My Friend Smith Part 87

"Down Trade Street. I was on a pal's beat there, for a change, and he comes and wants his boots blacked. I knows the animal, but he don't twig me, bein' off my beat. I would a-liked to give the beauty a topper, so I would; but, bless you, where's the use!"

"So you blacked his boots for him?"

"I did so. An' 'e got a pal along of him, and they was a-jawin' about a parson's son as owed Mas.h.i.+ng fifteen pound, and saying as they'd crack him up if he didn't pay up. And then they was a-jawin' about the s.h.i.+ne up here that night, and the pal was a-chaffin' Mas.h.i.+ng cos of the wipin'

my bloke give 'im, and Mas.h.i.+ng he says he reckons he's quits with the prig--meaning the governor--by this time, he says. And t'other one say `'Ow?' And Mas.h.i.+ng says as the governor's a conwex son, and he knows who Mr Conwex is, he says, and he are writ a letter to Miss Conwex, he says, down in the country, that'll open 'er goggle eyes, he says."

"What!" I exclaimed, starting from my seat, "he's written to Mary, the brute!"

"Dunno so much about your Mary, but that's what he says," replied Billy, composedly.

"When--when did he write--eh?" I cried.

"'Ow do I know?" retorted Billy, who evidently misunderstood and failed to appreciate my agitated manner.

"I aren't arsked 'im. Arst 'im yourself if you want to know."

And he drew himself up in evident dudgeon.

I didn't know what to do. It was no time to denounce or lament. The thought of the poor innocent girl receiving such a letter as Masham would be likely to write was too much to endure. If only I could prevent her seeing it!

"When did you hear all this?" I said to Billy.

"Find out. 'Tain't no concern of yourn," said the offended hero.

"But, Billy," said I, "it's most important. Do you, know that what Masham has done will make your Mr Smith miserable?"

Billy started at this.

"If I'd a known that, I'd a wrung his leg off," said he.

"But when was it? This morning?"

"No, last night."

Last night! Then the letter would already have reached Packworth, and long before Jack and his father arrived the happiness of her life would have been dashed.

It seemed no use attempting anything. I determined, however, to send a telegram to meet Jack on his arrival, so as to warn him, in case the letter should still be undelivered. I worded it carefully, for fear it might be opened before Jack arrived.

"Hawkesbury did hear our talk. He told Masham, who has written a letter to some one we both care for."

This I flattered myself was sufficiently unintelligible to any one but Jack.

I spent the rest of the evening in fighting against the tumult of my own feelings. My impulse had been to rush at once to Hawkesbury and charge him with his infamy. But what good would that do? And who was I, to prefer such a charge against another? My next was to find out Masham, and take some desperate revenge on him. But, after all, my only authority was Billy's report of a conversation overheard by him; and, though it might be all true, I had no right, I felt, without further proof, even if then, to do anything.

On the whole, I came to the conclusion I had better go to bed, which I did. But whether I slept or not the reader may guess.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

HOW HAWKESBURY AND I CAME ACROSS ONE ANOTHER RATHER SERIOUSLY.

It took a great effort to appear before Hawkesbury next morning as if I was not aware of his meanness. Now Jack was away, he once again put on an air of friendliness towards me which was particularly aggravating.

Had he only made himself disagreeable, and given me an opportunity of venting my wrath, I should have been positively grateful. But to stand by all day and be simpered to, and even cringed to, was galling in the extreme.

I did once venture on a mild protest.

He was speaking to me about the coming holidays, and begging me in a most humble manner to choose what time I should like to take mine, a.s.suring me that any time would do for him.

I suggested, curtly, that as Doubleday had not yet had his holiday I considered he had first choice.

"Oh," he said, "I don't think so. Besides, Batchelor, Doubleday and I could both be away at the same time; but I really would hardly feel comfortable in going unless you could take charge of the petty-cash while I am away."

"Smith will be back," I said; "he could do that for you."

As I expected, his face clouded.

"I can't agree with you there, Batchelor. But don't let us talk of that. I hope you will choose the time you would like best. I can easily arrange for any time."

"I don't know what makes you so wonderfully civil," said I, losing patience at all this soft soap. "After all that has happened, Hawkesbury, I should have thought you might have spared yourself this gush, as far as I was concerned."

"I would like bygones to be bygones between us, Batchelor. I know quite well I have been to blame in many things! I am sorry for them now, if it prevents our being friends."

And he smiled sweetly.

I gave it up in disgust, and let him say what he liked. It was not worth the trouble of preventing him, unless I was prepared for an open rupture, which just then I felt would be unwise, both on Jack's account and my own.

So he had the satisfaction of believing his sweetness had made its due impression on my savage breast, and of scoring to himself a victory in consequence.

As I had found it before, hard work proved now to be the best specific for dull spirits, and during the next few days I gave the remedy a full trial.

It seemed ages before any letter came from Packworth, and I was dying to hear. For meanwhile all sorts of doubts and fears took hold of me. How had that strange family meeting gone off? Had it been marred by Masham's cruel letter? or was the poor lost father once more finding happiness in the sight of one whom he had last seen an infant beside his dead wife? Surely if sympathy and common interest were to count for kins.h.i.+p, I was as much a member of that little family as any of them!

At last the letter came. It was from Jack:

"Dear Fred,--We got down on Wednesday. Father went that night to the hotel, as his heart failed him at the last moment. I went on to Mrs s.h.i.+eld's, and found your telegram on my arrival. I was horrified, but hardly surprised at what it told me. Happily, Mary was in bed, as I had not been expected till the morning, so I was able to explain all to Mrs s.h.i.+eld. She knew all about it before I told her; for the enclosed letter had arrived by the post in the morning, addressed to Mary.

Mercifully, seeing it was in a strange hand, and, as I have often told you, being most jealously careful of Mary, Mrs s.h.i.+eld took it into her head to open the letter and read it before giving it to Mary, and you may imagine her utter horror. She of course did not let her see it, and thus saved the child from what would have been a fearful shock; and I was able to break it all to her gradually. Father is to come this evening--I am thankful it is all so well over.

"How are you getting on? Anything fresh at Hawk Street? I don't envy Hawkesbury or his friend their feelings just now; but I am determined to take no notice of this last brutal plot. Good-bye now.

"Yours ever,--

"J.S."

The enclosure, written in an evidently disguised hand, was as follows:--

"An unknown admirer thinks it may interest Mary Smith to know that her father is a common thief and swindler, who has just come back from fourteen years' penal servitude among the convicts. He is now living in London with his son, Mary's brother, who, Mary may as well know, is following close in his dear father's footsteps, however pious he may seem to others. This is the truth, or the writer would not have taken the trouble to send it. The best thing, if Mary wants to prevent the whole affair being made public, is to make her brother leave his place in London at once, and go somewhere in the country where he will be a nuisance to n.o.body."