TURK MAKES A CONFESSION.
I found Turk at his sister's house. He jumped up at once on my
proposing that he should take a walk with me.
'I am glad of the opportunity, Chris, my boy,' he said; 'for I want to
talk to you.'
I answered, in as lively a tone as I could command, that I was at his
service.
'Like a true friend as you are. The subject I want to talk about is
spelt with four letters--s-e-l-f. Such a subject needs no overture; up
with the curtain, then. I start with a self-evident proposition. A man
must live. What do you say to that?'
I had nothing to say in contradiction.
'Very well, then. To live, one must have money; to have money (barring
the silver spoon), one must work for it. Granted?'
'Granted,' I assented listlessly. He looked at me in surprise at my
despondent tone.
'Ah,' he said, 'there's more in that than meets the eye.'
'More in what, Turk? In your proposition?'
'No, Chris, my boy. In your face. You are in trouble.'
'I am, Turk; in the deepest, most terrible trouble. I am utterly,
utterly wretched. I have nothing in the world worth living for.'
'It's bad when it comes to that,' he said, with an expression of deep
concern. 'Money?'
'No, Turk.'
'Heart?'
My silence was a sufficient answer.
Is the trouble of such a nature that it may be confided to a
friend--to a friend with a kindred soul, Chris, my boy?'
'I will tell you about it presently, Turk. Go on with your own story
first.'
'In one act, then. Without detail. Since that ever-to-be-remembered
night when a strong verdict was pronounced against me on the other
side of Temple Bar--in which direction, by the bye, I see we are
walking now--and when I determined to relinquish the profession in
which I glory--I do, Chris, I glory in it; and you can hardly have an
idea of the sacrifice I have made in giving it up--I have been looking
about me. Not having been born with that silver spoon in my mouth, I
can't afford to be idle. Well, to be brief, something that will suit
me has come in my way, and I have snatched at the chance. The affair
will be settled to-morrow. Near the theatre in which I made my first
and last appearance in the new and original drama which was played for
the first and last time is a theatrical wig and hair shop, with a
shaving connection attached. To-morrow that shop and that connection
will be mine. That's the head and front of my story. But there's
something more. I have a friend of yours to thank for it all.'
'A friend of mine!'
'Two, I may say--one fair, one dark. I do perceive here a divided
duty. But we'll speak of that anon.'
'No; tell me now. What friends do you mean? I haven't many.'
'You have one who stands for a host. If she were such a friend to me,
I wouldn't call the king my uncle.'
'She!'
'I see you must hear it. Briefly, then, this was the way of it. The
business was for sale, Chris, my boy. Money had to be paid for it--not
much, but too much for a poor actor whose purse has always resembled a
sieve. I had saved a little, but not more than half what was required
for the purchase of the goodwill. I mention this in the presence of
these friends of yours----'
I interrupted him.
'Don't let us have any mystery, Turk. Who are they?'
'Jessie the peerless and Mr. Glover.'
I started. Turk continued:
'I mention this in their presence, and lament my impecuniosity. Jessie
sympathises with me--wishes that she had money, so that she might help
me. She has a heart of gold, Chris, my boy, a heart of gold. Two or
three days afterwards, Mr. Glover sends for me--says he has been
considering the matter, and that he is disposed to assist me. He goes
further than being disposed to do it--he does it. In short, he
provides half the purchase-money, and there we are. It is a matter of
business, Chris, my boy. I asked him to make a matter of business of
it, and he said he intended to do so; and he has. Mr. Glover is a
moneylender, and he lends me the money at ten per cent. But there's
one thing I'm certain of. He wouldn't have done it but for Jessie.'
I reflected with some bitterness on this information.
'Are you certain of that, Turk?'
'Morally certain, that is all. For when I thanked Jessie, she modestly
averred that all that she did was to express a wish that she had a
friend who would assist me. And now, Chris, my boy, unbosom yourself.
What's your trouble?'
'Jessie has left our house, Turk.'
He gave me a look of deep concern. 'What do you mean by that, Chris,
my son?'
'She has left us, never to return--left us suddenly, without
explanation.'
And then I narrated to him, in detail, all that had occurred, omitting
only what had passed between me and uncle Bryan. Still when I
mentioned his name, which was necessary several times in the course of
my narration, I spoke of him with sufficient bitterness to make Turk
aware of the terms upon which we stood to each other.
Turk, growing more and more serious as I proceeded, listened to me
without interruption, and pondered deeply. By the time I had finished
he had become very serious indeed, and there was an air of gloom upon
him which somewhat soothed me.
'There is more in _this_ than meets the eye,' he said; and added,
somewhat unnecessarily as I thought, 'Bear with me a little while,
Chris, my boy,' for I felt that such a request more properly belonged
to me than to him. But he explained his meaning presently.
'You have given me your confidence, Chris, my boy, and you want me to
stand by you.'
'I do, Turk.'
'And I _will_ stand by you, as you have stood by me--I don't forget
the big stick you bought, Chris, to assist me on a certain eventful
night'--(here I was stung reproachfully by the remembrance of my
cowardly behaviour on that night); 'nor other occasions at the Royal
Columbia when you led the applause like a true friend. I'll stand by
you, my boy, but you must first hear my confession.'
I did not wish to hear his confession; I wished to continue talking
only of myself and Jessie, but I was bound to listen.
'As before, Chris, in a very few words. I knew that you loved Jessie,
but I scarcely thought that your passion was as strong as it is--as
powerful, as deep----'
'No words can express its strength and depth, Turk,' I said, in a tone
of gloomy satisfaction.
He nodded, as if he fully understood me, and continued: Well, others
may love as well as you, Chris.' I looked at him in jealous curiosity.
'I shouldn't be true to you nor to myself if I didn't confess it
before we proceed to the consideration of the state of affairs. _I_
love her, also.'
I started, and let go his arm.
'Don't do that, Chris, my boy,' said the honest fellow; 'it's nobody's
fault but my own. I know that I can't stand in comparison with you.
You are ten years younger than I am--you are handsome, clever, bright;
and I--well, I am a failure. That's what I am, Chris; a failure. Even
if you were out of the way, which I don't for one moment wish, curious
as it may sound, I think I should stand but a poor chance with such a
beautiful creature as she is. I am not a hundredth part good enough
for her.'
'No one is, Turk,' I said, somewhat mollified.
'No; I won't say that. I think that some one whom I know _is_ good
enough' (he pressed my arm sympathisingly); 'and besides, you have a
claim upon her. You mustn't be surprised or hurt at my loving her,
Chris; I could mention half a dozen others who are in the same boat.
You see, one can't help loving her, she is so bright and winsome. Why,
if she were mine--which she isn't, and never will be--I think I should
take a pride in knowing it, for it would make her all the more
precious to me. That is how the matter stands with me, Chris, and I
think it's right that you should know it. I give her up, not without a
pang, my boy, but freely; I am used to disappointments, and I shall
bear this as I have borne others.'
'But you never had any hope, Turk,' I said, disposed, after his
magnanimous conduct, to argue the matter with him.
'No, not to speak of,' he replied, with a melancholy sigh. 'If I can't
be Jessie's lover--don't be angry with me for using the word--I can be
her friend, and yours. It rests with you to say the word. If you know
enough of Turk West to trust him, say so, Chris, and he pledges
himself to act faithfully in your interest. He may be of more use to
you than you imagine. Well?'
'I should be an ungrateful brute not to say that I accept your offer
thankfully, Turk.'
'That's settled, then. Shake hands on it. And now, Chris, we'll be
silent for just two minutes, and then we'll go into the matter.'
At the end of that time he resumed.
'I said that there was more in your story than meets the eye, Chris,
my boy; and there is. Jessie disappears on your birthday, suddenly,
without any forewarning. This morning everything was nice and pleasant
with all of you at home.'
'With the exception of uncle Bryan,' I interrupted; 'you mustn't
forget that.'
'I don't forget it, but then he is the same as he usually is, and
there's nothing unusual in that. She is affectionate to you; she is
affectionate to your mother; and I think that she couldn't have
avoided seeing that there was to be a little celebration of her
birthday to-night. Well, it is plain to me that this morning she had
no idea of going away. Now what has occurred since this morning to
cause this sudden change in her? That's the first thing to consider.'
I could not think of anything. Jessie had not been out of our house.
'There's something I have not told you, Turk, but I don't see what it
can have to do with Jessie's going from us. We were talking together
once, when Jessie said that she wondered that I had never asked her
any questions about herself--she meant about herself before she came
to live with us. I answered that mother had desired me not to do so,
because uncle Bryan might not like it.'
'What had he to do with it? asked Turk.
'I don't know, but mother said he might have secrets which he would
not wish us to discover. When I told this to Jessie, she said that she
had a secret, but didn't then know what it was. It was in a letter
which she was not to open until she was eighteen years of age--until
to-day. Then she said she would tell me everything.'
'There's a mystery somewhere,' said Turk, pondering; in that letter
perhaps.'
But I could not agree with him. Eager as I was to receive any
impressions which would divert my suspicions from the current in which
they were running, I could not see the slightest connection between
the circumstance I had just mentioned and Jessie's absence. By this
time we were at Temple Bar.
'Where are we going?' asked Turk.
'To Mr. Rackstraw's,' I answered. 'Jessie has been taking lessons of
him, you know. He may be able to tell us something about her.'
Turk shook his head. 'There are two strong reasons against the
realisation of that expectation, Chris. First, Jessie has not been
there to-day, according to your own statement; second, Mr. Rackstraw's
office closes at five o'clock.'
But we may be able to discover where Mr. Rackstraw lives.'
'Well?'
'Well?' I echoed, irritated at his seeming discouragement of my plan.
'Turk, can't you see that I'm almost mad with misery. I thought you
were a friend----'
'And am I not? That's news to Turk. What good can you do by finding
out Mr. Rackstraw's private address?'
'He may tell me where Mr. Glover lives.'
'And then?' demanded Turk, in a grave and sorrowful tone.
I turned from him petulantly. 'If you do not care to understand me,' I
said, 'I had best go alone.'
I walked swiftly onwards towards Mr. Rackstraw's office, Turk
following me at a distance of a few paces.
Mr. Rackstraw's office was situated in a quiet narrow street in the
rear of Covent-garden. It was closed, as I expected it would be, and
although I rang all the bells on the door for fully ten minutes, I
received no answer. Turk stood quietly near me, without speaking. I
was heartily ashamed of myself for my treatment of him, and I made an
attempt at reconciliation by holding out my hand to him as I turned
disconsolately from Mr. Rackstraw's door. He took my hand with
affectionate eagerness.
'I can't find it in my heart,' he said with rough tenderness, 'to be
angry with you; but I ought to be.'
'I _am_ ashamed of myself for behaving so badly to you, Turk, but I
couldn't help it. I think I am ready to do any mad or foolish thing.'
'Oh, I don't care about myself. I have a stronger reason for being
angry with you. Who of we two should be Jessie's champion? You, I
should say. Yet I am obliged to defend her from your suspicions. If
you were ten years older than you are, I should quarrel with you,
Chris; I would with any other man who dared to say a word against
her.'
'Who has said anything against her?' I demanded hotly.
'You, in coupling her name with Mr. Glover--you, even in the
expression of the idea that Mr. Glover has had anything to do with her
disappearance. I don't want you to be ashamed of yourself for treating
me badly, but you ought to be for your suspicions of her.'
'You don't know what I know, Turk. I am bringing no charge against
Jessie--God forbid that I should; I love her too well, and think of
her too highly. But Mr. Glover has been paying court to her from the
first day he set eyes on her.'
'What if he has? Is that her fault? Aren't you old enough yet to know
that there are hundreds of men always ready to run after a pretty
girl? Now, I daresay it has hurt you to hear that Mr. Glover has
helped me into my new business because Jessie expressed a wish that
she had a friend who would assist me. Why, what was more natural than
that she should say so, out of her kind heart, and what was more
natural than that he should be glad of the opportunity of obliging
her, and of doing a fair stroke of business at the same time? It isn't
a large sum that he advances--a matter of seventy-five pounds only,
and he has a bill of sale, and goodness knows what, all for security.
Now you are better satisfied perhaps. I can't say that I am over-fond
of Mr. Glover, but he is said to be an honourable, straightforward
man. I'll tell you what I'll do, if you must see him----'
'I must,' I said firmly.
'I don't know where he lives, but I'll take you to a theatre that he
often pops into of an evening; he may be there. The acting-manager is
one of my new friends, and will pass us in, I daresay, or will be able
to tell us if Mr. Glover is in the theatre.'