THOMAS AND MR. STOPPER.
Thomas did not sleep much that night, and was up betimes in the
morning. Mr. Fuller had risen before him, however, and when Thomas
went down stairs, after an invigorating cold bath which his host had
taken special care should be provided for him, along with clean linen,
he found him in his study reading. He received him very heartily,
looking him, with some anxiety, in the face, as if to see whether he
could read action there. Apparently he was encouraged, for his own
face brightened up, and they were soon talking together earnestly.
But knowing Mr. Stopper's habit of being first at the counting-house,
Thomas was anxious about the time, and Mr. Fuller hastened breakfast.
That and prayers over, he put twelve pounds into Thomas's hand, which
he had been out that morning already to borrow from a friend. Then,
with a quaking heart, but determined will, Thomas set out and walked
straight to Bagot Street. Finding no one there but the man sweeping
out the place, he went a little farther, and there was the bookseller
arranging his stall outside the window. Mr. Kitely regarded him with
doubtful eyes, vouchsafing him a "good-morning" of the gruffest.
"Mr. Kitely," said Thomas, "I am more obliged to you than I can tell,
for what you did last night."
"Perhaps you ought to be; but it wasn't for your sake, Mr. Worboise,
that I did it."
"I am quite aware of that. Still, if you will allow me to say so, I am
as much obliged to you as if it had been."
Mr. Kitely grumbled something, for he was not prepared to be friendly.
"Will you let me wait in your shop till Mr. Stopper comes?"
"There he is."
Thomas's heart beat fast; but he delayed only to give Mr. Stopper time
to enter the more retired part of the counting-house. Then he hurried
to the door and went in.
Mr. Stopper was standing with his back to the glass partition, and took
the entrance for that of one of his clerks. Thomas tapped at the glass
door, but not till he had opened it and said "Mr. Stopper," did he take
any notice. He started then, and turned; but, having regarded him for a
moment, gave a rather constrained smile, and, to his surprise, held out
his hand.
"It is very good of you to speak to me at all, Mr. Stopper," said
Thomas, touched with gratitude already. "I don't deserve it."
"Well, I must say you behaved rather strangely, to say the least, of
it. It might have been a serious thing for you, Mr. Thomas, if I hadn't
been more friendly than you would have given me credit for. Look here."
And he showed him the sum of eleven pounds thirteen shillings and
eightpence halfpenny put down to Mr. Stopper's debit in the petty
cash-book.
"You understand that, I presume, Mr. Thomas. You ran the risk of
transportation there."
"I know I did, Mr. Stopper. But just listen to me a moment, and you
will be able to forgive me, I think. I had been drinking, and gambling,
and losing all night; and I believe I was really drunk when I did that.
Not that I didn't know I was doing wrong. I can't say that. And I know
it doesn't clear me at all, but I want to tell you the truth of it.
I've been wretched ever since, and daren't show myself. I have been
bitterly punished. I haven't touched cards or dice since. Here's the
money," he concluded, offering the notes and gold.
Mr. Stopper did not heed the action at first. He was regarding Thomas
rather curiously. Thomas perceived it.
"Yes," Thomas said, "I am a sailor. It's an honest way of living, and I
like it."
"But you'll come back now, won't you?"
"That depends," answered Thomas. "Would you take me, now, Mr. Stopper?"
he added, with a feeble experimental smile. "But there's the money. Do
take it out of my hands."
"It lies with your father now, Mr. Thomas. Have you been to Highbury?
Of course, I took care not to let him know."
"Thank you heartily. I'm just going there. Do take the horrid money,
and let me feel as if I weren't a thief after all."
"As for the money, eleven pound, odd," said Mr. Stopper, without
looking at it, "that's neither here nor there. It was a burglary, there
can be no doubt, under the circumstances. But I owe you a quarter's
salary, though I should not be bound to pay it, seeing you left as you
did. Still, I want to be friendly, and you worked very fairly for it. I
will hand you over the difference."
"No, never mind that, I don't care about the money. It was all that
damned play," said Thomas.
"Don't swear, Mr. Thomas," returned Stopper, taking out the check-book,
and proceeding to write a check for thirteen pounds six shillings and
fourpence.
"If you had suffered as much from it as I have, Mr. Stopper, you would
see no harm in damning it."
Mr. Stopper made no reply, but handed him the check, with the words:
"Now we're clear, Mr. Thomas. But don't do it again. It won't pass
twice. I've saved you this time."
"Do it again!" cried Thomas, seizing Mr. Stopper's hand; "I would
sooner cut my own throat. Thank you, thank you a thousand times, Mr.
Stopper," he added, his heart brimful at this beginning of his day of
horror.
Mr. Stopper very coolly withdrew his hand, turned round on his stool,
replaced his check-book in the drawer, and proceeded to arrange his
writing materials, as if nobody were there but himself. He knew well
enough that it was not for Thomas's sake that he had done it; but
he had no particular objection to take the credit of it. There was
something rudely imposing in the way in which he behaved to Thomas,
and Thomas felt it and did not resent it: for he had no right to be
indignant: he was glad of any terms he could make. Let us hope that Mr.
Stopper had a glimmering of how it might feel to have been kind, and
that he was a little more ready in consequence to do a friendly deed in
time to come, even when he could reap no benefit from it. Though Mr.
Stopper's assumption of faithful friendship could only do him harm, yet
perhaps Thomas's ready acknowledgment of it might do him good; for not
unfrequently to behave to a man as good rouses his conscience and makes
him wish that he were as good as he is taken for. It gives him almost
a taste of what goodness is like--certainly a very faint and far-off
taste--yet a something.
Thomas left the counting-house a free man. He bounded back to Mr.
Fuller, returned the money, showed him the check, and told him all.
"There's a beginning for you, my boy!" said Mr. Fuller, as delighted
almost as Thomas himself. "Now for the next."
There came the rub. Thomas's countenance fell. He was afraid, and Mr.
Fuller saw it.
"You daren't go near Lucy till you have been to your father. It would
be to insult her, Thomas."
Tom caught up his cap from the table and left the house, once more
resolved. It would be useless to go to Highbury at this hour; he would
find his father at his office in the city. And he had not far to go to
find him--unfortunately, thought Tom.