Sawn Off Part 38

"Here's my darling little Jessie. G.o.d bless her! and may she soon be happy with the man of her choice."

He looked maliciously at the young man as he spoke; but Tom set down his gla.s.s untasted.

"I can't drink that," he said sternly.

"Hey? Not drink it! Why not?"

"Because, if she marries my brother, she will never be a happy woman."

"Bah! Idiot! Young fool!" chuckled Hopper. "She won't marry Fred.

I'd sooner poison her. Drink! You care for her, don't you?"

"I do," said Tom fervently.

"Then drink to her happiness, and don't be a selfish a.s.s. If you can't have her, don't grudge the pretty little sweet bit of fruit to some one else. Drink."

"Jessie!" said Tom, softly and reverently; and he drained his gla.s.s.

"You're getting better," chuckled Hopper; "and I shall make you well before I've done."

Certainly a great change did come over Tom Fraser as he partook of the excellent dinner brought in nice and hot by the neat servant; the old fellow seeming to be far less hard of hearing than usual, and chuckling and laughing as he took his wine freely, opened a fresh bottle, and finally brought out pipes and cigars, as the dinner was replaced by dessert.

"Thought I was poor, did you, Tom, my boy?" he cried, slapping the other on the shoulder. "I'm not, you see; but that's my secret. Your step-father's got his; your Uncle d.i.c.k his; so I don't see why I shouldn't have mine. I never bring anybody here hardly. Your father has never been, nor your Uncle d.i.c.k neither. Lucky dog! He's made lots of money, and goes on making it too, a fox--and hang me if I know how."

"The same way as you, perhaps."

"No, that he don't I do a bit in the City, and speculate in a few bills occasionally. I've got paper with names on that would startle you, I'll be bound."

"I daresay," said Tom sadly.

"There, there, man! take another gla.s.s of your medicine. You're coming out bad with your old complaint again--lovesickness."

"Ah!" cried Tom, who had, like his host, got into the confidential stage. "You don't know what it means."

"I don't know what it means?" cried the old fellow, rising, and leaning his hands on the table as he laid down his pipe. "Look there, Tom Fraser--look there!" he cried, crossing to a drawer, unlocking it hastily, and taking out an old-fas.h.i.+oned miniature of a very beautiful woman.

"My grandmother!" said Tom, starting, as he held the portrait to the light.

"And my love," said the old fellow, in a softened, changed voice. "Yes, Tom, I loved her very dearly--as dearly as I hated the man who took her from me. Not that she ever cared for me. Hah! she was an angel. Your grandfather was a scoundrel, and the blood of the two has run its different courses. Women somehow like scoundrels," he said, as he reverently put away the miniature.

"They do," groaned Tom.

"But not all, Tom--not all. There, man, fill up and drink. Here's my little darling Jessie--your darling, if you're the man I take you for."

"If you talk like that, I must go," said Tom.

"Hey? What! go? Stuff, man! Have a little faith. I don't say Jessie's perfect; but she's a better girl than you believe her. Try her again, man."

Tom shook his head.

"Fred is always there in my light."

"Turn him out of it, then. Bah! You weak idiot! You imagine twice as much as you have any grounds for. Take my advice, or leave it--I don't care which. I only give you the hint for your own sake. Puss, puss, puss!"

He got up, opened the window, and the cats came trooping in, to leap upon him and show their delight, while he petted first one and then another as they thrust their heads into his hands, Tom sitting back and watching him the while.

"Curious, isn't it?" said Hopper, chuckling. "But a man must have friends. I've got very few, so I take to cats, and they are as faithful as truth. Capital things to keep, Tom, my lad. Only behave well to them, and it don't matter how great a scoundrel you are, they never find you out, nor believe what the world says--they stick to you to the end."

Tom took another glance round the quaint room, to see dozens of fresh objects at every look--old china, ancient weapons, curious watches, besides articles of vertu that must have been of great value; and the old fellow chuckled as he saw the direction of his glances.

"Queer place to live in, Tom, and queer things about Look at this, my lad: here's my will. I keep it in this old canister, just where it can be found--ready for my executors. What! Hey? Going? Well, good-bye.

Come again--often--I shall be glad to see you."

"Do you mean this?" said Tom, returning the old man's warm pressure of the hand.

"Hey?"

"I say, do you mean it?"

"Oh yes! I heard. Mean it? Of course I do, man, or I shouldn't ask you. Only come in a sensible way, not in a ghostly form. None of your drowned ghosts, without their noses. I mean you in the flesh, not in the spirit."

"You need have no fear," said Tom sadly. "My mad fit is past. I should not be guilty of such folly."

"I should think not!" said Hopper, laughing. "We make nearly all our own troubles, my boy; and then men are such cowards that they run away from them. Have another cigar? That's right--light up. Good-bye, lad.

I say, why don't you go round by your uncle's house, and have a peep at some one's window? There, be off; you're a poor coward of a lover, after all!"

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWELVE.

PRIVATE INQUIRY.

Several weeks pa.s.sed. Jessie seemed to have received a serious shock from the encounter that had taken place at her father's house; and for days together she would be depressed, silent, and stand at the window watching, as if in expectation of some one coming. Then an interval of feverish gaiety would set in, during which, with brightened eye, she would chat and play and sing, showing so much excitement that d.i.c.k would shake his head to his wife and declare it was a bad sign.

"It's all fretting, mother," he would say. "She's thinking of that scamp Fred."

Whereupon Mrs s.h.i.+ngle would shake her head in turn, and declare tartly that he knew nothing at all about it, for she was sure it was Tom.

"You are very clever, no doubt, d.i.c.k, at keeping secrets and hiding things away from your wife--"

"That's right," said d.i.c.k. "Go it! I wish I was poor again."

"But you know no more about that poor girl's feelings than you do of Chinese."

"Well, I don't know much about Chinese, mother, certainly, but I'm sure it ain't Tom. How can it be?"

"I don't know how it can be," said Mrs s.h.i.+ngle tartly, "or how it can't be; but fretting after Tom s.h.i.+ngle she is, and it's my belief he's very fond of her."

"There you go," said d.i.c.k, who was warming himself, with his back to the fire, waiting for the object of their solicitude to come down to dinner--for she had been lying down the greater part of the day--"there you go, mother, a-showing yourself up and contradicting common-sense. I say it's after Fred she's fretting."

"I know you do," said Mrs s.h.i.+ngle, tightening her lips and giving her head a shake, which plainly said--"I'll die before I'll give in."