My Friend Smith Part 51

Who could tell if I had not ruined him? Vain and selfish fool that I had been! Always thinking what others would think of me, and never how best I could help him in his gallant struggle against his evil destiny.

I rushed wildly from the office after him, and overtook him on the stairs.

"Oh, Jack," I cried, "it really wasn't my--oh! I'm so dreadfully sorry, Jack! If you'll only let me explain, I can--"

He was gone. The door shut-to suddenly in my face, leaving me alone with my misery, and shutting out my one hope of recovering my only friend.

I returned miserable to the office--miserable and savage. Though I knew I had only myself to blame for what had happened, I was fain to vent my anger on the cowardly set who had used my secret against my friend. But when I tried to speak the words would not come. I locked up my desk dejectedly, and without a word to any one, and heedless of the looks and t.i.tters that followed me, walked from the place.

Half way down the street I became aware of a footstep following hurriedly, as if to overtake me. Could it be Jack? Was there yet a chance? No, it was Hawkesbury.

"Oh, Batchelor," he said, "I am so sorry. It's most unfortunate the way it came out, isn't it?"

I made no answer, and drew my arm out of his.

"Harris is such a short-tempered fellow," he went on, not noticing my manner, "but I never thought he would go as far as he did. I a.s.sure you, Batchelor, when I heard it, I felt quite as sorry as you did."

"I should like to know who told Harris about it," I said. "I didn't."

"Didn't you? Wasn't he there that evening you told all the rest of us?

To be sure he wasn't. He must have heard the others speaking about it."

"They all promised--that is, I begged them all--not to tell any one," I said, with a groan.

"Yes, I remember your asking me that evening. It's a great shame if the fellows have told Harris. But he may have heard some other way."

"How could he?" said I.

"Well, I suppose it was all in the papers at the time," said Hawkesbury.

"Harris would hardly be in the habit of reading newspapers thirteen or fourteen years old," I said, bitterly.

"Was it so long ago as that?" said Hawkesbury. "No, it hardly does seem likely. Somebody must have told him."

"It was a blackguard thing of him to do," I said, "and I'll take good care never to speak to him again."

"Well, you'd be quite justified in cutting him dead," replied Hawkesbury. "I'd do the same if he'd done as much to a friend of mine."

I did not reply to this. After all, had Harris been much more to blame than I had been in the first instance?

"Well," said Hawkesbury, "I hope it will soon blow over. One never likes unpleasant things like this coming up. You must tell Smith how angry I am with Harris."

"I don't suppose Smith will ever speak to me again," I said.

"Really? Oh, I hope it's not so bad as that. After all, you know,"

said Hawkesbury, "it would have been much more straightforward of him to tell the fellows what he was at first. They don't like being taken by surprise in a matter like this. I really don't see that _he_ has so much to complain of."

"But it was so low of Harris to fling it in his teeth like that," I said.

"Well, yes, it was," said Hawkesbury; "but it was not as bad as if he had said something about him that wasn't true. Well, good-night, Batchelor. I hope it will be all right in time."

I was not much comforted by this conversation; and yet I was not altogether displeased to find that Hawkesbury agreed with me in condemning Harris's conduct, and his last argument, though it took away nothing from my unkindness, certainly did strike me. However unpleasant and cruel Jack's treatment had been, one must remember that the story told about him was true. Yes, it was a great consolation to feel that, whatever else had happened, no one had told a lie!

As I pa.s.sed the top of Style Street, meditating on these things, I became aware that Billy was striding across my path with a face full of grimy concern.

"I say, master," he cried, "where's t'other bloke?"

"I don't know," I said, walking on.

"What, ain't you saw him?" he demanded, trotting along, blacking-brush in hand, by my side.

"Yes--go away, do you hear? I don't want you walking beside me."

"That there clock," said Billy, pointing up to a clock just over his usual place of business--"that there clock's been gone seving a lump, and he ain't been."

"It's nothing to do with me," I cried angrily. "Come, get away, unless you want your ears boxed."

"Won't he's boots be in a muck, though," continued the boy, wholly regardless of my wrath, "without no s.h.i.+ne."

"Do you hear what I say?" cried I, stopping short threateningly.

Billy slunk off more disconsolately than I had ever seen him, leaving me to pursue my way unmolested.

I do not know where I wandered to that evening, or what I thought of as I walked. My mind was too confused and miserable to take in anything clearly, except that I had lost my friend.

Fellows pa.s.sed me arm-in-arm, in earnest talk or with beaming faces, and only reminded me of what I had lost. Memories of the past crowded in upon me--of Stonebridge House, where his friends.h.i.+p had been my one comfort and hope; of our early days in London, when it seemed as if, with one another for company, nothing could come amiss, and no hards.h.i.+p could be quite intolerable; of his illness and absence, and my gradual yielding to frivolity and extravagance; then of his return and confidence in me. Would that he had never told me that wretched secret!

If he had only known to whom he was telling it, to what a pitiful, weak, vain nature he was confiding it, he would have bitten his tongue off before he did it, and I should have yet been comparatively happy!

But the evil was done now, and what power on earth could undo it?

I slunk home to Beadle Square when I imagined every one else would be in bed.

Mrs Nash met me at the door.

"Your friend Smith's gone," she said.

"Gone!" I exclaimed. "Where?"

"How should I know? He paid his bill and took off his traps two hours ago, and says he's not coming back!"

You may guess, reader, whether I slept that night.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

HOW I TRIED TO FORGET MY FRIEND SMITH, AND FAILED.