COMETHUP PRACTISES DECEPTION.
Miss Charlotte Carlaw was awaiting the arrival of her nephew in the
drawing room. "I'd have driven down, my dear boy, but I find I don't
get any lighter as time goes on, and I thought you could possess your
soul in patience until you saw me. Come here, giant. Lord! what a
long time it seems since you first came into this house, a scrap of
humanity I had to stoop to! And now you're so big as to make me feel
uncomfortable; and your voice is deeper, and you've finished your
school days. There, come and kiss a foolish old woman; I'm devilish
proud of you, and I hear nothing but good reports of you. I've never
said so before, but I say it now; it was the best day's work I ever did
when I found you and brought you to London."
"A good day for me, aunt," said Comethup, gratefully.
"That's as it may be. I knew you'd got the right stuff in you, although
if it hadn't been for the captain I should probably have ruined you.
And how is the captain?"
Comethup assured her that the captain was well, and wished to be held
in remembrance by the best woman in the world.
"So that's what he says of me, is it?" said Miss Charlotte Carlaw,
laughing, and rocking herself over the head of her stick "You might
have told him I was the happiest woman, if that's got anything to do
with it. Well, did you meet any one else down in Sleepy Hollow?"
"Yes," said Comethup slowly, as if labouring under deep thought, "I met
my old playfellow, 'Linda."
"Oho! And what's our old playfellow like by this time? Grown old and
ugly--eh?"
"Oh, no," replied Comethup, with a short laugh. "I think--the captain
thinks--she's rather pretty."
"Oh, the captain thinks so, does he? And what does Prince Charming
think? There, you needn't be afraid to tell me anything; you wouldn't
be a boy, and you wouldn't be your mother's son, if you didn't fall
over head and ears in love with some one. And I suppose you've said all
sorts of pretty things to each other, and she's given you a ribbon or a
flower, or something or other, and you----"
"No, indeed," said Comethup. "She hasn't given me anything."
"Then you're both of you devilish backward for your ages, that's all I
can say. Did you kiss her?"
"Y--yes," said Comethup slowly.
"Ah, that's better. Well, I won't ask any more questions; I suppose it
isn't fair. Now sit down and tell me all about the end of your school
days--all you haven't told in your letters--beautiful letters they
were, too, Prince Charming, and I had only one grievance about them:
that some one else should have to read them to me. However, that can't
be helped. Now tell me what they said to you when you left, and whether
they were sorry, and whether they cheered you, or if there were any
speeches. Oh, I had a mind to come down and walk with my dear boy among
the people who looked up to him and loved him; I've been mighty jealous
of you, and mighty proud. Eight years ago, or more, I struck a bargain
with you, and you've held to it more faithfully than many a man could
have done. I wasn't mistaken in you, Comethup, and some day perhaps
you'll know how you've changed my life and what you've really done for
me. Now tell me everything. Lunch will be ready directly."
Comethup entered into a long recital of his doings, sharply questioned
at intervals by Miss Carlaw as to the number of runs he had made here
and the number of wickets he had taken there; she appeared to know all
the technicalities of everything that had concerned him by heart. The
recital lasted well into the middle of lunch, and she heard it through
to the bitter end with complete and smiling satisfaction. Then, after
sitting silent for some minutes, she turned abruptly to him, and felt
for his hand upon the table and covered it with her own.
"Now, my dear boy," she said, "you've been away from me, for the most
part, for eight years. I am a lonely old woman and one who has but one
love in her life, and that's you. I've missed you and longed for you
dreadfully; but I knew it was all for the best, and you were growing to
be a brave and clever lad, and so I put up with it. Now, it's no good
blinking facts; I'm getting old, and, at the best, I haven't got so
many years of life before me. I've thought of all sorts of things for
you--professions into which I might put you; I've thought of sending
you to one of the universities. But these years have taught me a
lesson. I can't spare you. After all, there are plenty of poor devils
in this world who have got to earn their living, and I don't see why
you, who have plenty, should stand in the way of any one of them. I
know you'd beat 'em hollow, whatever you took up, if you once started;
but I'm not going to let you try. As I've said, I'm a lonely old woman,
and I'm devilish tired of my own company. If you can put up with me,
and are not ashamed of me--no, no, boy, I ought not to have said that;
forgive me--I think we might manage, for a year or two, to run about
the world together and have a good time. I've never travelled yet, for
travel simply means inconvenience; but you shall be my eyes, and we'll
educate you in our own fashion. You shall see all that this good old
earth has to show you, and you shall tell me all about it and give me
your own impressions; and I shall be happy, and we'll both be happy. I
don't want to make a vagabond of you; but there's a good idleness as
well as a bad idleness, and we'll see if we can't find the first. What
do you think of it?"
"I think it would be splendid," said Comethup. "There are lots of
places I've heard of that I should like to see, and if you think----"
"I don't think about it; I've made up my mind. There are people who'll
say that a blind old creature, such as I am, ought not to hang like
a millstone round a boy's neck; but I think we shall manage to rub
along together--eh, Comethup? At the same time"--she held up a warning
forefinger--"if you feel any doubts about the matter, or have any other
purpose in your mind, out with it. Let's have plain sailing to begin
with, and we sha'n't make blunders afterward. I don't want you to be
reckless; but you shall have plenty of money, and we can afford to
travel in the best style and to go to the best places. I shall trust to
you so completely that I intend to put the management of everything in
your hands; you shall draw upon me for what you want, and I sha'n't
ask you questions. Now what's it to be, Yes or No?"
"Yes, with all my heart," replied Comethup.
"That's good; we'll call it settled. I purpose starting almost
immediately, and we shall probably be away for three or four years;
but that will depend upon how things turn out. Now let's talk about
something else. Did you meet any one else when you were staying with
the captain?"
"Yes, we met Uncle Bob one day."
"What! Robert Carlaw? What did _he_ want?"
"I don't think he wanted anything," replied Comethup. "He came to a
picnic with us--we didn't invite him, but he came--and was very nice."
"No, Bob wouldn't want any inviting. It's my honest belief that that
man will manage to get into heaven one day by sheer bounce; I don't see
how they're to keep him out. So he was very nice, was he?"
"Yes, very. He suggested he might be coming to London."
Miss Carlaw nodded her head a great many times. "Oh, I dare say. Well,
I'm not going to coerce you, or to control your actions in any way, but
I wish you to have nothing to do with that man, or with his son. It may
be prejudice, and I dare say it's very wrong; but I don't like him, and
I never shall, and they won't do you any good. What's the boy doing?"
"I believe he's in London," said Comethup. "I know he came to London to
make his fortune."
"Make his fiddlesticks! That boy'll never make his fortune unless
he makes it out of somebody else. I don't want to be uncharitable,
Comethup, but he's like his father, and his father shuffles. If you
take my advice you'll have nothing to do with either of them. I dare
say people would accuse me of injustice, and would say that I ought to
have put that boy in the place you occupy. But, in the first place,
he's had a father to look after him, and you hadn't; and, in the second
place, I'm devilish glad I wasn't such a fool. No, Comethup, I'm quite
satisfied with my bargain, and you and I will make the best of life
together and have a good time. I look upon you as a man now, although
you're young, and shall expect you to behave as a man. Now, I suppose
you've spent all your money--there, I don't want to hear details--and
want some more? You've left your school days behind now, and I suppose
we must treat you differently. Come with me, and we'll see if we can
find a cheque for you."
He conducted his aunt to a little room where she wrote her letters and
transacted her business generally. He had often seen her write, and had
been astonished at the ease and accuracy with which she did it--writing
on a curious board, with slips of metal, having notches in them,
stretched across it; with the aid of this she carried on quite a large
correspondence in a clear, neat hand. So used had she become to it that
she quite easily fitted in a cheque, seeming to take rapid measurements
on it with her fingers, filled it up, signed it, and handed it to him.
"There," she said, "that's for fifty pounds. As I've told you, I don't
want you to be reckless, but you can have more when you want it. You
know where the bank is, and you can drive there whenever you like and
cash it. There's only one thing I want you clearly to understand: I
want you to be a man and to learn your way about; and I want you to
keep a clear and open face to the world and to me. Do that always, and
we sha'n't quarrel."
He commenced a halting form of thanks, but she checked him and waved
him away, explaining that she had business to attend to, and smilingly
adding that she couldn't be bothered with him. But the business proved
to be of short duration. The proud old woman soon came bustling up
to the boy's sitting room in search of him, and suggested a drive.
The carriage was ordered, and they selected as their route, at Miss
Carlaw's command, the most public and fashionable ways.
"We shall be away from London for a long time," said Miss Carlaw soon
after they had started, "and London won't have a chance of seeing my
boy. So we'll give 'em a chance now; we'll let 'em see that the Prince
Charming they knew has grown a man indeed. Do they look at you? Do
they stare? Lord! it's at this time I want my eyes most; I never felt
the want of 'em until you came. But I mustn't grumble; I shall have a
judgment on me if I grumble after all my blessings."
Jealousy and envy racked her foolish old heart as much as they had
ever done. Amid all her joy at his return, she fell very often into a
despondent mood; strove, in a strange, pitiful fashion that was almost
grotesque, to make herself pleasing to the boy; was anxious to be seen
about with him, and yet fearful lest she should weary him, or he should
long for some other companion. The joy that his presence meant to her
was sometimes more than swallowed up by her jealous fears concerning
him. Had she but known, no such fear need ever have troubled her life,
for Comethup had a genuine and deep affection for her, born of his
gratitude for her many generosities, and, in greater measure, of his
respect for her strength and force of character. But it was, of course,
impossible for him adequately to express that, and so her fears never
really left her.
With that promptitude which marked all her actions when her mind was
once firmly made up, Miss Carlaw arranged to close her house and to
depart for the Continent in less than a week. It was a busy week, for
clothing had to be bought, and arrangements made as to their route,
and many other things settled to which only Miss Carlaw could attend.
Comethup went about with his aunt a great deal, but was often left to
his own devices; and on one of those occasions he made up his mind that
he would go down to the bank and cash the cheque which his aunt had
given him. The matter had completely slipped his memory before, for
there was little need for him to spend money, and he still had some in
his pockets. He had been with his aunt to the bank once or twice in
earlier years, and remembered well where it was situated. At the sudden
recollection of the large amount of money he was soon to have in actual
cash in his pocket, he hailed a hansom, immediately after leaving
his aunt's house, and prepared to drive down in state. It seemed much
better fun to the boy's mind to be able to take a cab, and pay for it,
than to order the carriage, as he could have done at any time.
His foot was on the step of the vehicle when a hand was clapped on
his shoulder, and he heard a familiar voice ejaculating his name. He
turned quickly, and saw the smiling face of Brian Carlaw. He could not
help noticing, even in that first brief glance, that Brian had changed
in some indefinable fashion, although it was comparatively but a few
days since they had met outside the school. London seemed to have put
its stamp upon the handsome, reckless face, and in the bold eyes, and
not to their improvement. Brian's dress had always been careless, but
now there was a sheer untidiness about it that seemed to belong to the
change of face.
"Well, this is lucky," exclaimed Brian, gripping his cousin's hand.
"I was just strolling up toward your place. I don't think I'd have
ventured to go in, after my recollections of our worthy aunt, but I
thought I might get a glimpse of you. And so we flaunt it in hansoms,
do we?" He laughed good-humouredly, and slipped his arm affectionately
through Comethup's. "In with you. I've nothing to claim me at the
moment; I'll go wherever you're going, and you can drop me when I'm
likely to be in the way. By Jove! you're a lucky youngster; and yet I
don't think I'd change places with you. Where are you going?"
"I'm going to the bank," said Comethup, hastily, standing up to give
the direction to the driver. As he settled into his place beside Brian
he added: "I'm awfully glad to see you; I've been thinking a great deal
about you, and wondering what you were doing."
"Boy, I'm living--that's what I'm doing. To-day, perhaps with a few
shillings in my pocket; to-morrow with nothing. No gilded luxury for
me; I've taken Fate by the throat, and I'm going to choke something out
of her. I'm only a boy--not nineteen yet--a boy, at least, in years;
but I've read there have been glorious boys who started as I have done
and took the world by storm. Oh, don't think I'm boasting, don't think
I'm mad. The days in Sleepy Hollow are done with; I stayed there too
long as it was. In London here--well, a man may starve, or walk with
broken boots, but everything about him lives--_lives_, I say; every
face of man or woman bears the stamp of a history; every sound, even if
it be the sound of an oath, has life in it. I tell you, it's glorious;
one has only to gird up one's loins, as it were, and join in the race,
and the excitement keeps you going; it must."
"But what are you doing?" asked Comethup.
"Doing? Everything that's worth doing. Working, seeing people,
dreaming. You've heard of Chatterton? He, poor devil, came from Bristol
to this wonderful city when he was about as young as I am; he poisoned
himself in a garret. I promise you I won't do that; life's too strong
in me; and if it comes, as it will, to a rough and tumble with the
world, the world goes down. But I'm working as he worked--writing.
You'll all be proud of me some day. I've met men already in these few
days who have begun to encourage me and tell me what I can do and how
to do it. I've been stringing rhymes for years--ever since I was a
boy; now I'm stringing rhymes in good earnest. I've had introductions
here, introductions there; this one has promised to take me up, that
one to see that I'm not forgotten. There's a trick in this as there is
in everything else--the trick of making people believe in you, making
people like you. You've got to show yourself a very fine fellow, and to
declare that you _are_ a very fine fellow; if you're loud enough about
it, people will believe you. Here's your bank, you millionaire. Shall I
wait for you, or come in?"
"Oh, come in, if you like," said Comethup.
Brian Carlaw was close at his elbow when he presented the cheque;
even laughed easily when Comethup hesitated a moment as to how he
should take the money. "Take it how you will, so that you get it," he
suggested. And when the boy had folded the notes and thrust them into
his pocket, his cousin linked arms with him again and drew him out of
the bank.
"Where are you going?" asked Comethup, as they reached the pavement.
"Going?" said Brian laughingly. "Well, I'm going to keep you in sight,
youngster; you have no right to be wandering at large in this dreadful
city with all that money in your pockets. Frankly, I'm going to have
lunch with you. My breakfast this morning was a small affair, and I was
casting about in my mind as to how to obtain a lunch when I met you.
Genius always has to do that kind of thing, you know; it's one of its
penalties. You shall give me the best lunch in town."
Comethup could not well refuse; but he was torn between the thought of
this reckless, penniless, hungry cousin of his, and the remembrance
of a certain blind old woman, to whom he owed everything, sitting in
her solitary dining room and lunching alone and anxiously awaiting his
return. However, before he had time to think about the matter with any
clearness Brian had thrust him into the waiting cab and had instructed
the driver in a loud voice to drive them somewhere where they could
lunch. "The best place in London," he added, "and look sharp."
"So this is the way she treats you," said Brian, looking round at the
boy with a smile. "Fifty pounds at one fell swoop! Why, ye gods! it'd
keep me for a year. Not that I envy you--envy isn't in my nature--only
it's a queer, topsy-turvy world when one man, who doesn't mean to do
anything in particular, has more than he wants, and another, who wants
to set the world ringing, can scarcely get a crust. There, that's sheer
green envy, isn't it? But what _are_ you going to do? Or have you made
up your mind to live at ease and do nothing?"
"Well, in a couple of days I'm going abroad with my aunt--for three
years, I believe. We're going to travel about."
Brian Carlaw's face grew grave, and, without making any reply, he sat
for some time almost in moody silence. Poor Comethup began to feel
guilty; drew a mental picture, as he was in the habit of doing, of
himself travelling in state and luxury through all the fair places of
the earth, while this clever cousin, who was bound to become a great
man and who craved only fifty pounds for a whole year, struggled along,
in hungry fashion, alone in London. He counted himself the usurper;
wondered, in all modesty, what his aunt could have found in him to
like so much better than this brilliant youth, who would surely some
day shed glory on her name. In a cumbrous, boyish, ineffectual way,
he strove to think how he might help this cousin, who was himself so
helpless.
The cabman knew his London, and drove them to a place noted for its
cookery and its cellar. Brian quite naturally led the way, and they
found a table in a corner and seated themselves. "Perhaps you'd better
leave the ordering of things to me," he said to Comethup; and the boy
willingly did so.
At the finish of the meal, when Brian had lighted a cigarette, he
leaned across the table to Comethup and spoke confidentially. The
eyes that Comethup thought were always so beautiful looked with the
friendliest, frankest expression into those of the boy, and his voice
had in it that soft ring of tenderness which made it almost like the
voice--except that it was deeper and stronger--of a woman.
"Dear old chap," he began, "I talked like a blackguard to you just now;
you're a dear, fine fellow, and I had no right--no earthly right--to
envy you your good luck. We've always been good friends ever since we
were little fellows, and we sha'n't be the worse friends because one is
rich and the other poor. You and I don't count friendship in that way,
do we?"
For answer Comethup, unwilling to trust his voice, stretched his hand
across the table; it was immediately gripped by the hand of the other.
"I knew what your answer would be," said Brian. "I don't want you to
think--oh, I don't know quite how to express it--but I don't want you
to think that I'm afraid of the future; I'll make as good a fight of
it as any one, perhaps better. Only there's an element in me that isn't
quite--well, not quite a manly one--something of the feminine, I mean;
it makes me long for sympathy and a friend's face and what-not. And
that was why, although you're only a boy, I was somehow rather looking
forward to your being in London; we might have seen something of each
other occasionally; at all events, it would have been good to know
that you were near at hand. However, you've got your own life to live,
and you're going to have a good time--and so am I, for the matter of
that." He threw back his head, crossed his hands behind it, and laughed
softly. "It's only this cursed want of money----There, I'm behaving
like a blackguard again, so we'll change the subject. Let's talk--oh,
of anything else."
The flimsy banknotes in Comethup's pocket seemed to weigh heavier
than lead; he thought miserably of all the luxury with which he
was surrounded, of the bowing servants, the costly furniture, the
carriages, everything that was his for the raising of a finger. And it
seemed harder than ever that Brian--so gentle, so cheerful, so willing
to take the rough with the smooth--should have presently to go out into
the world and fight desperately for actual food. He plunged his hand
into his pocket and pulled out the bundle of notes, and spoke in a
choking voice, "Brian--I--I say--Brian----"
Brian, who had been gazing meditatively at the ceiling, looked across
at him, suddenly leaned forward, with his elbows on the table and his
chin on his palms, and spoke in a surprised tone. "Why, Comethup,
what's the matter, boy?"
"Look here, Brian"--he sunk his voice to a whisper and looked round
apprehensively--"I can't take--take all this money, and know that
you--that you haven't a penny, or scarcely a penny, in the world. You
see, Brian, anything might happen to you. Why, you might actually
starve! It would be horrible. You know I have a great deal more--lots
more than I can possibly want. No one would know anything about it, I
promise you. Won't you take them?" He thrust the notes across the table
and pushed them against Brian's sleeve.
Brian changed the position of his head, lowering it so that his face
was hidden by his hands. Comethup saw emotion in the attitude, and
pressed the notes harder upon him. If he could have seen behind the
hand, he would have known that Brian's dark eyes had suddenly lighted
up with satisfaction, and that his mouth was working suspiciously,
almost as though he were trying to repress a smile. When, however,
after a moment or two he took his hand from his face and looked across
at the boy, his expression was grave enough, and his mouth was firm
with determination. He shook his head solemnly.
"No, old chap, it's impossible. Remember, I owe you money already. But
for you, I should have starved days ago. No, I've got to make a fight
for it, and I shall manage to fall on my feet. I know you can afford
it, and I'm awfully grateful, but it isn't fair, and I'm not going to
do it." He pushed the notes back again across the table.
"But, Brian," urged Comethup, "just think for a moment. I shall be away
three years at the least, and I shall have plenty of money--oh, I'm
not boasting about it, but you know I shall have plenty--and I can't
bear to think that you may be in straits while I'm having a good time.
You say this'll keep you for a year; by that time you will probably be
doing big things. If you don't like to take it, let it be a loan; if
you want to pay me back, you can--when you're rich and famous."
That point was apparently one which had escaped Brian. He pondered
for a moment, half started forward, and drew back again, and finally
stretched out his hand with a smile. "You're the finest fellow in the
world, Comethup," he cried, "and, by Jove! I'll dedicate my first book
to you. You're the only friend I've really got. Yes, I'll take the
money--or stay, you'd better keep a fiver of it to pay for the lunch
and to keep you swimming till you get another cheque. You don't know
how happy you've made me, old boy." He was busily engaged with the
notes, detaching one for five pounds and tossing it across to Comethup,
while he pocketed the others in businesslike fashion. "I shall go
home singing like a lark. By Jove! I'll be able to work now. The fear
of getting up each morning without the prospect of a meal before you
doesn't sharpen your wits, in spite of what people may say. Look here,
I'll give you my address. You must write to me, dear old chap; and
I'll write to you and let you know all that I'm doing. Besides, I may
want to send you this money back; it won't be long before I repay it,
I promise you. Keep me informed of your movements when you change from
one place to another, and I'll write to you regularly."
Comethup paid the bill, and they went out together. He had quite
forgotten about the cab, and it was still waiting; Brian thrust him in,
and stood on the pavement to say good-bye.
"I won't try and thank you, old boy," he said, "because such a thing
as this is too great for thanks. If ever you're desperately hard up,
you'll know what I feel like at this moment. You've got my address;
don't forget to write to me. Good-bye!"
They gripped hands, and Brian walked rapidly away, with that curious
half-swagger which was so like his father's step. Comethup drove home,
beginning to wonder a little as to how he should account to his aunt
for the disappearance of the money in the event of her questioning him.
He remembered how fixed was her dislike to Brian, and that, although,
as she had said, she had no wish to control his actions in regard to
his cousin, she would probably not be pleased to know that he had
regarded even her suggestion so lightly. Somewhat quakingly, therefore,
he sought her presence on his return to the house.
"Well, you rascal," she said, smiling, as she heard his step in the
room, "I suppose you have been running about town, throwing your money
about, eh?"
The shaft struck home, although she had only spoken in jest, and
Comethup winced. "Well, not exactly throwing it about, aunt," he began;
but she checked him.
"There, there, I don't want to know anything about it. I gave you the
money to spend, and I expect you to do as you like with it. I don't
want you to indulge in wanton waste--that would be absurd; and I don't
think you're likely to do it. But you needn't stint yourself. And let
me know when you want any more. By the way, as to-morrow is our last
real day in town, and there'll be a good many things to attend to, I
think we'll go to the theatre to-night--something bright, with music in
it. Would you like to do so?"
"Very much, aunt," he replied.
"Very well, then; you'd better go and see if you can get a box--a box
is always more comfortable. Now I want you to learn to please yourself,
and to choose for yourself, and then you'll please me. Just look down
this morning's paper and see what piece you think we should both like,
and then take a hansom--I heard you drive up in one just now; I'm glad
to see you're finding your way about--take a hansom, and drive off to
the theatre and get a box for to-night. If you can't get it at one
place, get it at another; you've got money enough. Get a big box, near
the stage."
Comethup tremblingly began to fumble in his pockets. He had no
very distinct idea of what a box would cost, but he knew it was an
expensive matter, and the gold coins in his pocket were remarkably
few. He coughed and hesitated, and Miss Carlaw began to show signs of
impatience.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Don't you want to go? For Heaven's
sake, boy, don't stand there in that fashion! Comethup, is anything the
matter?" Her voice had changed in a moment, and she came rapidly across
the room to him. "Comethup, something has happened. What is it?"
"If you please, aunt--I--I'm dreadfully sorry, but how much does a box
cost?"
"What the devil's that got to do with it? Anything from two and a half
to three guineas, if it's a good one. What _is_ the matter with you?"
"Well," said Comethup, slowly, "I'm afraid I haven't got money enough."
She stood quite still for a moment, as if not fully understanding what
he said. "Not money enough?" she echoed at last. "But, my dear boy,
haven't you cashed the cheque I gave you--the fifty pounds, you know?"
"Yes, aunt, I cashed it. But--I'm dreadfully sorry--there isn't much of
it left--not enough for that."
Miss Charlotte Carlaw whistled softly, and looked grave. "My dear
boy," she said, "I told you you might spend that money just as you
liked, and I'm not going back on my word. But you're a youngster at
this game, evidently, and perhaps I was foolish to give you such a sum
all at once. Fifty pounds is a good deal of money, and, although I'm
very rich, you mustn't let it slip quite so quickly as that, Prince
Charming. I don't want you to tell me anything unless you wish, but, in
God's name, boy, what have you done with it? What have you spent it on?
I told you to do as you liked with it, but for the life of me I can't
think what you've done with that money in a matter of two days unless
you've lost it. Have you lost it, Comethup?"
"No," said Comethup, slowly, "I haven't lost it. I know it seems--seems
awfully strange, especially as I only cashed it to-day; I really didn't
want it then."
"There's some mystery here," said Miss Carlaw, "and I think I ought,
for your sake, to get at the bottom of it. Devil take the money! I
don't care a pin about it. But what have you done with it? Come, you
don't mind telling me?"
"No," said Comethup. He had made up his mind that some explanation must
be given. "I didn't want to tell you, but I gave it away, or lent it."
"Well, go on," replied Miss Carlaw.
"I gave it--lent it, I mean--to--to an old friend. He was hard up, and
he really didn't want to take it. But he said it would keep him for a
year----"
"Poor devil!" ejaculated Miss Carlaw under her breath.
"And I wanted to help him, so I made him take it. I didn't want to tell
you; you know I never have anything to spend money on, and I thought I
should be able to get along with what I had for a long time."
Miss Carlaw turned away abruptly and pulled out her purse. Twisting
round toward him again, she held it out, even shook it at him. "Here,
take this. Oh, my dear boy, I'm an old fool, and you're probably a
young one; but, upon my word, I think you're making me love you more
every day. It was a lot of money to give any one, but you're quite
right, and I hope I should have done the same myself. Here, take this,
and go and see about the box. There's money enough there."
"No, I'd rather not take any more money, aunt, thank you; not yet, at
least. I don't want it, and I can just as well wait a bit."
"Will you take it? Don't talk nonsense."
"No, thank you, I'd rather not," said Comethup.
She laughed, very well pleased, and came nearer to him. "Here, take
it," she urged gently, "and pay for the box and your cab, at least.
Lord! I love your obstinacy."
Comethup took the purse and kissed her, feeling very guilty, and went
out to do her bidding.