Sawn Off Part 26

"There's nothing done without trying, mother," continued d.i.c.k, who was excited now over his chase. "Try again, try again till you succeed's the way. Now, you know, if I was to--was to--(Ah, gone again; but I'll have you yet)--you see, I might--"

"Now, master, there he is," whispered Jack; "you'll have it now."

"Yes," said d.i.c.k, "I shall get it now. You see, mother, shoemaking and cobbling's all very well, but it means starvation to us, though it's a thing in common demand. If I could invent--(Ah! I shall have you directly)."

He went cautiously across the room.

"Invent a pair o' boots as won't never wear out, master," whispered the boy. "Now look, master--there, on the wall!"

The buzzing had ceased, and all was very still in the low, shabby room, as the bluebottle settled on the centre of a figure in the common wall-paper; and d.i.c.k went forward, on tiptoe, while, somehow drawn into a keen interest in the pursuit, they knew not why, Mrs s.h.i.+ngle and Jessie still looked on.

Slowly and cautiously, as if determined to make up this time for his many failures, Richard s.h.i.+ngle advanced closer and closer, just as a ray of suns.h.i.+ne fell on the wall, making the fly, which was cleaning and brus.h.i.+ng itself, stand out plainly before them all.

It was as if the capture of that fly had something to do with their future in life, and the activity that d.i.c.k threw into the pursuit was shared by all present.

Would he catch it? Would he fail?

That was the mental question asked, as he made a scoop of his hand, drew just within the required distance, paused for a moment, and then--

There was a rapid dash of a hand across the sunlit patch, and d.i.c.k stood up, with outstretched arm and closed fist.

"_Bizz_--_izz_--_izz_" went the captured fly, within the tightened hand, as Jack gave his knee a delighted slap.

"At last--at last!" shouted d.i.c.k. "I've got it, mother, now. Do you hear, Jessie? I've got it."

"Got what?" they cried.

He paused for a moment or two, turned to them with a curious look upon his face, and then said quietly--

"The fly on the wall."

"Jessie, my darling--he's mad," whispered Mrs s.h.i.+ngle, running to him.

"Oh, d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k!"

"No, mother," he cried, "I'm not mad; and I've made my fortune."

As he spoke he held his hand to the window, unclosed it, and the fly darted into the suns.h.i.+ne--free.

"At last!" said d.i.c.k softly. "`Hit a bright,'" Max said, "and--I've let it go."

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SEVEN.

WHO WAS THAT?

"Got your Australian money yet, d.i.c.k?" said Hopper the next day, when he dropped in as usual.

"No," said d.i.c.k; "but I've got this," and he flourished the ten-pound note before his old friend.

"Hey? Got that," said Hopper, putting on a pair of tortoisesh.e.l.l-rimmed spectacles, and taking the note in his fingers. "Why, it's--it's a ten-pound note. It's a bad one."

"No," said d.i.c.k triumphantly; "it's a good one. I asked our grocer."

"Hey? A good one! Come by it honestly, d.i.c.k?"

"Of course he did," cried Mrs s.h.i.+ngle indignantly.

"Ah! I don't know--I don't know," said the old fellow. "There's a deal of trickery in the world. If it's a good one, then, d.i.c.k, and you did come by it honestly, you'll lend me a few s.h.i.+llings, d.i.c.k, eh? Say ten."

"Hopper, old man," said d.i.c.k, "you shall have a pound if you like. And, look here, I've hit a bright idea at last."

"No--have you?" said Hopper, whose hearing seemed wonderfully good.

"Yes, old chap; and a fortune will come of it. And, look here: we've been best friends when it was hard times,--there's an easy chair in the corner for you when it's soft times. None of your turning proud, you know."

"Hey? Turn proud? No; I sha'n't turn proud. You will. Won't he, Jessie?"

"No," said Jessie, speaking up. "Father will never alter--never."

"Well, I don't know about that," said d.i.c.k, with a peculiar smile, which he seemed to wipe off directly by pa.s.sing his hand across his mouth.

"Perhaps I may alter, you know, and a good deal too. But, look here, old Hopper, you stop to-day, and we'll have a holiday--the first I've had for years."

"Hey? Holiday? What, go out?"

"No," said d.i.c.k, "stay at home. We'll have a bit of supper together, and drink the health of him as sent me that money--bless him. I can't work to-day. I'm ripening up something, and I can do it best over the old fiddle. We haven't had a sc.r.a.pe for weeks."

"Sc.r.a.pe? No," said the old fellow, "we haven't;" and, getting up, he toddled to the corner cupboard, from which he drew out a violoncello in its faded green baize bag, and, patting it affectionately, brought it out into the middle of the room. "I was going to take it away to-day,"

he said. "It's too valuable to be lost."

"Thought we were going to be sold up, eh, Hopper, old man?" said d.i.c.k, taking down a violin that hung by the eight-day clock.

"Hey?"

"Thought we were going to be sold up, eh? I should have taken care of your old ba.s.s," said d.i.c.k, with a nod and a smile. "It should not have come to harm, Hopper, anyhow. Now, missus, and you, Jessie, give us a cup of tea, with srimps and creases, and a nice bit of supper about eight. We'll have a happy day in the old house for the last one."

"Last one, d.i.c.k!"

"Yes, mother, the last one. I shall move into better premises to-morrow."

"d.i.c.k dear," cried Mrs s.h.i.+ngle imploringly--while Hopper seemed to be busying himself over the strings of the 'cello--"what does all this mean? What are you going to do?"

"Do!" said d.i.c.k, making his violin chirrup: "throw away wax-end and leather. They say, let the shoemaker stick to his last; but I've stuck to it too long. Mother, I'm going to make a fortune."

"But how, d.i.c.k--how?"

"Wait and see."

"You'll tell me what you are going to do?" said Mrs s.h.i.+ngle, half angrily.

"I sha'n't tell a soul," replied d.i.c.k firmly; and then, seeing the effect his words had upon his wife, he kissed her, tuned up his violin, and began to turn over the leaves of some very old music with the bow.