Richard Shingle was seated in his study--his own special room, tabooed,
as he said, to every one but the specials--the specials being those whom
he admitted. The place had a gay bachelor look about it, with a
smoking-cap putting out a fiery bronze Amazon, and the green shade of a
gas globe perched on one side, giving it a rakish air, as if it had been
out all night. Cigars were in a box on a table, a handsome soda-water
and spirit stand was on a sideboard, ready for use.
The furniture of the room was handsome, and in excellent taste; but it
seemed as if finishing touches had been put by the owner himself, the
said touches not being in keeping with the rest of the arrangements.
There was an absence of books, too, in the place, which certainly had
not a studious air. There were, however, plenty of newspapers and
reviews; and it was observable that while the _Saturday_ and _Spectator_
were in an uncut state, _Reynold's_ and _Lloyd's_ were crumpled with
much reading.
Richard Shingle, Esquire, was lolling idly back in a comfortable easy
chair, in a rather loud-patterned shawl dressing-gown; one leg was
thrown negligently over the chair-arm, a good cigar was in his lips, and
as he smoked he diligently read the _Times_.
There was an appearance about Richard Shingle of having been dressed and
had his hair brushed by somebody else, with the result that he was not
quite comfortable; and every now and then he looked at the stubby
fingers of his right hand, and had a bite at the hard skin at the sides,
as if to help them to grow soft and genteel; for though as clean as if
he had boiled them every day, to get them rid of old stains, they looked
as thorough a pair of workman's hands as it was possible to encounter in
friendly grasp or clenched in warfare unpleasantly near your nose.
"Phew! this is hard work," said Dick, pulling out a crimson silk
handkerchief and wiping his forehead.
Then, laying down the paper, he rose, crossed the room, and poured
himself out a little brandy from a decanter, before taking up a bottle
of soda-water.
There was a sharp explosion: the cork struck a gas globe with a loud
ring, and before Dick could pour out the contents of the bottle, half of
it was on the Turkey carpet, drenching his hands and the front of his
dressing-gown.
"If it was only genteel to swear," he thought, "I'd have such a good
one. Yah, it's as gassy as brother Max. Wonder he has never found me
out. Here's a pretty mess! Ah! that's better, though," he continued,
as he poured out and drank the refreshing draught before returning to
his seat, wiping his hands upon his crimson silk handkerchief. "It's
very good sort of stuff, brandy and soda, specially the brandy; but I
don't know that I like it so well as half a pint of beer just drawn up
cool out of a cellar, with plenty of head. Ah, those were days after
all!" he said, sorrowfully. "One can't go and have half-pints now.
Hold hard, my lad! Taboo! taboo! That's all taboo, you know.
"Well, I was always grumbling then, and wanting to be well off; but,
somehow, we was very happy," he continued, reseating himself in his easy
chair. "Now I'm well off, I'm always feeling as if I wanted something
else. But I don't know: if Jessie would only look all right again, and
matters be square, I don't think I should grumble much. Well, here goes
once more."
He gave the paper a fierce shake, got his leg well over the arm of the
chair, and went on reading aloud.
"`The Chancellor of the Ex-exchequer ap-peal-ed to the 'Ouse to give doo
con-sid-e-ra-tion to the wote--vote--and said--plead--' Blow the paper!
it's awfully dry work going through all this 'Ouse of Commons business
every morning. Not half so interesting as the little bits about the
accidents and murders and 'saults down at the bottom of the weekly
papers.--One never knows where one is; and the way I get the two sides
of the 'Ouse mixed up together makes me thankful I ain't in Parlymint,
or I should be doing some mischief. I wish Jessie would come. The
members don't seem to talk quite so much stuff when she reads. Poor
lass! I'd give a thousand pounds down--and I could give it, too," he
added, with a fierce slap on his knee--"to see her looking as well and
happy as she used to."
He stopped, thinking for a few minutes.
"No," he said aloud, "I haven't done wrong. I've said it a dozen times,
and I says it again. `No, my lass, I ask no questions about it,' I
says; `but that was an unpleasant piece of business about Fred Fraser,
as is a reg'lar scamp; and if you loved Tom you didn't do right. You
says he came and threw up something at the window, and you opened it,
thinking it was Tom. Well, my gal, you didn't do right then, after what
had happened.' But there, it's all over now--they belong to another
set, unless they find out as we're well off now, and Max wants to be
friends. Ha! ha! ha! I shouldn't wonder if he did some day. Ah, well!
let's have some more paper."
He went on reading for five minutes, and then threw the sheet
impatiently away.
"If it wasn't for seeming so ignorant, I wouldn't read a blessed line of
it," he cried. "Talk, talk, talk! Why, they might say it all in half
an hour; only one seems so out of everything if one can't talk about
politics. No one ever says a word about the interesting paragraphs.
I'm getting very tired of it all, and if ever I go into Parlymint I
shall try for a comfortable seat below the gangway, or a hammock in the
cabin."
He pulled out a handsome self-winding gold watch, looked at the time
with a sigh, and turned it over in his hand.
"Yes, you're very pretty, and very valuable; but now I've had you six
months I don't care tuppence about you, 'specially as I don't want to
serve you as we used the old thirty-shilling silver vertical. `Make it
ten shillings this time, Mr Dobree--do, please,' I says, one night,
`and I've got tuppence in my pocket for the ticket.' `No,' he says;
`seven shillings--the old price; take it or leave it,' he says. `Take
it,' I says. And so it went on till we lost it. Taboo--taboo!"
exclaimed Richard, giving himself a tap on the mouth and putting away
his timekeeper. "But I often wonder what's become of the old watch. It
was a rum one. You never knowed what it meant to do. One week it was
all gain, and another all lose; and the way in which it would shake
hands with itself, as if it enjoyed having such a lark, was fine, only
it forgot to leave go, and the two hands went round together. Ah,
well!--the cases was worth the seven shillings; so Uncle D. didn't lose
very much by the last transaction."
The door opened, and Mrs Shingle entered, looking plump and well; and,
having been very tastefully dressed by a good _modiste_, she was a fair
example of what money will do.
It must be certainly owned that if she were to be calculated by the
standard of refinement, it would have been necessary for her to hold her
peace, as at the first words a considerable amount would have had to be
taken from her value; but, all the same, there was very little trace
left of the homely mechanic's wife.
"Well, mother," said Dick, smiling, as she entered, "what's the best
news?"
"Bad."
"Isn't Jessie any better?" he exclaimed anxiously.
Mrs Shingle shook her head.
"What does she say?"
"Nothing," said Mrs Shingle sharply: "she's like her father--has her
secrets, and keeps them."
"Don't--don't, mother! don't go on like that!" cried Dick imploringly.
"I've only got one secret from you."
"One, indeed!" said Mrs Shingle, growing red in the face; "but it's
such a big one that it's greater than all the things you've told me all
your life."
"Well, it is a big one, certainly," said Dick, caressing his chin and
smiling blandly. "But it's been the making of us."
"And you keep it from your own wife, who's been married to you over
twenty years."
"Over twenty years!" said Dick, smiling at her--"is it, now? Well, I
suppose it is. But lor', who'd have thought it? Why, mother, you grow
younger and handsomer every day!"
"Do I?" said Mrs Shingle, evidently feeling flattered, but angry all
the same. "If I do, father, it's not from ease of mind."
"Come, come, mother," he said, getting up and putting his arm round her,
"don't turn cross about it. I made a sort of promise like, when I
thought of the idea that I've worked out into this house and this style
of grounds for you, and your watch and chain and joolery, that I'd keep
it all a secret."
"Then it isn't honest, father."
"That's what you've often said, mother, when you've been a bit waxy with
me, and that's what I felt you might say when I first thought it out and
promised to keep it a secret."
"Who did you promise?"
"Him," said Dick, taking up an envelope and pointing to it with pride.
"See--
"`_Richard Shingle_, _Esq_., _The Ivy House_, _Haverstock Hill_,'" he
went on, reading the address. "That's the man I promised."
"Yes," said Mrs Shingle, trying to escape from his arm, but very
feebly; "and kept it from your own wife."
"Well, yes," said Dick, with the puzzled look very strong in his face.
"I have kept it from you; but it's a sort of religious oath--like
freemasonry."
"Like free stuffery!" cried Mrs Shingle. "When we were poor you never
had any secrets from me."
"No, my dear," said Dick, kissing her--"never had one worth keeping; and
see how badly it worked--how poor we were! Now I have got a secret from
you--see how nicely it works, and how well off we are!"
"I'd rather be poor again, then."
"Well, they was happy times," said Dick; "but there was a very rough
wrong side. It was like wearing a good pair of boots with the nails
sticking up inside."
"If I've asked you to tell me that secret night and day--I say, if I've
asked you once," cried Mrs Shingle, excitedly, "I've asked you--"
"Two thousand times at least," said Dick, interrupting her: "you have,
mother, you have--'specially at night."
"Then I'll make a vow too," cried Mrs Shingle, throwing herself into a
chair. "Never more--no, not even when I'm lying on my dying bed, will I
ask you again."
She leaned back, and looked at him angrily, as if she expected that this
fearful vow would bring him on his knees at her feet. And certainly
Dick did come over to her; but it was with a look of relief on his
countenance as he bent down and kissed her.
"Thankye, mother," he said--"thankye. You see, it's a very strange
secret, and mightn't agree with you."
"It's agreed with you."
"Well, yes, pretty well," he said, smiling complacently; "but there,
I've never told a soul--not even old Hopper; and fine and wild he's been
sometimes about it."
"I should think not, indeed!"
"There, there, don't look like that, mother," cried Dick; "you have got
such a sweet, comfortable sort of face when it's not cross; and--there--
it's all right, isn't it?"
It seemed to be, for Mrs Shingle smiled once more, and Dick drew a
chair close to her.
"Now, look here," he said: "I want to talk to you about Jessie."
Mrs Shingle sighed, and laid her head upon his shoulder.
"Poor Jessie!" she said.
"Now, what's to be done about--"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Do you think she cares about Tom now? Because, if she does, I'll
swallow all the old pride and hold out the 'and of good fellowship to
him--that is, if he's a honest, true sorter fellow; if he ain't, things
had better stop as they are."
"But that's what I don't know," said Mrs Shingle; "she won't talk about
it. You know as well as I do that it's all come on since that night at
the old home."
"Taboo! taboo!" muttered Dick.
"That letter was the worst part of it."
"What, the one that come from Tom next day?"
"Yes," said Mrs Shingle; "it must have been very bitter and angry, for
she turned red, and then white, and ended by crumpling it up and
throwing it into the fire."
"And Tom's never tried to come nigh her since?" said Dick, musing.
"No."
"Well, p'r'aps that's pride," said Dick. "He's waiting to be asked. I
don't think the less of him for that."
"No," said Mrs Shingle, "Jessie won't talk about it; but it's my belief
that Tom must have seen Fred come to see her that night, and he told her
so, and threw her off, and she's been fretting and wearing away ever
since."
"Fred's often hanging about, though. Does she see him, do you think?"
"Oh no," said Mrs Shingle, "I don't think she does. Heigho! I don't
know how it's to end. She's getting as thin as thin, and hardly eats a
bit; and she's always watching and listening in a weary, wretched way,
that makes me wish she was married."
"Well, that's it," cried Dick; "let's get her married."
"Are you in such a hurry to part with her, then?" said Mrs Shingle
bitterly.
"Part with her? Not I! I'm not going to part with her. Whoever it is
as has her will have to come and live here."
"Don't talk nonsense. Nice thing, for a young couple to be always
having their father and mother in the house! Suppose whoever it is
should want to bring his too?"
"Well, that would be awkward," said Dick, rubbing his nose. "Hush! here
she is."
For Jessie came in just then, very gently, and her aspect justified Mrs
Shingle's words. She looked thin and wasted, while a sad, weary smile
played about her lips, as if she were in constant pain and trying to
hide it from those around. "Why, Jessie, my gal," said Dick, "where
have you been all this long time? Come along. I've got to leave soon--
11:20 sharp," he continued, glancing at his watch, and shutting it with
a loud snap as Mrs Shingle rose and left the room.
Jessie went to his side, and kissed him, staying leaning upon his
shoulder; but soon after walked away to the window and looked out.
"That's what she's always doing," muttered Dick--"always looking for
some one as never comes. It must be about one of those two fellows.
Jessie!" he cried.
"Yes, father."
"I met Fred Fraser yesterday."
She started round, and looked at him with dilated eyes.
"And Tom Fraser, his brother, the day before."
Her face flushed, and an angry look darted from her eyes as he spoke,
but she turned away.
"It must be Fred," he muttered. "I don't like it," he continued; "I
never did see such things as gals--girls. If she wants such and such a
fellow, why don't she say so? and if money'll get him, why, he's hers;
but I'm not going to see her die before my eyes. I'd sooner she married
a scamp--if she loves him. But he don't have the playing with any money
I may give her. Now, if Max would only make the first advances, we
might be friendly again. I can afford to be, and I will; but I don't
like to make the first step. Jessie, my girl, if--I say if--if I was to
become friends with your uncle again--"
"Friends with Uncle Max?" cried Jessie, starting.
"I've been thinking of it, you know; and I was going to say he did give
you--us, I mean--the rough side of his tongue once."
"That's--that's all forgotten now, father," faltered Jessie softly.
"You forgive him, my gal, for what he said to you?"
"Yes, father, yes," she cried, with a sob.
"And you wouldn't mind meeting him again?"
"N-no, father, I think not," she faltered.
"And you wouldn't mind meeting your cousin Fred, eh?"
"I--I don't think so, father; I would try not to mind."
"I wouldn't press you, my dear," he said; "but you know Uncle Max is my
brother, and blood is thicker than water, eh? I say blood is thicker
than water; and some day I must die, and I should like to be friends
first."
"Die, father!" said Jessie, with a weary look. "Would it be very hard
to die?"
"Here, I say, Jessie, my pet, don't talk in that way. How should I
know? I never tried. What makes you say that?"
"Because--because, father--"
She stopped short.
"Oh, there, my gal, no one's going to die yet; but I say, Jessie, your
cousin Tom--you wouldn't mind meeting him, too?"
She turned upon him a mingled look of joy and dread; and then, shaking
her head--
"No, no, father," she exclaimed, closing her eyes, and with the veins in
her forehead standing out--"I could not bear to meet him."
"It's Fred! I said it was," exclaimed Dick to himself. "Well, I'm
sorry; but it can't be helped. I'll talk to him like a father, and
bring him round. Now, if--What do you want, John?"
He turned sharply round, for the door opened, and a page in a neat
livery, hardly recognisable as the 'prentice of the shoemaker's
workshop, entered the room.
"Please, sir, here's a gentleman to see you."
"Who is it?" cried Dick; "and what are you grinning at?"
"Please, sir, it's Mr Maximilian Shingle; and 'ere's his card."
Max Shingle had made up his mind, without any allusion to blood being
thicker than water, to make the first advance to his brother. For it
was very evident that Dick had hit upon some means of making money
rapidly, whilst of late matters had been turning out very badly in his
own business arrangements. No matter what he tried, or how he
speculated, everything went wrong; until, in a kind of reckless gambling
fit, to try and recoup himself for past losses, he had plunged himself
more deeply in the mire.
He had broached his intentions to his wife and ward at breakfast time,
and Mrs Max had shed tears.
"I'm sure I don't know what to say, Max," she whimpered, "unless it
be--_oh_!"
She uttered a loud shriek.
"My poor darling! what is it?" cried Max. "Another of your little fits?
There, go to her, Violante. She will be better soon."
"Yes, yes--it is nothing," faltered the unhappy woman. "I shall be
better directly."
She looked in a frightened way at her smooth, smiling lord, as she
ground her teeth and pressed her lips together, to keep from moaning
aloud.
Violante, who did not know what was the matter, jumped up and went to
Mrs Max's assistance; while the cat, who did know, having felt Max
Shingle's boot whisk by her ears as it struck Mrs Max, crept out of
harm's way, and curled up on the mat.
Tom Fraser and his brother Fred had risen and left the table, the one
for Somerset House, the other for the office, before this incident
occurred, or probably it would not have taken place; but Max had his
reasons for not speaking sooner--one being that he fully intended Tom to
marry his ward, and the other that he wished to pay his visit before the
young men were aware of the fact.
On reaching his brother's house, it was with a feeling of annoyance that
he was ushered by the boy into the handsome dining-room, opening upon a
conservatory, where, amongst other pictures, that of Dick and his wife
occupied conspicuous places.
"So you say your master is at home, my man?" said Max, with his most
urbane smile, as the boy came back from the study.
"Yes, sir; he don't go out till nearly midday on Toosdays. He says will
you wait five minutes, sir?"
"You didn't know me again," said Max, smiling in an ingratiating manner.
"Oh, don't I just know you again, sir!" cried the boy. "You're master's
brother, as used to come to the old place."
"Quite right, my man, quite right; I am your master's brother."
"You didn't know me again, sir?"
"No, my man, no," said Max, putting up his glass and gazing at the boy
with great interest; "you have improved so wonderfully. Ah! you look
better than you did in those old days."
"I should think I did, sir. Things is altered now. Master never talks
about the shoemaking; he always calls it taboo."
"Does he really?"
"Yes, sir, and everything's different. Never feel hollow now--nothing
never gnaws inside; and master says it's all because my 'gestion's
better. He knows."
"Stop a moment, my man," said Max insinuatingly; "here's a shilling."
"Thankye, sir: shall I go now?"
"In a moment. So he's in his study, is he? Making patent boots and
shoes?"
"Bless your 'art, no, sir; it's patent, but he don't make no boots and
shoes now. He buys all the very best. Look at that," said the boy,
holding out a foot.
As he spoke, Dick made his appearance behind them at the conservatory
door, when, on seeing Max talking to the boy, he drew back.
"Ah, yes," said Max, "that's a handsome boot; and you've got a good
foot, my lad."
"Them's the best boots in the trade, sir," said the boy proudly.
"He's going to pump him," muttered Dick. "Well, if he plays those
games, I shall do the artful too."
"So you never feel hungry and hollow now, my man?" said Max.
"I should think not, sir. Master gave orders that I was always to have
as much as I liked to eat. And I do," he added unctuously.
"He don't know much," muttered Dick; "but if he gets putting old Max on
the scent, I'll smother him."
"So you eat and drink as much as you like, do you, my man?" continued
Max.
"Don't I?" said the boy, laughing. "I should just think I do. Why,
I've growed out of two suits of livery since we've been here."
"And how long's that?"
"Twelve months, sir; and these is getting too tight."
"You were not in quite such a fine house as this before were you?"
"Oh no, sir, nothing like; but we've been doing very well lately."
"You young villain!" muttered Dick; "if you get telling tales I'll never
forgive you."
"So I suppose," said Max. "And so you are very happy and comfortable?"
"It's lovely, sir."
"Master and mistress very kind, I suppose?"
"They jest are, sir. Missus and miss seems like two angels, sir."
"And your master--does he ever give you the stirrup-leather now?" said
Max, laughing.
"Give me the sterrup-leather!" said the boy, looking pugnacious; "no, he
jest don't. I should like to ketch him at it. Sterrup-leather! why, he
treats me just like a son."
"But of course you are not his son?" said Max, with a peculiar smile.
"There's impudence!" muttered Dick, from behind a great camellia. "Nice
brotherly attack on me. Why, the young ruffian's going to say he is,
just out of pride and vanity!"
"No, sir; I was a workusser."
"A what?"
"A workusser, and was sent out to one o' the whitewashy schools. That's
where master got me. I'll go and see if he's ready."
"Wait a moment, my lad," said Max; "there's another shilling, for being
such a good boy and stopping in your place."
"Stop, sir!" said John, grinning, as he bit the edge of the coin and
then slipped it in his pocket--"I should think I do stop: master
couldn't afford to part with me."
"If that boy tells all he knows, I'll about half kill him," muttered
Dick, who, playing the eavesdropper, stood a fair chance of suffering
the listener's fate.
"I suppose not; you're so useful to him in his business, I suppose?"
"Pooty well, sir."
Max tried another tack.
"Master look well, John?"
"Lovely, sir!" cried the boy. "He's a regular swell now."
"Is he, though?"
"Tip-top, sir; never puts on a shirt twice, and wears three pairs o'
boots every day--shiny leather ones."
"Does he, though?" said Max, drawing nearer to the boy. "And so he
wouldn't like to part with you?"
"Oh no, sir. I goes to the City with him every day--on the broom
sometimes."
"He keeps a brougham, then?"
"My master could keep anything he liked," said the boy proudly; and Dick
took a two-shilling piece out of his trousers pocket and placed it handy
in his vest. "He's going to have a yatched."
"A what?"
"A little ship of his own, to go sailing about in."
"Then he must be very rich?"
"Rich?" said the boy. "I should think he is."
"And what did you say his business was, my lad?"
"Master's business is master's business, and nobody else's," said the
boy sharply. "Here he is, sir."
For just then Dick's cough was heard, and his step in the conservatory.
And then, in the whitest of vests and the glossiest of frock-coats, he
came into the room as the boy backed out.
"My dear Richard!" cried Max, with effusion--and the tears stood in his
eyes as he stretched out his hands--"I am delighted to see you again."
"Are you?" said Dick coolly, and without taking any notice of the
suggested embrace.
"So glad, I cannot tell you," cried Max, taking out and unfolding a
cambric handkerchief, which he held to one eye, looked at it afterwards
to see if there was a moist spot for result, and, as there was not,
tried the other eye with rather better success. "You'll shake hands?"
"Oh yes," said Dick. "How are you, Max?"
"Quite well, my dear brother: but why haven't you been to see me all
these long months?"
"Long months, eh? I never found 'em long. I began to think I was being
took advantage of now that I was well off, and getting short measure."
"Then you are very well off?"
"Tol-lol, tol-lol; nothing much to grumble about. But sit down."
He placed an easy chair for his brother, seating himself afterwards on
the edge of the table and watching his visitor sharply.
"I'm very glad of it, Richard," cried Max, after a glance round. "You
know, I always thought that a man with your brains was throwing himself
away on trade, and wasting his energies."
"Oh! you did, did you?"
"Always, my dear brother; and that's why I used to speak so sharply to
you--to rouse you--to awaken you."
"Well, you did that, and no mistake!" said Dick, laughing.
"And look at the result. You set-to and hit up some bright idea; and
now, before two years have elapsed, I come and find you a millionaire."
"Well, not quite that, Max: a million's a stiff sum, Max--a very stiff
sum."
"Hah! it's refreshing to come and hear you call me again by that
familiar name, Richard: it reminds me of when we were boys." And Max
again raised his handkerchief to his eyes.
"Well, old fellow, I wouldn't cry about it if I was you. It's all right
now. You always was pretty well down upon me when I was a poor man; but
as you've come and showed, as I said to Polly, that blood's thicker than
water, why, we'll forget all about the past."
"We will," cried Max, taking his brother's hand and beginning to pump it
up and down, clinging to it the while as if he were afraid of being
parted, and ending by trying to embrace him.
"I say, don't do that!" cried Dick sharply. "I'm pretty well off, but I
can only afford one clean shirt a day."
"Jocular as ever," said Max, holding his head on one side, and looking
at him admiringly. "Humour flourishes in a golden soil. And so, my
dear Richard, you make your twenty per cent, out of your profession?"
"Twenty per cent!" said Dick contemptuously. "Why, you don't think this
sort of thing's done on twenty per cent, do you?"
"How much, then?"
"Well, I don't know. I'm not particular. I take a hundred per cent,
when I can't get a hundred and fifty."
"A hundred and fifty per cent! My dear Richard, you must put me on to
this. We must be partners, Dick--Shingle Brothers, eh? But, my dear
boy, what business are you in?"
"Oh, yes--that's it!" said Dick, closing one eye slowly, and keeping it
shut while he fixed the other on the ceiling. "But here are the
ladies."
As he spoke, Mrs Shingle and Jessie entered the room.
"Never!" exclaimed Max, with an air of wonderment. "My dear sister, my
dear niece--years younger on the one side, years more beautiful on the
other. What a change since I saw you last!"
"There's better light in this room than in the old one, Max; and it
flatters, perhaps," said Dick.
"Yes, so there is, Richard. That was a cruel cold place. But why speak
of the past? My dear niece, you have really grown beautiful. Fred
would be charmed to see you."
Jessie's eyes contracted as she gazed full at him, and then, bending her
head slightly, turned away.
"Haven't you married him to a lady of fortune yet?" said Dick.
"Oh no!" cried Max hastily. "He is not engaged. Tom is--to my ward,
Violante--a charming girl."
Jessie stood as if turned to stone, but no sound escaped her. Dick,
however, saw that she was suffering, and he said, sharply--
"Ah! fine young fellow, Tom; but deuced low in his tastes. Wanted to
marry a poor shoemaker's gal--girl, I mean. But there, come into my
study, and I'll give you a glass of genuine port. Mother, tell them to
bring in the comic port."
"Comet port," she whispered. "I told you before."
"All right--only meant to get him away. Look at Jessie."
"I shall be delighted," said Max. "Ladies, good-bye for the present."
His bow was perfection; and then Dick led the way through the
well-filled conservatory, while Mrs Shingle caught her child's clammy
hand in her own, for Jessie seemed about to faint.