll teach him that if he ain't
honest by nature he's got to be when he deals with the like of us.
I like straightness, and by the Lord I'll have it!" He brought his
great fist down upon the table to emphasize this commendable sentiment.
"It's not an easy matter," Farintosh said thoughtfully. "When he goes
out he locks his door, and there's no getting in at the window. There's
only one chance for us that I can see. His room is a bit cut off from
the rest of the hotel. There's a gallery of twenty feet or more that
leads to it. Now, I was thinking that if the three of us were to visit
him some evening, just to wish him luck on his journey, as it were, and
if, while we were in the room something sudden was to happen which would
knock him silly for a minute or two, we might walk off with the stones
and be clean gone before he could raise an alarm."
"And what would knock him silly?" asked Williams. He was an unhealthy,
scorbutic-looking youth, and his pallid complexion had assumed a
greenish tinge of fear as he listened to the clergyman's words.
He had the makings in him of a mean and dangerous criminal, but not of a
violent one--belonging to the jackal tribe rather than to the tiger.
"What would knock him senseless?" Farintosh asked Burt, with a knowing
look.
Burt laughed again in his bushy, red beard. "You can leave that to me,
mate," he said.
Williams glanced from one to the other and he became even more
cadaverous. "I'm not in it," he stammered. "It will be a hanging job.
You will kill him as like as not."
"Not in it, ain't ye?" growled the navvy. "Why, you white-livered
hound, you're too deep in it ever to get out again. D'ye think we'll
let you spoil a lay of this sort as we might never get a chance of
again?"
"You can do it without me," said the Welshman, trembling in every limb.
"And have you turnin' on us the moment a reward was offered. No, no,
chummy, you don't get out of it that way. If you won't stand by us,
I'll take care you don't split."
"Think of the diamonds," Farintosh put in.
"Think of your own skin," said the navvy.
"You could go back to England a rich man if you do it."
"You'll never go back at all if you don't." Thus worked upon
alternately by his hopes and by his fears, Williams showed some signs of
yielding. He took a long draught from his glass and filled it up again.
"I ain't afraid," he said. "Don't imagine that I am afraid. You won't
hit him very hard, Mr. Burt?"
"Just enough to curl him up," the navvy answered. "Lord love ye, it
ain't the first man by many a one that I've laid on his back, though I
never had the chance before of fingering five and thirty thousand pounds
worth of diamonds for my pains."
"But the hotel-keeper and the servants?"
"That's all right," said Farintosh. "You leave it to me. If we go up
quietly and openly, and come down quietly and openly, who is to suspect
anything? Our horses will be outside, in Woodley Street, and we'll be
out of their reach in no time. Shall we say to-morrow evening for the
job?"
"That's very early," Williams cried tremulously.
"The sooner the better," Burt said, with an oath. "And look here, young
man," fixing Williams with his bloodshot eyes, "one sign of drawing
back, and by the living jingo I'll let you have more than I'm keeping
for him. You hear me, eh?" He grasped the youth's white wrist and
squeezed it in his iron grip until he writhed with the pain.
"Oh, I'm with you, heart and soul," he cried. "I'm sure what you and
Mr. Farintosh advise must be for the best."
"Meet here at eight o'clock to-morrow night then," said the leader.
"We can get it over by nine, and we will have the night for our escape.
I'll have the horses ready, and it will be strange if we don't get such
a start as will puzzle them."
So, having arranged all the details of their little plan, these three
gentlemen departed in different directions--Farintosh to the _Central
Hotel_, to give Ezra his evening report, and the others to the
mining-camps, which were the scene of their labours.
The meeting just described took place upon a Tuesday, early in November.
On the Saturday Ezra Girdlestone had fully made up his mind to turn his
back upon the diggings and begin his homeward journey. He was pining
for the pleasures of his old London life, and was weary of the
monotonous expanse of the South African veldt. His task was done, too,
and it would be well for him to be at a distance before the diggers
discovered the manner in which they had been hoaxed. He began to pack
his boxes, therefore, and to make every preparation for his departure.
He was busily engaged in this employment upon the Wednesday evening when
there was a tap at the door and Farintosh walked in, accompanied by Burt
and Williams. Girdlestone glanced up at them, and greeted them briefly.
He was not surprised at their visit, for they had come together several
times before to report progress or make arrangements. Farintosh bowed
as he entered the room, Burt nodded, and Williams rubbed his hands
together and looked amiably bilious.
"We looked in, Mr. Girdlestone," Farintosh began, "to learn if you had
any commands for us."
"I told you before that I had not," Ezra said curtly. "I am going on
Saturday. I have made a mistake in speculating on those diamonds.
Prices are sinking lower and lower."
"I am sorry to hear that," said Farintosh sympathetically. "Maybe the
market will take a turn."
"Let us hope so," the merchant answered. "It doesn't look like it."
"But you are satisfied with us, guv'nor," Burt struck in, pushing his
bulky form in front of Farintosh. "We have done our work all right,
haven't we?"
"I have nothing to complain of," Ezra said coldly.
"Well then, guv'nor, you surely ain't going away without leaving us
nothing to remembrance you with, seeing that we've stood by you and
never gone back on you."
"You have been paid every week for what you have done," the young man
said. "You won't get another penny out of me, so you set your mind at
rest about that."
"You won't give us nothing?" cried the navvy angrily.
"No, I won't; and I'll tell you what it is, Burt, big as you are, if you
dare to raise your voice in my presence I'll give you the soundest
hiding that ever you had in your life."
Ezra had stood up and showed every indication of being as good as his
word.
"Don't let us quarrel the last time we may meet," Farintosh cried,
intervening between the two. "It is not money we expect from you.
All we want is a drain of rum to drink success to you with."
"Oh, if that's all," said the young merchant--and turned round to pick
up the bottle which stood on a table behind him. Quick as a flash Burt
sprang upon him and struck him down with a life-preserver. With a
gasping cry and a heavy thud Ezra fell face downwards upon the floor,
the bottle still clutched in his senseless hand, and the escaping rum
forming a horrible mixture with the blood which streamed from a great
gash in his head.
"Very neat--very pretty indeed!" cried the ex-parson, in a quiet tone of
critical satisfaction, as a connoisseur might speak of a specimen which
interested him. He was already busy at the door of the safe.
"Well done, Mr. Burt, well done!" cried Williams, in a quivering voice;
and going up to the body he kicked it in the side. "You see I am not
afraid, Mr. Burt, am I?"
"Stow your gab!" snarled the navvy. "Here's the rum all gettin' loose."
Picking up the bottle he took a pull of what was left in it.
"Here's the bag, parson," he whispered, pulling a black linen bag from
his pocket. "We haven't made much noise over the job."
"Here are the stones," said Farintosh, in the same quiet voice.
"Hold the mouth open." He emptied an avalanche of diamonds into the
receptacle. "Here are some notes and gold. We may as well have them
too. Now, tie it up carefully. That's the way! If we meet any one on
the stairs, take it coolly. Turn that lamp out, Williams, so that if
any one looks in he'll see nothing. Come along!"
The guilty trio stole out of the room, bearing their plunder with them,
and walked down the passage of the hotel unmolested and unharmed.
The moon, as it rose over the veldt that night, shone on three horsemen
spurring it along the Capetown road as though their very lives depended
upon their speed. Its calm, clear rays streamed over the silent roofs
of Kimberley and in through a particular window of the _Central Hotel_,
throwing silvery patches upon the carpet, and casting strange shadows
from the figure which lay as it had fallen, huddled in an ungainly heap
upon the floor.
CHAPTER XXII.
ROBBERS AND ROBBED.
It might perhaps have been as well for the curtailing of this narrative,
and for the interests of the world at large if the blow dealt by the
sturdy right arm of the navvy had cut short once for all the career of
the junior African merchant. Ezra, however, was endowed with a rare
vitality, which enabled him not only to shake off the effects of his
mishap, but to do so in an extraordinarily short space of time.
There was a groan from the prostrate figure, then a feeble movement,
then another and a louder groan, and then an oath. Gradually raising
himself upon his elbow, he looked around him in a bewildered way, with
his other hand pressed to the wound at the back of his head, from which
a few narrow little rivulets of blood were still meandering. His glance
wandered vaguely over the table and the chairs and the walls, until it
rested upon the safe. He could see in the moonlight that it was open,
and empty. In a moment the whole circumstances of the case came back to
him, and he staggered to the door with a hoarse cry of rage and of
despair.
Whatever Ezra's faults may have been, irresolution or want of courage
were not among them. In a moment he grasped the situation, and realized
that it was absolutely essential that he should act, and at once.
The stones must be recovered, or utter and irretrievable ruin stared him
in the face. At his cries the landlord and several attendants, white
and black, came rushing into the room.
"I've been robbed and assaulted," Ezra said, steadying himself against
the mantelpiece, for he was still weak and giddy. "Don't all start
cackling, but do what I ask you. Light the lamp!"
The lamp was lit, and there was a murmur from the little knot of
employees, reinforced by some late loungers at the bar, as they saw the
disordered room and the great crimson patch upon the carpet.
"The thieves called at nine," said Ezra, talking rapidly, but
collectedly. "Their names were Farintosh, Burt, and Williams.
We talked for, some little time, so they probably did not leave the
house before a quarter past at the soonest. It is now half-past ten, so
they have no very great start. You, Jamieson, and you, Van Muller, run
out and find if three men have been seen getting away. Perhaps they
took a buggy. Go up and down, and ask all you see. You, Jones, go as
hard as you can to Inspector Ainslie. Tell him there has been robbery
and attempted murder, and say that I want half a dozen of his best
mounted men--not his best men, you understand, but his best horses.
I shall see that he is no loser if he is smart. Where's my servant
Pete? Pete, you dog, get my horse saddled and bring her round.
She ought to be able to catch anything in Griqualand."
As Ezra gave his orders the men hurried off in different directions to
carry them out. He himself commenced to arrange his dress, and tied a
handkerchief tightly round his head.
"Surely you are not going, sir?" the landlord said, "You are not fit."
"Fit or not, I am going," Ezra said resolutely. "If I have to be
strapped to my horse I'll go. Send me up some brandy. Put some in a
flask, too. I may feel faint before I get back."
A great concourse of people had assembled by this time, attracted by the
report of the robbery. The whole square in front of the hotel was
crowded with diggers and store-keepers and innumerable Kaffirs, all
pressing up to the portico in the hope of hearing some fresh details.
Mr. Hector O'Flaherty, over the way, was already busy setting up his
type in preparation for a special edition, in which the _Vaal River
Advertiser_ should give its version of the affair. In the office the
great man himself, who was just convalescing from an attack of ardent
spirits, was busily engaged, with a wet towel round his head, writing a
leader upon the event. This production, which was very sonorous and
effective, was peppered all over with such phrases as "protection of
property," "outraged majesty of the law," and "scum of civilization"--
expressions which had been used so continuously by Mr. O'Flaherty, that
he had come to think that he had a copyright in them, and loudly accused
the London papers of plagiarism if he happened to see them in their
columns.
There was a buzz of excitement among the crowd when Ezra appeared on the
steps of the hotel, looking as white as a sheet, with a handkerchief
bound round his head and his collar all crusted with blood. As he
mounted his horse one of his emissaries rushed to him.
"If you please, sir," he said, "they have taken the Capetown road.
A dozen people saw them. Their horses were not up to much, for I know
the man they got them from. You are sure to catch them."
A smile played over Ezra's pale face, which boded little good for the
fugitives. "Curse those police!" he cried; "are they never going to
come?"
"Here they are!" said the landlord; and sure enough, with a jingling of
arms and a clatter of hoofs, half a dozen of the Griqualand Mounted
Constabulary trotted through the crowd and drew up in front of the
steps. They were smart, active young fellows, armed with revolver and
sabre, and their horses were tough brutes, uncomely to look at, but with
wonderful staying power. Ezra noted the fact with satisfaction as he
rode up to the grizzled sergeant in command.
"There's not a moment to be lost, sergeant," he said. "They have an
hour and a half's start, but their cattle are not up to much. Come on!
It's the Capetown road. A hundred pounds if we catch them!"
"Threes!" roared the sergeant. "Right half turn--trot!" The crowd split
asunder, and the little troop, with Ezra at their head, clove a path
through them. "Gallop!" shouted the sergeant, and away they clattered
down the High Street of Kimberley, striking fire out of the stone and
splashing up the gravel, until the sound of their hoofs died away into a
dull, subdued rattle, and finally faded altogether from the ears of the
listening crowd.
For the first few miles the party galloped in silence. The moon was
still shining brilliantly, and they could see the white line of the road
stretching out in front of them and winding away over the undulating
veldt. To right and left spread a broad expanse of wiry grass
stretching to the horizon, with low bushes and scrub scattered over it
in patches. Here and there were groups of long-legged,
unhealthy-looking sheep, who crashed through the bushes in wild terror
as the riders swept by them. Their plaintive calls were the only sounds
which broke the silence of the night, save the occasional dismal hooting
of the veldt owl.
Ezra, on his powerful grey, had been riding somewhat ahead of the
troopers, but the sergeant managed to get abreast of him. "Beg pardon,
sir," he said, raising his hand to his kepi, "but don't you think this
pace is too good to last? The horses will be blown."
"As long as we catch them," Ezra answered, "I don't care what becomes of
the horses. I would sooner stand you a dozen horses apiece than let
them get away."
The young merchant's words were firm and his seat steady, in spite of
the throbbing at his head. The fury in his heart supplied him with
strength, and he gnawed his moustache in his impatience and dug his
spurs into his horse's flanks until the blood trickled down its glossy
coat. Fortune, reputation, above all, revenge, all depended upon the
issue of this headlong chase through the darkness.
The sergeant and Ezra galloped along, leather to leather, and rein to
rein, while the troop clattered in their rear. "There's Combrink about
two miles further on," said the sergeant; "we will hear news of them
there."
"They can't get off the high road, can they?"
"Not likely, sir. They couldn't get along as fast anywhere else.
Indeed, it's hardly safe riding across the veldt. They might be down a
pit before they knew of it."
"As long as they are on the road, we must catch them," quoth Ezra;
"for if it ran straight from here to hell I would follow them there."
"And we'd stand by you, sir," said the sergeant, catching something of
his companion's enthusiasm. "At this pace, if the horses hold out, we
might catch them before morning. There are the lights of the shanty."
As he spoke they were galloping round a long curve in the road, at the
further end of which there was a feeble yellow glimmer. As they came
abreast of it they saw that the light came through an open door, in the
centre of which a burly Afrikaner was standing with his hands in his
breeches pockets and his pipe in his mouth.
"Good evening," said the sergeant, as his men pulled up their reeking
horses. "Has any one passed this way before us?"
"Many a tausand has passed this way before you," said the Dutchman,
taking his pipe out of his mouth to laugh.
"To-night, man, to-night!" the sergeant cried angrily.
"Oh yes; down the Port Elizabeth Road there, not one hour ago. Three
men riding fit to kill their horses."
"That'll do," Ezra shouted; and away they went once more down the broad
white road. They passed Bluewater's Drift at two in the morning, and
were at Van Hayden's farm at half-past. At three they left the Modder
River far behind them, and at a quarter past four they swept down the
main street of the little township of Jacobsdal, their horses weak and
weary and all mottled with foam. There was a police patrol in the
street.
"Has any one passed?" cried the sergeant.
"Three men, a quarter of an hour ago."
"Have they gone on?"
"Straight on. Their horses were nearly dead beat, though."
"Come on!" cried Ezra eagerly. "Come on!"
"Four of the horses are exhausted, sir," said the sergeant.
"They can't move another step."
"Come on without them then."
"The patrol could come," the sergeant suggested.
"I should have to report myself at the office, sir," said the trooper.
"Jump on to his horse, sergeant," cried Ezra. "He can take yours to
report himself on. Now then you and I at least are bound to come up
with them. Forward! gallop!" And they started off once more on their
wild career, rousing the quiet burghers of Jacobsdal by the wild turmoil
of their hoofs.
Out once more upon the Port Elizabeth Road it was a clear race between
the pursuers and the pursued. The former knew that the fugitives, were
it daytime, would possibly be within sight of them, and the thought gave
them additional ardour. The sergeant having a fresh horse rode in
front, his head down and his body forward, getting every possible inch
of pace out of the animal. At his heels came Ezra, on his gallant grey,
the blood-stained handkerchief fluttering from his head. He was sitting
very straight in his saddle with a set stern smile upon his lips.
In his right hand he held a cocked revolver. A hundred yards or so
behind them the two remaining troopers came toiling along upon their
weary nags, working hard with whip and spur to stimulate them to further
exertions. Away in the east a long rosy streak lay low upon the
horizon, which showed that dawn was approaching, and a grey light stole
over the landscape. Suddenly the sergeant pulled his horse up.
"There's some one coming towards us," he cried.
Ezra and the troopers halted their panting steeds. Through the
uncertain light they saw a solitary horseman riding down the road.
At first they had thought that it might possibly be one of the fugitives
who had turned, but as he came nearer they perceived that it was a
stranger. His clothes were so dusty and his horse so foam-flecked and
weary that it was evident that he also had left many a long mile of road
behind him.
"Have you seen three men on horseback?" cried Ezra as he approached.
"I spoke to them," the traveller answered. "They are about half a mile
ahead."
"Come on! Come on!" Ezra shouted.
"I am bringing news from Jagersfontein--" the man said.
"Come on!" Ezra interrupted furiously; and the horses stretched their
stiff limbs into a feeble lumbering gallop. Ezra and the sergeant shot
to the front, and the others followed as best they might. Suddenly in
the stillness they heard far away a dull rattling sound like the clatter
of distant castanets. "It's their horses' hoofs!" cried Ezra; and the
troopers behind raised a cheer to show that they too understood the
significance of the sound.
It was a wild, lonely spot, where the plain was bare even of the scanty
foliage which usually covered it. Here and there great granite rocks
protruded from the brown soil, as though Nature's covering had in bygone
days been rent until her gaunt bones protruded through the wound.
As Ezra and the sergeant swept round a sharp turn in the road they saw,
some little way ahead of them, the three fugitives, enveloped in a cloud
of dust. Almost at the same moment they heard a shout and crash behind
them, and, looking round, saw a confused heap upon the ground.
The horse of the leading trooper had fallen from pure fatigue, and had
rolled over upon its rider. The other trooper had dismounted, and was
endeavouring to extricate his companion.
"Let us see if he is hurt," the sergeant cried.
"On! on!" shouted Ezra, whose passion was increased by the sight of the
thieves. "Not a foot back."
"He may have broken his neck," grumbled the sergeant, drawing his
revolver. "Have your pistol ready, sir. We shall be up with them in a
few minutes, and they may show fight."
They were up with them rather sooner than the policeman expected.
Farintosh, finding that speed was of no avail, and that the numbers of
his pursuers was now reduced to two, had recourse to strategy. There
was a sharp turn in the road a hundred yards ahead, and on reaching it
the three flung themselves off their horses and lay down behind cover.
As Ezra and the sergeant, the grey horse and the bay, came thundering
round the curve, there was a fierce splutter of pistol shots from
amongst the bushes, and the grey sank down upon its knees with a sobbing
moan, struck mortally in the head. Ezra sprang to his feet and rushed
at the ambuscade, while the sergeant, who had been grazed on the cheek
by the first volley, jumped from his horse and followed him. Burt and
Farintosh met them foot to foot with all the Saxon gallantry which
underlies the Saxon brutality. Burt stabbed at the sergeant and struck
him through the muscle of the neck. Farintosh fired at the policeman,
and was himself shot down by Ezra. Burt, seeing his companion fall,
sprang past his two assailants with a vicious side blow at the merchant,
and throwing himself upon the sergeant's horse, regardless of a bullet
from the latter's revolver, he galloped away, and was speedily out of
range. As to Williams, from the beginning of the skirmish he had lain
face downwards upon the ground, twisting his thin limbs about in an
agony of fear, and howling for mercy.
"He's gone!" Ezra said ruefully, gazing after the fugitive. "We have
nothing to go after him with."
"I'm well-nigh gone myself," said the policeman, mopping up the blood
from his stab, which was more painful than dangerous. "He has given me
a nasty prod."
"Never mind, my friend, you shall not be the loser. Get up, you little
viper!"--this to Williams, who was still writhing himself into the most
extraordinary attitudes.
"Oh, please, Mr. Girdlestone," he cried, clutching at Ezra's boots with
his long thin fingers, "it wasn't me that hit you. It was Mr. Burt.
I had nothing to do with robbing you either. That was Mr. Farintosh.
I wouldn't have gone with him, only I knew that he was a clergyman, so I
expected no harm. I am surprised at you, Mr. Farintosh, I really am.
I'm very glad that Mr. Girdlestone has shot you."
The ex-parson was sitting with his back against a gnarled stump, which
gave him some support. He had his hand to his chest, and as he breathed
a ghastly whistling sound came from the wound, and spirts of blood
rushed from his mouth. His glazed eyes were fixed upon the man who had
shot him, and a curious smile played about his thin lips.
"Come here, Mr. Girdlestone," he croaked; "come here."
Ezra strode over to him with a face as inexorable as fate.
"You've done for me," said Farintosh faintly. "It's a queer end for the
best man of his year at Trinity--master of arts, sir, and Jacksonian
prizeman. Not much worth now, is it? Who'd have thought then that I
should have died like a dog in this wilderness? What's the odds how a
man dies though. If I'd kept myself straight I should have gone off a
few years later in a feather bed as the Dean of St. Patrick's may be.
What will that matter? I've enjoyed myself"--the dying man's eyes
glistened at the thought of past dissipations. "If I had my time to do
over again," he continued, "I'd enjoy myself the same way. I'm not
penitent, sir. No death-bed snivelling about me, or short cuts into
heaven. That's not what I wanted to say though. I have a choking in
the throat, but I dare say you can hear what I am driving at. You met a
man riding towards Jacobsdal, did you not?"
Ezra nodded sullenly.
"You didn't speak to him? Too busy trying to catch yours truly, eh?
Will you have your stones back, for they are in the bag by my side, but
they'll not be very much good to you. The little spec won't come off
this time. You don't know what the news was that the man was bringing?"
A vague feeling of impending misfortune stole over Ezra. He shook his
head.
"His news was," said Farintosh, leaning up upon his hand, "that fresh
diamond fields _have_ been discovered at Jagersfontein, in the Orange
Free State. So Russia, or no Russia, stones will not rise. Ha! ha!
will not rise. Look at his face! It's whiter than mine. Ha! ha! ha!"
With the laugh upon his lips, a great flow of blood stopped the
clergyman's utterance, and he rolled slowly over upon his side, a dead
man.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A MOMENTOUS RESOLUTION.
During the months which Ezra Girdlestone had spent in Africa the affairs
of the firm in Fenchurch Street had been exceedingly prosperous.
Trade upon the coast had been brisker than usual, and three of the
company's ships had come in at short intervals with excellent cargoes.
Among these was the _Black Eagle_ which, to the astonishment of Captain
Hamilton Miggs and the disgust of his employer, had weathered a severe
gale in the Channel, and had arrived safe and sound once more. This run
of luck, supplemented by the business capacity of the old merchant and
the indomitable energy of young Dimsdale, made the concern look so
flourishing that the former felt more than ever convinced that if he
could but stave off the immediate danger things would soon right
themselves. Hence he read with delight the letters from Africa, in
which his son narrated the success of the conspiracy and the manner in
which the miners had been hoodwinked. The old man's figure grew
straighter and his step more firm as the conviction grew upon him that
the company would soon return once again to its former condition of
affluence.
It may be imagined, therefore, that when the rumours of a bona fide
diamond find in the Orange Free State came to his ears John Girdlestone
was much agitated and distressed. On the same day that he saw the
announcement in the papers he received a letter from his son announcing
the failure of their enterprise. After narrating the robbery, the
pursuit, the death of Farintosh, and the announcement of the new
discovery, it gave an account of his subsequent movements.
"There was no doubt about the truth of the scoundrel's words," he said,
"for when we went to the nearest farm to get some food and have the
sergeant's wound dressed we found that every one was talking about it.
There was a chap there who had just come from the State and knew all
about it. After hearing the details from him I saw that there was no
doubt of the genuineness of the thing.
"The police rode back to Jacobsdal with Williams, and I promised to come
after them; but when I came to think it over it didn't seem good enough.
The fact of my having so many diamonds would set every tongue wagging,
and, again, the sergeant had heard what Farintosh said to me, so it was
very possible that I might have the whole district about my ears. As it
was, I had the stones and all my money in the bag. I wrote back to the
hotel, therefore, telling the landlord to send on my traps to Cape Town
by mail, and promising to settle my bill with him when I received them.
I then bought a horse and came straight south. I shall take the first
steamer and be with you within a few days of your receiving this.
"As to our speculation, it is, of course, all up. Even when the Russian
business proves to be a hoax, the price of stones will remain very low
on account of these new fields. It is possible that we may sell our lot
at some small profit but it won't be the royal road to a fortune that
you prophesied, nor will it help the firm out of the rut into which you
have shoved it. My only regret in leaving Africa like this is that that
vermin Williams will have no one to prosecute him. My head is almost
well now."
This letter was a rude shock to the African merchant. Within a week of
the receipt of it his son Ezra, gloomy and travel-stained, walked into
the sanctum at Fenchurch Street and confirmed all the evil tidings by
word of mouth. The old man was of too tough a fibre to break down
completely, but his bony hands closed convulsively upon the arms of the
chair, and a cold perspiration broke out upon his wrinkled forehead as
he listened to such details as his son vouchsafed to afford him.
"You have your stones all safe, though?" he stammered out at last.
"They are in my box, at home," said Ezra, gloomy and morose, leaning
against the white marble mantelpiece. "The Lord knows what they are
worth! We'll be lucky if we clear as much as they cost and a margin for
my expenses and Langworthy's. A broken head is all that I have got from
your fine scheme."
"Who could foresee such a thing?" the old man said plaintively.
He might have added Major Clutterbuck's thousand pounds as another item
to be cleared, but he thought it as well to keep silent upon the point.
"Any fool could foresee the possibility of it," quoth Ezra brusquely.
"The fall in prices is sure to be permanent, then?" the old man asked.
"It will last for some years, any way," Ezra answered.
"The Jagersfontein gravel is very rich, and there seems to be plenty of
it."
"And within a few months we must repay both capital and interest.
We are ruined!" The old merchant spoke in a broken voice, and his head
sank upon his breast. "When that day comes," he continued, "the firm
which has been for thirty years above reproach, and a model to the whole
City, will be proclaimed as a bankrupt concern. Worse still, it will be
shown to have been kept afloat for years by means which will be deemed
fraudulent. I tell you, my dear son, that if any means could be devised
which would avert this--_any_ means--I should not hesitate to adopt
them. I am a frail old man, and I feel that the short balance of my
life would be a small thing for me to give in return for the assurance
that the work which I have built up should not be altogether thrown
away."
"Your life cannot affect the matter one way or the other unless it were
more heavily insured than it is," Ezra said callously, though somewhat
moved by his father's intensity of manner. "Perhaps there is some way
out of the wood yet," he added, in a more cheerful tone.
"It's so paying, so prosperous--that's what goes to my heart. If it had
ruined itself it would be easier to bear it, but it is sacrificed to
outside speculations--my wretched, wretched speculations. That is what
makes it so hard." He touched the bell, and Gilray answered the summons.
"Listen to this, Ezra. What was our turn over last month, Gilray?"
"Fifteen thousand pounds, sir," said the little clerk, bobbing up and
down like a buoy in a gale in his delight at seeing the junior partner
once again.
"And the expenses?"
"Nine thousand three hundred. Uncommon brown you look, Mr. Ezra, to be
sure, uncommon brown and well. I hopes as you enjoyed yourself in
Africa, sir, and was too much for them Hottenpots and Boars." With this
profound ethnological remark Mr. Gilray bobbed himself out of the room
and went back radiantly to his ink-stained desk.
"Look at that," the old man said, when the click of the outer door
showed that the clerk was out of ear-shot. "Over five thousand profit
in a month. Is it not terrible that such a business should go to ruin?
What a fortune it would have been for you!"
"By heavens, it must be saved!" cried Ezra, with meditative brows and
hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets. "There is that girl's money.
Could we not get the temporary use of it."
"Impossible!" his father answered with a sigh. "It is so tied up in the
will that she cannot sign it away herself until she comes of age.
There is no way of touching it except by her marriage--or by her death."
"Then we must have it by the only means open to us."
"And that is?"
"I must marry her."
"You will?"
"I shall. Here is my hand on it."
"Then we are saved," cried the old man, throwing up his tremulous hands.
"Girdlestone & Son will weather the storm yet."
"But Girdlestone becomes a sleeping partner," said Ezra. "It's for my
own sake I do it and not for yours," with which frank remark he drew his
hat down over his brows and set off for Eccleston Square.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A DANGEROUS PROMISE.
During Ezra Girdlestone's absence in Africa our heroine's life had been
even less eventful than of old. There was a consistency about the
merchant's establishment which was characteristic of the man. The house
itself was austere and gloomy, and every separate room, in spite of
profuse expenditure and gorgeous furniture, had the same air of
discomfort. The servants too, were, with one single exception, from the
hard-visaged housekeeper to the Calvinistic footman, a depressing and
melancholy race. The only departure from this general rule was Kate's
own maid, Rebecca Taylforth, a loudly-dressed, dark-eyed, coarse-voiced
young woman, who raised up her voice and wept when Ezra departed for
Africa. This damsel's presence was most disagreeable to Kate, and,
indeed, to John Girdlestone also, who only retained her on account of
his son's strong views upon the subject, and out of fear of an explosion
which might wreck all his plans.
The old merchant was Kate's only companion during this period, and their
conversation was usually limited to a conventional inquiry at breakfast
time as to each other's health. On his return from the City in the
evening Girdlestone was always in a moody humour, and would eat his
dinner hastily and in silence. After dinner he was in the habit of
reading methodically the various financial articles in the day's papers,
which would occupy him until bedtime. Occasionally his companion would
read these aloud to him, and such was the monotony of her uneventful
life that she found herself becoming insensibly interested in the
fluctuations of Grand Trunk scrip or Ohio and Delaware shares.
The papers once exhausted, a bell was rung to summon the domestics, and
when all were assembled the merchant, in a hard metallic voice, read
through the lesson for the day and the evening prayers. On grand
occasions he supplemented this by a short address, in the course of
which he would pelt his frightened audience with hard jagged texts until
he had reduced them to a fitting state of spiritual misery. No wonder
that, under the influence of such an existence, the roses began to fade
from his ward's cheeks, and her youthful heart to grow sad and heavy.
One daily tonic there was, however, which never deserted her.
Strictly as Girdlestone guarded her, and jealously as he fenced her off
from the outer world, he was unable to prevent this one little ray of
light penetrating her prison. With an eye to the future he had so
placed her that it seemed to him to be impossible that any sympathy
could reach her from the outside world. Visits and visitors were alike
forbidden to her. On no consideration was she to venture out alone.
In spite of all his precautions, however, love has many arts and wiles
which defy all opposition, and which can outplot the deepest of
plotters.
Eccleston Square was by no means in a direct line between Kensington and
the City, yet morning and evening, as sure as the clock pointed to
half-past nine and to quarter to six, Tom would stride through the
old-fashioned square and past the grim house, whose grimness was
softened to his eyes through its association with the bright dream of
his life. It was but the momentary glance of a sweet face at the upper
window and a single wave of a white hand, but it sent him on with a
fresh heart and courage, and it broke the dull monotony of her dreary
life.
Occasionally, as we have seen, he even managed to find his way into the
interior of this ogre's castle, in which his fair princess was immured.
John Girdlestone put an end to this by ordering that business messages
should never under any circumstances be conveyed to his private
residence. Nothing daunted, however, the lovers soon devised another
means of surmounting the barrier which divided them.
The centre of the square was taken up by a garden, rectangular and
uninviting, fenced round with high forbidding walls which shut out all
intruders and gave the place a resemblance to the exercise ground of a
prison. Within the rails were clumps of bushes, and here and there a
few despondent trees drooped their heads as though mourning over the
uncongenial site in which they had been planted. Among these trees and
bushes there were scattered seats, and the whole estate was at the
disposal of the inhabitants of Eccleston Square, and was dignified by
the name of the Eccleston Gardens. This was the only spot in which Kate
was trusted without the surveillance of a footman, and it was therefore
a favourite haunt of hers, where she would read or work for hours under
the shelter of the scanty foliage.
Hence it came about that one day, as Thomas Dimsdale was making his way
Cityward at a rather earlier hour than was customary with him, he missed
the usual apparition at the window. Looking round blankly in search of
some explanation of this absence, he perceived in the garden a pretty
white bonnet which glinted among the leaves, and on closer inspection a
pair of bright eyes, which surveyed him merrily from underneath it.
The gate was open, and in less time than it takes to tell it the
sacrilegious feet of the young man had invaded the sacred domains
devoted to the sole use and behoof of the Ecclestonians. It may be
imagined that he was somewhat late at the office that morning and on
many subsequent mornings, until the clerks began to think that their new
employer was losing the enthusiasm for business which had possessed him.
Tom frequently begged permission to inform Mr. Girdlestone of his
engagement, but Kate was inflexible upon that point. The fact is, that
she knew her guardian's character very much better than her lover did,
and remembering his frequent exhortations upon the subject of the vanity
and wickedness of such things, she feared the effects of his anger when
he learned the truth. In a year or so she would be of age and her own
mistress, but at present she was entirely in his power. Why should she
subject herself to the certainty of constant harshness and unkindness
which would await her? Had her guardian really fulfilled the functions
of a father towards her he would have a right to be informed, but as it
was she felt that she owed him no such duty. She therefore made up her
mind that he should know nothing of the matter; but the fates
unfortunately willed otherwise.
It chanced that one morning the interview between the lovers had lasted
rather longer than usual, and had been concluded by Kate's returning to
the house, while Tom remained sitting upon the garden seat lost in such
a reverie as affects men in his position. While thus pleasantly
employed, his thoughts were suddenly recalled to earth by the appearance
of a dark shadow on the gravel in front of him, and looking up he saw
the senior partner standing a short distance away and regarding him with
anything but an amiable expression upon his face. He had himself been
having a morning stroll in the garden, and had overseen the whole of the
recent interview without the preoccupied lovers being aware of his
presence.
"Are you coming to the office?" he asked sternly. "If so, we can go
together."
Tom rose and followed him out of the gardens without a word. He knew
from the other's expression that all was known to him, and in his heart
he was not sorry. His only fear was that the old man's anger might fall
upon his ward and this he determined to prevent. They walked side by
side as far as the station in complete silence, but on reaching
Fenchurch Street Girdlestone asked his young partner to step into his
private sanctum.
"Now, sir," he said, as he closed the door behind him "I think that I
have a right to inquire what the meaning may be of the scene of which I
was an involuntary witness this morning?"
"It means," Tom answered firmly but gently, "that I am engaged to Miss
Harston, and have been for some time."
"Oh, indeed," Girdlestone answered coldly, sitting down at his desk and
turning over the pile of letters.
"At my request," said Tom, "our engagement was kept from your knowledge.
I had reason to believe that you objected to early engagements, and I
feared that ours might be disagreeable to you." I trust that the
recording angel will not register a very black mark against our friend
for this, the one and only falsehood that ever passed his lips.
During the long silent walk the merchant had been revolving in his mind
what course he should pursue, and he had come to the conclusion that it
was more easy to guide this impetuous stream of youth than to attempt to
stem it. He did not realize the strength of the tie that bound these
two young people together, and imagined that with judgment and patience
it might yet be snapped. It was, therefore, with as good an imitation
of geniality as his angular visage would permit of that he answered his
companion's confession.
"You can hardly wonder at my being surprised," he said. "Such a thing
never entered my mind for a moment. You would have done better to have
confided in me before."
"I must ask your pardon for not having done so."
"As far as you are concerned," said John Girdlestone affably, "I
believe you to be hard-working and right-principled. Your conduct since
you have joined the firm has been everything which I could desire."
Tom bowed his acknowledgments, much pleased by this preamble.
"With regard to my ward," continued the senior partner, speaking very
slowly and evidently weighing his words, "I could not wish her to have a
better husband. In considering such a question I have, however, as you
may imagine, to consult above everything else the wishes of my dead
friend, Mr. John Harston, the father of the young lady to whom you say
that you are engaged. A trust has been reposed in me, and that trust
must, of course, be fulfilled to the letter."
"Certainly," said Tom, wondering in his own mind how he could ever have
brought himself for one moment to think evil of this kindly and
righteous old man.
"It was one of Mr. Harston's most clearly expressed wishes that no words
or even thoughts of such matters should be allowed to come in his
daughter's way until she had attained maturity, by which he meant the
age of one-and-twenty."
"But he could not foresee the circumstances," Tom pleaded. "I am sure
that a year or so will make no difference in her sentiments in this
matter."
"My duty is to carry out his instructions to the letter. I won't say,
however," continued Mr. Girdlestone, "that circumstances might not arise
which might induce me to shorten this probationary period. If my
further acquaintance with you confirms the high impression which I now
have of your commercial ability, that, of course, would have weight with
me; and, again, if I find Miss Harston's mind is made up upon the point,
that also would influence my judgment."
"And what are we to do in the mean time?" asked the junior partner
anxiously.
"In the mean time neither you nor your people must write to her, or
speak to her, or hold any communication with her whatever. If I find
you or them doing so, I shall be compelled in justice to Mr. Harston's
last request to send her to some establishment abroad where she shall be
entirely out of your way. My mind is irrevocably made up upon that
point. It is not a matter of personal inclination, but of conscience."
"And how long is this to last?" cried Tom.
"It will depend upon yourselves. If you prove yourself to be a man of
honour in this matter, I may be inclined to sanction your addresses.
In the mean time you must give me your word to let it rest, and neither
to attempt to speak to Miss Harston, nor to see her, nor to allow your
parents to communicate with her. The last condition may seem to you to
be hard, but, in my eyes, it is a very important one. Unless you can
bring yourself to promise all this, my duty will compel me to remove my
ward entirely out of your reach, a course which would be painful to her
and inconvenient to myself."
"But I must let her know of this arrangement. I must tell her that you
hold out hopes to us on condition that we keep apart for a time."
"It would be cruel not to allow you to do that," Girdlestone answered.
"You may send her _one_ letter, but remember there shall be no reply to
it."
"Thank you, sir; thank you!" Tom cried fervently. "I have something to
live for now. This separation will but make our hearts grow fonder.
What change can time make in either of us?"
"Quite so," said John Girdlestone, with a smile. "Remember there must
be no more walking through the square. You must remain absolutely apart
if you wish to gain my consent."
"It is hard, very, very hard. But I will promise to do it. What would
I not promise which would lead to our earlier union?"
"That is settled then. In the mean time, I should be obliged if you
would go down to the docks and look after the loading of the
transferable corrugated iron houses for New Calabar."
"All right, sir, and thank you for your kindness," said Tom, bowing
himself out. He hardly knew whether to be pleased or grieved over the
result of his interview; but, on the whole, satisfaction prevailed,
since at the worst it was but to wait for a year or so, while there
seemed to be some hopes of gaining the guardian's consent before that.
On the other hand, he had pledged himself to separate from Kate; but
that would, he reflected, only make their re-union the sweeter.
All the morning he was engaged in superintending the stowing of great
slabs of iron in the capacious hold of the _Maid of Athens_. When the
hour of luncheon arrived no thought of food was in the lad's head, but,
burying himself in the back parlour of a little Blackwall public-house,
he called for pen, ink, and paper, and proceeded to indite a letter to
his sweetheart. Never was so much love and comfort and advice and hope
compressed into the limits of four sheets of paper or contained in the
narrow boundary of a single envelope. Tom read it over after he had
finished, and felt that it feebly expressed his thoughts; but, then,
what lover ever yet did succeed in getting his thoughts satisfactorily
represented upon paper. Having posted this effusion, in which he had
carefully explained the conditions imposed upon him, Tom felt
considerably more light-hearted, and returned with renewed vigour to the
loading of the corrugated iron. He would hardly have felt so satisfied
had he seen John Girdlestone receiving that same letter from the hands
of the footman, and reading it afterwards in the privacy of his bedroom
with a sardonic smile upon his face. Still less contented would he have
been had he beheld the merchant tearing it into small fragments and
making a bonfire of it in his capacious grate. Next morning Kate looked
in vain out of the accustomed window, and was sore at heart when no tall
figure appeared in sight and no friendly hand waved a morning
salutation.
CHAPTER XXV.
A CHANGE OF FRONT.
This episode had occurred about a fortnight before Ezra's return from
Africa, and was duly retailed to him by his father.
"You need not be discouraged by that," he said. "I can always keep them
apart, and if he is absent and you are present--especially as she has no
idea of the cause of his absence--she will end by feeling slighted and
preferring you."
"I cannot understand how you ever came to let the matter go so far," his
son answered sullenly. "What does the young puppy want to come poaching
upon our preserves for? The girl belongs to us. She was given to you
to look after, and a nice job you seem to have made of it!"
"Never mind, my boy," replied the merchant. "I'll answer for keeping
them apart if you will only push the matter on your own account."
"I've said that I would do so, and I will," Ezra returned; and events
soon showed that he was as good as his word.
Before his African excursion the relations between young Girdlestone and
his father's ward had never been cordial. Kate's nature, however, was
so sweet and forgiving, that it was impossible for her to harbour any
animosity, and she greeted Ezra kindly on his return from his travels.
Within a few days she became conscious that a remarkable change had come
over him--a change, as it seemed to her, very much for the better.
In the past, weeks had frequently elapsed without his addressing her,
but now he went out of his way to make himself agreeable. Sometimes he
would sit for a whole evening describing to her all that he had seen in
Africa, and really interesting her by his account of men and things.
She, poor lass, hailed this new departure with delight, and did all in
her power to encourage his better nature and to show that she
appreciated the alteration in his bearing. At the same time, she was
rather puzzled in her mind, for an occasional flash of coarseness or
ferocity showed her that the real nature of the man was unaltered, and
that he was putting an unnatural restraint upon himself.
As the days went on, and no word or sign came from Tom, a great fear and
perplexity arose within the girl's mind. She had heard nothing of the
interview at Fenchurch Street, nor had she any clue at all which could
explain the mystery. Could it be that Tom had informed her guardian of
their engagement, and had received such a rebuff that he had abandoned
her in despair? That was surely impossible; yet why was it that he had
ceased to walk through the square? She knew that he was not ill,
because she heard her two companions talking of him in connection with
business. What could be the matter, then? Her little heart was torn by
a thousand conflicting doubts and fears.
In the mean time Ezra gave fresh manifestations of the improvement which
travel had wrought upon him. She had remarked one day that she was fond
of moss roses. On coming down to breakfast next morning she found a
beautiful moss rose upon her plate, and every morning afterwards a fresh
flower appeared in the same place. This pretty little piece of
courtesy, which she knew could only come from Ezra, surprised and
pleased her, for delicacy was the last quality for which she would have
given him credit.
On another occasion she had expressed a desire to read Thackeray's
works, the books in the library being for the most part of last century.
On entering her room that same evening she found, to her astonishment, a
handsomely bound edition of the novels in question standing on the
centre of her table. For a moment a wild, unreasoning hope awoke in her
that perhaps this was Tom's doing--that he had taken this means of
showing that she was still dear to him. She soon saw, however, that the
books could only have come from the same source as the flowers, and she
marvelled more than ever at this fresh proof of the good will of her
companion.
One day her guardian took the girl aside. "Your life must be rather
dull," he said. "I have taken a box for you to-night at the opera.
I do not care about such spectacles myself, but I have made arrangements
for your escort. A change will do you good."
Poor Kate was too sad at heart to be inclined for amusement.
She endeavoured, however, to look pleased and grateful.
"My good friend, Mrs. Wilkinson, is coming for you," the merchant said,
"and Ezra is going too. He has a great liking for music."
Kate could not help smiling at this last remark, as she thought how
very successfully the young man had concealed his taste during the years
that she had known him.
She was ready, however, at the appointed hour, and Mrs. Wilkinson, a
prim old gentlewoman, who had chaperoned Kate on the rare occasions when
she went out, having arrived, the three drove off together.
The opera happened to be "Faust," and the magnificent scenery and
dresses astonished Kate, who had hardly ever before been within the
walls of a theatre. She sat as if entranced, with a bright tinge of
colour upon her cheeks, which, with her sparkling eyes, made her look
surpassingly beautiful. So thought Ezra Girdlestone as he sat in the
recesses of the box and watched the varied expressions which flitted
across her mobile features. "She is well worth having, money or no," he
muttered to himself, and redoubled his attentions to her during the
evening.
An incident occurred between the acts that night which would have
pleased the old merchant had he witnessed it. Kate had been looking
down from the box, which was upon the third tier, at the sea of heads
beneath them. Suddenly she gave a start, and her face grew a trifle
paler.
"Isn't that Mr. Dimsdale down there?" she said to her companion.
"Where?" asked Ezra, craning his neck. "Oh yes, there he is, in the
second row of the stalls."
"Do you know who the young lady is that he is talking to?" Kate asked.
"I don't know," said Ezra. "I have seen him about with her a good deal
lately." The latter was a deliberate falsehood, but Ezra saw his chance
of prejudicing his rival, and took prompt advantage of it. "She is very
good-looking," he added presently, keeping his eyes upon his companion.
"Oh, indeed," said Kate, and turned with some common-place remark to
Mrs. Wilkinson. Her heart was sore nevertheless, and she derived little
pleasure from the remainder of the performance. As to Ezra, in spite of
his great love for music, he dozed peacefully in a corner of the box
during the whole of the last act. None of them were sorry when Faust
was duly consigned to the nether regions and Marguerite was apotheosed
upon a couple of wooden clouds. Ezra narrated the incident of the
recognition in the stalls to his father on his return, and the old
gentleman rubbed his hands over it.
"Most fortunate!" he exclaimed gleefully. "By working on that idea we
might produce great effects. Who was the girl, do you know?"
"Some poor relation, I believe, whom he trots out at times."
"We will find out her name and all about her. Capital, capital!" cried
John Girdlestone; and the two worthies departed to their rooms much
pleased at this new card which chance had put into their hands.
During the weary weeks while Tom Dimsdale, in accordance with his
promise, avoided Eccleston Square and everything which could remind Kate
of his existence, Ezra continued to leave no stone unturned in his
endeavours to steal his way into her affections. Poor Tom's sole
comfort was the recollection of that last passionate letter which he had
written in the Blackwall public-house, and which had, as he imagined,
enlightened her as to the reasons of his absence, and had prevented her
from feeling any uneasiness or surprise. Had he known the fate that had
befallen that epistle, he would hardly have been able to continue his
office duties so patiently or to wait with so much resignation for Mr.
Girdlestone's sanction to his engagement.
As the days passed and still brought no news, Kate's face grew paler and
her heart more weary and desponding. That the young man was well was
beyond dispute, since she had seen him with her own eyes at the opera.
What explanation could there be, then, for his conduct? Was it possible
that he had told Mr. Girdlestone of their engagement, and that her
guardian had found some means of dissuading him from continuing his
suit--found some appeal to his interest, perhaps, which was too strong
for his love. All that she knew of Tom's nature contradicted such a
supposition. Again, if Girdlestone had learned anything of their
engagement, surely he would have reproached her with it. His manner of
late had been kinder rather than harsher. On the other hand, could it
have chanced that Tom had met this lady of the opera, and that her
charms had proved too much for his constancy? When she thought of the
honest grey eyes which had looked down into hers at that last meeting in
the garden, she found it hard to imagine the possibility of such things,
and yet there was a fact which had to be explained. The more she
thought of it the more incomprehensible it grew, but still the pale face
grew paler and the sad heart more heavy.
Soon, however, her doubts and fears began to resolve themselves into
something more substantial than vague conjecture. The conversation of
the Girdlestones used to turn upon their business colleague, and always
in the same strain. There were stray remarks about his doings; hints
from the father and laughter from the son. "Not much work to be got out
of him now," the old man would say. "When a man's in love he's not over
fond of a ledger."
"A nice-looking girl, too," said Ezra, in answer to some such remark.
"I thought something would come of it. We saw them together at the
opera, didn't we, Kate?"
So they would gossip together, and every word a stab to the poor girl.
She strove to conceal her feelings, and, indeed, her anger and her pride
were stronger even than her grief, for she felt that she had been
cruelly used. One day she found Girdlestone alone and unbosomed herself
to him.
"Is it really true," she asked, with a quick pant and a catch of her
breath, "that Mr. Dimsdale is engaged to be married?"
"I believe so, my dear," her guardian answered. "It is commonly
reported so. When a young lady and gentleman correspond it is usually a
sign of something of the sort."
"Oh, they correspond?"
"Yes, they certainly correspond. Her letters are sent to him at the
office. I don't know that I altogether like that arrangement. It looks
as if he were deceiving his parents." All this was an unmitigated lie,
but Girdlestone had gone too far now to stick at trifles.
"Who is the lady?" asked Kate, with a calm set face but a quivering lip.
"A cousin of his. Miss Ossary is her name, I believe. I am not sorry,
for it may be a sign that he has sown all his wild oats. Do you know at
one time, Kate, I feared that he might take a fancy to you. He has a
specious way with him, and I felt my responsibility in the matter."
"You need not be afraid on that score," Kate said bitterly. "I think I
can gauge Mr. Dimsdale's specious manner at its proper value." With
this valiant speech she marched off, head in air, to her room, and there
wept as though her very heart would break.
John Girdlestone told his son of this scene as they walked home from
Fenchurch Street that same day. "We must look sharp over it," he said,
"or that young fool may get impatient and upset our plans."
"It's not such an easy matter," said his son gloomily. "I get along so
far, but no further. It's a more uphill job than I expected."
"Why, you had a bad enough name among women," the merchant said, with
something approaching to a sneer. "I have been grieved times out of
number by your looseness in that respect. I should have thought that
you might have made your experience of some use now."
"There are women and women," his son remarked. "A girl like this takes
as much managing as a skittish horse."
"Once get her into harness, and I warrant you'll keep her there quiet
enough."
"You bet," said Ezra, with a loud laugh. "But at present she has the
pull. Her mind is still running on that fellow."
"She spoke bitterly enough of him this morning."
"So she might, but she thinks of him none the less. If I could once
make her thoroughly realize that he had thrown her over I might catch
her on the hop. She'd marry for spite if she wouldn't for love."
"Just so; just so. Wait a bit. That can be managed, I think, if you
will leave it to me."
The old man brooded over the problem all day, for from week to week the
necessity for the money was becoming more pressing, and that money could
only be hoped for through the success of Ezra's wooing. No wonder that
every little detail which might sway the balance one way or the other
was anxiously pondered over by the head of the firm, and that even the
fluctuations in oil and ivory became secondary to this great object.
Next day, immediately after they had sat down to dinner, some letters
were handed in by the footman. "Forwarded on from the office, sir,"
said the flunkey. "The clerk says that Mr. Gilray was away and that he
did not like to open them."
"Just like him!" said Girdlestone, peevishly pushing back his plate of
soup. "I hate doing business out of hours." He tore the envelopes off
the various letters as he spoke. "What's this? Casks returned as per
invoice; that's all right. Note from Rudder & Saxe--that can be
answered to-morrow. Memorandum on the Custom duties at Sierra Leone.
Hallo! what have we here? 'My darling Tom'--who is this from--Yours
ever, Mary Ossary.' Why, it's one of young Dimsdale's love-letters which
has got mixed up with my business papers. Ha! ha! I must really
apologize to him for having opened it, but he must take his chance of
that, if he has his correspondence sent to the office. I take it for
granted that everything there is a business communication."
Kate's face grew very white as she listened. She ate little dinner that
day, poor child, and took the earliest opportunity of retiring to her
room.
"You did that uncommonly well, dad," said Ezra approvingly, after she
was gone. "It hit her hard, I could see that."
"I think it touched her pride. People should not have pride. We are
warned against it. Now, that same pride of hers will forbid her ever
thinking of that young man again."
"And you had the letter written?"
"I wrote it myself. I think, in such a case, any stratagem is
justifiable. Such large interests are at stake that we must adopt
strong measures. I quite agree with the old Churchmen that the end
occasionally justifies the means."
"Capital, dad; very good!" cried Ezra, chewing his toothpick. "I like
to hear you argue. It's quite refreshing."
"I act according to the lights which are vouchsafed me," said John
Girdlestone gravely; on which Ezra leaned back in his chair and laughed
heartily.
The very next morning the merchant spoke to Dimsdale on the matter, for
he had observed signs of impatience in the young man, and feared that
some sudden impulse might lead him to break his promise and so upset
everything.
"Take a seat. I should like to have a word with you," he said
graciously, when his junior partner appeared before him to consult with
him as to the duties of the day. Tom sat down with hope in his heart.
"It is only fair to you, Mr. Dimsdale," Girdlestone said, in a kindly
voice, "that I should express to you my appreciation of your honourable
conduct. You have kept your promise in regard to Miss Harston in the
fullest manner."
"Of course I kept my promise," said Tom bluntly. "I trust, however,
that you will soon see your way to withdrawing your prohibition. It has
been a hard trial to me."
"I have insisted upon it because it seemed to me to be my duty.
Every one takes his own view upon such points, and it has always been my
custom throughout life to take what some might think a stringent one.
It appears to me that I owe it to my deceased friend to prevent his
daughter, whom he has confided to me, from making any mistake.
As I said before, if you continue to show that you are worthy of her, I
may think more favourably of it. Exemplary as your conduct has been
since you joined us, I believe that I am not wrong in stating that you
were a little wild when you were at Edinburgh."
"I never did anything that I am ashamed of," said Tom.
"Very likely not," Girdlestone answered, with an irrepressible sneer.
"The question is, did you do anything that your father was ashamed of?"
"Certainly not," cried Tom hotly. "I was no milksop or psalm singer,
but there is nothing that I ever did there of which I should be ashamed
of my father knowing."
"Don't speak lightly of psalm singing. It is a good practice in its
way, and you would have been none the worse had you indulged in it
perhaps. However, that is neither here nor there. What I want you
clearly to understand is that my ultimate consent to your union depends
entirely upon your own conduct. Above all, I insist that you refrain
from unsettling the girl's mind at present."
"I have already promised. Hard as the struggle may be, I shall not
break my word. I have the consolation of knowing that if we were
separated for twenty years we should still be true to one another."
"That's very satisfactory," said the merchant grimly.
"Nevertheless it is a weary, weary time. If I could only write a
line--"
"Not a word," Girdlestone interrupted. "It is only because I trust you
that I keep her in London at all. If I thought there was a possibility
of your doing such a thing I should remove her at once."
"I shall do nothing without your permission," Tom said, taking up his
hat to go. He paused with his hand upon the door. "If ever it seems
good to me," he said, "I consider that by giving you due notice I
absolve myself from my promise."
"You would not do anything so foolish."
"Still I reserve myself the right of doing so," said Tom, and went off
with a heavy heart to his day's work.
"Everything is clear for you now," the old man said to his son
triumphantly. "There's no chance of interference, and the girl is in
the very humour to be won. I flatter myself that it has been managed
with tact. Remember that all is at stake, and go in and win."
"I shall go in," said Ezra "and I think the chances are that I shall
win too."
At which reassuring speech the old man laughed, and slapped his son
approvingly upon the shoulder.
CHAPTER XXVI.
BREAKING GROUND.
In spite of John Girdlestone's temporary satisfaction and the stoical
face which he presented to the world, it is probable that in the whole
of London there was no more unhappy and heart-weary man. The long fight
against impending misfortune had shattered his iron constitution and
weakened him both in body and in mind. It was remarked upon 'Change how
much he had aged of late, and moralists commented upon the vanity and
inefficacy of the wealth which could not smooth the wrinkles from the
great trader's haggard visage. He was surprised himself when he looked
in the glass at the change which had come over him. "Never mind," he
would say in his dogged heart a hundred times a day, "they can't beat
me. Do what they will, they can't beat me." This was the one thought
which sustained and consoled him. The preservation of his commercial
credit had become the aim and object of his life, to which there was
nothing that he was not prepared to sacrifice.
His cunningly devised speculation in diamonds had failed, but this
failure had been due to an accident which could neither have been
foreseen nor remedied. To carry out this scheme he had, as we have
seen, been obliged to borrow money, which had now to be repaid. This he
had managed to do, more or less completely, by the sale of the stones
which Ezra had brought home, supplemented by the recent profits of the
firm. There was still the original deficit to be faced, and John
Girdlestone knew that though a settlement might be postponed from month
to month, still the day must come, and come soon, when his debts must be
met, or his inability to meet them become apparent to the whole world.
Should Ezra be successful in his wooing and his ward's forty thousand
pounds be thrown into the scale, the firm would shake itself clear from
the load which oppressed it. Supposing, however, that Kate were to
refuse his son. What was to occur then? The will was so worded that
there appeared to be no other way of obtaining the money. A very
vulpine look would come over the old man's face as he brooded over that
problem.
The strangest of all the phenomena, however, presented by John
Girdlestone at this period of his life was his own entire conviction of
the righteousness of his actions. When every night and morning he sank
upon his knees with his household and prayed for the success of the
firm's undertakings, no qualms of conscience ever troubled him as to
their intrinsic morality. On Sundays the grey head of the merchant in
the first pew was as constant an object as was the pew itself, yet in
that head no thought ever rose of the inconsistency of his religion and
of his practice. For fifty years he had been persuading himself that he
was a righteous man, and the conviction was now so firmly impressed upon
his very soul that nothing could ever shake it. Ezra was wrong when he
set this down as deliberate hypocrisy. Blind strength of will and
self-conceit were at the bottom of his actions, but he would have been
astonished and indignant had he been accused of simulating piety or of
using it as a tool. To him the firm of Girdlestone was the very
representation of religion in the commercial world, and as such must be
upheld by every conceivable means.
To his son this state of mind was unintelligible, and he simply gave his
father credit for being a consummate and accomplished hypocrite, who
found a mantle of piety a very convenient one under which to conceal his
real character. He had himself inherited the old man's dogged
pertinacity and commercial instincts, and was by nature unscrupulous and
impatient of any obstacle placed in his way. He was now keenly alive to
the fact that the existence of the firm depended upon the success of his
suit, and he knew also how lucrative a concern the African business
would prove were it set upon its legs again. He had determined in case
he succeeded to put his father aside as a sleeping partner and to take
the reins of management entirely into his own hands. His practical mind
had already devised countless ways in which the profits might be
increased. The first step of all, then, was the gaining possession of
the forty thousand pounds, and to that he devoted himself heart and
soul. When two such men work together for one end, it is seldom that
they fail to achieve it.
It would be a mistake to suppose that Ezra felt himself in any degree in
love at this time. He recognized his companion's sweetness and
gentleness, but these were not qualities which appealed to his
admiration. Kate's amiable, quiet ways seemed insipid to a man who was
used to female society of a very different order.
"She has no go or snap about her," he would complain to his father.
"She's not like Polly Lucas at the Pavilion, or Minnie Walker."
"God forbid!" ejaculated the merchant. "That sort of thing is bad
enough out of doors, but worst of all in your own house."
"It makes courting a good deal easier," Ezra answered.
"If a girl will answer up and give you an opening now and then, it makes
all the difference."
"You can't write poetry, can you?"
"Not much," Ezra said with a grin.
"That's a pity. I believe it goes a long way with women. You might get
some one to write some, and let her think it is yours. Or you could
learn a little off and repeat it."
"Yes, I might do that. I'm going to buy a collar for that beast of a
dog of hers. All the time that I was talking to her yesterday she was
so taken up with it that I don't believe she heard half that I said.
My fingers itched to catch it up and chuck it through the window."
"Don't forget yourself, my boy, don't forget yourself!" cried the
merchant. "A single false step might ruin every thing."
"Never fear," Ezra said confidently, and went off upon the dog-collar
mission. While he was in the shop he bought a dog-whip as well, which
he locked up in his drawers to use as the occasion served.
During all this time Kate had been entirely unconscious of her
companion's intentions and designs. She had been associated with Ezra
for so many years, and had met such undeviated want of courtesy from
him, that the idea of his presenting himself as a suitor never came into
her head. She hailed his charge of demeanour, therefore, as being the
result of his larger experience of the world, and often wondered how it
was that he had profited so much by his short stay at the Cape. In the
cheerless house it was pleasant to have at least one companion who
seemed to have kindly feelings towards her. She was only too glad,
therefore, to encourage his advances, and to thank him with sweet smiles
and eloquent eyes for what appeared to her to be his disinterested
kindness.
After a while, however, Ezra's attentions became so marked that it was
impossible for her to misunderstand them any longer. Not only did he
neglect his usual work in order to hang round her from morning to night,
but he paid her many clumsy compliments and gave other similar
indications of the state of his affections. As soon as this astounding
fact had been fairly realized by the girl, she at once changed her
manner and became formal and distant. Ezra, nothing daunted, redoubled
his tender words and glances, and once would have kissed her hand had
she not rapidly withdrawn it. On this Kate shut herself up in her room,
and rarely came out save when the other was away in the City. She was
determined that there should be no possibility of any misunderstanding
as to her feelings in the matter.
John Girdlestone had been watching these little skirmishes closely and
with keen interest. When Kate took to immuring herself in her room he
felt that it was time for him to interfere.
"You must go about a little more, and have more fresh air," he said to
her one day, when they were alone after breakfast. "You will lose your
roses if you don't."
"I am sure I don't care whether I lose them or not," answered his ward
listlessly.
"You may not, but there are others who do," remarked the merchant.
"I believe it would break Ezra's heart."
Kate flushed up at this sudden turn of the conversation. "I don't see
what reason your son has to care about it," she said.
"Care about it! Are you so blind that you don't see that he loves the
very ground you walk on. He has grown quite pale and ill these last few
days because he has not seen you, and he imagines that he may have
offended you."
"For goodness' sake!" cried Kate earnestly, "persuade him to think of
some one else. It will only be painful both to him and to me if he
keeps on this way. It cannot possibly lead to anything."
"And why not? Why should--"
"Oh, don't let us argue about it," she cried passionately. "The very
idea is horrible. It won't bear talking about."
"But why, my dear, why? You are really too impulsive. Ezra has his
faults, but what man has not? He has been a little wild in his youth,
but he is settling down now into an excellent man of business. I assure
you that, young as he is, there are few names more respected on
'Change. The way in which he managed the business of the firm in Africa
was wonderful. He is already a rich man, and will be richer before he
dies. I cannot see any cause for this deep-rooted objection of yours.
As to looks he is, you must confess, as fine a young fellow as there is
in London."
"I wish you not to speak of it or think of it again," said Kate.
"My mind is entirely made up when I say that I shall never marry any
one--him least of all."
"You will think better of it, I am sure," her guardian said, patting her
chestnut hair kindly as he stood over her. "Since your poor father
handed you over to me I have guarded you and cared for you to the best
of my ability. Many a sleepless night I have spent thinking of your
future and endeavouring to plan it out so as to secure your happiness.
I should not be likely to give you bad advice now, or urge you to take a
step which would make you unhappy. Have you anything to complain of in
my treatment of you?"
"You have been always very just," Kate said with a sob.
"And this is how you repay me! You are going to break my son's heart,
and through his mine. He is my only boy, and if anything went wrong
with him I tell you that it would bring my grey hairs in sorrow to the
grave. You have it in your power to do this, or, on the other hand, you
may make my old age a happy one by the knowledge that the lad is mated
with a good woman, and has attained the object on which his whole mind
and heart are set."
"Oh, I can't, I can't. Do let the matter drop."
"Think it over," the old man said. "Look at it from every point of
view. Remember that the love of an honest man is not to be lightly
spurned. I am naturally anxious about it, for my future happiness, as
well as his, depends upon your decision."
John Girdlestone was fairly satisfied with this interview. It seemed to
him that his ward was rather less decided in her refusal at the end of
it, and that his words had had some effect upon her, which might
possibly increase with reflection.
"Give her a little time now," was his advice to his son. "I think she
will come round, but she needs managing."
"If I could get the money without taking her it would be better for me,"
Ezra said with an oath.
"And better for her too," remarked John Girdlestone grimly.
CHAPTER XXVII.
MRS. SCULLY OF MORRISON'S.
One day Major Tobias Clutterbuck was sitting at the window of his little
room smoking his cigarette and sipping his glass of wine, as was his
custom if times were reasonably good. While thus agreeably employed he
chanced to look across the road and perceived a little fringe of dark
hair, and a still darker eye, which surveyed him round the border of one
of the curtains which flanked a window opposite. The gallant major was
much interested in this apparition, and rose to make a closer inspection
of it, but, alas! before he could focus it with his eye-glass it was
gone! He bent his gaze resolutely in that direction for a long time,
and smoked at least half a dozen cigarettes, besides finishing the
bottle of wine; but although he thought he saw certain flittings and
whiskings of garments in the dark background of the opposite room, he
could not make out anything more definite.
Next day the soldier was on the look-out at the same hour, and was
rewarded by the appearance of two eyes, very mischievous and dangerous
ones too, which were set in a buxom and by no means unprepossessing
face. The lady who owned these charms looked very deliberately up the
street, and very deliberately down the street, after which she bethought
herself to look across the street, and started to perceive a stout,
middle-aged gentleman, with a fiery face, who was looking at her with an
expression of intense admiration. So much alarmed was she that she
vanished behind the curtains and the major feared that he would see her
no more. Fortunately, however, it became evident that the lady's alarm
was not very overpowering, for within five minutes she was back at the
window, where her eyes again fell upon the beaming face and jaunty
figure of the major, who had posed himself in a striking attitude, which
was somewhat marred by the fact that he was still enveloped in his
purple dressing-gown. This time her eyes lingered a little longer than
before and the suspicion of a smile appeared upon her features. On this
the major smiled and bowed, and she smiled also, showing a pretty little
line of white teeth as she did so. What the veteran's next move might
have been no one can tell, for the lady solved the problem by
disappearing, and this time permanently. He was very well satisfied,
however, and chuckled much to himself while arraying himself in his long
frock coat and immaculate collar before setting out for the club.
He had been a sly old dog in his day, and had followed Venus almost as
much as he had Mars during his chequered career.
All day the recollection of this little episode haunted him. So much
pre-occupied was he at the club that he actually played out the
thirteenth trump upon his partner's long suit and so sacrificed the
game--being the first and only time that he was ever known to throw away
a point. He told Von Baumser all about it when he came back.
"She's a demned foine-looking woman, whoever she may be," he remarked,
at they sat together before turning in. "Be George! she's the foinest
woman I've seen for a long time."
"She's a window," said the German.
"A what?"
"A window--the window of an engineer."
"Is it a widow you mane? What d'ye know about her? What's her name,
and where does she come from?"
"I have heard from the slavey that a win--a widow lives over dere in
those rooms. She boards mit Madame Morrison, and that window belongs to
her privacy zimmer--dat is, chamber. As to her name, I have not heard
it, or else I disremember it."
"Ged!" said the major, "she'd eyes that looked right through ye, and a
figure like Juno."
"She's vierzig if she's a day--dat is, forty," Von Baumser remarked.
"Well, if she is, me boy, a woman of forty is just in the proime o'
loife. If you'd seen her at the window, she would have taken ye by
storm. She stands like this, and she looks up like this, and then down
in this way." The major pursed up his warlike features into what he
imagined to be an innocent and captivating expression. Then she looks
across and sees me, and down go the lids of her eyes, like the shutting
off of a bull's-eye lantern. Then she blushed and stole just one more
glance at me round the corner of the curtain. She had two peeps, the
divil a doubt of it."
"Dat is very good," the German said encouragingly.
"Ah, me boy, twinty years ago, when I was forty inches round the chest
and thirty-three round the waist, I was worth looking at twice.
Bedad, when a man gets ould and lonely he sees what a fool he was not to
make better use of his time when he'd the chance."
"Mein Gott!" cried Von Baumser. "You don't mean to say that you would
marry suppose you had the chance?"
"I don't know," the major answered reflectively.
"The vomens is not to be trusted," the German said sadly. "I knew a
voman in my own country which was the daughter of a man dat kept a
hotel--and she and I was promised to be married to each others.
Karl Hagelstein, he was to be vat you call my best man. A very handsome
man was Karl, and I sent him often mit little presents of one thing or
another to my girl, for there were reasons why I could not go myself.
He was nicer than me because my hair was red, and pretty soon she began
to like him, and he liked her too. So the day before the vedding she
went down the Rhine to Frankfort by the boat, and he went down by train,
and there they met and was married the one to the other."
"And what did you do?" the major asked with interest.
"Ah, dat was the most worst thing of all, for I followed them mit a
friend of mine, and when we caught them I did not let her know, but I
called him out of his hotel, and I told him that he must fight me.
Dat vos a mistake. I should have done him an insult, and then he vould
have had to ask me to fight, and I could have chosen my own veapon.
As it was he chose swords, for he knew veil that I knew nothing of them,
and he had been the best fencer in the whole of his University. Then we
met in the morning, and before I had time to do anything he ran me
through the left lung. I have shown you the mark of it. After dat I
vas in bed for two month and more, and it still hurts me ven de veather
is cold. That is vat they call satisfaction," Baumser added, pulling
his long red beard reflectively. "To me it has ever seemed the most
dissatisfactory thing that could be imagined."
"I don't wonder you're afraid of the women after that," said the major,
laughing. "There are plenty of good women in the world, though, if you
have the luck to come across them. D'ye know a young fellow called
Dimsdale--? Ah, you wouldn't, but I've met him lately at the club.
He's got a girl who's the adopted daughter of that same ould Girdlestone
that we talk about. I saw the two of them togither one day as happy as
a pair of young love birds. Sure, you've only got to look at her face
to see that she's as good as gold. I'll bet that that woman over the
strate there is another of the right sort."
"Dat voman is alvays in your head," the German said, with a smile.
"You shall certainly dream about her to-night. I remember a voman in
Germany--" And so these two Bohemians rambled on into the small hours,
discoursing upon their past experiences and regaling each other with
many reminiscences, some of which, perhaps, are just as well omitted and
allowed to sink into oblivion. When the major finally retired for the
night, his last thought was of the lady at the window and of the means
by which he might contrive to learn something of her.
These proved to be more easy than he anticipated, for next morning, on
cross-examining the little servant girl from whom Von Baumser had
derived his information, the major found out all that he desired to
know. According to this authority, the lady was a widow of the name of
Scully, the relict of a deceased engineer, and had been staying some
little time at Morrison's, which was the rival establishment to that in
which the major and Von Baumser resided.
Armed with this information, the major pondered for some time before
deciding upon his course of action. He saw no possible means by which
he could gain an introduction to his charming neighbour unless he had
recourse to some daring strategem. "Audace et toujours audace" had
always been the soldier's motto. He rose from his chair, discarded his
purple gown, and arrayed himself in his best attire. Never had he paid
such attention to his toilet. His face was clean shaven and shining,
his sparse hairs were laid out to the best advantage, his collar
spotless, his frock coat oppressively respectable, and his _tout
ensemble_ irreproachable. "Be George!" he said to himself, as he
surveyed himself in the small lodging-house glass, "I'd look as young as
Baumser if I had some more hair on me head. Bad cess to the helmets and
shakoes that wore it all off."
When his toilet was fully completed and rounded off by the addition of a
pair of light gloves and an ebony stick with a silver head, the veteran
strode forth with a bold front, but with considerable trepidation at his
heart; for when is a man so seasoned as to have no misgivings when he
makes the first advances to a woman who really attracts him? Whatever
the major's inward feelings may have been, however, he successfully
concealed them as he rang the bell of the rival lodging-house and
inquired of the servant whether Mrs. Scully was at home.
"Yes, sir, she is," said the slavey, with a frightened bob, which was a
tribute to the major's martial mien and gorgeous attire.
"Would you tell her that I should like to see her," said the major
boldly. "I shan't detain her a moment. Here is my card--Major Tobias
Clutterbuck, late of the 119th Light Infantry."
The servant disappeared with the card, and presently returned with a
request that he would step up. The old soldier stumped his way upstairs
with the firm footfall of one who has taken a thing in hand and means to
carry it through at all hazard. As he ascended, it seemed to him that
he heard the sound of feminine laughter in the distance. If so, it
could hardly have come from the lady whom he was in quest of, for he was
shown into a large and well-furnished room, where she sat looking demure
and grave enough, as did another young lady who was crocheting on the
ottoman beside her.
The major made his most courtly bow, though he felt very much as the
Spaniards may be supposed to have done when they saw their ships blazing
behind them. "I trust you will excuse this intrusion on my part," he
began. "I happened to hear that a lady of the name of Scully was
stopping here."
"My name is Scully, sir," said the lady, whose dark eyes had allured the
major to this feat of daring.
"Then perhaps, madam," the veteran said with another bow, "you will
allow me to ask you whether you are any relation to Major-gineral
Scully, of the Indian Sappers?"
"Pray take a seat, Major--Major Clutterbuck," said Mrs. Scully,
referring to his card, which she still held in her very well-formed
little hand. "Major-general Scully, did you say? Dear me! I know that
one of my husband's relations went into the army, but we never heard
what became of him. A major-general, is he? Whoever would have thought
it!"
"As dashing a souldier, madam," said the major, warming into eloquence,
"as ever hewed a way through the ranks of the enemy, or stormed the
snow-clad passes of the Himalayas."
"Fancy!" ejaculated the young lady with the crochet needle.
"Many a time," continued the soldier, "he and I after some hard-fought
battle have slept togither upon the blood-stained ground wrapped in the
same martial cloak."
"Fancy!" cried both ladies in chorus; and they could not have selected a
more appropriate interjection.
"And when at last he died," the major went on with emotion, "cut in two
with a tulwar in a skirmish with hill tribes, he turned to me--"
"After being cut in two?" interrupted the younger lady.
"He turned to me," said the major inflexibly, "and putting his hand in
mine, he said, with his last breath, 'Toby'--that was what he always
called me--'Toby,' he said, 'I have a--' Your husband was his brother,
I think you said, ma'am?"
"No, it was Mr. Scully's uncle who went into the army."
"Ah, quite so. 'I have a nephew in England,' he said, 'who is very dear
to me. He is married to a charming woman. Search out the young couple,
Toby. Guard over them. Protict them!' Those were his last words,
madam. Next moment his sowl had fled. When I heard your name casually
mintioned I could not feel satisfied in me mind until I had come across
and ascertained if you were the lady in question."
Now, this narrative not only surprised the widow, which was not
unnatural, seeing that it was entirely an invention of the old
soldier's, but it appealed to her weakest point. The father of the
deceased Scully had been of plebeian origin, so that the discovery in
the family of a real major-general--albeit he was dead--was a famous
windfall, for the widow had social ambitions which hitherto she had
never been able to gratify. Hence she smiled sweetly at the veteran in
a way which stimulated him to further flights of mendacity.
"Sure he and I were like brothers," he said. "He was a man that any one
might well be proud to know. Commander-in-chief said to me once,
'Clutterbuck,' says he, 'I don't know what we'd do if we had a European
war. I've no one I can rely on,' says he. 'There's Scully,' says I.
'Right,' says he, 'Scully would be our man.' He was terribly cut up when
this occurred. 'Here's a blow to the British army!' he remarked, as he
looked down at him where he lay with a bullet through his head--he did,
madam, be Jove!"
"But, major, I understood you to say that he was cut in two?"
"So he was. Cut in two, and shot and mortally wounded in a dozen places
besides. Ah, if he could have foreseen that I should have met you he
would have died happy."
"It's strange he never let us know of his existence when he was alive,"
the widow remarked.
"Pride, madam, pride! 'Until I reach the top of the tree, Toby,' he used
to say, 'I shall niver reveal myself to me brother.'"
"Nephew," interpolated the widow.
"Quite so--' I shall niver reveal myself to me nephew.' He said those
very words to me only a few minutes before the fatal shell struck him."
"A shell, major? You mean a bullet."
"A shell, madam, a shell," said the major with decision.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Scully, with a somewhat bewildered
expression. "How very sad it all is. We must thank you very much,
Major Bottletop--"
"Clutterbuck," said the Major.
"I beg pardon, Major Clutterbuck. It was very kind of you to call upon
us in this friendly way and to give us these details. Of course, when a
relative dies, even though you don't know much about him, still it is
interesting to have a clear account of how it all happened. Just fancy,
Clara," continued the widow, drawing her handkerchief from her reticule
and mopping one of her eyes with it. "Just fancy the poor fellow being
cut in two with a bullet far away in India and him just speaking about
Jack and me a few minutes before. I am sure we must thank Major
Bottlenose--"
"Clutterbuck, madam," cried the major with some indignation.
"I really beg pardon. We must thank him, Clara, for having told us
about it and for having called."
"Do not thank me, me dear Mrs. Scully," said the major, clearing his
throat and waving his stubby hand deprecatingly. "I have already had me
reward in having the pleasure and honour of making your acquaintance and
of coming nearer to those charums which I had alriddy admired from a
distance."
"Oh, auntie, listen to that!" cried Clara, and both ladies giggled.
"Not forgetting yours, Miss-Miss--"
"Miss Timms," said Mrs. Scully. "My brother's daughter."
"Not forgetting your charums, Miss Timms," continued the major, with a
bow and a flourish. "To a lonely man like meself, the very sight of a
lady is like dew to a plant. I feel stringthened, madam, vitalized,
invigorated." The major puffed out his chest and looked apoplectically
tender over his high white collar.
"The chief object of me visit," the old soldier said after a pause,
"was to learn whether I could be of any assistance to you in any way.
Afther your sad bereavement, of which I have heard, it may be that even
a comparative stranger may be of service in business matters."
"I'm sure it's very kind of you, major," the widow answered.
"Since poor Jack died everything has been in disorder. If it wouldn't
trouble you, I should very much like your advice on some future
occasion. I'll ask your opinion when I have cleared up things a little
myself. As to these lawyers, they think of their own interests, not of
yours."
"Quite so," said the major sympathetically.
"There's the fifteen hundred of poor Jack's insurance. That's not laid
out yet."
"Fifteen hundred!" said the major. "That's seventy-five pounds a year
at five per cint."
"I can get better interest than that," said the widow gaily. "I've got
two thousand laid out at seven per cent.--haven't I, Clara?"
"Safe, too," said the girl.
"The deuce you have!" thought the major.
"So, when we are making arrangements, I'll ask your assistance and
advice, Major Tanglebobs. I know that we poor women are very bad at
business."
"I shall look forward to the day," said the major gallantly, rising and
taking up his hat. He was very well satisfied with his little ruse and
his success in breaking the ice.
"Be George!" he remarked to Von Baumser that evening, "she's got money
as well as her looks. It's a lucky man that gits her."
"I vill bet dat you ask her for to marry you," Von Baumser said with a
smile.
"I'll bet that she refuses me if I do," answered the major despondently,
in spite of which he retired that night feeling considerably more elated
than on the preceding evening.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BACK IN BOHEMIA.
Fortune had been smiling upon the Bohemians of late. Ever since the
major's successful visit to Fenchurch Street he had been able to live in
a state of luxury to which he had long been unaccustomed. His uncle,
the earl, too, had condescended to think of his humble relative, and had
made a small provision for him, which, with his other resources, removed
all anxiety as to the future. Von Baumser had his fair share in this
sudden accession of prosperity. The German had resumed his situation as
commercial clerk and foreign correspondent to Eckermann & Co., so that
his circumstances had also improved. The pair had even had some
conversation as to the expediency of migrating into larger and more
expensive lodgings, but the major's increasing intimacy with his fair
neighbour opposite stood in the way of a change. In any case, they were
loth to leave their fourth floor, and to have the trouble of moving
their effects.
These same effects were the pride of Major Clutterbuck's heart.
Small as their sanctum was, it was a very museum of curious objects
brought from every part of the world, most of them of little intrinsic
value, but all possessing a charm of association to their owner.
They were his trophies of travel, battle, and the chase. From the bison
rug and tiger skin upon the floor to the great Sumatran bat which hung
head downwards, as in the days of its earthly existence, from the
ceiling, there was not an object but had its own special history.
In one corner was an Afghan matchlock, and a bundle of spears from the
southern seas; in another a carved Indian paddle, a Kaffir assegai, and
an American blowpipe, with its little sheaf of poisoned arrows.
Here was a hookah, richly mounted, and with all due accessories, just as
it was presented to the major twenty years before by a Mahommedan
chieftain, and there was a high Mexican saddle on which he had ridden
through the land of the Aztecs. There was not a square foot of the
walls which was not adorned by knives, javelins, Malay kreeses, Chinese
opium pipes, and such other trifles as old travellers gather round them.
By the side of the fire rested the campaigner's straight regulation
sword in its dim sheath--all the dimmer because the companions
occasionally used it as a poker when that instrument happened to be
missing.
"It's not the value of thim," the major remarked, glancing round the
apartment, "but, bedad, there's not one of the lot that has not got a
story tacked on to it. Look at that bear's head now, that's grinning at
ye from over the door. That's a Thibet bear, not much bigger than a
Newfoundland dog, but as fierce as a grizzly. That's the very one that
clawed Charley Travers, of the 49th. Ged, he'd have been done for if I
hadn't got me Westley Richards to bear on him. 'Duck man I duck!'
I cried, for they were so mixed that I couldn't tell one from the other.
He put his head down, and I caught the brute right between the eyes. Ye
can see the track of the bullet on the bone."
The major paused, and the pair smoked meditatively, for Baumser had
returned from the City, and the twilight was falling and everything
conduced to tobacco and reverie.
"See that necklace of cowrie shells hanging beside it," continued the
veteran, waving his cigarette in that direction; "that came from the
neck of a Hottentot woman--a black Vanus, be Jove! We were trekking up
country before the second Kaffir war. Made an appintment--could not
go--orderly duty--so sent a trusty man to tell her. He was found next
day with twenty assegais in his body. She was a decoy duck, bedad, and
the whole thing a plant."
"Mein Gott!" Von Baumser ejaculated. "What a life you have led! I have
lived with you now many months and heard you tell many tales, but ever
there are fresh ones."
"Yes, a strange life," answered the major, stretching out his gaitered
legs and gazing up at the ceiling. I niver thought to be stranded in me
ould age. If I hadn't commuted I'd have had a fair pinsion, but I drew
me money in a lump sum, and went to Monte Carlo to break the bank.
Instead o' that the bank broke me, and yet I believe me system was
correct enough, and I must have won if I had had more capital."
"There is many says dat," grunted Von Baumser doubtfully.
"I believe it for all that," the major continued. "Why, man, I was
always the luckiest chap at cards. I depinded on me skill principally,
but still I had luck as well. I remimber once being becalmed for a
fortnight in the Bay of Biscay in a small transport. Skipper and I
tried to kill time by playing nap, and we had the stakes low enough at
first, but they soon grew higher, for he kept trying to cover his
losses. Before the ind of the two weeks I cleared out of him nearly all
he had in the world. 'Look here, Clutterbuck,' he said at last, looking
mighty white about the gills, 'this ship that we are in is more than
half mine. I am chief owner. I'll stake me share of the ship on the
next game against all that I have lost.' 'Done!' said I, and shuffled,
cut, and dealt. He went four on three highest trumps, and an ace, and I
held four small trumps. 'It's a bad job for my creditors,' he said, as
he threw his hand down. Ged! I started on that vyage a poor captain,
and I came into port very fairly well off, and sailing in me own ship,
too! What d'ye think of that?"
"Wunderbar!" ejaculated the German. "And the captain?"
"Brandy, and delirium tremens," the major said, between the puffs of his
cigarette. "Jumped overboard off Finisterre, on the homeward vyage.
Shocking thing, gamblin'--when you lose."
"Ach Gott! And those two knives upon the wall, the straight one and the
one with the crook; is there a history about them?"
"An incident," the major answered languidly. "Curious, but true. Saw
it meself. In the Afghan war I was convoying supplies through the
passes, when we were set upon by Afreedees, hillmen, and robbers. I had
fifty men of the 27th Native Infantry under me, with a sergeant.
Among the Afreedees was a thumping big chief, who stood among the rocks
with that very knife in his hand, the long one, shouting insults at our
fellows. Our sergeant was a smart little nigger, and this cheek set his
blood up. Be jabers! he chucked his gun down, pulled out that curved
dagger--a Ghoorkha knife it is--and made for the big hillman.
Both sides stopped firing to see the two chaps fight. As our fellow
came scrambling up over the rocks, the chief ran at him and thrust with
all his stringth. Be jabers! I thought I saw the pint of the blade
come out through the sergeant's back. He managed to twist round though,
so as to dodge it. At the same time he hit up from below, and the
hillman sprang into the air, looking for all the world like one o' those
open sheep you see outside a butcher's shop. He was ripped up from
stomach to throat. The sight knocked all the fight out of the other
spalpeens, and they took to their heels as hard as they could run.
I took the dead man's knife away, and the sergeant sold me his for a few
rupees, so there they are. Not much to make a story of, but it was
intheresting to see. I'd have bet five to three on the chief."
"Bad discipline, very bad," Baumser remarked. "To break the ranks and
run mit knives would make my old Unter-offizier Kritzer very mad
indeed." The German had served his time in the Prussian Army, and was
still mindful of his training.
"Your stiff-backed Pickelhaubes would have had a poor chance in the
passes," answered the major. "It was ivery man for himself there.
You might lie, or stand, or do what you liked as long as you didn't run.
Discipline goes to pieces in a war of that sort."
"Dat is what you call gorilla warfare," said Von Baumser, with a proud
consciousness of having mastered an English idiom. "For all dat,
discipline is a very fine thing--very good indeed. I vell remember in
the great krieg--the war with Austria--we had made a mine and were about
to fire it. A sentry had been placed just over this, and after the
match was lit it was forgotten to withdraw the man. He knew well that
the powder beneath him would presently him into the air lift, but since
he had not been dismissed in right form he remained until the ausbruch
had exploded. He was never seen no more, and, indeed, dat he had ever
been dere might well have been forgotten, had it not been dat his
nadelgewehr was dere found. Dat was a proper soldier, I think, to be
placed in command had he lived."
"To be placed in a lunatic asylum if he lived," said the Irishman
testily. "Hullo, what's this?"
The "this" was the appearance of the boarding-house slavey with a very
neat pink envelope upon a tray, addressed, in the most elegant of female
hands, to "Major Tobias Clutterbuck, late of Her Majesty's Hundred and
Nineteenth."
"Ah!" cried Von Baumser, laughing in his red beard, "it is from a woman.
You are what the English call a sly hog, a very sly hog--or, I should
say, dog, though it is much the same."
"It's for you as well as for me. See here. 'Mrs. Lavinia Scully
presints her compliments to Major Tobias Clutterbuck and to his friend,
Mr. Sigismund von Baumser, and trusts that they may be able to favour
her with their company on Tuesday evening at eight, to meet a few
frinds.' It's a dance," said the major. "That accounts for the harp
and the tables and binches and wine cases I saw going in this morning."
"Will you go?"
"Yes, of course I will, and so shall you. We'd better answer it."
So in due course an acceptance was sent across to Mrs. Scully's
hospitable invitation.
Never was there such a brushing and scrubbing in the bedroom of a couple
of quiet bachelors as occurred some two evenings afterwards in the top
story of Mrs. Robins' establishment. The major's suit had been pursued
unremittingly since his first daring advance upon the widow, but under
many difficulties and discouragements. In the occasional chance
interviews which he had with his attractive neighbour he became more and
more enamoured, but he had no opportunity of ascertaining whether the
feeling was mutual. This invitation appeared to promise him the very
chance which he desired, and many were the stern resolutions which he
formed as he stood in front of his toilet-table and arranged his tie and
his shirt front to his satisfaction. Von Baumser, who was arrayed in a
dress coat of antiquated shape, and very shiny about the joints, sat on
the side of the bed, eyeing his companion's irreproachable get-up with
envy and admiration.
"It fits you beautiful," he said, alluding to the coat.
"It came from Poole's," answered the major carelessly.
"As for me," said Von Baumser, "I have never used mine in England at
all. Truly, as you know, I hate all dances and dinners. I come with
you, however, very willingly, for I would not for nothing in the world
give offence to the liebchen of my comrade. Since I go, I shall go as a
gentleman should." He looked down as he spoke with much satisfaction at
his withered suit of black.
"But, me good fellow," cried the major, who had now completed his
toilet, "you've got your tie under your lift ear. It looks very quaint
and ornamintal there, but still it's not quite the place for it.
You look as if you were ticketed for sale."
"They von't see it unless I puts it out sidevays from under my beard,"
the German said apologetically. "However, if you think it should be
hidden, it shall be so. How are my stud-buttons? You have them of
gold, I see, but mine are of mother-of-oysters."
"Mother-of-pearl," said the major, laughing. "They will do very well.
There's the divil of a lot of cabs at their door," he continued, peering
round the corner of the blind. "The rooms are all lighted up, and I can
hear them tuning the instruments. Maybe we'd better go across."
"Vorvarts, then!" said Von Baumser resolutely; and the two set off, the
major with a fixed determination that he should know his fate before the
evening was over.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE GREAT DANCE AT MORRISON'S.
Never in the whole history of Morrison's boarding establishment had such
festive preparations been known. The landlady herself had entered heart
and soul into the business, and as all the boarders had received
invitations for themselves and their friends, they co-operated in every
possible manner to make the evening a success. The large drawing-room
had been cleared and the floor waxed. This process left it in a very
glassy and orthodox condition, as the cook discovered when, on bustling
in, the back of her cranium came in violent contact with the boards,
while her body described a half-circle with a velocity which completely
eclipsed any subsequent feats of agility shown by the dancers in the
evening. The saloon had been very tastefully laid out as a supper-room,
and numerous other little chambers were thrown open and brightened up to
serve as lounging places for those who were fatigued. In the parlour
there were two card-tables, and every other convenience for any who
preferred sedentary amusements. Altogether both Mrs. Morrison and the
boarders, in solemn conclave assembled, agreed that the thing looked
very promising, and that it would be a credit to the establishment.
The guests were as varied as the wines, though hardly as select.
Mrs. Scully's exuberant hospitality included, as already intimated, not
only her own friends, but those of her fellow-boarders, so that from an
early hour the rooms began to fill, and by nine o'clock there was hardly
space for the dancers. Hansoms and growlers rattled up in a continuous
stream and discharged their burdens. There was a carpet down from the
kerb to the head of the lodging-house steps, "like r'yalty," as the cook
expressed it, and the greengrocer's man in the hall looked so pompous
and inflated in his gorgeous attire that his own cabbages would hardly
have recognized him. His main defect as a footman was that he was
somewhat hard of hearing, and had a marvellous faculty of
misinterpreting whatever was said to him, which occasionally led to
remarkable results. Thus, when he announced the sporting Captain
Livingstone Tuck under the title of Captain Lives-on-his luck, it was
felt that he was rather too near the truth to be pleasant. Indeed, the
company had hardly recovered from the confusion produced by this small
incident when the two Bohemians made their appearance.
Mrs. Scully, who was tastefully arrayed in black satin and lace, stood
near the door of the drawing-room, and looked very charming and
captivating as she fulfilled her duties as hostess. So thought the
major as he approached her and shook her hand, with some well turned
compliment upon his lips.
"Let me inthroduce me friend, Herr von Baumser," he added.
Mrs. Scully smiled upon the German in a way that won his Teutonic heart.
"You will find programmes over there," she explained. "I think the
first is a round dance. No, thank you, major; I shall stand out, or
there will be no one to receive the people." She hurried away to greet
a party of new arrivals, while the major and Baumser wandered off in
search of partners.
There was no want of spirit or of variety in the dancing at Morrison's.
From Mr. Snodder, the exciseman, who danced the original old-fashioned
trois-temps, to young Bucklebury, of the Bank, who stationed himself
immediately underneath the central chandelier, and spun rapidly round
with his partner upon his own axis, like a couple of beetles impaled
upon a single pin, every possible variation of the art of waltzing was
to be observed. There was Mr. Smith, of the Medical College, rotating
round with Miss Clara Timms, their faces wearing that pained and anxious
expression which the British countenance naturally assumes when dancing,
giving the impression that the legs have suddenly burst forth in a
festive mood, and have dragged the rest of the body into it very much
against its will. There was the major too, who had succeeded in
obtaining Mrs. Scully as a partner, and was dancing as old soldiers can
dance, threading his way through the crowded room with the ease begotten
by the experience of a lifetime. Meanwhile Von Baumser, at the other
end, was floundering about with a broad smile upon his face and an
elderly lady tucked under his right arm, while he held her disengaged
hand straight out at right angles, as if she had been a banjo.
In short, the fun was fast and furious, and waltz followed polka and
mazurka followed waltz with a rapidity which weeded out the weaker
vessels among the dancers and tested the stamina of the musicians.
Then there was the card-room, whither the Widow Scully and the major and
many others of the elders repaired when they found the pace too fast for
them. Very snug and comfortable it was, with its square tables, each
with a fringe of chairs, and the clean shining cards spread out over
their green baize surfaces. The major and his hostess played against
Captain Livingstone Tuck and an old gentleman who came from Lambeth,
with the result that the gallant captain and his partner rose up poorer
and sadder men, which was rather a blow to the former, who reckoned upon
clearing a little on such occasions, and had not expected to find
himself opposed by such a past master of the art as the major. Then the
veteran and another played the hostess and another lady, and the cunning
old dog managed to lose in such a natural manner, and to pay up with
such a good grace, and with so many pretty speeches and compliments,
that the widow's partner was visibly impressed, a fact which, curiously
enough, seemed to be anything but agreeable to the widow. After that
they all filed off to supper, where they found the dancers already in
possession, and there was much crushing and crowding, which tended to do
away with ceremony and to promote the harmony of the evening.
If the major had contrived to win favour from Mrs. Lavinia Scully in the
early part of the evening, he managed now to increase any advantage he
had gained. In the first place he inquired in a very loud voice of
Captain Tuck, at the other end of the table, whether that gentleman had
ever met the deceased Major-General Scully, and being answered in the
negative, he descanted fluently upon the merits of that imaginary
warrior. After this unscrupulous manoeuvre the major proceeded to do
justice to the wine and to indulge in sporting reminiscences, and
military reminiscences, and travelling reminiscences, and social
reminiscences, all of which he treated in a manner which called forth
the admiration of his audience. Then, when supper had at last been
finished, and the last cork drawn and the last glass filled, the dancers
went back to their dance and the card-players to their cards, and the
major addressed himself more assiduously than ever to the pursuit of the
widow.
"I am afraid that you find the rooms very hot, major," she remarked.
"They are rather hot," he answered candidly.
"There is a room here," she said, "where you might be cooler. You might
have a cigarette, too. I meant these rooms as smoking-rooms."
"Then you must come, too."
"No, no, major. You must remember that I am the hostess."
"But there is no one to entertain. They are all entertaining each
other. You are too unselfish."
"But really, major--"
"Sure you are tired out and need a little rest."
He held the door open so persuasively that she yielded. It was a snug
little room, somewhat retired from the bustle, with two or three
chintz-covered chairs scattered round it, and a sofa of the same
material at one side. The widow sat down at one end of this sofa, and
the major perched himself at the other, looking even redder than usual,
and puffing out his chest and frowning, as was his custom upon critical
occasions.
"Do light a cigarette?" said Mrs. Scully.
"But the smell?"
"I like it."
The major extracted one from his flat silver case. His companion rolled
a spill and lit it at the gas.
"To one who is as lonely as I am," she remarked, "it Is a pleasure to
feel that one has friends near one, and to serve them even in trifles."
"Lonely!" said the major, shuffling along the sofa, "I might talk with
authority on that point. If I were to turn me toes up to-morrow there's
not a human being would care a thraneen about the mather, unless it were
old Von Baumser."
"Oh, don't talk so," cried Mrs. Scully, with emotion.
"It is a fact. I've kicked against me fate at times, though. I've had
fancies of late of something happier and cheerier. They have come on me
as I sat over yonder at the window, and, do what I will, I have not been
able to git them from me heart. Yit I know how rash I have been to
treasure them, for if they fail me I shall feel me loneliness as I niver
did before."
The major paused and cleared his throat huskily, while the widow
remained silent, with her head bent and her eyes intent upon the pattern
of the carpet.
"These hopes are," said the major, in a low voice, leaning forward and
taking his companion's little ring-covered hand in his thick, pudgy
fingers, "that you will have pity upon me; that you will--"
"Ach, my very goot vriend!" cried Von Baumser heartily, suddenly
protruding his hairy head into the room and smiling benignantly.
"Go to the divil!" roared the major, springing furiously to his feet,
while the German's head disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box.
"Forgive the warmth of me language," the veteran continued,
apologetically, "but me feel |
