Mr Thomas Tippet, beaming and perspiring as of old, was standing at his
bench, chisel in hand, and Willie Willders was standing with his back to
the fire, and his legs pretty wide apart; not because he preferred that
_degage_ attitude, but because Chips and Puss were asleep side by side
between his feet.
It must not be supposed that although Willie had changed so much since
the first day he stood there, an equal change had taken place in Mr
Tippet. By no means. He was a little stouter, perhaps, but in all
other respects he was the same man. Not a hair greyer, nor a wrinkle
more.
The workshop, too, was in exactly the same state, only a little more
crowded in consequence of numerous models having been completed and
shelved during the last seven years. There was, however something new
in the shape of a desk with some half-finished plans upon it; for Willie
had gradually introduced a little genuine engineering into the business.
At first, naturally enough, the boy had followed his employer's lead,
and, as we have said before, being very ingenious, as well as
enthusiastic, had entered with all his heart and head into the absurd
schemes of his patron; but as he became older he grew wiser. He applied
himself to reading and study at home in the evenings with indomitable
perseverance.
The result of his application was twofold. In the first place he
discovered that he was very ignorant and that there existed a huge
illimitable field of knowledge worth entering on seriously. His early
training having been conducted (thanks to his mother) "in the fear of
the Lord," he regarded things that are spiritual, and have God and man's
duty to Him for their object, as part--the chief part--of that great
field of knowledge; not as a separate field which may or may not be
entered on according to taste. In the second place, he began to
discover that his kind-hearted employer was a monomaniac. In other
words, that, although sane enough in all other matters, he was
absolutely mad in regard to mechanical discoveries and inventions, and
that most of the latter were absolutely nonsensical.
This second discovery induced him to prosecute his studies with all the
more energy, in order that he might be prepared for the battle of life,
in case his existing connection with Mr Tippet should be dissolved.
His studies naturally took an engineering turn, and, being what is
termed a thorough-going fellow, he did not rest until he had dived into
mathematics so deep that we do not pretend to follow him, even in the
way of description. Architecture, surveying, shipbuilding, and cognate
subjects, claimed and obtained his earnest attention; and year after
year, on winter nights, did he sit at the side of the fire in the little
house at Notting Hill, adding to his stores of knowledge on these
subjects; while his meek old mother sat darning socks or patching male
attire on the other side of the fire with full as much perseverance and
assiduity. One consequence of this was that Willie Willders, having
begun as a Jack-of-all trades, pushed on until he became a
philosopher-of-all-trades, and of many sciences too, so that it would
have been difficult to find his match between Charing Cross and Primrose
Hill.
And Willie was not changeable. True to his first love, he clung with
all the ardour of youth to fire, fire-engines, and the fire-brigade. He
would have become a member of the latter if he could, but that was in
the circumstances impossible. He studied the subject, however, and knew
its history and its working details from first to last. He did his best
to invent new engines and improve on old ones; but in such matters he
usually found that his inventions had been invented, and his
improvements made and improved upon, long before. Such checks, however,
did not abate his ardour one jot. He persevered in his varied courses
until he worked himself into a species of business which could exist
only in London, which it would be difficult to describe, and which its
practitioner styled "poly-artism" with as much boldness as if the word
were in Johnson's Dictionary!
Standing on the hearth, as we have said, Willie related to his friend
all he knew in regard to the Cattley family, and wound up with an
anxious demand what was to be done for them.
Mr Tippet, leaning on his bench and looking into Willie's face with a
benignant smile, said--
"Done, my boy? why, help 'em of course."
"Ay, but how?" asked Willie.
"How?" cried Mr Tippet; "why, by giving 'em money. You are aware that
I stopped their allowance because Cattley senior went and drank it as
soon as he got it, and Cattley junior is able to support himself, and I
was not until now aware that the poor daughter was killing herself to
support her father; but as I do know it now I'll continue the allowance
and increase it, and we shall give it into the daughter's hands, so that
the father won't be able to mis-spend it."
Mr Tippet's visage glowed with ardour as he stated this arrangement,
but the glow was displaced by a look of anxiety as he observed that
Willie shook his head and looked as perplexed as ever.
"If that plan would have availed I would have tried it long ago," said
he, with a sad smile, "for my income is a pretty good one, thanks to
you, sir--"
"Thanks to your own genius, Willie, for the remarkable and prolific
offshoots which you have caused to sprout from this dry old root," said
Mr Tippet, interrupting, as he glanced round the room with an air of
affection, which showed that he loved the root dearly, despite its age
and dryness.
"Not the less thanks to you, sir," said Willie, in the deferential tone
which he had assumed involuntarily towards his patron almost from the
commencement of their intercourse; "but Z---a--Miss Cattley positively
refuses to accept of money from anyone in charity, as long as she can
work."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr Tippet, shaking his head slowly, "pride, simple
pride. Not laudable pride, observe. She deceives herself, no doubt,
into the belief that it is laudable, but it is not; for, when a girl
cannot work without working herself into her grave, it is her duty _not_
to work, and it is the duty as well as the privilege of her friends to
support her. Truth is truth, Willie, and we must not shrink from
stating it because a few illogical thinkers are apt to misunderstand it,
or because there are a number of mean-spirited wretches who would be too
glad to say that they could not work without injuring their health if
they could, by so doing, persuade their friends to support them. What!
are those whom God has visited with weakness of body to be made to toil
and moil far beyond their strength in order to prove that they do not
belong to the class of deceivers and sycophants? Yet public opinion in
regard to this matter of what is called self-respect and proper pride
compels many hundreds who urgently require assistance to refuse it, and
dooms many of them to a premature grave, while it does not shut the maw
of a single one of the other class. Why, sir, Miss Cattley is
committing suicide; and, in regard to her father, who is dependent on
her, she is committing murder--murder, sir!"
Mr Tippet's eyes flashed with indignation, and he drove the chisel deep
down into the bench, as if to give point and force to his sentiment, as
well as an illustration of the dreadful idea with which he concluded.
Willie admitted that there was much truth in Mr Tippet's observations,
but did not quite agree with him in his sweeping condemnation of Ziza.
"However," continued Mr Tippet, resuming his quiet tone and benignant
aspect, "I'll consider the matter. Yes, I'll consider the matter and
see what's to be done for 'em."
He leaped from the bench with a quiet chuckle as he said this and began
to saw vigorously, while Willie went to his desk in the corner and
applied himself to an abstruse calculation, considerably relieved in
mind, for he had unbounded belief in the fertility of Mr Tippet's
imagination, and he knew well that whatever that old gentleman promised
he would certainly fulfil.