"Here! hold hard, you sir--hold hard!" cried Hopper, hooking Tom at last
by the arm with his great stick.
Tom turned upon him savagely; but the old man did not move a muscle.
"Where are you going?"
"To the devil!" said Tom bitterly. "To drown myself, I think."
"Hey? Drown yourself? Well, don't go to do it on an empty stomach. I
knew a man once who tried it, and he did nothing but float. Come home
with me, and have a bit of dinner first."
Tom Fraser was just in the humour to be led, and he could not help
smiling at the old man's words. The next moment Hopper seized his arm,
and began signalling wildly with his stick to a passing hansom cab, into
which he thrust him.
"Get over farther," he cried, poking at him with his stick; and then,
following, he shouted to the man, "Clement's Inn."
Nothing was said during the journey; and, on reaching the gateway,
Hopper got out first, and, literally taking Tom into custody, led him to
a black-looking house, and up a dingy old staircase, to a door at the
top covered with iron bands and clamps. This he unlocked, and pushed
his companion into a very old-fashioned-looking room, cumbered with
pictures, curiosities, and odds and ends piled up amongst the antique
furniture.
"There!" said Hopper, stopping to caress a cat that came rubbing itself
up against his left leg, and another that purred against his right,
while a third and fourth leaped upon his back when he stooped, "this is
my kennel--cat's kennel, if you like: I've got eight. That's their
garden," he continued, throwing open a sliding window that looked upon a
parapet; "they can run far enough along the roofs of the houses here.
Good view this, Tom Fraser. Ah! the very thing," he added, catching the
young man's sleeve; "look down there--eighty feet, and good firm stones
at the bottom. You say you want to go to the devil: jump down--I won't
stop you."
Tom glanced below, and turned away with a shudder. "Well, it would make
a nasty mess on the pavement, certainly," said Hopper, looking at him
curiously, while the cats rubbed and purred about them; "but they'd soon
sweep that away; and the dead-house is close by, in the Strand. I'll go
as witness."
"For God's sake, hold your tongue!"
"Hey? Hold my tongue? Why? Better and quicker than jumping into the
river, and struggling up and down, and wanting to get out; besides
running the risk of floating to and fro with the tide, and looking like
swollen bagpipes."
"Be silent!" shouted Tom, gazing at him in horror.
"What for?" chuckled the old man. "You'd look so ugly, too, with your
nose rubbed off. Tide always rubs their noses off against the barges,
and ships, and piers of bridges. Lots of people wouldn't drown
themselves if they knew how nasty they'd look when they were dead. I've
seen 'em--dozens of times."
"Do you find any pleasure in tormenting me?" cried Tom furiously.
"Torment you, hey? Not I," chuckled Hopper. "You said you were going
to drown yourself--that takes nearly five minutes; and they may fish you
out with a boat-hook and bring you to, which they say isn't pleasant. I
only, as the oldest friend of your family, suggested a quicker way."
Tom turned from the window, and threw himself into a chair.
"Ah! you're better," said Hopper, poking the fire up to make it blaze.
"Better!" groaned Tom.
"Yes, ever so much. You're not fretting about your step-father, but
about Jessie: you're in love."
Tom was starting up, but the old man forced him back into his chair.
"Sit still, you young fool. You are in love, arn't you?"
"I suppose so," said Tom bitterly.
"I'll give you a dose for the complaint," chuckled the old fellow.
Then there was a knock at the door, which he opened, and a neat-looking
servant bustled in and spread the table with the snowiest of cloths and
brightest of old-fashioned glass and silver, ending by placing the first
portion of a capitally cooked dinner on the table, and sending all the
cats out of the window into the gutter, where they sat down patiently in
a row, to gaze solemnly through the panes of glass till the repast was
at an end.
"Why, I thought you were very poor!" said Tom, gazing curiously at his
shabbily dressed host, as he opened a massive carved oak cellaret, and
took out a wine bottle that looked as old as the receptacle.
"Hey? Thought I was poor? More fool you!--you're always thinking
stupid things. You've gone about nearly two years thinking Jessie don't
care for you."
Tom started as if he had been stung; but he sank back in his chair,
gazing wonderingly at the quaint old fellow, as he opened the bottle to
pour out a couple of large glasses of generous fluid; and began
wondering how much he knew.
"There, you handsome young long-eared donkey!" cried Hopper, placing one
glass in the young man's fingers--"that's the finest Burgundy to be got
for love or money. That'll give you strength of mind, and blood to
sustain, and make you take a less bilious view of things than you do
now. Catch hold! I'm an old-fashioned one, I am. Here's a toast. Are
you ready?"
Tom took the glass, and nodded.
"Here's my darling little Jessie. God bless her! and may she soon be
happy with the man of her choice."
He looked maliciously at the young man as he spoke; but Tom set down his
glass untasted.
"I can't drink that," he said sternly.
"Hey? Not drink it! Why not?"
"Because, if she marries my brother, she will never be a happy woman."
"Bah! Idiot! Young fool!" chuckled Hopper. "She won't marry Fred.
I'd sooner poison her. Drink! You care for her, don't you?"
"I do," said Tom fervently.
"Then drink to her happiness, and don't be a selfish ass. If you can't
have her, don't grudge the pretty little sweet bit of fruit to some one
else. Drink."
"Jessie!" said Tom, softly and reverently; and he drained his glass.
"You're getting better," chuckled Hopper; "and I shall make you well
before I've done."
Certainly a great change did come over Tom Fraser as he partook of the
excellent dinner brought in nice and hot by the neat servant; the old
fellow seeming to be far less hard of hearing than usual, and chuckling
and laughing as he took his wine freely, opened a fresh bottle, and
finally brought out pipes and cigars, as the dinner was replaced by
dessert.
"Thought I was poor, did you, Tom, my boy?" he cried, slapping the other
on the shoulder. "I'm not, you see; but that's my secret. Your
step-father's got his; your Uncle Dick his; so I don't see why I
shouldn't have mine. I never bring anybody here hardly. Your father
has never been, nor your Uncle Dick neither. Lucky dog! He's made lots
of money, and goes on making it too, a fox--and hang me if I know how."
"The same way as you, perhaps."
"No, that he don't I do a bit in the City, and speculate in a few bills
occasionally. I've got paper with names on that would startle you, I'll
be bound."
"I daresay," said Tom sadly.
"There, there, man! take another glass of your medicine. You're coming
out bad with your old complaint again--lovesickness."
"Ah!" cried Tom, who had, like his host, got into the confidential
stage. "You don't know what it means."
"I don't know what it means?" cried the old fellow, rising, and leaning
his hands on the table as he laid down his pipe. "Look there, Tom
Fraser--look there!" he cried, crossing to a drawer, unlocking it
hastily, and taking out an old-fashioned miniature of a very beautiful
woman.
"My grandmother!" said Tom, starting, as he held the portrait to the
light.
"And my love," said the old fellow, in a softened, changed voice. "Yes,
Tom, I loved her very dearly--as dearly as I hated the man who took her
from me. Not that she ever cared for me. Hah! she was an angel. Your
grandfather was a scoundrel, and the blood of the two has run its
different courses. Women somehow like scoundrels," he said, as he
reverently put away the miniature.
"They do," groaned Tom.
"But not all, Tom--not all. There, man, fill up and drink. Here's my
little darling Jessie--your darling, if you're the man I take you for."
"If you talk like that, I must go," said Tom.
"Hey? What! go? Stuff, man! Have a little faith. I don't say
Jessie's perfect; but she's a better girl than you believe her. Try her
again, man."
Tom shook his head.
"Fred is always there in my light."
"Turn him out of it, then. Bah! You weak idiot! You imagine twice as
much as you have any grounds for. Take my advice, or leave it--I don't
care which. I only give you the hint for your own sake. Puss, puss,
puss!"
He got up, opened the window, and the cats came trooping in, to leap
upon him and show their delight, while he petted first one and then
another as they thrust their heads into his hands, Tom sitting back and
watching him the while.
"Curious, isn't it?" said Hopper, chuckling. "But a man must have
friends. I've got very few, so I take to cats, and they are as faithful
as truth. Capital things to keep, Tom, my lad. Only behave well to
them, and it don't matter how great a scoundrel you are, they never find
you out, nor believe what the world says--they stick to you to the end."
Tom took another glance round the quaint room, to see dozens of fresh
objects at every look--old china, ancient weapons, curious watches,
besides articles of vertu that must have been of great value; and the
old fellow chuckled as he saw the direction of his glances.
"Queer place to live in, Tom, and queer things about Look at this, my
lad: here's my will. I keep it in this old canister, just where it can
be found--ready for my executors. What! Hey? Going? Well, good-bye.
Come again--often--I shall be glad to see you."
"Do you mean this?" said Tom, returning the old man's warm pressure of
the hand.
"Hey?"
"I say, do you mean it?"
"Oh yes! I heard. Mean it? Of course I do, man, or I shouldn't ask
you. Only come in a sensible way, not in a ghostly form. None of your
drowned ghosts, without their noses. I mean you in the flesh, not in
the spirit."
"You need have no fear," said Tom sadly. "My mad fit is past. I should
not be guilty of such folly."
"I should think not!" said Hopper, laughing. "We make nearly all our
own troubles, my boy; and then men are such cowards that they run away
from them. Have another cigar? That's right--light up. Good-bye, lad.
I say, why don't you go round by your uncle's house, and have a peep at
some one's window? There, be off; you're a poor coward of a lover,
after all!"