The Story of Antony Grace Part 89

"Don't you run away, Hallett," I cried. "I've no one to see me whom you need not know."

I stopped there, for the thought flashed across my mind that it might be some one from Miss Carr, or perhaps it might be something to do with John Lister.

He saw my hesitation, and said quietly:

"I shall be upstairs if you want me, Antony. I think I will go now."

He left the room.

"Well, Mary, who's the mysterious stranger?" I said.

"Oh, Master Antony," she cried excitedly, "whoever do you think it is?

I hope it don't mean trouble. Some one from the country."

"Not Blakeford?" I exclaimed, with all my budding manhood seeming to be frozen down on the instant, and my boyish dread ready to return.

"No, my dear, not old Blakeford," she said; "but that other old Mr Rowle."

"Old Mr Rowle!" I cried excitedly, as, like a flash, all my former intercourse with him darted back--the day when he came and took possession of our dear home; our meals together; the bit of dinner in the summer-house; and his kindly help with money and advice when I was about to run away. Why, I felt that it was to him that I owed all my success in life, and my heart smote me as I thought of my ingrat.i.tude, and how I seemed to have forgotten him since I had become so prosperous and well-to-do.

"Yes," said Mary, "old Mr Rowle. He's standing at the door, my dear; he said he was so shabby he wouldn't come in."

Thank G.o.d, I was only a boy still, and full of youthful freshness and enthusiasm! I forgot all my dandyism and dress, everything, in the excitement of seeing the old man again; and almost before Mary had done speaking, I was bounding down the stairs to rush through the big hall and catch hold of the little old man standing on the steps.

He seemed to have shrunk; or was it that I had sprung up from the little boy into a young man? I could not tell then. I did not want to tell then; all I knew was that the childish tears were making my eyes dim, that there was a hot choking sensation in my throat, and that I dragged the old man in. We had a struggle over every mat, where he would stop to rub his shoes. I could not speak, only keep on shaking both his hands; and I seemed to keep on shaking them till I had him thrust down by the fire in the easy-chair.

"Why, young 'un," he said at last, "how you have grown!"

"Why, Mr Rowle," I said, as soon as I could speak, "I am--I am glad to see you."

"Are you--are you, young 'un?" he said, getting up out of his chair, picking his hat off the floor, where he had set it down, and putting it on again, while in a dreamy way he ran his eye all over the room, making a mental inventory of the furniture, just as I remembered him to have done of old.

He seemed to be very little, and yellow, and withered, and he was very shabbily dressed, too; but I realised the fact that he was not much altered, as he fixed his eyes once more on me, and repeated:

"Why, young 'un, how you have grow'd!"

"Have I, Mr Rowle?" I said, laughing through my weak tears; for his coming seemed to have brought back so much of the past.

"Wonderful!" he said. "I shouldn't have know'd you, that I shouldn't.

Why, you've grow'd into quite a fine gentleman, that you have, and you used to be about as high as sixpen'orth o' ha'pence."

"I was a little fellow," I said, laughing.

"But you'd got a 'awful lot o' stuff in you, young 'un," he said. "But, I say, are you--are you really glad to see me, young 'un--I mean, Mr Grace?"

"Glad to see you?" I cried. "I can't tell you how glad. But sit down.

Here, give me your hat."

"Gently, young 'un, there's something in it. Pr'aps I'd better keep it on."

"No, no," I cried, catching it from his hands, and forcing him back into the easy-chair.

"Gently, young 'un," he said, thrusting one hand up the cuff of his long brown coat, which, with its high collar, almost seemed to be the same as the one in which I saw him first--"gently, young 'un," he said; "you've broke my pipe."

I burst out laughing, and, weak as it may sound, the tears came to my eyes again, as I saw him draw from up his sleeve a long clay pipe broken in three, and once more the old scenes in the deserted rifled house came back.

"Never mind the pipe, Mr Rowle," I cried. "You shall have a dozen if you like, twice as long as that. But you must be hungry and tired. I am glad to see you."

"Thankye, young 'un," he said, smiling; and the old man's lip quivered a little as he shook my hand. "I didn't expect it of you, but I thought I'd come and see if you'd forgotten me."

I ran to the bell, and Mary came up directly, and smiled and nodded at my visitor.

"Mary," I said, "let's have some supper directly--a bit of something hot. And, I say, bring up that long pipe of Revitts'--the churchwarden, you know. I've got some tobacco."

"I've got a bit of tobacco," said Mr Rowle, "and--you've taken my hat away--there's something in it. Thankye. I thought, maybe, they might come in useful. They're quite fresh."

As he spoke he took out a great yellow silk handkerchief, and from underneath that, fitting pretty tightly in the hat, a damp-looking paper parcel, that proved to contain a couple of pounds of pork sausages, which Mary bore away, and returned directly with a kettle of hot water and a long churchwarden clay pipe, which Mr Rowle proceeded to fill from my tobacco-jar, lit, sat bolt-upright in his chair, and began to smoke.

All the intervening years seemed to have slipped away as I saw the old man sitting there, a wonderfully exact counterpart of Mr Jabez in shabby clothes; and, as his eyes once more wandered round the place, I half expected to see him get up and go all over the house, smoking in each room, and mentally making his inventory of the goods under his charge.

I went to a little cellaret, got out the gla.s.ses, spirit-stand, and sugar, and mixed the old man a steaming tumbler, which he took, nodded, and sipped with great satisfaction. Then, puffing contentedly away at his pipe, he said:

"Not all your own, is it?" And his eyes swept over the furniture.

"Yes, to be sure," I said, laughing at his question, for I took a good deal of pride in my rooms, which were really well furnished.

"You've grow'd quite a swell, young 'un," he said at last; and then stopped smoking suddenly. "I ain't no right here," he said. "I hope you don't mind the pipe."

"I'm going to have a cigar with you presently," I said, laughing, "only we'll have some supper first."

"Only fancy," he said; "just a bit of a slip as you was when you made up your mind to cut, and now grow'd up. I should have liked to have seen what come between. You are glad to see me, then?"

"Glad? Of course," I cried; and then Mary came bustling in to lay the cloth.

"She's altered, too," said the old man, who went on smoking away placidly. "Got crummier; and she don't speak so sharp. Think o' you two living in the same house."

"Mary's my landlady," I said. "But this is a surprise."

"Ah! Yes," he said; "I've often thought I'd come up and see Jabez, and look you up same time. I had a bit of a job to find you, for Jabez wasn't at home."

"Mr Jabez is here," I said.

"Yes; they said he'd come to see you, and they wouldn't give me the address at first. I'd lost it, or forgotten it, but here I am."

"I'll go up and tell him you are here," I cried; and before my visitor could say a word, I had run upstairs and completely upset all Mr Jabez Rowle's calculations, which might or might not have ended in his gaining the odd trick, and was soon taking him downstairs on the plea or important business.

"Anything the matter, Grace?" he said--"anything wrong with Hallett?"

"No," I said; "he's in his bedroom. Come in here."