Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 60

Rosalind told it as nearly as possible in the tutor's own words.

"He did not tell you the name of the s.h.i.+p?" asked the doctor.

"No."

"Or the name of the man who was killed?"

"No."

There was another silence; it seemed as if they were sitting as witnesses to the completion of some curious tunnelling operation, when the party on one side suddenly catches sound of the pick-axe stroke of the party on the other. Step by step the lost Roger Ingleton had been tracked forward to the deck of this West India trading-s.h.i.+p; and backward, step by step, the tutor's history went, till it almost touched the same point.

"I expect," said Tom, with a cheerfulness hardly in accord with the spirits of the company generally, "the fellow who was had by the shark was the one, and Armstrong never knew it."

The profound young man had dropped on the very idea which was present in the minds of each one.

"Wal," said the American mayor, "it may be so; but the question I'm asking myself is this: If so, it's singular Mr Armstrong did not mention the coincidence when you got the cablegram."

"Oh," said Roger, "at the time I was so cut up to find I'd failed after all, that I didn't care to talk; and directly after that we met Ratman.

He had no chance."

"I calculate I'd like to ask your tutor one or two pertinent questions,"

said the Mayor.

The meeting was fully with him, when Tom broke out again--

"I say, I know. Let's ask Gustav. He's no end chummy with Armstrong.

He might know a thing or two. He's the chap I told you about at Christy's minstrels," continued Master Tom, warming up at the genial reminiscence.

"Is that the French waiter down-stairs who helped bring you down from London?" asked the doctor.

"Yes. I'm keeping him here as valet for the present. Armstrong mentioned, I remember, that he knew him."

"Ring him up," said Tom.

Gustav appeared, all smiles and shrugs and compliments.

"_Eh bien_! my good gentleman," said he, "I am 'appy to see you well. I was _mortifie_ for your mishap; but Mademoiselle--ah, Mademoiselle!"-- here he raised his fingers gracefully to his lips--"ze angel step in where ze _pauvre garcon_ may not walk. You could not but be well with a nurse so _charmante_. Ah, my friend, 'ow 'appy will be my good, kind friend when he return!"

"You mean Mr Armstrong. Have you known him long?" asked Roger.

"_Pardieu_! Ten, fifteen, twenty year; I know not how long. He is brother to me, your kind governor. He is to the _pauvre pere_ a son, and to the _pet.i.te Francoise_--_ah! quelle est morte_!"

"What was the name of your father?" demanded Roger, his hand tightening on Rosalind's as he spoke.

"Ah, Monsieur! a poor name; he is called like me, Gustav Callot."

The poor valet was thunderstruck by the sensation which his simple words caused. Surely the English gentlemen and ladies are beautiful listeners; no one ever paid him so much attention in his own country.

The American mayor took up the examination.

"I reckon," drawled he, "that young man did not go by the name of Armstrong when you knew him."

"Ah, no! He has many names, my good, kind friend. It was Monsieur Rogers when we knew his finest. Ah! he act the comedy beautiful! Then when to came to cherish the _pauvre pere_ in Paris, and mourn with him the death of _la pet.i.te Francoise_, he call himself by our poor name.

Ah! gentlemen, he was good to us. All he save at 'L'Hotel Soult' he share with us--and _apres_ from the sea he even send us pay."

"What was his s.h.i.+p, do you remember?"

"Shall I forget? He told us it had but one eye, and called itself 'Cyclops' Ah! _mes amis_," continued Gustav, delighted with his audience and amazed at his own oratorical gifts, "he was much changed when I saw him next. 'Tis six, seven, eight years since. The beard is all shorn, the curl is cut off, the eye looks through a gla.s.s, and the laugh--_helas_! gentlemen, the gay laugh of the boy Rogers is turned to the knit brow of the great man Armstrong."

The company had had enough of elocution for one evening, and dismissed the orator with flattering marks of consideration.

The doctor and the vicar rose to go. Close friends of the family as they were, even they were superfluous at a time like this.

But the American mayor remained.

"I guess," said he, "my nephew--"

"Oh!" cried Jill, "then you are his uncle--dear, dear Mr Headland!" and the little maid flung herself into the astonished gentleman's arms and relieved her emotions with a flood of tears.

"Seems to me," said he, looking down and kindly patting the fair head, "my nephew's a hundred miles too far away at this minute."

American mayors are not as a rule endowed with gifts of prophecy, but it seemed as if there was an exception to the rule in the case of Mr Headland; for a moment later the door opened, and the tutor, eye-gla.s.s erect, and blissfully unconscious of the interest which his entry excited, strolled jauntily in.

"Ah," said he, "you're still up, then. I just caught the last--"

He stopped short, and the gla.s.s dropped abruptly from his eye. Roger had staggered to his feet and was standing with face aglow, stretching out his hand.

The tutor comprehended all. He advanced and placed his arm in that of his brother.

"You have found him at last, then, old fellow?"

"Yes, and without your help."

THE END.