APPLES OF SODOM.
TOM went home the evening of the race, feeling wonderfully elated,
hugging to himself the knowledge of his good fortune, but not daring
to let his aunt know anything of it. He had to sit and eat his bread
and butter at tea time as though nothing had happened, which in itself
was almost a pain just now. For he was bursting to tell the news to
somebody.
If he could only have done this, he might have been able to eat as
usual, but, as it was, every mouthful seemed as though it would choke
him. And at last his aunt noticed the pile of bread and butter still
on the plate, and said, "What is the matter with you this evening? You
don't get on with your tea."
"I am not very hungry," said Tom in a tone of indifference, but with a
smile playing about his lips that did not escape his aunt's notice.
"What's taken your appetite away?" she asked rather sharply.
"I don't know," said Tom, rising from the table now, for he did not
like his aunt's scrutiny.
He had not learned to tell a lie unblushingly yet; and Mrs. Flowers, as
she watched him go out of the room, nodded her head sagaciously:
"There is something a-foot I know," she said half aloud, as Tom closed
the door, and she resolved to watch him more closely for the next few
days.
Of course, Tom was all impatience to go and meet his friend Jack, and
he made sure he should find him waiting at the corner of the street for
him, for surely Jack would be as eager to talk the good news over as he
was.
But to his disappointment there was no one to be seen at the street
corner, and he walked along in the direction of Jack's home in the hope
of meeting him. The evening was raw, and little scudding showers of
sleet fell every now and then, making most people hurry home as fast as
they could, but Tom did not notice this small discomfort in the growing
anxiety he felt at Jack's continued absence. He suddenly remembered
that although Jack had told him his home lay in this direction, he did
not know his address, or where he could find him if he failed to make
his appearance.
He walked on for nearly a mile, and then turned and walked back at a
quicker pace, fearing that he might have come from another direction,
and was now waiting at the corner where they usually met. But when he
got back, there was no Jack to be seen, and then an awful fear began to
creep over his mind. Suppose he should never come to meet him again. He
had got the money that was to be risked on the race! Suppose he went
off with the winnings!
In spite of the cold wind and sleet that came beating in his face as
he gazed round, Tom went hot all over at the thought. And yet it did
not shock him that such an idea as this had entered his head concerning
this bosom companion of his. In fact, the notion that this might happen
grew stronger, as the minutes went on, and Jack did not make his
appearance.
"I might have expected it," muttered Tom under his breath; "I have been
a fool to think he would come when he had all that money safe in his
hands."
But although he said this, he still paced up and down the road,
watching eagerly each figure in the distance that at all resembled
Jack's.
In spite of the cold he stayed out later than usual, for he dreaded to
go home, and wondered what would become of him if he could not replace
the ten shillings he had "borrowed" from his master's money.
But at last the clock of a neighbouring church struck ten, and Tom, as
he counted the strokes, felt the tears slowly well into his eyes, for
he knew it was useless to wait longer now—Jack would not come.
The utter misery of the lad as he slowly walked down the street
homewards can better be imagined than described. And this was the night
of his triumph too. Tittlebrat had won the money for them that they had
talked of so much, and this was the way he had to celebrate the victory.
He felt too miserable to eat his usual slice of bread by way of supper,
and went up to bed as quickly as he could, that he might escape his
aunt's watchful eyes, for he felt that she was suspicious of him,
careful as he had been to keep his secret to himself.
He lay shivering with cold and misery long after his uncle and aunt
came upstairs, and when at last he did fall off into an uneasy sleep,
his dreams were of policemen coming to arrest him for the robbery
or murder he had committed—sometimes it was one and sometimes the
other—but Jack was always the person he had murdered; and truly the
feeling he felt towards him now was fitly pictured in these hideous
dreams, for nothing short of hatred towards the false friend who had
led him astray could find a place in his heart now.
It was a relief to him when morning dawned and it was time to get up,
though he then became aware of a dull aching in all his limbs that
betokened a bad cold. But the misery of his mind made him almost forget
the uncomfortable feeling of stiffness and soreness in his bones, and
when his uncle remarked at the breakfast table that he did not look
well, he passed it off without making any complaint.
The truth was it had flashed upon him as he came downstairs that if
he admitted having taken cold the previous evening, he would not be
allowed to go out again after he returned from work that day.
So in spite of his throat being sore, and his limbs so stiff he could
not move without pain, he bore all the discomfort without a word, and
swallowed as much as he could of his breakfast, for fear of his liberty
being curtailed in the evening.
How he got through that miserable day he did not know, for his head
ached, and he felt dull, yet was kept perpetually on the alert lest the
customer who had paid the money he had taken should come in and speak
about it, or bring the receipt back through some informality in it, for
he felt sure now that he had not made the bill out quite right, and
that it would be sure to come in again, and then the whole tale of his
theft would have to be told.
But at last the misery of sitting and glancing every now and then
towards the door, in the expectation of seeing his accuser walk in,
came to an end, and he breathed more freely when the place was closed,
and he could put on his coat to go home.
But just as he was leaving, he was thrown into another fright, for Mr.
Phillips said in a kindly tone, "You had better not come to-morrow if
your cold is no better, I expect the other lad back, and so we shall
not be so driven but what you can take a day off to get well."
Tom had to take hold of a post supporting the ceiling to keep himself
from falling as he heard these words. "The other lad come back
to-morrow," he repeated inwardly, and the horror that filled his soul
at this news made itself seen in his face, only Mr. Phillips had turned
away and there was no one else to see the look of agony that all in a
moment swept over the boy's countenance.
But he had to conquer this and say "Good-night" in a tone calm and
unconcerned, though how he managed to hide his misery he never knew.
When he got outside, and away from all watchful eyes, he leaned up
against the wall, seriously to consider whether he should not put an
end to this awful suspense by delivering himself up to the police at
once, and confessing what he had done. Nothing could be worse than the
torture he now endured, but when he lifted his eyes suddenly and saw a
policeman looking at him, all his courage went, and he pulled himself
together with an effort, and turned to walk away.
"What is it, my lad?" asked the man, placing himself in front of Tom so
as to bar his further progress.
"I felt giddy—I've got a bad cold," said Tom rather incoherently.
"Where do you work?" asked the policeman, laying his hand on his
shoulder, and turning him round to the light of the neighbouring
gas lamp, but whatever the suspicion was in the man's mind, Tom's
appearance convinced him that his statement was correct, for he was
shivering as if struck with ague now, and he said in a more kindly
tone, "You ought to be in bed, not out of doors such a cold night as
this."
"I'm going home now," replied Tom very meekly, for he felt he dare not
give a policeman a saucy answer just now.
"Yes, you get home as fast as you can, or you'll be worse," said the
policeman in a tone of compassion, for it was easy to see that the boy
was not fit to be out in the chill evening air.
How Tom staggered home and kept up an appearance of being pretty well
during tea time he alone knew, but he did manage it, and went out
afterwards to see if he could find Jack.
To-night he was not disappointed, though he rather disgusted his friend
by the way he ran to him exclaiming, "Oh, Jack, Jack, why didn't you
come last night?"
"Come last night," repeated Jack coolly, "what would have been the good
of that?"
"The money, Jack, the money!" said Tom, in an imploring tone.
"Well, the money's all right. I suppose you found out that Tittlebrat
was first, as I said he would be. I suppose you will believe another
time that my tips are worth more than I charge for them," he said, in a
sneering tone.
"Oh, never mind the tips now, it's the ten shillings I stole."
"Stole," interrupted Jack, in an impressive whisper. "That's an ugly
word to use, I wouldn't talk like that if I were you."
"I daresay not; you haven't got to face the master if it should be
found out as I have," replied Tom, in a tone of passive misery.
"Oh, come now, don't be in a funk about that, the money is all right,
and if you borrowed that ten shillings of your master—"
"If I borrowed it," interrupted Tom, "didn't you tell me to borrow it?"
he demanded fiercely.
"Well, suppose I did. How was I to know where you were going to get it
from? That wasn't my business, was it? I tell you of a good thing, the
way a lot of money can be made without any trouble, only it wants money
to breed money always, and if I say to you get ten shillings for a few
days, and I can put you in the way of making it half as many pounds
before you can say Jack Robinson, how am I to know where you get the
money from?"
"But you did know well enough," replied Tom, rather indignantly. "You
told me that lots of other chaps did that sort of thing, and I might as
well do the same, but I'll take good care I don't any more," he added,
emphatically.
"Oh, come now, you're cross about something, I can see. What's amiss
with you this evening?" said Jack, in a different tone.
"Why didn't you come last night as you promised?"
For answer Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. "You're enough to
make a cat grin, Tom," he said, by way of excuse. "Anyone could tell
you've never had a taste of London life before. Come last night," he
repeated, "why, how could I? I was miles away from London. Perhaps
you'd have liked me to write about our business that your dragon of an
aunt might have opened the letter."
Tom turned hot and cold at the thought of this happening, but still,
he repeated, "You ought to have let me know if you couldn't keep your
promise."
"I never made the promise," retorted Jack, growing angry as Tom cooled.
"I said I would come if I could; but what would have been the use
of coming last night, you knew that Tittlebrat went straight to the
winning-post, wasn't that good enough?"
"No, not for me," replied Tom. "I wanted the ten shillings I stole to
put back in the desk, and return it to my master."
"Oh, of course, it was the money, I knew all about that," said the
other; "it's always the same, you're always in a great hurry to return
what you've borrowed, I daresay."
"Yes, I am," replied Tom, "and especially now, when nobody knew I had
borrowed it."
"And so you thought you would get the money last night. What an idea
you must have of business, and how things are managed among gentlemen!"
Jack spoke in a tone of supreme contempt.
"Well, you said we should get the money as soon as ever the race was
run," replied Tom.
"And when was it run, pray?" demanded the other, in a tone of indignant
expostulation.
"Why, yesterday, and, of course, I expected it last night."
"More fool you then!" retorted Jack, losing his patience again.
"Well, I don't see that I was such a fool," said Tom. "You said as soon
as the race is run you will have your money down on the nail, and, of
course, I thought I could take that ten shillings back this morning."
"Oh, hang the ten shillings!" interrupted Jack. "I tell you I haven't
got all our stakes paid over to me yet, and so I can't pay you, and
that's flat."
"Then I may as well go and give myself up to the police at once,"
groaned Tom, stopping short in his walk, as though he contemplated
throwing himself into the arms of the next policeman who came along.
The look of despair in his face alarmed Jack, and thrusting one
hand into his pocket he drew Tom along with the other, for fear of
attracting attention.
"Look here," he said, "you shall have the ten shillings. I have got
that much for you, only I was going to ask you to lend it to me for a
day or two, just to give me a chance to turn a penny or two more before
Christmas. But, of course, if you must have it, you must," and as he
spoke, he reluctantly drew from his pocket a half-sovereign, and gave
it to Tom.
But he looked surprised when Tom's hand closed upon the coin.
"I thought you would be sure to let me have it for a day or two," he
said in a tone of reproach.
"So I would," replied Tom, "if it was my own. But, look here, it may
be too late now to put that back without being found out. Just as I
was coming away to-night, I heard that the desk boy was coming back
to-morrow, and if he comes, how am I to get that back and entered in
the book. And if it isn't entered, the bill will be sent in again soon,
and then there is my name on the receipt and I shall be clean bowled
out over it."
"I suppose you must have it then," said Jack rather ruefully, but still
looking as though he thought Tom ought not to take it.
But Tom took care to put it safe into an inside pocket, and when he had
buttoned up his coat again he said, "When can I have the rest, Jack?"
"The rest?" repeated the friend who had been so profuse in his
assurances that all racing money was paid the moment the race was
settled. "What do you mean by the rest?"
"Why, this is just the money you had to place on Tittlebrat, there is
two pounds five more coming to me."
"Is there, and what about my commission—you don't suppose I can go
about and do this sort of business for nothing, do you?"
"You never said anything about commission before. I gave you the
shilling for that, I thought," added Tom.
"I tell you what it is," said the other, after a pause, "you ain't fit
to be about London at all, you're only just fit to run errands about a
country village. Carry mangling clothes home, and wait for the money
before you hand over the basket, that's what you're fit for, Tom; and
you ought to go home to your mother to-morrow."
This was said in such a tone of withering contempt, that poor Tom felt
half inclined to hand back the half-sovereign merely to get back Jack's
good opinion again, but fear, lest if he did this he should never get
the chance of restoring it, prevailed, and he went home with it secure
in his pocket, though he and Jack parted very coolly through it.
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