JACK AND HIS UNCLE
JACK, following the attorney’s advice, had made up his mind to ask his
uncle for the money that very night, but when he came face to face with
doing it, it was very hard. They were sitting together over their poor
frugal supper, and the old miser’s utter unconsciousness of what Jack
had it on his mind to say made the saying of it very hard. At last he
suddenly spoke. “Uncle Hezekiah,” said he.
The old man looked up sharply, almost as though startled at the sound
of Jack’s voice. He did not say anything, but he sat looking at Jack as
though inviting him to continue.
“Uncle Hezekiah,” said Jack again. He did not know in just what words
to frame what he had to say. Then he continued: “I want to—to talk to
you about a matter of business.”
“Hey!” said the old man, “business! business! What d’ ye mean—what
d’ye mean by business?”
“Why,” said Jack, “I want some money to buy something. I went to see
Master Burton to-day, and he told me I had best come to you and ask you
for it.” Gradually Jack was becoming bolder as he became accustomed to
the sound of his own voice. “Dan Williamson hath a boat for sale,” he
continued. “He wants eighteen pound for it, and if I had twenty pound
it would be just enough to fit her up as I would like to have her. I
went and talked to Master Burton, and he told me I had best come to you
and ask you for the money.”
The old man stared blankly at Jack, his lean jaw hanging gaping with
speechless surprise. “Why! why! what’s all this?” he said, finding his
voice at last. “Twenty pound! Why, I do believe you’re gone clean clear
crazy. Twenty pound! What’s Roger Burton got to do with my giving you
twenty pound, I’d like to know? You’ll not get a farden, and that’s the
long and the short of it. Master Burton, indeed! What business is it of
his, I’d like to know?” He sat looking at Jack for a little while, and
then he slowly resumed his interrupted supper again.
Jack sat leaning back in his chair, with his hands in his breeches’
pockets, looking across the table at his uncle. His heart was swelling
with a feeling of very choking and bitter disappointment and anger. It
seemed to him that he had not expected much, but now that his uncle had
denied him, his disappointment was very bitter. He watched his uncle as
the old man continued eating in silence. “Very well,” said he at last,
“then I know what I’ll do. I’ll go back to Master Burton again. He told
me what to do, and that if you said me nay I was to go back to him
again. He says that Sir Henry Ballister has been writing to him about
me, asking how you treated me and what you did for me, and he told me
if you would not give me what I asked for, I was to go back to him, and
he’d write to Sir Henry and tell him all about it, and that he’d see if
something couldn’t be done on my account.”
Old Hezekiah looked up again. “Sir Henry Ballister?” said he. “What’s
he been writing to Roger Burton about, I should like to know! What’s he
got to do with it? He’s not your guardeen, is he? I’m your guardeen,
and the guardeen of your money as well. As for Sir Henry Ballister,
why, he’s got no more to do with you than the man in the moon.” Then he
went on eating again, and again Jack sat watching him in silence. In
a little while Hezekiah finished his supper, chasing the fatty gravy
around and around his plate with the point of his knife. Then he laid
down his knife and fork, pushed away his plate, and arose from the
table.
“Very well,” said Jack, breaking the silence, “we’ll see about all
this business. I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to write to
Sir Henry Ballister myself, and tell him about the way I’m treated by
you. You never give me a farthing to spend, and as for being your own
flesh and blood—why, I might as well be a dog in this house as to be
your own kin. You keep all my money and use it as your own, and yet
you don’t speak six words to me in a month.” Jack was dimly surprised
at his own boldness in speaking. Now that he had made a beginning, it
seemed very easy to say his say and to speak out all that lay on his
mind. “I’m not going to be treated like a dog by you or by anybody,” he
said.
“Yes, I do speak to you, too,” said Hezekiah, stopping at the door.
“What d’ ye want me to say to you, anyhow?” he added. “Don’t I give you
all you want to eat and drink, and never charge you a farden for it?
What more d’ye want than that? You’re the most ungratefulest nevy that
ever lived, so you are, to talk to me that way.”
Then he went out of the door, and along the dark passageway, and Jack
heard him enter the office, and shut the door behind him. Then he began
eating his supper again. He felt very bitter and very angry against the
old man.
So he sat eating for a long time in lonely silence, broken only by
the sound of Deborah clattering now and then among the pots and pans
in the kitchen beyond. Suddenly he heard the office door open again,
and the sound of his uncle’s steps coming back along the passage. He
reached the door, and Jack heard his fingers fumbling for the latch in
the darkness, and then the sharp click as it was raised. Then the door
opened, and the old man came in. He stood for a moment, and then came
straight across to the table where Jack sat. He stood leaning with both
hands upon the table. Jack did not know exactly what to expect. He drew
himself back, for the first thought that came into his mind was that
the old man was going to attack him personally. “Lookee, Jacky,” said
old Hezekiah, at last, “I’ve been thinking of that there twenty pound
you was speaking of. Well, Jacky, you shall have that twenty pound, you
shall.”
“What d’ye mean, Uncle Hezekiah?” said Jack.
“Why,” said Hezekiah, “I mean what I said. You shall have that twenty
pound, Jacky. I’ve been thinking about it, and what you said, and I’m
going to give you what you want. I can’t give it to you just now, for
twenty pound is a deal of money, and I haven’t that much to give you
straight away. But I’ll give it to you after a while, I will, Jacky.
I’ll give it to you—let me see—I’ll give it to you on Monday next.
Will that be time enough?”
“Why, yes, it will,” said Jack, “if you really mean what you say.”
“Aye,” said the old man, “I mean it sure enough; but don’t you say
anything more to Roger Burton, will ye? Just you come to me when you
want anything, and don’t you go to him. I mean to be a good, kind uncle
to you, Jacky, I do,” and he reached out a lean, tremulous hand, and
pawed at Jack, who drew instinctively away from his approach. “I do,
Jacky, I do,” said the old man, almost whining in his effort to be
affectionate. “But don’t you be writing to Sir Henry Ballister about
me, will you, Jacky?”
“I won’t write to him if you’ll treat me decently,” said Jack.
“Aye, aye,” said the old man, “I mean to do that, Jacky, I do. Only
don’t you be talking any more to Lawyer Burton. I’ll give you that
twenty pound. I’ll give it to you on—on Monday next, I will.”
Then he turned and went away again. Jack sat looking after him. He felt
very uncomfortable. He could not understand why the old man had yielded
so suddenly. He did not believe at all that he had yielded, or that he
would give him what he asked for. He felt sure, in spite of his uncle’s
words, that he had been put off with a barren promise that would never
bear fruit.