BETTER THAN ANY DAY-DREAM.
At five o'clock of the following afternoon two men paused in front of
Uncle Leth's house in Camden Town, and looked up at the windows.
"This is the number," said one.
"Yes," replied the other; "she lives here."
A rat-tat with the knocker brought 'Melia Jane to the street door.
"Is Mr. Lethbridge at home?" asked one of the men.
"No, sir," replied 'Melia Jane; "he's at his bank."
"Is Mrs. Lethbridge in?"
"Yes, sir."
"Her niece, Miss Phoebe Farebrother, is stopping here, is she not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is _she_ in?"
"Yes, sir; but you can't see her, if that's what you've come for."
"Why can't we see her?"
"'Cause she's too ill to be seen by anybody but us. Poor thing! she's no
sooner out of one fit than she's into another."
"Ah!" And the speaker glanced at his companion. "I'm sorry to hear
it--very, very sorry." His voice was soothing and sympathizing, and
'Melia Jane, who had not been too favourably impressed by the strangers,
became instantly mollified. "How long has she been ill?"
"Oh, come!" exclaimed 'Melia Jane, relapsing into her original view.
"_You_ don't belong to the family, as I'm aware of."
"No, we do not, my good girl," observed the man; "but that would not
prevent me from feeling pity for any young lady who is ill, I hope." He
smiled so kindly upon 'Melia Jane that she did not know what to think of
him. "Perhaps it's what occurred last night that has upset her?"
"I don't know what occurred last night," said 'Melia Jane, sharply; "do
you?"
"Why, my girl, a number of things occur every night. Which particular
one do you refer to?"
"I once knowed a girl," said 'Melia Jane, with an air of scornful
defiance, "who knowed another girl who had a friend who lived in Pump
Court."
"Well?" said the stranger, seemingly much amused.
"In Pump Court he lived," said 'Melia Jane. "And he lived _by_ it as
well as _in_ it. Lor' bless you! The artful way in which he'd pump
people, so's to get out of 'em every blessed thing he wanted to know--it
was a sight, that's what it was!"
The man laughed heartily. "So you think we've come to pump you, my good
girl! Perhaps you're right and perhaps you're wrong. Now if I were to
ask you whether Miss Phoebe Farebrother slept at home last night--I
mean here, in her aunt's house--I suppose you would call that pumping?"
"I should--and I shouldn't answer you."
"But why, my good girl?--why? Is there any reason for secrecy in so
simple a matter? However, I will _not_ ask you, and in proof that I'm
not quite the bad sort of fellow you take me for, I will just inquire
whether this brooch belongs to Miss Farebrother."
He produced the brooch which Mrs. Pamflett had given to Phoebe on her
birthday.
"Yes, it's hern," said 'Melia Jane, holding out her hand for it.
"Did she wear it yesterday?"
"Pumping ag'in!"
"My good girl, you're enough to put one out of patience. Isn't it an act
of kindness to restore lost property? But one must be sure first that it
gets back into the hands of the right owner. Can you remember whether
Miss Farebrother wore this brooch yesterday?"
"No, I can't remember. And now I come to think of it, I 'ain't seen her
wear it for a long time past."
"But she wore this yesterday." He produced a veil.
"Yes," said 'Melia Jane, a little eagerly; "she had it on when she went
away last night to--"
"Why don't you finish, my good girl? When she went away last night to
Parksides." He returned the brooch and the veil to his pocket. "I won't
trouble you any more. Be kind enough to tell Mrs. Lethbridge that we
wish to see her."
"What name shall I say?"
"Never mind the name; she will not know it. You can say, on particular
business."
Leaving the men in the passage with the street door open, 'Melia Jane
went up to Phoebe's bedroom, and gave the message to her mistress, who
came down at once, and asked the stranger what his business was.
"It will be best for me to speak to you in private," said the man.
Aunt Leth led the visitors into the parlour, and the one who had spoken
all through commenced the conversation.
"My name is Beeminster, and I am attached to the police force. I am
engaged upon an inquiry of a serious nature, and it has, in the first
place, led me to your house."
Aunt Leth's heart fainted within her. Knowing nothing whatever of
business, or of the pains and penalties attending the dishonouring of an
acceptance for three hundred pounds, she feared that the terrible
anxieties through which she had passed with respect to her husband's
liability were about to be renewed. She had believed that this special
difficulty had been happily tided over for a time, and her reason for
this belief needs in this place a word of explanation.
Almost heart-broken, Uncle Leth had left his home on this morning to
walk to the bank in which he had held an honourable though humble
position all his life. He could not touch his breakfast; he could not
speak; he could scarcely see before him. So utterly prostrate was he
that his wife had refrained from uttering a single word upon another
anxious subject which filled her with alarm. Phoebe had been absent
all the night, and had returned as Uncle Leth was getting out of bed.
Her condition was so pitiable as to cause Aunt Leth and Fanny the utmost
distress. There were marks of violence upon her, she was bruised and
bleeding, her clothes were torn, her mind was distraught. They could get
nothing from her but sobs and tears. On the previous night when her
absence was remarked, and they learnt from 'Melia Jane that she had gone
to Parksides, they were almost distracted. Tom Barley, being off duty,
was sought for immediately, and upon being made acquainted with what
had taken place, had started off instantly for Parksides to protect
Phoebe and bring her back. He had not much time to spare, as he had to
go on his beat again early in the morning; but he managed to get to
Parksides and to reconnoitre for half an hour. He did not succeed in
finding Phoebe, and he was compelled to return to London without
her--determined, however, to go back to Parksides when he was free
again, and restore Phoebe to her relatives. Phoebe's reappearance in
Camden Town rendered the carrying out of his resolution unnecessary. He
had seen something at Parksides which perplexed and troubled him; but he
had mentioned it to no one.
Utterly absorbed and overwhelmed by the disgrace and ruin with which he
was threatened, Uncle Leth knew nothing of Phoebe's absence or return,
and he started for his bank with so heavy a weight upon his heart that
he almost prayed for death. No day-dreams on this morning; the reality
was too crushing. He thought it was a dull morning; but the sun was
shining and the air was sweet So he walked on--to ruin, as he believed.
But a wonderful thing occurred, and yet a simple thing. For, surely,
when, within a quarter of a mile of the bank he was clapped on the
shoulder by Fred Cornwall, an incident so trivial was scarcely worth a
second thought. But when he reflected upon it afterward, he was of the
opinion that it was worth much more than a second thought, and that
indeed it was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him, that
for the first time in his life he should be clapped on his shoulder by
Fred Cornwall while he was walking to business. Not only the most
wonderful thing, but the most fortunate, as it turned out.
Fred greeted him heartily and cordially, and he made no reply. At first
Fred did not notice his strange silence, for the young man was bubbling
over with an event of great importance which had on this morning
occurred in his own career. He had received a brief in a case in which
some hundreds of thousands of pounds were involved, and he was in high
feather about it. With great animation he made Uncle Leth acquainted
with this piece of good fortune, and went on talking and talking until
Uncle Leth's singular silence and abstraction had their effect upon
him, and he suddenly paused and asked Uncle Leth whether he was unwell.
"Pardon me, Mr. Cornwall," said Uncle Leth humbly; "I have not
understood a word of what you were saying."
The "Mr." Cornwall struck strangely upon Fred's ears. It had always been
Fred; but the fact was, Uncle Leth, feeling that he had lost his
honoured place in the world, deemed the familiarity an act of
presumption on his part. Therefore the "Mr." instead of Fred.
Then Fred, bending down to look into Uncle Leth's face, saw that there
were tears in his eyes. Uncle Leth was as tall as Fred, but on this
morning he stooped lower than usual; if he could have hid his face from
the sight of all men, he would have been glad to do so.
"Uncle Leth," said Fred gently, "what is the matter?"
"Don't speak to me like that," sobbed Uncle Leth, turning away; "don't
speak to me like that!"
"Ah, but I must," said Fred, hooking his arm in Uncle Leth's. "You are
in trouble, and you want me to run. Not likely, Uncle Leth. I love you
and yours too deeply. Only one word first. Has Phoebe anything to do
with it?"
"No, Fred."
"You _are_ in trouble?"
"Yes."
"About money?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me all about it. I give you my honest word I will not leave
you till you do. You have a good ten minutes to spare. You started from
home earlier than usual this morning."
It was a fact, but until this moment Uncle Leth had not been aware of
it.
"Now tell me, Uncle Leth."
And so, in less than the ten minutes there were to spare, the story of
the impending ruin was told.
"And is that all?" cried Fred, to Uncle Leth's astonishment.
Uncle Leth strove to disengage his arm from Fred's. It was cruel of the
young man to make light of such a blow. But Fred held Uncle Leth's arm
all the tighter, and he could not release himself.
"Do they know it at home?" asked Fred.
"Yes."
"And you have left all of them in trouble?"
"They are heart-broken," sobbed Uncle Leth; "and so am I!"
"Now, Uncle Leth," said Fred, with a comfortable squeeze at Uncle Leth's
arm, "just you listen to me a moment. There is nothing to be
heart-broken about when you have a friend like me at your elbow."
"Don't mock me, Fred."
"God forbid that I should! What! After all your sweet goodness to my
darling Phoebe! after all your kindness to me, to think that I should
mock you! I am going to get you out of your trouble. A nice thing
friendship would be if it wasn't equal to such a little matter as this!"
"A little matter, Fred! You call it a little matter!"
"Of course I do. On my word and honour as a man, as a true friend, you
shall have the acceptance for three hundred pounds in your hands, if not
to-night, at all events to-morrow. Give me the name and address of the
man who holds it and who demands his pound of flesh. He shall have it
to the last grain. Leave it to me, and go to your work with a cheerful
heart."
"Do you mean it, Fred?" asked Uncle Leth, solemnly.
"As truly as I stand here! As truly as I love my Phoebe, the dearest
girl in all the wide world, of whom I should be unworthy if I failed you
at such a pinch--as truly as I hope, despite all obstacles, to make her
my wife, and to live a long and happy life with her! Quick, now, your
time is almost up. Give me Shylock's name and address, and the thing is
done. Ah; that is it, is it? I shall be able to settle the affair with
him."
"God bless you, Fred!" said Uncle Leth, carried away by the young man's
impetuous enthusiasm. "God in heaven bless you!"
"I hope so. And you and yours, and my own dear girl! Why, here's a
telegraph office, three doors from the bank! We have just forty-five
seconds to send a telegram to Aunt Leth. I will write it out. 'My dear
Wife,--Do not worry about the bill. It is paid, and I am happy. God
bless all at home! Uncle Leth.' How much? One-and-a-penny-ha'penny. How
is that? Oh yes, the address! Quite right. Tenpence-ha'penny change.
Thank you. Now, here we are outside, and there's your bank;
and--hi!--here's a hansom. Good-bye, Uncle Leth. What a lovely morning!"
He rung Uncle Leth's hand, gave him a bright smile, jumped into the cab,
and was whirled away.
How he managed it need not be here recapitulated. Sufficient that he
_did_ manage it, and that the affair was arranged before one o'clock.
Perhaps he borrowed a trifle from a friend or two; perhaps he scraped up
every shilling of his own; perhaps he paid a business visit to a
gentleman whose trade-mark was three beautiful golden balls; perhaps he
left another acceptance for a smaller amount than the original bill,
with his own and a good friend's name on it, in Shylock's hands. But all
the "perhapsing" in the world would have been useless had he not
succeeded in bringing the matter to a satisfactory issue. And there he
was at the bank exactly as the clock struck one, and asking to be
allowed to say a word to Mr. Lethbridge, whispered in his ear, "It is
all right."