Kitabı oku: «Sawn Off: A Tale of a Family Tree», sayfa 8
Volume Two – Chapter Eight.
After a Lapse
Max Shingle lived in the unfashionable district of Pentonville; but he had a goodly house there, and well furnished, at the head of a square of little residences that some ingenious builder had erected to look like a plantation of young Wesleyan chapels, growing up ready for transplanting at such times as they were needed to supply a want.
Mrs Max, relict of the late Mr Fraser, was a tall, bony, washed-out woman, with a false look about her hair, teeth, and figure; large ears, in each of which, fitting close to the lobe, was a large pearl, looking like a button, to hold it back against her head. She was seated in her drawing-room, but not alone; for opposite to her, in a studied, graceful attitude, sat Max’s ward, Violante, daughter of a late deacon of his chapel – a rather good-looking girl in profile, but terribly disfigured, on looking her full in the face, by a weakness in one eye, the effect of which was that it never worked with its twin sister, but was always left behind. Thus, whereas her right eye turned sharply upon you, and looked you through and through, the left did not come up to its work until the right had about finished and gone off to do duty on something else. The consequence was that when talking to her you found you had her attention for a few moments; and then, just as you seemed to have lost it, eye Number 2 came up to the charge, and generally puzzled and confused a stranger to a remarkable extent.
“Dear me! Hark at the wind!” said Mrs Max; “and look at it. Give me my smelling bottle, Violante. I’m always giddy when the wind gets under the carpet like that.”
The smelling bottle was duly sniffed; and then, changing her position so that her fair hair and white eyebrows and lashes were full in the light, Mrs Max looked more than ever as if there had been too much soda used in the water ever since she was born; and she sighed, and took up her work, which was a large illuminated text on perforated cardboard.
In fact, Max Shingle’s house shone in brightly coloured cards and many-tinted silken pieces of tapestry, formed to improve the sinful mind. Moral aphorisms about honesty and contentment looked at you from over the hat-pegs in the hall; pious precepts peeped at you between the balusters as you went upstairs, and furnished the drawing-room to the displacement of pictures. Many of them lost their point, from being illuminated to such an extent that the brilliancy and wondrous windings of the letters dazzled the eye, and carried the mind into a mental maze, as you tried to decipher what they meant; but there they were, and Mrs Max and the ward spent their days in constantly adding to the number.
The hall mat, instead of “Cave canem,” bore the legend “Friend, do not swear; it is a sinful habit,” and always exasperated visitors; while, if you put your feet upon a stool, you withdrew them directly, feeling that you had been guilty of an irreverent act; for there would be a line worked in white beads, with a reference to “Romans xii.” or “2 Corinthians ii.” If you opened a book there was a marker within bidding you “flee,” or “cease,” or “turn,” or “stand fast.” If you dined there, and sat near the fire, a screen was hung on your chair, which was so covered with quotations that it made you feel as if you were turning your back on the Christian religion. But still, look which way you would, you felt as if you were in the house of a good man.
Pictures there were, of course. There was a large engraving of Ruth and Boaz, to which Mrs Max always drew your attention with —
“Would not you suppose that Mr Shingle had sat for Boaz?”
And when you agreed that he might, Violante always joined in, directing one eye at you, and saying —
“People always think, too, that the Ruth is so like Mrs Maximilian.” Then the other eye came slowly up to finish the first one’s task, and seemed to say, “Now, then, what do you think of that?”
The place was well furnished, but, from the pictures to the carpets, everything was of an ecclesiastical pattern; and when Max came in, with a white cravat, you felt that you were in the presence of a substantial rector, if he were not a canon, or a dean.
In a wicked fit, Dick had once dubbed his brother and sister-in-law “Sage and Onions” – the one from his solid, learned look; the other from her being always strangely scented, and her weakness for bursting into tears.
Upon the present occasion, she sat for a few minutes, and then, taking out her handkerchief, began to weep silently.
“Your guardian is always late for dinner, my dear; and everything will be spoilt. Where is Tom?”
“Gone hanging about after Miss Jessie, I suppose,” said Violante, with a roll of one eye. “And Fred as well,” she added, with the other.
“It is a strange infatuation on the part of my two sons. Your dear guardian’s Esau and Jacob,” said Mrs Max, wiping her eyes. “I wonder how it is that poor creature, Richard Shingle, makes his money.”
“I don’t know,” said Violante. “They’ve set up a very handsome carriage.”
“Dear me! It is a mystery,” said Mrs Max, still weeping. “Two years ago Richard was our poor tenant; now he must be worth thousands. I hope he is honest.”
“Perhaps we had better work him some texts,” said Violante, maliciously. Then, raising her other eye, “They might do him good.”
“I don’t know,” sighed Mrs Max; “we never see them now they have grown so rich. It is very shocking.”
Violante did not seem to see that it was shocking, for she only tossed her head.
“Has Tom been any more attentive to you lately, my dear?”
“No, not a bit,” said the girl spitefully, and one eye flashed at Mrs Max; “nor Fred neither,” she continued, bestowing a milder ray with the other.
“The infatuation will wear off,” said Mrs Max, wringing her hands, but seeming as if wringing her pocket-handkerchief, “and then one of them will come to his senses.”
“I shall never marry Tom,” cried the girl decidedly. “Don’t speak so, my child,” said Mrs Max. “You know your guardian has so arranged it; and he can withhold your money if you are disobedient.”
“Yes,” cried Violante, “money, money, money – always money. That’s why I am kept for the pleasure of those two scapegraces, and mocked at by that saucy hussy of a Jessie. I wish I hadn’t a penny.”
“Hush, hush!” cried Mrs Max, “here is your guardian.” As she spoke she hastily wiped her eyes – pretty dry this time – and put away her handkerchief, for voices were heard below.
In fact, half an hour before, Max Shingle had been rolling grandly along from the City, looking the full-blown perfection of a thick-lipped, self-inflated, sensual man, when he encountered Hopper, who hooked him at once with his stick.
“Hullo, Max Shingle!” he cried: “been doing good, as usual? Here: I’ll come home to dinner with you,” he continued, taking his arm.
Max swore a very ugly oath to himself; but he was obliged to put up with the annoyance – a feeling modified, however, by his curiosity being excited.
“I’ve just come from your brother Dick’s,” said Hopper, winking to himself.
Max was mollified directly, for reasons of his own; for, though over two years had passed, Dick had kept his own counsel so well that not a soul, even in his own family, knew the full secret of his success. Hopper was as ignorant as the rest; but he assumed a knowledge in Max’s presence that he did not possess.
“Is – is he doing well?” said Max, in an indifferent tone. “Hey?”
“I say, is he doing well?” shouted Max.
“Wonderfully! Keeps his brougham, and a carriage besides, for his wife and daughter.”
“Ah!” said Max. “Is he civil to you? No music now, I suppose?”
“Only three nights a week,” said Hopper, winking to himself. “Fine princely fellow, Dick. Ah! here we are. Very glad – I’m hungry. He wanted me to stay, but I would not.”
Max opened the front door with his latchkey, and drew back for Hopper to enter which that worthy did, and began to wipe his feat upon the mat, which said in scarlet letters, “Friend, do not swear,” etc.
“Damn that mat!” exclaimed Hopper loudly, as he caught one toe in the long pile, and nearly fell headlong, while Max gazed at him in horror.
“Couldn’t help it,” said Hopper apologetically. “Didn’t swear, did I?”
“Indeed, sir, you did.”
“Hey? What say?”
“You did, sir,” shouted Max.
“Did what?”
“Swore – at the mat.”
“Hey?” said Hopper, who had grown wonderfully deaf since he had been in the hall.
“I say you – swore – at – the – mat.”
“I swore at the mat? Did I? Tut, tut, tut! How hard it is to break oneself of bad habits! Now, I’ll be bound to say you never did such a thing as that, Max?”
Max shook his head.
“No, of course you would not. Ah, Max, I wish I was as good a man as you. It’s wonderful how some men’s minds are constituted.”
Hopper took off an unpleasant-looking respirator that he had been wearing more or less – more when he was speaking, less when he was not; and when it was in its place it seemed to have the effect of sticking his grey moustache up into his nostrils, like a fierce chevaux de frise. Then he put his hat on his hooked stick, and his great-coat on a chair, so as not to confront the moral aphorisms that were waiting to catch his eye, and followed Max up into the drawing-room, where the ladies looked horror-stricken at the sight of the guest.
But there was no help for it; and Mrs Max, at a sign from her lord, put on her most agreeable air, though Violante gave him, uncompromisingly, an ugly look with one eye, which seemed to pierce him, while she clinched the shaft with the other, Hopper replying with his lowest bow.
The brothers Tom and Fred came in directly after, – Tom to offer his hand, while Fred gave a supercilious nod and went up to his mother.
Hopper nodded, and as soon as the dinner was announced, offered his arm to Mrs Max, and they went down to the dining-room.
A well-ordered house had Max Shingle, and his dinners were nicely served; and since he was obliged to receive the visits of Hopper, he made a virtue of necessity, trying all the dinner-time to lay little traps for him to fall into about his brother Richard. But as Hopper saw Tom lean eagerly forward, and Fred turn sharply to listen to his answers, while a frown passed between the two brothers, he misunderstood every word said to him as the dinner went on.
“So Richard is doing uncommonly well, is he?” said Max.
“Hey? You’re not doing uncommonly well? So I heard in the City. Some one told me your house was quite shaky.”
“Who told you that?” cried Fred fiercely.
“Hey?”
“I say who told you that?” cried Fred, more loudly.
“I can’t hear a word you say, young man,” replied Hopper; “you must come round. This, is a bad room of yours for sound, Maximilian – I’d have it altered.”
There were several little encounters of this kind during the repast; for Hopper, as soon as he saw the object of his host, strove religiously to frustrate his efforts, and with such success that Max gave up in disgust, and tried another tack, after making up his mind to call on his brother and become reconciled. This he was the more eager for, since it was a fact that he had lost very heavily of late, and his house was tottering to its fall.
“Ah!” said Max at last, as the dinner progressed slowly, “it’s a pity, Hopper, that you have no money to invest.”
“Hey? Money to invest? No, thank you. But don’t talk shop, man. I wonder so good a creature thinks so much of money. But you keep a carriage?”
“Oh yes,” said Max, smiling good-humouredly at his wife, as if to say, “You see, he will have his joke!”
“And horses?”
“Of course,” said Max, smiling.
“There, don’t put on that imbecile smile,” cried Hopper. “There’s only been one decent dish on the table yet, and I’ve got some of it now. You don’t send your horses out to work in their nosebags? so don’t make me work when I’ve got on mine. I’m hard of hearing, but I’m fond of my digestion. Don’t treat your guest worse than your horses.”
“You always did like a joke, Hopper,” said Max.
“Joke! – it’s no joke,” cried Hopper, pointing at a pie before him. “Look at that – there’s a thing to eat! Look at the crust: just like the top of a brown skull, with all the sutures marked, ready to thrust a knife in and open it, – only it’s apple inside instead of brains.”
Mrs Max gave a horrified glance at Violante.
At last the dessert was placed on the table, and in due time the ladies rose, Tom following them shortly, and Fred, with a sneering look at his brother, rising, and saying he should go and have a cigar.
“You don’t smoke, I suppose, old Hopper?”
“Hey? Not smoke? Yes, I do; but I shall have a pipe.” Left alone, the visitor condescended to talk about Richard, and gave Max a full account of his handsomely furnished house; growing so confidential that, when he took his cup of coffee, he drew nearer and nearer, gesticulating as he described the rich Turkey carpets.
“He must be very rich,” said Max at last, as he tapped the mahogany table with his fingers.
“Not saved much, I should say,” replied Hopper; “but he’s making money fast. So are you.”
“Um – no. I’m very heavily insured, though.”
“Not in the Oldwives’ Friendly?” said Hopper, with a curious look, though he knew the fact well.
“Well – er – er – yes, I am,” said Max.
“They’ll go to smash,” said Hopper eagerly. “Haven’t you heard the rumours?”
“Ye-es,” faltered Max.
“The scoundrels! And you such a good man, too, who has saved up and toiled for his family. I tell you what I’d do,” he said earnestly.
“What?” cried Max, turning to him with the eagerness of one in peril.
“They must last another twelvemonth, and pay up liabilities till then.”
“Yes, they must do that, I should say,” said Max.
“Then die at once, and let your people draw the money!” cried Hopper, slapping him in the breast, and gazing at him with the most serious of aspects. “So good and self-denying! You all over.”
Max started back, with horror in his countenance, and glared at Hopper, whose countenance, however, never for a moment changed; and he hastily poured himself out a glass of port and tossed it off.
“Very hard upon you, Max. I wish I was rich, and could help you. For you have been hit hard, of course. Never mind: you’ve that violent girl’s money in hand – six thousand. Make one of your boys marry her, and that’ll be all right.”
Max winced visibly.
“Haven’t spent it, have you?” continued Hopper, watching him from the corners of his eyes. “No, you’re too good a man for that? and it would be ugly.”
“Shall we go up to the drawing-room?” said Max, rising.
“Hey? Go upstairs? No, not to-night, thankye. Say good-bye to the ladies. I’ll be off now. Thankye for a bad dinner. More wine? No, I’m going to my lodging, for a quiet pipe and a glass of toddy before bed. Wretched weather, ain’t it? All right: I can get my coat on. Thankye, Max, thankye. I sha’n’t die yet, you know; your secret’s all right. Stop till I put on my respirator, so as to keep my lungs all right for your sake. Now my hat and stick. Thankye.”
He buttoned his coat tightly, looped the elastic of his respirator over his ears, and then stumbled to the door, gave the mat an ugly stab with his stick, nodded, did not shake hands, and went stumping down the street, talking to himself the while.
“I wonder whether that Tom is a trump at bottom?” he said. “I don’t know yet, but there’s a bit of a mystery over it all; and about Fred and that girl Jessie. She’s a puzzle, too. I wouldn’t have thought it of her; but I never did understand women. And so old Max is hit hard. Well, it’s the old saying, ‘Money got over old What’s-his-name’s back’s spent under his chest;’ and I’m sure of it. I’d swear it. He’s spent every penny of that violent girl’s fortune, as sure as my name’s Hopper, which it really is.”
Volume Two – Chapter Nine.
A Great Change
Richard Shingle was seated in his study – his own special room, tabooed, as he said, to every one but the specials – the specials being those whom he admitted. The place had a gay bachelor look about it, with a smoking-cap putting out a fiery bronze Amazon, and the green shade of a gas globe perched on one side, giving it a rakish air, as if it had been out all night. Cigars were in a box on a table, a handsome soda-water and spirit stand was on a sideboard, ready for use.
The furniture of the room was handsome, and in excellent taste; but it seemed as if finishing touches had been put by the owner himself, the said touches not being in keeping with the rest of the arrangements. There was an absence of books, too, in the place, which certainly had not a studious air. There were, however, plenty of newspapers and reviews; and it was observable that while the Saturday and Spectator were in an uncut state, Reynold’s and Lloyd’s were crumpled with much reading.
Richard Shingle, Esquire, was lolling idly back in a comfortable easy chair, in a rather loud-patterned shawl dressing-gown; one leg was thrown negligently over the chair-arm, a good cigar was in his lips, and as he smoked he diligently read the Times.
There was an appearance about Richard Shingle of having been dressed and had his hair brushed by somebody else, with the result that he was not quite comfortable; and every now and then he looked at the stubby fingers of his right hand, and had a bite at the hard skin at the sides, as if to help them to grow soft and genteel; for though as clean as if he had boiled them every day, to get them rid of old stains, they looked as thorough a pair of workman’s hands as it was possible to encounter in friendly grasp or clenched in warfare unpleasantly near your nose.
“Phew! this is hard work,” said Dick, pulling out a crimson silk handkerchief and wiping his forehead.
Then, laying down the paper, he rose, crossed the room, and poured himself out a little brandy from a decanter, before taking up a bottle of soda-water.
There was a sharp explosion: the cork struck a gas globe with a loud ring, and before Dick could pour out the contents of the bottle, half of it was on the Turkey carpet, drenching his hands and the front of his dressing-gown.
“If it was only genteel to swear,” he thought, “I’d have such a good one. Yah, it’s as gassy as brother Max. Wonder he has never found me out. Here’s a pretty mess! Ah! that’s better, though,” he continued, as he poured out and drank the refreshing draught before returning to his seat, wiping his hands upon his crimson silk handkerchief. “It’s very good sort of stuff, brandy and soda, specially the brandy; but I don’t know that I like it so well as half a pint of beer just drawn up cool out of a cellar, with plenty of head. Ah, those were days after all!” he said, sorrowfully. “One can’t go and have half-pints now. Hold hard, my lad! Taboo! taboo! That’s all taboo, you know.
“Well, I was always grumbling then, and wanting to be well off; but, somehow, we was very happy,” he continued, reseating himself in his easy chair. “Now I’m well off, I’m always feeling as if I wanted something else. But I don’t know: if Jessie would only look all right again, and matters be square, I don’t think I should grumble much. Well, here goes once more.”
He gave the paper a fierce shake, got his leg well over the arm of the chair, and went on reading aloud.
”‘The Chancellor of the Ex-exchequer ap-peal-ed to the ’Ouse to give doo con-sid-e-ra-tion to the wote – vote – and said – plead – ’ Blow the paper! it’s awfully dry work going through all this ’Ouse of Commons business every morning. Not half so interesting as the little bits about the accidents and murders and ’saults down at the bottom of the weekly papers. – One never knows where one is; and the way I get the two sides of the ’Ouse mixed up together makes me thankful I ain’t in Parlymint, or I should be doing some mischief. I wish Jessie would come. The members don’t seem to talk quite so much stuff when she reads. Poor lass! I’d give a thousand pounds down – and I could give it, too,” he added, with a fierce slap on his knee – “to see her looking as well and happy as she used to.”
He stopped, thinking for a few minutes.
“No,” he said aloud, “I haven’t done wrong. I’ve said it a dozen times, and I says it again. ‘No, my lass, I ask no questions about it,’ I says; ‘but that was an unpleasant piece of business about Fred Fraser, as is a reg’lar scamp; and if you loved Tom you didn’t do right. You says he came and threw up something at the window, and you opened it, thinking it was Tom. Well, my gal, you didn’t do right then, after what had happened.’ But there, it’s all over now – they belong to another set, unless they find out as we’re well off now, and Max wants to be friends. Ha! ha! ha! I shouldn’t wonder if he did some day. Ah, well! let’s have some more paper.”
He went on reading for five minutes, and then threw the sheet impatiently away.
“If it wasn’t for seeming so ignorant, I wouldn’t read a blessed line of it,” he cried. “Talk, talk, talk! Why, they might say it all in half an hour; only one seems so out of everything if one can’t talk about politics. No one ever says a word about the interesting paragraphs. I’m getting very tired of it all, and if ever I go into Parlymint I shall try for a comfortable seat below the gangway, or a hammock in the cabin.”
He pulled out a handsome self-winding gold watch, looked at the time with a sigh, and turned it over in his hand.
“Yes, you’re very pretty, and very valuable; but now I’ve had you six months I don’t care tuppence about you, ’specially as I don’t want to serve you as we used the old thirty-shilling silver vertical. ‘Make it ten shillings this time, Mr Dobree – do, please,’ I says, one night, ‘and I’ve got tuppence in my pocket for the ticket.’ ‘No,’ he says; ‘seven shillings – the old price; take it or leave it,’ he says. ‘Take it,’ I says. And so it went on till we lost it. Taboo – taboo!” exclaimed Richard, giving himself a tap on the mouth and putting away his timekeeper. “But I often wonder what’s become of the old watch. It was a rum one. You never knowed what it meant to do. One week it was all gain, and another all lose; and the way in which it would shake hands with itself, as if it enjoyed having such a lark, was fine, only it forgot to leave go, and the two hands went round together. Ah, well! – the cases was worth the seven shillings; so Uncle D. didn’t lose very much by the last transaction.”
The door opened, and Mrs Shingle entered, looking plump and well; and, having been very tastefully dressed by a good modiste, she was a fair example of what money will do.
It must be certainly owned that if she were to be calculated by the standard of refinement, it would have been necessary for her to hold her peace, as at the first words a considerable amount would have had to be taken from her value; but, all the same, there was very little trace left of the homely mechanic’s wife.
“Well, mother,” said Dick, smiling, as she entered, “what’s the best news?”
“Bad.”
“Isn’t Jessie any better?” he exclaimed anxiously.
Mrs Shingle shook her head.
“What does she say?”
“Nothing,” said Mrs Shingle sharply: “she’s like her father – has her secrets, and keeps them.”
“Don’t – don’t, mother! don’t go on like that!” cried Dick imploringly. “I’ve only got one secret from you.”
“One, indeed!” said Mrs Shingle, growing red in the face; “but it’s such a big one that it’s greater than all the things you’ve told me all your life.”
“Well, it is a big one, certainly,” said Dick, caressing his chin and smiling blandly. “But it’s been the making of us.”
“And you keep it from your own wife, who’s been married to you over twenty years.”
“Over twenty years!” said Dick, smiling at her – “is it, now? Well, I suppose it is. But lor’, who’d have thought it? Why, mother, you grow younger and handsomer every day!”
“Do I?” said Mrs Shingle, evidently feeling flattered, but angry all the same. “If I do, father, it’s not from ease of mind.”
“Come, come, mother,” he said, getting up and putting his arm round her, “don’t turn cross about it. I made a sort of promise like, when I thought of the idea that I’ve worked out into this house and this style of grounds for you, and your watch and chain and joolery, that I’d keep it all a secret.”
“Then it isn’t honest, father.”
“That’s what you’ve often said, mother, when you’ve been a bit waxy with me, and that’s what I felt you might say when I first thought it out and promised to keep it a secret.”
“Who did you promise?”
“Him,” said Dick, taking up an envelope and pointing to it with pride. “See —
”‘Richard Shingle, Esq., The Ivy House, Haverstock Hill,’” he went on, reading the address. “That’s the man I promised.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle, trying to escape from his arm, but very feebly; “and kept it from your own wife.”
“Well, yes,” said Dick, with the puzzled look very strong in his face. “I have kept it from you; but it’s a sort of religious oath – like freemasonry.”
“Like free stuffery!” cried Mrs Shingle. “When we were poor you never had any secrets from me.”
“No, my dear,” said Dick, kissing her – “never had one worth keeping; and see how badly it worked – how poor we were! Now I have got a secret from you – see how nicely it works, and how well off we are!”
“I’d rather be poor again, then.”
“Well, they was happy times,” said Dick; “but there was a very rough wrong side. It was like wearing a good pair of boots with the nails sticking up inside.”
“If I’ve asked you to tell me that secret night and day – I say, if I’ve asked you once,” cried Mrs Shingle, excitedly, “I’ve asked you – ”
“Two thousand times at least,” said Dick, interrupting her: “you have, mother, you have – ’specially at night.”
“Then I’ll make a vow too,” cried Mrs Shingle, throwing herself into a chair. “Never more – no, not even when I’m lying on my dying bed, will I ask you again.”
She leaned back, and looked at him angrily, as if she expected that this fearful vow would bring him on his knees at her feet. And certainly Dick did come over to her; but it was with a look of relief on his countenance as he bent down and kissed her.
“Thankye, mother,” he said – “thankye. You see, it’s a very strange secret, and mightn’t agree with you.”
“It’s agreed with you.”
“Well, yes, pretty well,” he said, smiling complacently; “but there, I’ve never told a soul – not even old Hopper; and fine and wild he’s been sometimes about it.”
“I should think not, indeed!”
“There, there, don’t look like that, mother,” cried Dick; “you have got such a sweet, comfortable sort of face when it’s not cross; and – there – it’s all right, isn’t it?”
It seemed to be, for Mrs Shingle smiled once more, and Dick drew a chair close to her.
“Now, look here,” he said: “I want to talk to you about Jessie.”
Mrs Shingle sighed, and laid her head upon his shoulder.
“Poor Jessie!” she said.
“Now, what’s to be done about – ”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Do you think she cares about Tom now? Because, if she does, I’ll swallow all the old pride and hold out the ’and of good fellowship to him – that is, if he’s a honest, true sorter fellow; if he ain’t, things had better stop as they are.”
“But that’s what I don’t know,” said Mrs Shingle; “she won’t talk about it. You know as well as I do that it’s all come on since that night at the old home.”
“Taboo! taboo!” muttered Dick.
“That letter was the worst part of it.”
“What, the one that come from Tom next day?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle; “it must have been very bitter and angry, for she turned red, and then white, and ended by crumpling it up and throwing it into the fire.”
“And Tom’s never tried to come nigh her since?” said Dick, musing.
“No.”
“Well, p’r’aps that’s pride,” said Dick. “He’s waiting to be asked. I don’t think the less of him for that.”
“No,” said Mrs Shingle, “Jessie won’t talk about it; but it’s my belief that Tom must have seen Fred come to see her that night, and he told her so, and threw her off, and she’s been fretting and wearing away ever since.”
“Fred’s often hanging about, though. Does she see him, do you think?”
“Oh no,” said Mrs Shingle, “I don’t think she does. Heigho! I don’t know how it’s to end. She’s getting as thin as thin, and hardly eats a bit; and she’s always watching and listening in a weary, wretched way, that makes me wish she was married.”
“Well, that’s it,” cried Dick; “let’s get her married.”
“Are you in such a hurry to part with her, then?” said Mrs Shingle bitterly.
“Part with her? Not I! I’m not going to part with her. Whoever it is as has her will have to come and live here.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Nice thing, for a young couple to be always having their father and mother in the house! Suppose whoever it is should want to bring his too?”
“Well, that would be awkward,” said Dick, rubbing his nose. “Hush! here she is.”
For Jessie came in just then, very gently, and her aspect justified Mrs Shingle’s words. She looked thin and wasted, while a sad, weary smile played about her lips, as if she were in constant pain and trying to hide it from those around. “Why, Jessie, my gal,” said Dick, “where have you been all this long time? Come along. I’ve got to leave soon – 11:20 sharp,” he continued, glancing at his watch, and shutting it with a loud snap as Mrs Shingle rose and left the room.
Jessie went to his side, and kissed him, staying leaning upon his shoulder; but soon after walked away to the window and looked out.
“That’s what she’s always doing,” muttered Dick – “always looking for some one as never comes. It must be about one of those two fellows. Jessie!” he cried.
“Yes, father.”
“I met Fred Fraser yesterday.”
She started round, and looked at him with dilated eyes.
“And Tom Fraser, his brother, the day before.”
Her face flushed, and an angry look darted from her eyes as he spoke, but she turned away.
“It must be Fred,” he muttered. “I don’t like it,” he continued; “I never did see such things as gals – girls. If she wants such and such a fellow, why don’t she say so? and if money’ll get him, why, he’s hers; but I’m not going to see her die before my eyes. I’d sooner she married a scamp – if she loves him. But he don’t have the playing with any money I may give her. Now, if Max would only make the first advances, we might be friendly again. I can afford to be, and I will; but I don’t like to make the first step. Jessie, my girl, if – I say if – if I was to become friends with your uncle again – ”
