To The West Part 1

To The West.

by George Manville Fenn.

CHAPTER ONE.

MR. JOHN DEMPSTER.

"What would I do, sir? Why, if I were as poor as you say you are, and couldn't get on here, I'd go abroad."

"But where, sir? where to?"

"Anywhere. Don't ask me. The world's big enough and round enough for you, isn't it?"

"But without means, Mr Dempster?"

"Yes, sir, without means. Work, sir--work. The same as I have done. I pay my poor rate, and I can't afford to help other people. Good morning."

I heard every word uttered as I sat on my stool in the outer office, and I felt as if I could see my employer, short, stout, fierce-looking and grey, frowning at the thin, pale, middle-aged man whom I had ushered in--Mr John Dempster he told me his name was--and who had come to ask for the loan of a little money, as he was in sore distress.

Every word of his appeal hurt me, and I felt, when the words came through the open door, as if I should have liked to take my hat and go away. But I dared not, for I had been set to copy some letters, and I knew from old experience that if Mr Dempster--Mr Isaac Dempster that is--came out or called for me, and I was not there, I should have a repet.i.tion of many a painful scene.

I tried not to listen, but every word came, and I heard how unfortunate Mr John Dempster had been; that his wife had been seriously ill, and now needed nouris.h.i.+ng food and wine; and as all that was said became mixed up with what I was writing, and the tears would come into my eyes and make them dim, I found myself making mistakes, and left off in despair.

I looked cautiously over the double desk, peeping between some books to see if Esau Dean, my fellow boy-clerk, was watching me; but as usual he was asleep with his head hanging down over his blotting-paper, and the sun s.h.i.+ning through his pale-coloured knotty curls, which gave his head the appearance of a black man's bleached to a whitey brown; and as I looked through the loop-hole between the books, my fellow-clerk's head faded away, and I was looking back at my pleasant old school-days at Wiltboro', from which place I was suddenly summoned home two years before to bid good-bye to my mother before we had to part for ever.

And then all the old home-life floated before me like a bright sunny picture, and the holidays at the rambling red-brick house with its great walled garden, where fruit was so abundant that it seemed of no value at all. There was my pony, and Don and Skurry, the dogs, and the river and my boat, and the fellows who used to come and spend weeks with me-- school-fellows who always told me what a lucky chap I was; and perhaps it was as well, for I did not understand it then, not till the news came of my father's death, and my second summons home. I did not seem to understand it then--that I was alone in the world, and that almost the last words my mother said to me would have to be thought out and put to the test. I had a dim recollection of her holding my hand, and telling me that whatever came I was to be a man, and patient, and never to give up; but it was not till months after that I fully realised that in place of going back to school I was to go at once out into the world and fight for myself, for I was quite alone.

I can't go into all this now--how I used to sit in my bed-room at night with my head aching from thinking and trying to see impossibilities.

Let it be sufficient if I tell you that after several trials at various things, for all of which I was soon told I was inefficient, I found myself, a big, st.u.r.dy, country-looking lad, seated on an old leather-covered stool at a double desk, facing Esau Dean, writing and copying letters, while my fellow-clerk wrote out catalogues for the printer to put in type, both of us in the service of Mr Isaac Dempster, an auctioneer in Baring Lane, in the City of London, and also both of us, according to Mr Dempster, the most stupid idiots that ever dipped pen in ink.

I supposed then that Mr Dempster was right--that I was stupid and not worth my salt, and that he had only to hold up his little finger and he could get a thousand better lads than we were; but at the same time I felt puzzled that he should keep us on, and that Sat.u.r.day after Sat.u.r.day he should pay our wages and never say a word about discharging us--Esau for going to sleep over his work, and me for making so many mistakes.

I had had scores of opportunities for judging that Mr Dempster was a hard unfeeling man, who was never harder than when he had been out to his lunch, and came back nibbling a toothpick, and smelling very strongly of sherry; but it had never come so thoroughly home to me as on that bright day, just at the time when for nearly an hour the sun shone down into the narrow court-like lane, and bathed our desk, and made me think of the country, the garden, the bright river, and above all, of those who were dead and gone.

As I told you, my eyes were very dim when I saw Mr John Dempster come out of the office slowly and close the door, to stand on the mat shaking his head sadly.

"He who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing," he said to himself, softly.

"I might have known--I might have known."

He turned then and glanced at Esau, smiling faintly to see him asleep, and then his eyes met mine gazing at him fixedly, for somehow he seemed just then to have a something in his face that recalled my father, as he looked one day when he had had some very bad news--something about money. And as I gazed at our visitor that day the likeness seemed to grow wonderful, not in features, but in his aspect, and the lines about his eyes and the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, my lad," he said, with a pleasant smile full of sadness, "you ought to pray that you might be always young and free from care. Good-day."

He nodded and pa.s.sed out of the office, and I heard his steps in the narrow lane.

I glanced at Esau, who was asleep still, then at the door of the inner office, and started as I heard a cough and the rustling of a newspaper.

Then, gliding off my stool, I caught my cap from the peg where it hung, slipped out at the swing-door, and saw our late visitor just turning the corner at the bottom of the lane into Thames Street.

The next minute I had overtaken him, and he turned sharply with a joyful look in his eyes.

"Ah!" he said, "my cousin has sent you to call me back?"

"No, sir," I stammered, with my cheeks burning; and there I stopped, for the words would not come.

How well I remember it! We were close to the open door of a warehouse, with the scent of oranges coming out strongly, and great muscular men with knots on their shoulders, bare-armed, and with drab breeches and white stockings, were coming up a narrow court leading to a wharf, bearing boxes of fruit from a schooner, and going back wiping their foreheads with their bare arms.

"You came after me?" said our visitor, with the old pained look in his eyes, as he half turned from me, and I stood turning over something in my hand.

"You came after me?" he said again; and as he once more looked in my eyes, they seemed to make me speak.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, what is it? Speak out."

"I--I couldn't help hearing all you said to Mr Dempster, sir," I faltered.

"Eh!" he cried, with a start. Then with a smile full of bitterness, "Let it be a lesson to you, boy. Work--strive--do anything sooner than humble yourself as I have done this day. But--but," he said, as if to himself, "Heaven knows I was driven."

"Mr Dempster never will lend any one money, sir," I said hastily; "but if you wouldn't mind--I don't want this for a bit. I've been saving it up--for a long time--and--by and by--you can pay me again, and--"

I had stammered out all this and then stopped short, drawing my breath hard, for he had seized my hand, and was gripping it so hard that the coin I held was pressed into my fingers, as I gazed up into his face, while he slowly relaxed his hold and looked down into my palm.

"A sovereign!" he said slowly; and then fiercely, "Did your employer send you with that? And," he cried hastily, "you heard?"

"Yes, sir. I was not listening."

"How--how long has it taken you to save up this?"

"I don't know, sir--months."

"Ah!" Then as he held my hand tightly, he said in a half-mocking way, "Do you know when I came into the office I envied you, my boy, for I said, Here is one who has begun on the stool, and he'll grow up to be a rich City man."

"I don't think I shall, sir," I said, with a laugh.

"No," he said, "you are of the wrong stuff, boy. Do you know that you are a weak young idiot to come and offer me, a perfect stranger, all that money--a man you have never seen before, and may never see again?

How do you know I am not an impostor?"

"I don't know how, sir," I said, "but I can see you are not."

He pressed my hand more firmly, and I saw his lips move for a few moments, but no sound came. Then softly--

"Thank you, my lad," he said. "You have given me a lesson. I was saying that it was a hard and a bitter and cruel world, when you came up to show me that it is full of hope and suns.h.i.+ne and joy after all if we only seek it. I don't know who you are, but your father, boy, must have been a gentleman at heart, and your mother as true a lady as ever breathed. Ah!"

He bent towards me as he still held my hand, for he must have read the change in my face, for his words sent a curious pang through me.

"Your mother is--?" He finished his question with a look.