Mr. Manners experienced a great sense of relief when Mark Inglefield
had taken his departure. The presence of that person had hampered not
only his movements, but his will. Now that he was alone, he felt
himself absolutely free. He exchanged a few words with Mr. Parkinson,
in which he expressed again his good intentions towards the distracted
father, and he spoke also to two or three other of the working-men,
who, when he moved away from them, looked after him with marked favor.
It chimed with his humor not to be known, and he was pleased that Mr.
Parkinson had not made free with his name. The reminiscences attaching
to him, from a working-man's point of view, would have caused him to
be followed and gazed at with curiosity. The name of Manners was a
name to conjure with; the great fortune he had made caused him to be
regarded as a king among the class from which he sprang, and it was to
his credit that he had amassed his wealth fairly, according to the
conditions of things. Perhaps in the not far-off future these
conditions will be changed, and it will be recognized that labor has a
right to a larger proportion of its profits than at present falls to
its lot. Meanwhile it may be noted that, despite the private wrong
which lay at the door of Mr. Manners, and which he was happily stirred
now to set right, despite the fact that in his business relations he
had driven hard bargains, his public career was one of which he might
be justly proud. Hard as were the bargains he had driven, he had not
ground his workmen down; if they did a fair day's work they received a
fair day's wage; he had made no attempt to filch them of their just
due. In contrast with many a hundred employers of labor, who grind the
men and women they employ down to starvation point, Mr. Manners stood
forth a shining example. As for his private affairs, they were his,
and his alone, to settle. Whatever changes for the better may come
over society in the coming years, the purely human aspect of life will
never be altered. There will always be private wrongs and private
injustices; and although it is to be hoped that the general
inequalities of mankind may be lessened, the frailties of our common
nature will ever remain the same.
Mr. Manners strolled slowly through streets and narrow ways with
which, in his youth, he had been familiar, and he derived a sad
pleasure in renewing his acquaintance with the aspects of life which
characterized them. He noted the changes which had taken place. Here,
a well-known street had disappeared; rows of private dwellings had
been turned into shops; but for the main part things were as they used
to be. He searched for a certain house in which he had resided as a
boy, and, finding it, gazed upon its old walls as he would have gazed
upon the face of an old friend who had long since passed out of his
life. He recalled himself as he had been in the past, a brisk,
stirring, hard-working lad, taking pleasure in his work, eager to get
along in the world, keen for chances of promotion, industriously
looking about for means to improve himself. Between that time and the
present was a bridge which memory re-created, and over that bridge he
walked in pensive thought, animated by tenderer feelings than he had
experienced for many, many years. Once more he felt an interest in the
ways and doings of his fellowmen, and it seemed to him as if he had
long been living a dead life. The crust of selfishness in which he had
been as it were entombed was melting away, and even in these humble
thoroughfares the sun was shining more brightly for him. Such a simple
thing as a geranium blooming in a pot on the window-sill of his old
home brought an unwonted moisture to his eyes. He knocked at the door,
conversed with the woman who opened it, ascertained her position,
listened to what she had to say about her children, wrote down their
names, and left behind him some small tokens for them from one who
once was as they were now.
"You shall hear from me again," he said to the surprised woman; and as
he left her he felt new channels of pleasure and sweetness were
opening out to him. He was becoming human.
When he started with Mark Inglefield from his home in the west of the
city, he had formed no plan as to the means by which he should
approach Kingsley and Nansie; but after some time spent in wandering
among the thoroughfares and seeking old landmarks, he resolved not to
present himself to them until evening. It would be a more favorable
hour for what he purposed to do. Until then he could profitably employ
himself in ascertaining how they stood in the neighborhood, and
whether Mr. Parkinson's report of them was correct. It was three
o'clock in the afternoon before he felt the necessity of eating, and
then he entered a common eating-house and sat down to a humble meal.
It was strange how he enjoyed it, and how agreeable he felt this
renewal of old associations. When he had finished, he took out his
pocket-book and made some rough calculations. The poverty of the
neighborhood had impressed itself upon him, and he thought how much
good the expenditure of money he could well spare would do for the
children who were growing into men and women. He remembered the want
of rational enjoyment he had experienced occasionally in his boyhood.
He had not then many spare hours; but there had come upon him at odd
times the need for social relaxation. There was only one means of
satisfying this need--the public-house--and that way, as he knew, led
to ruin. From what Mr. Parkinson had told him, Nansie was untiring in
her efforts to ameliorate and smooth the hard lot of the wretched and
poverty-stricken; and, poor as she was, had succeeded in shedding
light upon weary hearts. If, in her position, she could do so much,
how vast was the field before him to do more!
He made his calculations, and was surprised to find, when the figures
were before him, that he was richer than he had supposed himself to
be. In former days he was in the habit of making such calculations;
but for a long while past he had not troubled himself about them--a
proof how truly valueless his great store of wealth was to him, and
how scanty was the enjoyment he derived from it. Supposing that Mark
Inglefield justified and cleared himself in this affair of Mary
Parkinson--of which, notwithstanding all that had transpired, Mr.
Manners was not yet completely satisfied--half of his fortune should
go to the redeeming of his promises to that person in respect of the
expectations held out to him. The remaining half would be ample for
the carrying out of schemes as yet unformed, in the execution of
which, if all went well, Kingsley and Nansie would assist him.
Issuing from the eating-house with a light step, he proceeded to make
his inquiries respecting his son's family. What he heard made him even
more humble and remorseful. Every person to whom he spoke had
affectionate words for them; nothing but good was spoken of them. They
were not only respected, but beloved.
"If you want to know more about them than I can tell you, sir," said
one poor woman to whom Nansie had been kind, "go to Dr. Perriera."
Receiving Dr. Perriera's address, Mr. Manners wended thither, and
found the worthy doctor, who was now a man well advanced in years, in
his shop. With Dr. Perriera he had a long and pregnant interview. In
confidence he told the doctor who he was, and Dr. Perriera's heart
glowed at the better prospect which seemed to present itself to
friends whom he honored. Forces which had long lain dormant in Mr.
Manners came into play; always a good judge of character, he
recognized that he was conversing with a man of sterling worth and
honor.
"I have been informed," he said, "that you are a doctor of great
skill. You would have succeeded in more flourishing neighborhoods than
this."
"I preferred to stay here," said Dr. Perriera. "Elsewhere I should not
have found the happiness I have enjoyed among these poor people."
"But you would have been rich."
"It would have marred my life," was the simple rejoinder. "You and I
are on equal ground, about the same age, I judge. We have not many
years to live. Of what use presently will much money be to you and me?
Men and women grow into false ideas; most of those who become rich
become slaves. Gold is their master--a frightful tyrant, destructive,
as it is chiefly used, of all the teachings of Christianity. But,
then, Christians are scarce."
Mr. Manners hinted at his unformed schemes, and Dr. Perriera was
greatly interested.
"What the poor and wretched want," he said, "is light, first for the
body, afterwards for the soul. Not the light of gin-shops, which are
poisonously planted by the wealthy at every convenient corner. Sweep
away the rookeries; purify the gutters; commence at the right end.
There are darksome spaces round about, in which only vice and crime
can grow; and they are allowed to remain, defiling and polluting body
and soul. There is a false, convenient theory, that you cannot make
people moral by act of Parliament. My dear sir, you can. Cleanliness
is next to godliness; that is a wiser saying; and governments would be
better employed in enforcing this than in ninety-nine out of every
hundred of the acts they waste their time in discussing."
"What do you mean," asked Mr. Manners, "by your remark, commence at the
right end?"
"Commence with the children," replied Dr. Perriera, "not neglecting
meanwhile those who are grown up. These children presently will become
fathers and mothers, and their early teaching bears fruit. It is
impossible to train anew firmly rooted trees, but they can be gently
and wisely treated. With saplings it is different."
They remained in conversation until evening fell. Mr. Manners had
received Kingsley's address, and the two men were standing at the door
of the doctor's shop when an elderly man and a young girl passed. In
the elderly man Mr. Manners recognized Mr. Loveday, Nansie's uncle,
who had once paid him a visit in his grand mansion. But it was the
girl who chiefly attracted him. Her sweet face, her gentle bearing,
impressed him, but more than all was he impressed by a likeness which
caused his heart to beat more quickly. It was a likeness to his son.
Dr. Perriera glanced at Mr. Manners, and called the girl, who, with
her companion, paused to say a word or two.
"Is your mother well?" asked the doctor.
"Quite well, thank you," replied the girl.
"And your father?"
"Quite well."
"How is business, Mr. Loveday?"
"So-so," said the old book-man. "I can't compete very well with the
youngsters. Their brazen voices beat me."
He said this quite good-humoredly.
"We must make way for the young," observed the doctor.
"Yes, yes; but the necessity of living is upon the old as well."
"Are you going home now?"
"Yes," said the girl, answering for her uncle. "We have been to see
the new shop."
"Whose?"
"Timothy Chance's."
She laughed kindly as she spoke the name.
"See," said Mr. Loveday, opening a small parcel he held in his hand,
"we've been making a purchase there."
What he disclosed to view was half a cooked fowl. Dr. Perriera
appeared to be greatly interested in this simple food.
"How much did you pay for it?"
"One and four."
"That is cheap. A fat fowl, too."
"Yes. The shop is crowded; people are buying like wildfire. Timothy
will make a fortune."
"He has pretty well made one already. Sharp fellow, Timothy Chance,
and a worthy fellow, too."
The girl nodded, and Mr. Loveday observed:
"He is just the same as ever. Not a bit altered. Never forgets old
friends, and never will forget them. That come-by-chance waif is of
the right mettle. He is with Nansie now. We are going to see him. Come
along, Hester."
"Can you guess who that young lady is?" asked Dr. Perriera of Mr.
Manners.
"I am almost afraid to guess. Tell me."
"Your grandchild. Have you never seen her before?"
"Never."
"If I had a daughter," said Dr. Perriera, "I should esteem it a great
blessing if she were like Hester Manners. She has all the virtues of
her mother, all the simplicity and nobility which distinguish her
father. She has been trained in the right school. I regard it as an
honor that I am privileged to call myself her friend. Do you wish to
proceed at once to your son's poor dwelling?"
"I would prefer to see him alone. This friend whom my grandchild spoke
of is there; I will wait awhile."
"It will be best, perhaps. My place is at your service. If it accords
with your desire you can remain here, and I will bring your son to
you."
"I thank you," said Mr. Manners, "and accept your kind offer."
His heart was stirred by hopes and fears. It went out to the sweet
girl he had seen for the first time; she was of his blood; but had he
any claim to her affection? How would her parents receive him--her
parents, to whom she was bound by the strongest links of love, and
whom he had treated so harshly and unjustly? There was a time when he
thought he could never bring himself to forgive the son who had
disappointed his worldly hopes; but now it was he himself who needed
forgiveness. The happiness of his brief future depended upon the son
he had wronged; if Kingsley and Nansie rejected him, the anguish of a
lonely, loveless life would attend him to his last hour.
"I should advise," said Dr. Perriera, "that you wait awhile before the
interview takes place. Timothy Chance and your son's family are much
attached to each other, and it will be an act of delicacy not to
immediately intrude upon them."
"An act of delicacy?" repeated Mr. Manners, looking at Dr. Perriera
for an explanation.
"I have an idea," said the doctor, "that Timothy Chance has a tender
feeling for your grandchild. Whether it is reciprocated or not, I
cannot say. There is a disparity in their ages of fourteen or fifteen
years, but that should be no obstacle. I hold that in married life the
man should be some years older than the woman."
"You have hinted that this Timothy Chance is well-to-do."
"He is more than that. He is on the high-road to a fortune. I am
curious to see the shop he has opened. Will you come? We have time. On
the road I will relate to you Timothy Chance's story. It is, in its
way, remarkable."
They started out together, and, with a heart gloomed by the intrusion
of this friend of his son's family, Mr. Manners listened to the
doctor's narrative. In Kingsley's eyes his money had never been deemed
of importance; Kingsley had never stooped or cringed before that
universal idol. How much less was he likely to do so now that he had
by his side a friend who could lift him from the state of poverty to
which the hard father had condemned him? Not purse-strings, but
heart-strings, would decide the issue of his heart's desire.
Up to the point with which we are familiar there is no need to set
down here what Dr. Perriera imparted to his companion. We will take up
the thread from the time of Timothy Chance's last appearance upon the
scene.
"Timothy has made the best use of his opportunities," said the doctor.
"From the small beginnings which I have recounted he has risen by slow
and sure steps to be, I should say, the largest poultry breeder in the
kingdom. He has farms in half a dozen different places, and it is
necessary, of course, that at stated intervals he should get rid of
old stock to make room for new. His contracts are really important
ones, and he turns over a large amount of money during the year.
Lately an idea occurred to him, which he is now turning to practical
account. Instead of selling his old stock to hotels and shopkeepers,
he believes it will be more profitable to speculate in it himself. As
a trial, he has opened a shop in the neighborhood here, which I regard
as a boon to the people. He will send so many fowls there every day,
and they will be cooked and disposed of to those who can afford to
buy. I think his idea was inspired by something of a similar nature
which he saw in France. You can purchase a whole roasted fowl, a half,
a wing and breast, or a leg. The prices are very moderate, the poultry
is of good quality, the cooking is sure to be excellent, for Timothy
is perfect in all his arrangements. Here we are at his trial shop."
It was, indeed, a notable establishment, and, as Hester had said, was
crowded with customers. The predominating features of the shop were
light and cleanliness. At the rear of the shop were the stoves at
which the fowls were roasted, and these were cut up, or arranged
whole, upon marble slabs. The attendants were all females, and wore
light print dresses and spotlessly clean white aprons and caps; order
and system reigned, and the money was rolling in. It was an animated
scene, made the more agreeable by the pleasant faces and the civility
which distinguished those who were attending to the customers.
"It will do," said Dr. Perriera, in a tone of approval. "Before the
year is out Timothy will have a score of such shops in poor
localities. He is made of the right stuff; his future is assured. Let
us return now, and I will bring your son to you."