JOHN HOLL, DUST CONTRACTOR.
Arthur Prescott went up the same evening to Lowndes Square. The invalid
had gone to bed, and Captain Bradshaw and Miss Heathcote were alone.
“Well, Mr. Prescott,” Captain Bradshaw said, after the first greetings,
“I suppose you have no news to give us yet?”
“I have better than news, Captain Bradshaw; I have these to give you.
There are all the proofs required in any court of law in the world to
prove that James is your grandson and legitimate heir.”
“Really, Mr. Prescott?”
“Yes, really, Captain Bradshaw.”
“My dear sir,” the old man said, shaking him warmly by the hand, “I am
delighted. I don’t know how to thank you. I have been thinking, since I
saw you, that it would be necessary to come to terms with that scoundrel
Barton, and I am very glad you took it upon yourself to act without
asking me first. How much have you had to promise him? A heavy sum, of
course; but I shan’t grudge it.”
“Not a very heavy amount, sir, considering their value. I shall want a
cheque from you for fifty pounds.”
“Fifty pounds!” exclaimed Captain Bradshaw. “Do you mean to say Barton
gave them up for fifty pounds?”
“No, that he did not,” Prescott laughed; “nor would he have given them
up for much less than a hundred times that amount. If it is any
satisfaction to you, Captain Bradshaw, Barton will not get one penny. I
will tell you the whole story. But it is rather a long one, so you had
better sit down to listen to it.”
So they sat down, Alice Heathcote putting aside the light work upon
which she had been engaged. Prescott then told the story of his success,
and when he had done Captain Bradshaw was in a state of the greatest
delight.
“To think of your getting the better of that rascal. It is
admirable—upon my word it is admirable; don’t you think so, Alice?”
“Yes, uncle, indeed I do. We are all very, very much obliged to Mr.
Prescott.”
And Prescott felt that he was amply repaid.
“Now, Mr. Prescott, if you will come down into my study for a moment, I
will write you the cheque.”
Prescott followed him down-stairs. Captain Bradshaw sat down and wrote
two cheques.
“Now, Mr. Prescott,” he said, when he had finished the second, “you will
not be offended at what I am going to say. I am an old fellow, you know,
and have known you a great many years. You are a young man, and you have
done me a great service—a very great service. I am speaking of your
restoring James to me. You have now rendered me another, and have saved
me a large sum of money. Will you let me look at all this in a
professional point of view? I am a very rich man.”
“No, my dear Captain Bradshaw,” Prescott said, firmly. “I am not in the
least offended at your offering it to me, but I could not take money for
doing what has been a great pleasure. As you say, I have known you since
I was quite a boy, and have received very many kindnesses from you; and
it is very hard if I may not have the pleasure of doing you a slight
service now.”
“You are wrong, Prescott,” Captain Bradshaw said. “But you must have
your way. I am sorry, very sorry, you will not let me prove in my own
way that I feel grateful to you. However, there’s an end of it,” and he
tore up one of the cheques. “Believe me, my dear boy, if you ever do
want a friend, Harry Bradshaw is your man.”
“Thank you, sir,” Prescott said, shaking hands with him warmly. “I quite
believe you, and am very happy in the belief. I will see about the other
business in the morning.”
Prescott went upstairs again for a short time. When he had gone, Captain
Bradshaw said,—
“That is a fine fellow, Alice, a very fine fellow. I wish I could see my
way to doing him a good turn. I have been asking him, delicately you
know, my dear, as an old man might ask a young one, to let me treat him
as my legal adviser in the matter, but he would not hear of it. It is
not often that a cheque for five hundred pounds gets thrown into the
fire.”
Alice looked pleased.
“I do wish I could do something for him; but I don’t see my way,
Alice—do you?”
Alice shook her head; but as she bent over her work a flush mounted up
to her forehead, as if the idea of some reward Prescott would care about
had occurred to her. Whatever it was, she did not mention it to her
uncle.
It was about a week after this that John Holl’s master said to him one
evening when he went up with the carts at the end of the day’s work,—
“By the way, John, the carts won’t go out to-morrow. I’ve sold the whole
thing out, as I told you I was going to; and to-morrow the things change
hands, and the new name will be painted on the carts.”
“Well, gaffer,” John said, “we’ve worked a good many years together, and
I am as sorry as can be that you’re going to leave us. Have you spoken a
word for me to the new gaffer? I ain’t as young as I was, master; but no
man can complain I don’t do a fair day’s work.”
“I’ve told him about you, John, and you’ll find it all right. I was
talking about you and your wife having brought up that boy, and of his
having turned out a rich chap. He was quite tickled about it, and so was
his wife. She’s a kindish sort of woman, John, and she said she should
like to see your wife.”
“Now, master, you needn’t have gone on upon that affair,” John said,
reproachfully; “there never wer’nt nothing in it, you know.”
“Yes, John, but I was only saying that it was a rum start; and, you see,
it may do you good, you know. It always does do good when a master and
man take a fancy to each other. So you come up to-morrow afternoon, at
three o’clock, to square up. And tell your wife to brush up a bit, and
come along with you.”
“Thank you, master, I’ll come, and I daresay Sarah will, though the old
woman won’t like it, I know.”
Nor, indeed, did John himself; for there is no man more proud and
independent in his own way than an English workman. Indeed, he would
have absolutely refused to bring his wife, but he did not like to hurt
the feelings of his old master, who had evidently wished to do him a
service.
“By the bye, John,” his master said, as he tamed to leave the yard,
“rumly enough the new gaffer’s name is the same as yours, John Holl.”
“Is it now?” said John; “well, that is rum! Not that Holl is an uncommon
name, or John either, for that matter; but to see it on our carts will
be rum. Lor, how my mates will chaff me, to be sure. I know what it will
be—Hullo, John, set up on your own account, old man? I say, John, stole
a cart? Lor bless me, I shall never hear the end of it,” and John went
off, laughing to himself.
John had, as he anticipated, some trouble with Sarah; but he had put the
case to her somewhat diplomatically, and said that the new gaffer’s wife
wanted to know the story of James being found and turning out a rich
man, and then he had turned her attention off by telling her that the
new gaffer’s name was John Holl “Won’t it be a rum start, Sarah, to see
one’s own name on the carts?” Sarah was greatly amused at the idea, and
when the appointed time came made no objection to starting with her
husband for Chelsea.
“Lor, John, what a time it is sin’ you and me went out walking together
on a week day. If you do take a holiday, which ain’t often, we have the
children with us.”
“It do seem strange like, lass. Lor, what a shapely young girl you were
when I took my first walk with you. Do you remember it, mother?”
“Ay, John,” Sarah said, with a softening of her voice, “I ain’t likely
to forget that while I live. Well, John, I’ve been as happy as I hoped
to be.”
“Ay, mother,” John said, “we’ve had no cause to grumble. If we ain’t
done quite so well as we hoped then, Sairey, we’ve done as well as we
could have fairly expected. Well, here we are; and I’m blest if there
ain’t all the carts with their new name on them, ‘John Holl, dust
contractor.’ It don’t look bad,” he said, critically, as he spelt the
letters out slowly. “I wonder what the new gaffer’s like.”
“Well, John,” his old master said, coming out of the house into the
yard, “come to square up, eh? How are you, Mrs. Holl?” and he went into
a little outhouse, and paid John Holl his wages up to the preceding
night.
“Now, John, I will take you indoors to the new master.” At the door,
however, John and his wife were surprised to meet Mr. Prescott.
“Ah, Mr. Holl, how are you? How are you, Mrs. Holl? Had a little
business here, too, you see. Come in,” and he led the way into a neat
little parlour, the former master remaining outside.
“Hullo,” John exclaimed, in utter astonishment, when, upon entering, he
saw the cripple boy sitting by the fireside in the very box in which he
had sat so many years by their own hearth, and which, on coming out,
they had left in the spot where it had so long stood.
“Yes, father, it’s me, sure enough. Well, mother, how goes it? You see I
came down here with Mr. Prescott.”
Sarah kissed her foster son tenderly, and John Holl shook him by the
hand.
“But where,” John said, looking round uneasily, “is the new gaffer?”
“He’ll be here presently, father, sit you down—sit down, mother.”
“Yes, my boy, but the master mightn’t like it if he came in here and
found us making so free.”
“You sit down, mother, the new master won’t mind it. He’s a good fellow,
is the new master, ain’t he, Mr. Prescott?”
“He is, indeed,” Prescott said, warmly, “a right good fellow.”
“So good a fellow, mother, that when he was a young man, and not long
married, he took a poor boy out of the streets and brought him up.”
“Did he really though?” Sarah said. “Ah, that’s why he wants to see us.
He has heard about James turning out a gentleman, and he wonders whether
his lad will do the same.”
“Like enough, mother,” John said, “I wish he’d come though; for I can’t
but feel as I’m intruding here.”
“Don’t you be uneasy, father. I want to tell you about the new master,
for I know you and mother will like him. His name, you know, is John
Holl.”
“Yes,” John said, “John Holl, dust contractor. It’s writ up on the
carts, James.”
“Just so, father, John Holl, dust contractor. Well, father, John Holl,
when he was a young man, wasn’t a contractor at all, but just a dustman.
When he had not been married long, he took a poor little baby whose
mother had died—she was no relation to him, mother, none at all, just a
poor creature without friends—and they took in the baby, and brought him
up as their own.”
“He must be a real good fellow, John Holl, dust contractor,” John put
in, never remembering that he had done the same thing.
“He is, father. I told you you’d like him. Well, the worst of it was,
the poor baby grew up a cripple, just like me, mother. But they didn’t
love it or care for it any the less, but nursed it and watched over it
with even greater tenderness than they had for their own healthy
children. Well, mother, years afterwards it was found out who the boy
was, and he went away to his new relations. They were rich people,
mother, and felt that they owed very much to those who had taken care of
the poor boy for so many years. So, mother, without saying anything
about it, they bought a business with a house and furniture, and carts
and horses, and all; and John Holl, dust contractor, came to the house,
and found the cripple boy sitting where he had sat so many years at
their fireside, to say ‘Welcome home, dear mother and dear father,’” and
he held out his hands to them both.
Sarah understood it now, and in a moment was crying on her knees by the
chair, with her arms round his neck. John Holl sat a picture of utter
bewilderment. He did not, even now, understand it, and was stupefied at
his wife’s sudden emotion.
“Do you not understand, Mr. Holl?” Prescott said, coming to his
assistance. “Do you not see you are John Holl, dust contractor: the
house, and the carts and horses, are yours. James’s grandfather has
bought them for you.”
“For me?” John Holl repeated, still incredulous.
“Yes, for you, father,” James said. “Don’t you see mother believes it?”
John Holl took the cripple’s hand now. His voice trembled.
“It’s too much, lad, it’s altogether too much. We couldn’t take it, my
boy. We only did our duty, James—Sairey and me.”
“You need have no hesitation, John,” Prescott said, putting his hand
upon the man’s shoulder, “Captain Bradshaw is very rich. This is really
nothing to him. He feels under a great obligation to you; and besides,
he likes to give pleasure to James. You can’t help it now. It’s all paid
for, and you are John Holl, dust contractor. We watched you go out, and
sent the child whom you left at home to fetch the others from school.
Your eldest girl is packing up the things, a cart was to be at the door
half an hour afterwards, and your things and the children will all be
here by five o’clock. James is going to stay with you till seven, and
then a cab will call for him. So your wife must set to and make you at
home. There is a girl in the kitchen, and a fire, and everything ready.
So mother will only have to get tea as usual. Now I will leave you.” And
Prescott went out and left them to their happiness.
Several times in the next half hour John Holl went out into the yard,
and spelt over the name “John Holl, dust contractor,” and repeated it
over many times to himself. It was not until six o’clock, when the whole
family were seated round the table, James at his old place by Sarah’s
side as half laughing half crying she cut up the bread and butter, that
John really realised to himself that it must be true, and that he was
really and identically “John Holl, Dust Contractor.”
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