Kitabı oku: «Sawn Off: A Tale of a Family Tree», sayfa 6
Volume Two – Chapter Five.
Fred is Busy
The offices of Maximilian Shingle were on the first-floor, in a narrow turning close to the Royal Exchange; and, though they were dark and inconvenient, they were handsomely furnished, as befitted a suite of three rooms for which a heavy rent was paid. The outer room was occupied by four clerks, the second room was allotted to his wife’s elder son, and the inner sanctum was Max’s own.
A morning or two after the visit to Crowder’s Buildings, Fred was seated at his table, with a small open book before him – one which evidently had nothing to do with stock-broking; but he was studying it so hard that the lines were deeply marked upon his effeminate face.
Twice over he started, and closed it hastily, as he heard a step outside; but, after listening for a few moments, he resumed his task, and kept on with his study for some time. Then he closed the little memorandum book with a sigh, placed it carefully in his pocket, and opening a drawer, took out some doubled blotting paper, between which, on opening it, lay a piece of tracing paper and an old bill of exchange.
Placing this convenient to his hand, he also took a large blotter, arranged in it a sheet of paper, and wrote in the date and some half-dozen lines, before moving blotter and letter into a handy position.
This done, he listened for a few moments, and then taking the tracing paper and bill, began to go over the signature very carefully, writing it again and again, beginning at the top of his tracing paper, and forming a column of signatures.
Then there was a knock at the door; and as Fred cried “Come in!” the blotter was drawn deftly over the tracing paper, and he went on writing.
A clerk brought in a couple of letters to be signed, and this being done he retired; when Fred resumed his task, working away patiently, and always going over the writing again.
This went on for half an hour or so, until the young man started, and hastily drew the blotter over his work; for the door was being opened very slowly and quietly, and in a heavy, noiseless way, old Hopper entered the room.
“How do, Fred?” he said, approaching the table slowly.
“How do?” was the short, sharp reply. “What does he want?” he muttered.
“Hey?”
“I say what hot weather.”
“Don’t shout: I’m not so deaf as all that,” said the old fellow hastily. “Father in his room?”
“Yes,” said Fred; “he’s in there.”
“Hey?”
“I say he’s in there,” roared the young man.
“I wish you wouldn’t shout so, my lad,” said the old man sourly. “I don’t want the drums of my ears split. I could hear what you said. And how is the dear, good man, eh?”
“Same as usual,” replied Fred, with a grin.
“Ah!” said Hopper, “you ought to be a very good young man, having such a step-father.”
“I am,” replied Fred.
“Hey?”
“I say I am,” shouted Fred.
“So I suppose,” said the old fellow, chuckling, and looking at him with a strange expression of countenance. “Well, tell him I want to see him.”
Ting!
There was the sharp sound of a gong heard in the next room, and Fred rose to answer it. He glanced first at the old man, and then down at his letter; but a second stroke on the gong made him hurry to the inner door, which he opened, and stood with his head half inside; but a few sharp peremptory words were heard, and he went in and closed the door, leaving Hopper waiting.
Fred was not gone many minutes; and when he returned it was to find the visitor had taken a chair, and was busy over the contents of a bulky pocket-book, which he secured as the young man appeared, and returned to the pocket in the breast of his ugly, ill-cut dress-coat.
“He says you can go in, but he can only give you ten minutes,” said Fred.
“Won’t see me for ten minutes?” said the old fellow.
“Says you may go in for ten minutes,” shouted the young man; and then, in a whisper, “Confounded old nuisance!”
Old Hopper turned half round, and gave him a peculiar leer, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he went slowly towards the door of Max Shingle’s office, putting down his stick heavily in the recurring pattern of the floorcloth, closely followed by Fred, who showed him in.
“What the governor has that deaf old beetle hanging about him for, I can’t make out,” said the young man, returning to his seat; and he was about to continue his task when a fresh knock at the door made him hastily thrust his papers into the drawer of the table, lock it, and take out the key.
“Ah, my dear Hopper, how are you?” said Max, smiling amiably, and making his eyes beam upon his visitor.
“Hey? How am I?” snarled the old fellow, giving his stick a thump on the floor. “What’s that to you? I’m not dying yet. Ain’t you sorry?”
“Sorry? Heaven forbid!” said Max unctuously, as he shook his head reproachfully at his visitor, and then, taking hold of his watch-ribbon, threw himself back in his chair and began to spin the seals round and round.
“Don’t! Be quiet!” cried Hopper, thrusting out the point of his stick, so that the seals struck upon it and were arrested in their motion. “Think I’m not bilious enough with looking at you, without having that thing spun round in my face?”
Max laughed, but looked annoyed; while the old fellow took a seat unasked.
“What can I do for you?” said Max at last, smiling blandly.
“Give me a glass of wine. I’m hot and tired.”
“Really, I – ” began Max.
“It’s in that stand,” said the old fellow, chuckling, as he pointed with his stick at a handsome mahogany cellarette at one end of the room; when Max, whose smile was tempered a good deal with a look of annoyance, rose, sighed, secured the door with a little bolt, and then unlocked the cellarette and took out a decanter and glass.
“No, thank you – I don’t smoke cigars,” said the old fellow, as he watched the sherry poured into the glass. “Hey! You weren’t going to offer me one? Ho! I was afraid you were.”
Max had not spoken; but he winced as he heard these words – preserving his smile, though, when he turned his face to his visitor and passed the wine.
“Not bad, Max – not bad,” said the old fellow, tasting the sherry and smacking his lips before pouring the rest down his throat. “How you must mug yourself here! Lucky dog, lucky dog! Now, if I had taken to stock-broking instead of ship’s husbanding, I might have been as well off as you.”
“Oh dear, no; I’m not well off,” said Max.
“Hey?”
“I say I’m not well off,” said Max, more loudly.
“That’s a pity,” said the old fellow. “Never mind, I’ll have another glass, all the same. Fill it full this time.”
Max shut his teeth with a snap, but he filled the glass brimming full, and then restopped the decanter.
“So you’re not well off, hey?” said Hopper.
“Very, very short,” said Max, with his mouth close to his visitor’s ear.
“Humph! Sorry to hear it, because I want to borrow five pounds of you,” said Hopper. “You’ve got that, I suppose?”
“Indeed, no. I’m very sorry,” began Max.
“So am I,” said the old fellow shortly. “Hah, Max Shingle, how you’d have liked to stick a dose of poison in that wine, wouldn’t you?”
“Really, Mr Hopper,” began Max indignantly, and he half rose.
But the old man laid his stick upon his shoulder like a sceptre, and forced him down.
“Sit still, stupid!” cried the old man. “I know what you are going to say. Surprised at my making such remarks, and so on. But you would like to, and I believe you’d do it if it was not for the fear of the law. I say, Max,” he chuckled, “it would take a strong new rope to hang you.”
Max laid his hands upon the arms of his handsome, well-stuffed easy chair, and turned of a pale dough colour, as he glared at his visitor.
“I don’t wonder at it,” chuckled Hopper. “It must be very unpleasant to have a man come to see you, and invade the sanctity – sanctity, yes, sanctity, that’s the word – of your home and private office, who knows what a scoundrel you are.”
“For Heaven’s sake, speak lower!” cried Max, in a hoarse whisper.
“All right,” said Hopper, nodding. “Especially to a man like you, who goes in for the religious dodge, and is so looked up to and respected by every one. Ha! ha! ha!” he chuckled – “what a wonderful deal is done in this world, Max, by humbug!”
Max began to wipe his wet face with his handkerchief, glaring the while helplessly at his tormentor.
“You’re such a good man, too, now,” said Hopper, laughing, and evidently enjoying the other’s discomfiture. “I saw you coming from service last Sunday, with the wife, and that dear youth in the next room, Fred, all carrying limp hymn-books. I say, Max, your prayers must be precious limp, too.”
“Say what you have to say, and then go, for Heaven’s sake!” gasped Max.
“Hey! say what I have to say? How I can read your fat lips, Max! I never feel my deafness when you are speaking. Well, I am saying what I have to say. I don’t often speak out like this.”
“Only when you want money,” muttered Max.
“Only when I want money? Right. There, I told you I could read off your lips every word you say, so don’t begin to curse me, and wish I was dead, because it will only make me want more. Think it, if you like. I say, you must look sharp after that boy Fred, or he’ll go to the bad.”
Max frowned.
“If he was half such a lad as Tom!”
“Tom’s a scoundrel – a vagabond!” exclaimed Max furiously.
“Yes, yes, of course. To be sure he is. Every one is who doesn’t do as you wish, Max Shingle. I’m a horrible old scoundrel, and yet you’re obliged to put up with me. You can’t afford to offend me, and I come to your house as often as I like; and I shall keep on doing so, because it’s good for you. I’m like a conscience to you, and a devilish ugly old conscience, eh? – a deaf conscience – and I keep you from being a bigger scoundrel than you are. I say, Max, you’d give a thousand pounds down, now, to hear I was dead, wouldn’t you?”
“What is the good of talking like this?” said Max, leaning over to whisper to his visitor.
“Hey? What’s the good? A deal – does you good. I say, Max, I’ve often thought that you might be tempted to get me killed – by accident, of course. It is tempting, I know. You’d feel as if the old slate with the nasty writing on was wiped clean with a sponge. But it would be so ugly for such a good man to be exposed to such a temptation, and uglier still to add the crime of side-blow murder to his other sins. So do you know what I’ve done to save you from temptation?”
There was a curious malignity of expression in the old man’s face as, with a chuckling laugh, he asked his question and saw its effect.
“No! What?” exclaimed Max, in agony.
“Well, I’ve written it all down neatly on paper – not on a slate; and I’ve deposited it with my will.”
“Where?”
“Ah, yes, that’s another thing. Where it would be opened and read directly I was dead. Ha! ha! ha! Max, what an exposé that would be! But don’t be nervous, man, and look so white. It wouldn’t be a hanging matter.” Max stretched across the table, and laid his hand upon his visitor’s lips; but the old man thrust his chair back, gave the hand a sharp rap with his stick, and Max shrank back in his chair.
“It isn’t, I say, a hanging matter. But I say, Max, old fellow, I should look sharp after that boy Fred. Don’t let him get into temptation. Like father, like son. Now, Tom – ”
“Curse Tom!” cried Max, biting his nails.
“Not I,” laughed the old man. “He isn’t so bad; and you curse him quite often enough, you know. Ah, Max, what a blessing and relief it must be to you that you have reformed so, and become such a good, pious man!”
Max raised his hands.
“One of those dear, good creatures,” chuckled the old fellow, “who go through life saying ‘Have mercy upon us miserable sinners,’ and then feel so happy. Not a bit of the Pharisee about you, Max – all humble Publican. I say, why don’t you build a church or a chapel? That’s the proper thing to do. ‘Publican’ put me in mind of it. It’s what the brewers and distillers do. Make fortunes out of the vice and misery of the people, and then buy a seat in the heavenly Parliament by building a church – ”
“My dear Hopper,” began Max.
“And endowing it.”
“Will you listen to me, Hopper?”
“They think they can cheat God with their sham repentance. Ha! ha! ha! – it’s a rare joke, ’pon my word. Now, you know, Max, I’m just such a fool in my way, for I get thinking He’d have more respect for an honest old reprobate like me. But we shall see, Max, when we die – when we die; when you die, and the gravedigger puts you to bed with a shovel.”
A spasm seemed to shoot across the other’s face at these last words.
“I am an out-and-out bad one, you know, Max. I never go to chapel and hold the plate – never dip a little out of it, Max, in the vestry!”
“Man, are you the Devil?” muttered Max.
“Yes, if you like.”
“Then you are not deaf!” cried Max triumphantly.
“Honestly; but I can read your lips as well as your heart, my dear friend. Devil? Because I know about that ugly bit of forgery for which you ought to have served your time.”
“Will you be silent?” cried Max, with an agonised look at the door.
“No,” said the other coolly. “Devil because I saw through the Uncle Rounce business? Perhaps I am,” he continued, as he saw Max wince, “for I never believed in the Excelsior game – to go up higher – because it’s so cold. I’m not a pure-minded man, Max, but would rather stay in the valley, and lay my head on the nice, pleasant, plump young woman’s breast – so comfortable and cosy and warm. Eh, you dog – eh?”
He poked Max with his stick as he spoke, and then chuckled at the other’s horrified air.
“I’m no cackle-spinner, like you, Max; I never went through the world saying it was all vanity and vexation of spirit, and a vale of tears; and howled hymns, declaring that I was sick of it, and wanted to die and get out of it as soon as I could, because it was such a wicked, wretched place. I never told people I had a call, like you did; and played shepherd in a white choker, and went and delivered addresses to the lost lambs outside the fold.”
“They’ll hear you in the outer office,” cried Max vainly, for Hopper went on: —
“Because I was always a wolf, and liked the world, and thought it very beautiful, and loved it; and when I caught a lost lamb I took him and ate him right off, because it was my nature. Not like you, my gentle shepherd, who, of course without any vanity or self-interest, coaxed the lambs into the fold; and when you killed one, you had him nicely dressed with mint sauce. Eh, Max? mint sauce – the tap out of the barrels that they take into the bank.”
“Are you mad?” exclaimed Max, at last.
“Mad as a hatter,” said the old fellow, grinning; “that’s why I chose the wrong way. Not like you. Ah, Max, when we both die, what a beautiful plump cherub you’ll make up aloft there, and what an ugly old sinner I shall be down below! How sorry you’ll be for me, won’t you?”
“Pray, let us bring this interview to an end,” gasped Max.
“No hurry,” said Hopper. “I told you I was bilious when you were spinning that bunch of seals of yours. This is all bile. I’m getting rid of it. I shall be better afterwards. I have not had a go at you for a twelvemonth. I haven’t half done yet. I’m not a pithy man, like you – more pith than heart – but long-winded. Ah, I’m a wicked old wretch, ain’t I, and always turned a deaf ear to what was good?”
“But I am busy,” pleaded Max.
“So am I,” said Hopper, chuckling, and giving a box on the table a poke with his stick – “busy giving you a taste of my bile. – What have you got there, my pious old saint? ‘Donations for the debt fund of St. Ursula’s Church.’ Ah! that’s a pretty respectable way of doing things – that is. Church in debt. Built up, I’ll be bound, with fal-lals and fancy work and stained glass, and a quire inside – twenty-four sheets to wrap up singing men and boys. Now, look here, Max: if I built a place and hadn’t money to pay for it, you’d call me a rogue.”
“Shall we try and transact the bit of business you came about?” said Max humbly.
“Presently,” said Hopper, who was now wound up, and determined to go on. “Ah, Max, you don’t know what a wicked old man I’ve grown,” he continued, with a sly twinkle in his eye. “But you see I can preach morality – my fashion.”
“We shall never agree upon such points,” said Max wearily.
“Of course not, till you convert me, Max. I’m a brand for the burning, Max. Why don’t you try and save me? Teach me to sing some of those nice hymns you know by heart – ‘Fain would I leave this weary world.’ Bah! How many would fain? Who made it weary? Who filled the beautiful world full of diseases and death and wickedness? Humbugs, sir – humbugs. I’m an old worldling, and I was put here in the world, and the longer I live the more beautiful I find it; and I don’t want to leave it, even to carry your secret with me, friend Max Shingle. I mean to live as long as I can, taking my share of the bad as bitter to make the good sweet; and when it’s time to set sail for the other land, I mean to go like a man, and say ‘Thank God for it all. Amen!’ There’s a wicked old reprobate for you, Max. Why don’t you try to convert this old scoundrel, eh? Ah! I’m a bad one – a regular bad one – hopelessly lost. And now I’ve got rid of all my bile, and feel better, get out your cheque-book.”
Max rose with a sigh, unlocked the iron safe in the corner, and took out a cheque-book and laid it upon a table.
“I can very ill spare this, John Hopper,” he said. “Five pounds are five pounds now.”
“Always were, stupid!” said the old fellow. “Dear me, how much better I can hear to-day! Got rid of all that bile,” he added, considering. “But don’t you draw that for five pounds. Make it ten.”
“Ten pounds!” gasped Max.
“Yes. Five extra for your conscience. You don’t suppose your poor conscience is going to preach to you, as it has to-day, for nothing?”
“But – ” commenced Max.
“Ten pounds, you goodly saint – you man after Heaven’s own heart – you halo-promised piece of piety and man of heavenly manna!” cried Hopper. “Make it ten pounds directly, O smooth-faced piece of benignity, or I shall want twenty in less than a minute.”
Max Shingle hastily drew a cheque for ten pounds, blotted it, and passed it over; for he knew only too well that his visitor would keep his word, and that he should be obliged to obey.
“That’ll do – for the present,” said Hopper, grinning, as he folded the cheque and placed it in his gouty pocket-book. Then he rose to go.
“Good-bye: God bless you, Max! What a good thing it is for me that I have a wealthy saint who can relieve my necessities! Thank you, my dearest and best friend. I sha’n’t give you any acknowledgment, because I know you mean this for a gift. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Max, who could hardly contain his rage.
“Good-bye. And a word more from your conscience. Good advice, mind. Look after Master Fred. Don’t let him go your way.”
“You’ve got your money. Now be silent!” cried Max, savagely.
“All right,” said the old fellow; and he walked out, making his stick thump the floor, and nodding at Fred as he passed through to the outer office; while Max, as soon as he was alone, ground his teeth with rage, as he heaped a series of very unchristianlike curses upon his visitor’s head.
“Yes,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “he must be a devil, or he couldn’t have known about Uncle Rounce.”
Volume Two – Chapter Six.
The Fly on the Wall
“Well, mother, it might have been worse,” said Richard, sitting down to his humble dinner about a week later. “Here, Jessie, pull my ears.”
Jessie, who looked very pale and red-eyed, as if with weeping, went behind her father’s chair, took hold of his ears playfully, and pulled them, while he drew one hand before his face.
“Will that do, dear?” she said, drawing his head back so that she could kiss his puzzled forehead.
“Beautiful, my darling! Nothing like it. Tightens the skin, and takes out all the wrinkles. Keeps you young-looking, and makes your wife fond of you. Don’t it, mother?”
Mrs Shingle sighed, but looked at him affectionately, as she placed a spoon in the potatoes.
“That’s right,” said Dick. “Smiles is human sunshine, and don’t cost anything. You both look as bright again to-day. Hallo! old fellow,” he continued, thrusting a spoon into some hash. “Now, it won’t do, you know. You can’t deceive me, in spite of your brown gravy. You’re that half-shoulder of mutton we had on Sunday.”
“Yes, it is, Dick,” said Mrs Shingle.
“I knew it. Didn’t he gape wide open as soon as I cut into him, and pretend that three people had been helped? Oh, I knew him again! Come, look bright, both of you: things might be worse. See how I’m trying to shine! Come on: the best side of the looking-glass, both of you. The glue and wood will do for old Max.”
In spite of his endeavours, the dinner was a sorry repast, the only one who enjoyed it being the boy; and as soon as it was cleared away, Dick and the others resumed their work.
“Do you really mean to go, Dick?” said his wife at last, after making three or four efforts to speak.
“Yes, certain!” he said; and he glanced at Jessie, who was just then looking at him, when both lowered their eyes directly.
“But how can we leave without paying?” Mrs Shingle ventured to say at last.
“Sell the furniture,” said Dick bitterly. “There – it’s no use, mother, I won’t humble myself to him no more. I’ve as good as took a couple of rooms off St. John Street, and go we will – for many reasons,” he added.
“But, Dick dear – ”
“Hold your tongue, mother!” he cried sternly. “I’m going to turn over a new leaf. Other folks make money; I’m going to make some now – somehow. But I don’t know how,” he added to himself. “Now, you sir, get on – we’ve got to make a fortune yet,” he continued, hammering away; while Jessie’s sewing machine clicked musically, and her little white-stockinged feet seemed to twinkle as they played up and down.
Mrs Shingle looked very much in trouble, for every now and then she wiped a furtive tear from her eye.
“How much money did you bring from the warehouse this morning, my gal?” said Dick suddenly, as he looked up from playing cat’s-cradle over a boot.
Jessie gazed at him in a frightened manner, and then dropped her head lower over her machine, while her hands trembled so that she could hardly direct her work.
“I say, Jessie, my gal, how much did you draw this morning?”
“None, father,” said Jessie, with a sob. And then, covering her face with her hands, she burst into a passion of weeping.
“Why, Jess, my gal – Jess!” cried Dick, dropping stirrup-leather and boot. “Here, you sir: here’s a penny. Go down to Wilson’s and get a pen’orth o’ wax.”
“But here is plenty, master,” said the boy.
“Go down to Wilson’s and get a pen’orth o’ wax,” said Dick sternly.
“Hadn’t I better go to Singley’s, sir? it ain’t half so far.”
“Go and get a pen’orth o’ wax at Wilson’s,” said Dick angrily. And he saw the boy off the premises before he crossed to Jessie.
“Why, what’s the matter, my pretty one?” he said tenderly.
“Oh, father dear, don’t be cross with me,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t tell you before.”
“Just as if your poor stoopid old goose of a father could be cross with you!” he said, fondling her and drawing her close to his heart. “At least,” he added, “I could be cross, but not with anything you’d go and do. Now, then, what’s the matter?”
“Oh, father, I can never go to the warehouse again.”
“What?” said Dick; “not go – ”
“No, father,” she sobbed: “that man – ”
She stopped short, and Dick, with his face working, patted her tenderly on the shoulder, and then rolled up his sleeves.
“It’s only father, my precious: tell him all about it,” he whispered.
As he spoke he made a sign to Mrs Shingle to be silent. “That man, father,” she sobbed hysterically – “several times lately – insulted me – dare not say anything – the money – you so poor, dear!”
“Jessie,” cried Dick, in a choking voice, “my poor darling, – if I’d known!”
“Yes, father dear, I know,” she cried, placing her arm round his neck and kissing him tenderly; “but you wanted the money so badly, I would not speak.”
“But it was wrong, my darling,” he said angrily. “But tell me – all.”
“This morning – I went,” she faltered, “and there was no one in the room, and he caught me in his arms – and kissed me,” she sobbed, with her face like crimson. Then, indignantly, “I screamed out, and Tom – ”
“Was Tom there?” cried Dick reproachfully.
“Yes, father; I could not help his being there. We had never spoken since that dreadful day, when Uncle Max – ”
“Yes,” said Dick hastily: “go on.”
“But he has come and watched me every day, father, at a distance, and seen me go to and from the warehouse.”
“Bless him!” muttered Dick.
“And when I shrieked out,” continued Jessie, with a look of pride lighting up her face, “Tom rushed in; and, oh, father, it was very dreadful!”
“What was?” said Dick hoarsely, for he was evidently suffering from suppressed passion.
“Tom!”
“Mr Thomas Fraser, my gal?”
“Mr Thomas beat him dreadfully,” continued Jessie, “till he cried for mercy; and dear Tom – ”
“Mr Thomas, my gal,” said Dick, correcting.
“Made him go down upon his knees and beg my pardon, and then he brought me away.”
“God bless him!” said Dick fervently, “But it’s Mr Thomas Fraser, my dear; and he’s nothing to you but a brave, true young fellow, who acted like a man. But, that it should come to this!” he groaned, striding up and down the room. “This is being a poor man, and having to eat other people’s bread. Oh, it’s dreadful, dreadful! If she’d been rich Max’s daughter, mother, no one would have dared to insult her; and as for this blackguard, I’ll – ”
He caught up the hammer, and had reached the door, when Jessie and her mother ran and clung to him, Mrs Shingle locking the door till he promised to be content with the castigation the fellow had received.
“Mr Tom would be sure to beat him well, father,” said Mrs Shingle.
“Well, that is one comfort,” said Dick, cooling a little. “I should have nearly killed any blackguard who had touched you. Well, mother,” he continued, “when things comes to the worst they mends; but it don’t seem to be so with us any more than with shoes, unless some one mends ’em, I mean to mend ours somehow. ‘Why don’t you try?’ every one says. Well, I do try.”
Just then the boy came back, and making a sign to Jessie and his wife not to let him see their trouble, all tried to resume their work, but in a despairing, half-hearted manner, in the midst of which, in a doleful, choking voice, Dick began to sing over his sewing, while the boy seemed to keep time with the hammer with which he was driving in nails.
“For we always are so jolly, oh —
So jolly, oh – so jolly, oh – so jolly – ”
sang Dick; but he had soon done, and his voice trailed off into a dismal wail, as, unable to contain themselves, Jessie’s face went down over her sewing machine and Mrs Shingle hid hers in her apron.
“My God! what can I do?” the poor fellow moaned, as, with a catching in his breath, he glanced at those most dear to him. “I hav’n’t a shilling in the world, and the more I try – the more I try – ”
He caught up a hammer savagely, and began to beat vigorously at the leather, forcing himself to sing again, as if he had not seen the trouble of his wife and child —
“To get his fill, the poor boy did stoop,
And, awful to state, he was biled in the soup.”
“Oh, master, please, master, don’t sing that dreadful song,” cried Union Jack, with a dismal howl. “I can’t bear it: please, master, I can’t bear it, indeed.”
“Hold your tongue, you young ruffian,” cried Dick, with a pitiful attempt at being comic. “It’s a good job we’ve got you in stock; for if things do come to the worst, you’ll make a meal for many a day to come.”
“Oh, please, don’t talk like that, master,” cried the boy.
“Dick, dear,” whispered his wife, “don’t tease the poor lad: he half believes you.”
“I’m not teasing of him, mother,” said Dick aloud; “only it’s a pity to have to boil him all at once, instead of by degrees. Here, get out the cold tea, mother, and let’s take to drinking – have a miserable day, and enjoy ourselves. Jessie, my gal, you’ll rust that machine raining on it like that. Come, mother, rouse up; it’ll all come right in the end.”
“I was not crying, Dick,” said Mrs Shingle, – “not much.”
“Yes, you were,” he cried, with a rollicking air of gaiety. “I saw two drips go on your apron and one in that child’s shoe. Come, cheer up.”
There was a pause then, during which all again tried hard to work; but the knowledge that they were about to turn out of the little home, and that their prospects were so bitter, combined with sorrow for their child, made a sob or two burst from Mrs Shingle’s breast, while even the boy kept on sniffing.
“Here, I can’t stand this,” groaned Dick at last, getting up and walking about the room. “I don’t spend no money, mother – only a half-ounce or two of tobacco for myself, and one now and then for poor old Hopper, who seems to be cutting us now we are so down. You don’t spend much, mother: and it’s as true as gorspel about shoemakers’ wives being the worst shod; while as for me, I haven’t had a real new pair this ten years.”
“Don’t take on about it, Dick,” said Mrs Shingle, making a brave effort to smile. And she took and patted her husband’s hand affectionately.
“I wouldn’t care, mother, if things were better for you two; and I can’t see as it’s my extravagance as does it.”
“Oh, no, no, Dick dear.”
“One half-pint of beer this month, and it’s the beer as is the ruin of such as me,” he said, with a comical look – “and one screw of tobacco this week, and the paper as was round it, for thickness, why, it was like leather.”
“Don’t, don’t mind, Dick,” whispered Mrs Shingle. “We’ll sell the things, and clear ourselves, and start free again.”
“It’s all right, mother,” he cried, with a kind of gulp. “It’s got to the worst pitch now – see if it ain’t. Don’t make it rain indoors,” he added, in a remonstrating tone; “’specially when we’ve only one umbrella in the house, and it’s broke. Here, Jessie, my gal, what’s that song you sing about the rain?”
”‘There’s sunshine after rain,’ father,” said Jessie, looking up in so piteous a way that Dick had hard work to keep back a sob; but with another struggle to drive off his cares, he cried —
