"Got your Australian money yet, Dick?" said Hopper the next day, when he
dropped in as usual.
"No," said Dick; "but I've got this," and he flourished the ten-pound
note before his old friend.
"Hey? Got that," said Hopper, putting on a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed
spectacles, and taking the note in his fingers. "Why, it's--it's a
ten-pound note. It's a bad one."
"No," said Dick triumphantly; "it's a good one. I asked our grocer."
"Hey? A good one! Come by it honestly, Dick?"
"Of course he did," cried Mrs Shingle indignantly.
"Ah! I don't know--I don't know," said the old fellow. "There's a deal
of trickery in the world. If it's a good one, then, Dick, and you did
come by it honestly, you'll lend me a few shillings, Dick, eh? Say
ten."
"Hopper, old man," said Dick, "you shall have a pound if you like. And,
look here, I've hit a bright idea at last."
"No--have you?" said Hopper, whose hearing seemed wonderfully good.
"Yes, old chap; and a fortune will come of it. And, look here: we've
been best friends when it was hard times,--there's an easy chair in the
corner for you when it's soft times. None of your turning proud, you
know."
"Hey? Turn proud? No; I sha'n't turn proud. You will. Won't he,
Jessie?"
"No," said Jessie, speaking up. "Father will never alter--never."
"Well, I don't know about that," said Dick, with a peculiar smile, which
he seemed to wipe off directly by passing his hand across his mouth.
"Perhaps I may alter, you know, and a good deal too. But, look here,
old Hopper, you stop to-day, and we'll have a holiday--the first I've
had for years."
"Hey? Holiday? What, go out?"
"No," said Dick, "stay at home. We'll have a bit of supper together,
and drink the health of him as sent me that money--bless him. I can't
work to-day. I'm ripening up something, and I can do it best over the
old fiddle. We haven't had a scrape for weeks."
"Scrape? No," said the old fellow, "we haven't;" and, getting up, he
toddled to the corner cupboard, from which he drew out a violoncello in
its faded green baize bag, and, patting it affectionately, brought it
out into the middle of the room. "I was going to take it away to-day,"
he said. "It's too valuable to be lost."
"Thought we were going to be sold up, eh, Hopper, old man?" said Dick,
taking down a violin that hung by the eight-day clock.
"Hey?"
"Thought we were going to be sold up, eh? I should have taken care of
your old bass," said Dick, with a nod and a smile. "It should not have
come to harm, Hopper, anyhow. Now, missus, and you, Jessie, give us a
cup of tea, with srimps and creases, and a nice bit of supper about
eight. We'll have a happy day in the old house for the last one."
"Last one, Dick!"
"Yes, mother, the last one. I shall move into better premises
to-morrow."
"Dick dear," cried Mrs Shingle imploringly--while Hopper seemed to be
busying himself over the strings of the 'cello--"what does all this
mean? What are you going to do?"
"Do!" said Dick, making his violin chirrup: "throw away wax-end and
leather. They say, let the shoemaker stick to his last; but I've stuck
to it too long. Mother, I'm going to make a fortune."
"But how, Dick--how?"
"Wait and see."
"You'll tell me what you are going to do?" said Mrs Shingle, half
angrily.
"I sha'n't tell a soul," replied Dick firmly; and then, seeing the
effect his words had upon his wife, he kissed her, tuned up his violin,
and began to turn over the leaves of some very old music with the bow.
"Here's the note, mother; and don't spare expense--as far as five
shillings go. Get a drop of whiskey, too."
"Hey! whiskey? Who said whiskey?" exclaimed Hopper. "Going to have a
drop of whiskey to-night, Dick?"
Dick nodded.
"That's good," said the old fellow, laughing and nodding his head.
"We'll drink success to the new venture, Dick."
"We will. Now, then, what's it to be, eh? Here we go: `Life's a
bumper!' That'll do, for it is; and many a bump and bruise it has given
me."
Hopper's head went down over his 'cello, Dick's cheek on his violin; and
the oddly assorted couple began to solemnly scrape away, sometimes
melodiously, sometimes getting into terrible tangles over the score,
consequent upon its being set for three voices or instruments, and Dick
having to dodge up and down, from the treble to the tenor and back;
while Hopper, with half-closed eyes, and his head moving to and fro like
a snag on an American river, kept on sawing away, regardless of
everything but the deep tones he evolved from the strings.
From "Life's a Bumper" they went on to "Vital Spark," and from "Vital
Spark" to the "Hallelujah Chorus," and from the "Hallelujah Chorus" to
"Forgive, blest Shade;" and then Dick tried a solo known as "The
Cuckoo." But it was a failure; for though he managed the first note of
the bird, the second would not come--all owing to want of practice,--so
he gave way to Hopper, who, with knitted brows, played his solo, "Adeste
fideles," with variations; the effect upon the boy being absolutely
painful, causing him to thrust his legs up under the stool, and head
down, with his arms crossed over his person. His face, too, was drawn;
and had it not been for the variations, it seemed probable that he would
have had a fit of sobbing. These latter, being more lively, saved him;
though he had a painful relapse during the third variation, which was
_largo_, and in A minor, his face during the performance being a study.
However, he became convalescent during the _allegro finale_, and all
ended well.
Tea being declared ready, the musicians ceased their toils for the time
being, and feasted on watercress and shrimps; and though the "creases,"
as Dick called them, were a little yellow, and the shrimps dull in hue,
and too crumby and soft for crustaceans, the meal was a great success,
and Hopper actually made a joke.
Like giants refreshed, Dick and he returned to their instruments, and
sawed away until supper, which was luxurious, consisting, as it did, of
a highly savoured rump-steak pudding, with so much pepper in it, in
fact, that both took off their coats, and perspired in peace.
"Ha!" said Hopper suddenly--"I like this; it's better than eating curry
in company at your brother's, where you can't scratch your head."
"Yes, nice pudding," said Dick, with his mouth full. "You've put a good
lot of salt in it, Jessie."
"Lot!" chuckled Hopper. "I had one bit that tasted as if Jessie had put
in Lot's wife as well--the whole pillar. But, never mind, my dear;
that's the best pudding I ever ate in my life. I could taste your
fingers in the crust."
The table being cleared, half a bottle of whiskey and the pipes were
placed, with hot water, on the table by Jessie, whose eyes were always
wandering nervously towards the door, as if expecting to see some one
come in.
Hopper was the first to help himself to whiskey, which he did liberally,
apparently not being able to judge the quantity on account of the
foreshortening effect of the tumbler.
"That boy Fred been about here lately?" he said, taking his pipe from
his mouth, and poking at the lump of sugar in his glass with a spoon, as
if he were offended with it, or looked upon it as Fred's head.
"Not for some days," said Dick, puffing out a cloud of smoke, while he
glanced at Jessie, whose forehead contracted, and she turned slightly
away.
"Don't have him here: he's a bad one," said Hopper. "I don't like him.
Look at his moustaches."
"Ain't here."
"Hey? Ain't here? Who said he was? Just look at his moustaches,
stretching straight out on both sides, and worked into a point with
wax."
"Well, they ain't pretty, certainly."
"Pretty? Did you say pretty?"
Dick nodded.
"Look as if they were fixed there as handles to open his mouth with, or
to steer him. I don't like that boy. You, Jessie, if you let that chap
make love to you--Heyday, what's the matter now?"
The matter was that Jessie had darted an indignant look at him and gone
upstairs to her bedroom.
"Look at that now!" said Hopper.
"Well, you shouldn't speak to her like that," said Mrs Shingle
indignantly.
"Oh, if it's coming to pride, I'm off," said Hopper.
"This is getting on in the world." And, laying down his pipe, he
prepared to go.
"No, no, no--what nonsense!" cried Dick and his wife. And together they
forced the old fellow back into his chair, where, becoming somewhat
mollified after another glass of whiskey and water, he began to talk.
"She oughtn't to have huffed off like that," he said. "But I like
Jessie: she's a sensible girl, wears her own hair, and doesn't turn her
boot-heels into stilts and walk like a hen going to peck the ground with
her beak; though how she expects to get on without being more
fashionable I don't know. Ah! it's a strange world, but it's a great
nuisance that we shall all have to die some day. Max won't mind it a
bit," he chuckled, "he's such a good man."
"You leave Max alone," said Dick gruffly.
"Hey? what say?"
"I say you leave Max alone. He's my brother; and blood is thicker than
water after all--ain't it, mother?"
"Hush!" said Hopper, suddenly removing his pipe and making signs with
the stem.
"What's the matter?"
"There's some one outside, under the window," he said, in a whisper.
"Why, you can't hear," said Dick, in the same low voice.
"Can't hear? No; but I can feel some one there."
"It's the boy," said Dick.
"No; he's gone to bed this hour," said Mrs Shingle nervously.
"Let's go and see," whispered Hopper.
"Stop a moment," said Dick, frowning; and, getting up, he opened the
door that led upstairs, when a low whispering was plainly heard from
above.
Dick shut the door quickly, and turned to his wife.
"Mother," he said huskily, "I wouldn't have believed this if I'd been
told. Did you know of it?"
"No, dear--no," she cried agitatedly. "But pray--stop. What are you
going to do?"
"Put an end to it!" he cried fiercely. "My gal's going to be a lady;
and do you think I'm going to let her be the talk of the town?"
"Don't do anything rash, Dick, old chap," said Hopper, laying his hand
upon the other's arm.
"Rash!" cried Dick, bitterly. "I've been waiting for prosperity to come
all my life; but, curse it, give me poverty again, if riches are to be
like this."
A complete change seemed to have come over the man, as he darted to the
door and swung it open, just as there was the rush of rapid footsteps
along the paved court, and he ran off in pursuit; while Mrs Shingle and
Hopper followed.
They met Dick at the entrance, coming back panting; and he motioned them
into the house, and closed the door.
"Mother," he panted, in a voice that trembled with grief and passion,
"I've left it to you to train our girl while I earned--no, tried to
earn--the bread; and it's been my pride through it all to hold up my
head and point to our Jessie, and say to folks, `Look at her--she's not
like the rest as go to the warehouse for work.'"
"But, Dick--dear Dick, don't, pray don't judge hastily," cried Mrs
Shingle.
"I won't," said Dick hoarsely. "All I say is there was a man out there,
and she was talking to him on the sly. Is that right, Hopper? I say,
is that right?"
The old man looked at him vacantly, and seemed not to hear.
"Curse him! whoever he was," cried Dick hoarsely; "he was ashamed to
meet me. It was Tom Fraser, I'll swear; and he's not the man I thought
him. Here," he cried, swinging open the door that led upstairs,
"Jessie--Jessie, come down! Hopper, old man, you're like one of us--you
needn't go."
The visitor, with a sorrowful look upon his face, had already reached
the door, where he stood, leaning upon his stick, as Jessie slowly
descended, looking very pale, and glancing anxiously from one to the
other.
Mrs Shingle was crossing--mother-like--to her child's side; but Dick
motioned her back.
"Stop there!" he said fiercely; and then, taking a step
forward--"Jessie, you were talking to some one outer window just now?"
She did not answer for a moment, but gazed at him in a frightened way.
"I say you were talking to some one outer window?"
"Yes, father," she faltered.
"It was to Tom Fraser," he said, in a low, angry voice. "And he's a
sneak."
There was no answer.
"I say it was--to Tom Fraser."
"No, father, it was not," said Jessie, in a low clear voice.
"Who was it, then?" cried Dick.
There was no answer.
"I say, who was it, then?"
"It was to his brother Fred, father," said Jessie, almost in a whisper.
But all the same Tom Fraser had stood at the entrance to the court, and
been a witness of the scene.