The next morning, when the four sisters were seated at breakfast, Steve
entered and stationed himself before the fire to read a long,
business-looking letter. His exclamations of dismay as he read roused
the girls' attention, but Steve did not reply--to their eager
questioning. With set face he handed them the letter, and one by one
they read the unwelcome intelligence, and swelled the chorus of sighs.
Barney was dismissed from his situation! The manager wrote a courteous
explanatory letter to the effect that an inexcusable escapade--the last
of a long series--made it necessary for the lad's connection with the
office to cease. He regretted this conclusion, not only from the fact
that his old friend Mr Loftus would have cause for disappointment, but
also, he might add, for the sake of the boy himself, who had many good
points and was a favourite among his companions. If he might be
pardoned for making a suggestion, an office desk was hardly the right
position for a youth of so much spirit. Given more congenial work, he
would no doubt do better. It was a kindly letter, and one which made
its import as palatable as possible. Philippa sighed, and said, "Just
what I have been thinking! It was too hard on the boy to expect him to
settle to that humdrum life. Perhaps this is the best thing that could
have happened."
But Steve was not disposed to take such a lenient view of the matter.
"If Barney had told us honestly that he could not stand it, we would
have done our best to find another opening. But to be dismissed like
this--to be turned away at an hour's notice--it is disgraceful! Uncle
Loftus will have every right to be angry. `An inexcusable escapade'!
What can that refer to, I wonder?"
Theo covered her lips with her hands, for even at that moment she could
not restrain a smile at the recollection.
"I think I know. Barney told me the night before last. One of the
clerks bought an alarm and left it on his desk while he went out to
lunch. He had previously announced that he was going to meet his
fiancee in town, and take her to a concert after dinner. Barney got
hold of the alarm and set it for nine o'clock. He knew the poor
creatures would be sitting in cheap seats, and that there would be no
cloak-room for their things. The man would put the clock in his hat
under the seat, and at the appointed time, _Cr-r-r-r-r_, off it would
go! He would not be able to stop it. I asked Barney last night what
had happened, but he would not tell me much. I suppose he was in low
spirits about his dismissal. The alarm had gone off in the midst of a
classical concerto, and the people around had been so cross that the
clerk had to rush out with it as fast as he could go. He was very
angry, and went straight to the manager to complain."
"Oh! oh! how naughty!" cried Philippa. Hope was laughing softly to
herself, but Phil looked at Steve's stern face and dared not show any
amusement. "Where _is_ Barney!" she asked. "Perhaps he does not like
to come in until we have read our letters. Call him, Theo dear, will
you! His breakfast will be cold."
Theo stepped across the narrow passage and tapped at the door of
Barney's room, waited a moment, opened it gently, then came running
back, all scared and breathless.
"He is not there! The bed has not been slept in. Oh Phil, what does it
mean?"
But she knew what it meant; they all knew. There was no need for
explanation. Together they crushed into the little room and looked
around with haggard eyes. Theo had a dreary sense of having been
through it all before; and indeed it was an old, old story, even to the
torn-up papers on the hearth and the letter of farewell on the
dressing-table. It was addressed to Philippa, and she read it aloud,
with short, gasping breaths:
"`I have lost my situation, and have got into debt, and lost money
betting on races, and the best thing I can do is to take myself off and
not trouble you any longer.--I can't stay here to be a shame and a
burden.'--[Oh Barney!]--`If you and Steve will pay off my bills, you can
look upon the money as my share in what was left. I will never trouble
you for any more.'"
Here came a great dash as if the writer had intended to end the letter,
but at the bottom of the sheet were a few words scribbled in uncertain
letters: "Good-bye, Phil. I'll try to keep straight for your sake."
Philippa looked up; agony was written on her face, but her first words
were of thanksgiving. "Thank God! He is alive and well; he will do
himself no harm. My poor boy! We must find him and bring him home
again."
"Betting!" echoed Steve. "Debts! I can't understand it. We kept him
supplied with pocket-money; he had a comfortable home; what more did he
want? I don't wonder he was ashamed to face us, but it is a cowardly
thing to run away from the consequences of his wrong-doing and bring
fresh anxiety upon us. I wouldn't have believed it of Barney."
"It is my fault! Blame me; I drove him to it," said Madge desperately.
Her sisters stared at her in amazement, while she told the history of
the last afternoon and evening, omitting nothing, extenuating nothing,
repeating her bitter words with unflinching honesty. Only her face
betrayed the inward agony of remorse, but that was eloquent enough, and
when she had finished not one of her hearers had the heart to utter a
reproach. Philippa looked appealingly at Steve, as if asking what could
be done next; but for once the set face refused her comfort in her need.
Stephen could be trusted to do what was right, but his search would
lack the inspiration which would come from a thorough understanding of
the boy's character.
"And I'm only a woman; I haven't the knowledge that a man would have,"
sighed poor Phil to herself; then she stretched out her hands and cried
sharply, "I want to see the Hermit. Barney liked him so much! They
used to talk together; he will know best what was in the boy's mind, and
be able to help us."
"I'll bring him up," said Steve, and turned straightway to the door.
He, too, was eager for a man's advice--a calm, masculine judgment--to
temper the discussion with these distracted girls. Relief was apparent
in his manner when he followed the Hermit into the dining-room five
minutes later, and summoned his sisters to meet him.
"Barney has gone!" said Philippa simply as she put her hand into the one
outstretched to meet it. Then as she met the grave tenderness of the
gaze that was turned upon her, for the first time she broke down and
sobbed out a wild appeal: "Oh, find him for me--find him for me! He has
run away, and it is all my fault. I brought him to this terrible city,
and shut him up in an office all day long; and Barney is such a restless
creature; he can't endure confinement. If he got into trouble here,
when we were all near him, what will Income of him now when he is alone?
Oh, find him for me! Bring him back--"
"I will, Miss Philippa, if it is humanly possible," replied the Hermit
gravely. And then Madge's story was retold, and the question raised
again as to how Barney had come into possession of so much money.
"I can account for some of it at least," Mr Neil said. "I saw that the
boy was troubled, and found out that he was in need of money.
Eventually he asked me for the loan of five pounds. I said, `My boy,
you must not begin borrowing at your age. It is a bad habit, and I
won't encourage you in it. But I had made up my mind to give you a
cheque for a Christmas present; and you shall have it in advance, if
that would be a help to you.' He said it would, and I gave him the five
pounds for which he had asked."
"It was not right of you. No! you should not have done it. It was
leading the boy into temptation." Philippa spoke in tones of strong
reproach; but though Mr Neil's face was troubled, it was in nowise
repentant.
"I have been a boy in an office myself, Miss Philippa," he said gently,
"for two years--two long, miserable years--and I know--forgive me for
saying so--that there is an even greater temptation in being too short
of money. When a lad gets his first taste of independence it goes hard
with him if he cannot indulge in the little luxuries which his
companions enjoy; and the shops seem irresistible. I hoped that by
means of my gift Barney might be able to pay off his debts and start
afresh."
"You have been very generous and very forgiving, Mr Neil," said Steve;
"and we are much indebted to you. But what can we do this morning? I
must get to the office as soon as I can, for there are already two men
away. It won't do for me to lose my berth into the bargain."
Steve spoke with a tinge of bitterness, for in truth he found himself in
a painful position--the position of the elder brother in the parable.
He had never got into debt, nor betted, nor failed in a single instance
in his duty to his sisters, and it was a little hard to realise, as he
did this morning, that to each one of the four--Phil included--the
curly-headed prodigal was dearer than himself. He looked at the Hermit,
and asked anxiously, "Can you come with me?"
"It is what I was about to propose. I am my own master, and can give
all my time to the search. We had better go to the office first, and
try to discover who was the companion of the tobacconist's shop; then if
we get a clue I will follow it up."
"Right," said Steve, and went into the little hall, to find Hope already
brushing the coat which she had taken down from its peg. She helped him
to put it on, turned down the collar at the back, and let her hand rest
against his neck as she murmured a few low words: "Dear old Steve! What
should we do without you?" It was always Hope's way to divine a wound
and lay a healing hand upon it.
The two men went straight to the insurance office, and interviewed the
manager in his room. "Waxworks," as Barney had irreverently dubbed him,
was unaffectedly grieved to hear of the boy's flight, and repentant of
his own share in the catastrophe. "I liked the lad," he said. "One
could not help liking him. If I had consulted my own wishes only I
should have lectured him and let him stay on, but in a big place like
this it is necessary to keep a firm hand. I had overlooked several
breaches of discipline, and it could not go on. He must be found, of
course; and then, if you take my advice, you will let him live an
out-of-door life. Send him abroad. He is just the type that is wanted
in the colonies. Now I'll send for Young, and you can question him as
you please."
Mr Young, however, had no light to throw upon the subject; neither had
Barney's special companions among the clerks, who were interviewed in
their turn. The lad had left the office alone, so that the identity of
his companion still remained a mystery, which the tobacconist alone
could solve. The two therefore made their way to the little shop, where
Madge's sketch was displayed in all its glory in the window, but neither
brother nor friend had the heart to laugh at it to-day. The tinkling
bell announced their entrance to the proprietor, and they lost no time
in telling him the object of their visit. Two young gentlemen had been
in the habit of visiting his shop and asking his advice on racing
matters, their last call happening the night before, somewhere about
five o'clock. The younger of the two was tall, dark, and handsome; for
private reasons his friends were anxious to interview his companion.
Who was he, and where employed?
Did the man know or did he not? He professed utter ignorance, but there
was a slyness on his face which did not escape the notice of his
questioners. A number of gentlemen came to his shop; sometimes they did
happen to talk of a race if it was near at hand; but he never inquired a
customer's name. Gentlemen wouldn't like it. Couldn't say for certain
that he remembered the two just mentioned.
"The man lies. We will waste no more time on him," said the Hermit
sternly as he turned away from the door. "Go back to your office,
Charrington, and leave me to see the police and put an advertisement in
the papers. That is all that we can do at the moment, though I shall
not rest until I have tracked that unknown friend. He will probably be
able to tell us more than any one else. I'll think out a plan of action
for the next few days. This is my business as well as yours; for the
boy has been like a young brother to me this last year."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Looking back on the days which followed Barney's disappearance, the
Charringtons were often puzzled to understand how they endured the
strain and suspense, and marvelled at their own composure. Day after
day the Hermit continued his search, and came home weary and
disappointed; day by day Philippa listened to his report with a steady
face, and abated not one of her usual efforts for the comfort of the
household, while the three younger sisters set their teeth and went on
doggedly with their work.
"If we were actresses or public singers we should have to keep our
appointments, and smile and look cheerful; if we were clerks or teachers
we should have to turn out as usual, and be patient and forbearing; if
we were shop assistants we should have to stand on our feet all day
long, and be polite, however much we were aggravated. We are poor
things if we call ourselves working women and then indulge our feelings
like any fine lady," Theo had said sternly to two drooping figures who
sat by the fire gazing at idle fingers, and she had no need to speak a
second time. In the temporary eclipse of Madge's bright spirits, Theo
had taken upon herself to be the cheery, inspiring member of the family,
which role shook her out of the old self-engrossed groove, and suited
her well. Now, as she went into her room and sat down at her desk, her
heart swelled with a sense of joy and gratitude for the talent which had
been entrusted to her care. She took up her manuscript and set to work
with none of the difficulty and hesitation which often hampered her
progress: the thoughts crowded into her brain; the right word came of
itself and did not need to be sought; the difficult point was overcome,
and she laughed with delight at the wittiness of her own dialogue.
Here, then, was a discovery, that even sorrow had its compensation,
since it brought with it fresh understanding, earnestness, and delicacy
of touch. When she went in to lunch, the light on her face made her
sisters look and wonder.
"No need to ask how you have fared to-day, Theo," Hope said. "I don't
know who your characters are at the moment, but they have been good
children this morning."
"Couldn't be better," said the author brightly. "So charmingly alive,
and saying such witty things! It is a curious delusion, but when I do
my best work I always feel as if some one else suggested it. I was sad
enough in my own heart to-day, but as I wrote a little sprite seemed to
whisper in my ear. The good things _came_! I didn't create them. I
suppose the really great writers often feel like that I am quite sure
that when they read over their books they are astounded at their own
cleverness."
"It must be a very--a very agreeable sensation. I have never been the
least little bit surprised at mine. I tried to work, too, but I didn't
get on well. You two girls make me ashamed of myself, but I think
sometimes that I was never meant to be a public character," sighed Hope,
wrinkling her forehead in her pretty, wistful fashion. "I don't seem to
have the faculty of earning money."
"Because nature intended some one else to make it for you, darling! You
are one of the dear, frightened, humble little creatures who need a big
strong man to stand between them and the world. I do hope you will
marry, Hope! Do, please, the first chance you get. You'd be ever so
much happier, and it would be so agreeable for us. Marry a rich man who
lives in the country, and send us hampers every week!" cried
unsuspecting Madge. It seemed natural enough to the others that Hope
should blush at the suggestion; only Theo understood the meaning of that
blush, and the train of thought which suggested the reply.
"I think I shall go to see Avice this afternoon. I promised Steve that
I would call before the end of the week if we had no news. He doesn't
want uncle to hear about Barney in town; he might be annoyed that we had
not told him ourselves."
When Hope saw her aunt's face, however, she knew at a glance that she
was too late with her news, and sat meekly listening to the tirade which
followed, thankful that she was the listener instead of Philippa. Her
gentleness was her best weapon, however; for, having said her say, Mrs
Loftus began to soften and to regret having spoken so strongly.
Argument or contradiction would have incensed her still further; but how
could one go on scolding a pretty, timid creature who merely sat still
and looked miserable? She paused, frowned, and finally asked the amount
of the debts which Barney had left behind. "Everything, I mean--the
whole sum for which you are liable."
"I think, perhaps--I'm afraid nearly t-twenty pounds!"
The gasp with which Hope replied was for the magnitude of the sum
mentioned; the echoing gasp from the other side of the fireplace was for
an exactly opposite reason.
"Only twenty pounds!" cried Avice; "the price of a gown! The poor boy
ran away for that! Hope dear, I will pay it myself; I will give it to
you this afternoon before you go. You sha'n't be worried about it any
more."
"It is paid already, dear. Steve saw to that at once. You are very
kind, but Barney would not like it, and we have a good deal of money
still left. Philippa drew it out of the bank."
"You will be in the workhouse soon," Mrs Loftus prophesied cheerfully.
"I never heard anything more mad than to spend your capital as you are
doing. Just think of the inroads you must have made into it this year!"
"I'd rather not, Aunt Loftus, if you don't mind. It is always the first
step which costs, but we have made a start, and hope to do wonders next
year. At the worst I shall avoid the workhouse by throwing myself on
Avice's mercy.--You would have me down at the lodge, wouldn't you,
dear?"
The glance exchanged between the two cousins was full of confidence and
affection, and Avice's voice had a new ring of animation as she replied:
"I should like to have you always. Oh Hope! I _do_ enjoy shopping now,
and seeing the girls who were with us in summer. Mother is quite
scandalised because we talk so much, but being with them does me more
good than I can say. And the conjurer's daughter is going to be
married--to a magic-lantern man! I thought of having them down for
their honeymoon."
"Avice is far more interested in that engagement than she is in Truda
Bennett's; and she is to be one of Truda's bridesmaids, too," said Mrs
Loftus in a puzzled tone as she pushed back her chair and rose from her
place before the tea-table. Hope rose too, with an impulse of escape,
and bent down to pick up muff and gloves. Her heart had given a great
leap of fear, and was beating in heavy throbs, but she said savagely to
herself, "You _sha'n't_ blush! You sha'n't look startled!" and turned
an unmoved face to her aunt.
"Miss Bennett engaged! I didn't, know."
"You can't have used your eyes, then, when you were with us last year.
They flirted shockingly! It ought to have been announced long ago. By
the way, Hope, we go down to The Shanty next week. You had better come
with us for a little visit. I meant to write and ask you, and you look
pale--as if you needed a change. We shall be almost the same party as
before."
"Dear aunty, I can't. It is good of you to think of it, but I couldn't
leave home just now. I should be so anxious and troubled that I should
be of no use to you."
"You must come later, then. It will be all the same to us, but the
others will be disappointed. Truda asks after you continually, and
Ralph Merrilies said he looked forward to some more delightful music. I
wish you could come, Hope."
"He wanted to meet me, then," said Hope drearily to herself as she took
her way home. "It's just as I always thought: he cared for me only as a
friend, and was kind to me because I was poor and friendless. He must
have grown fond of Truda, after all. She is so bright and amusing! I
suppose she showed him tricks and made him laugh; and he is so serious
himself that he needs some one cheerful. I hope he will be very, very
happy." Her eyes smarted suddenly, and a sob swelled in her throat.
"But oh, I wish I had never met him! I wish I was not so wretched!
Truda had so many other things, and I could have made him happy. It is
hateful of me, but I believe I should make a nicer wife. I should have
been so good to him! Oh Ralph! Ralph!"
Alas, poor Hope! She pulled down her thick veil, and cried quietly
behind its shelter as she wended her way home through the busy streets.