he’ll be ashamed to show his face here; but, if he does, he’s come back
from Australia. See? It’ll make it nicer for ’im too. You don’t suppose
he wants to boast of where he’s been?”
“And suppose he comes while Alfred is here?” said his wife.
“Then I say, ‘How ’ave you left ’em all in Australia?’ and wink at
him,” said the ready Mr. Spriggs.
“And s’pose you’re not here?” objected his wife.
“Then you say it and wink at him,” was the reply. “No; I know you
can’t,” he added, hastily, as Mrs. Spriggs raised another objection;
“you’ve been too well brought up. Still, you can try.”
It was a slight comfort to Mrs. Spriggs that Mr. Augustus Price did,
after all, choose a convenient time for his reappearance. A faint knock
sounded on the door two days afterwards as she sat at tea with her
husband, and an anxious face with somewhat furtive eyes was thrust into
the room.
“Emma!” said a mournful voice, as the upper part of the intruder’s body
followed the face.
“Gussie!” said Mrs. Spriggs, rising in disorder.
Mr. Price drew his legs into the room, and, closing the door with
extraordinary care, passed the cuff of his coat across his eyes and
surveyed them tenderly.
“I’ve come home to die,” he said, slowly, and, tottering across the
room, embraced his sister with much unction.
“What are you going to die of?” inquired Mr. Spriggs, reluctantly
accepting the extended hand.
“Broken ’art, George,” replied his brother-in-law, sinking into a
chair.
Mr. Spriggs grunted, and, moving his chair a little farther away,
watched the intruder as his wife handed him a plate. A troubled glance
from his wife reminded him of their arrangements for the occasion, and
he cleared his throat several times in vain attempts to begin.
“I’m sorry that we can’t ask you to stay with us, Gussie, ’specially as
you’re so ill,” he said, at last; “but p’r’aps you’ll be better after
picking a bit.”
Mr. Price, who was about to take a slice of bread and butter,
refrained, and, closing his eyes, uttered a faint moan. “I sha’n’t last
the night,” he muttered.
“That’s just it,” said Mr. Spriggs, eagerly. “You see, Ethel is going
to be married in a fortnight, and if you died here that would put it
off.”
“I might last longer if I was took care of,” said the other, opening
his eyes.
“And, besides, Ethel don’t know where you’ve been,” continued Mr.
Spriggs. “We told ’er that you had gone to Australia. She’s going to
marry a very partikler young chap—a grocer—and if he found it out it
might be awk’ard.”
Mr. Price closed his eyes again, but the lids quivered.
“It took ’im some time to get over me being a bricklayer,” pursued Mr.
Spriggs. “What he’d say to you—”
“Tell ’im I’ve come back from Australia, if you like,” said Mr. Price,
faintly. “I don’t mind.”
Mr. Spriggs cleared his throat again. “But, you see, we told Ethel as
you was doing well out there,” he said, with an embarrassed laugh, “and
girl-like, and Alfred talking a good deal about his relations,
she—she’s made the most of it.”
“It don’t matter,” said the complaisant Mr. Price; “you say what you
like. I sha’n’t interfere with you.”
“But, you see, you don’t look as though you’ve been making money,” said
his sister, impatiently. “Look at your clothes.”
Mr. Price held up his hand. “That’s easy got over,” he remarked; “while
I’m having a bit of tea George can go out and buy me some new ones. You
get what you think I should look richest in, George—a black tail-coat
would be best, I should think, but I leave it to you. A bit of a fancy
waistcoat, p’r’aps, lightish trousers, and a pair o’ nice boots, easy
sevens.”
He sat upright in his chair and, ignoring the look of consternation
that passed between husband and wife, poured himself out a cup of tea
and took a slice of cake.
“Have you got any money?” said Mr. Spriggs, after a long pause.
“I left it behind me—in Australia,” said Mr. Price, with ill-timed
facetiousness.
“Getting better, ain’t you?” said his brother-in-law, sharply. “How’s
that broken ’art getting on?”
“It’ll go all right under a fancy waistcoat,” was the reply; “and while
you’re about it, George, you’d better get me a scarf-pin, and, if you
_could_ run to a gold watch and chain—”
He was interrupted by a frenzied outburst from Mr. Spriggs; a somewhat
incoherent summary of Mr. Price’s past, coupled with unlawful and
heathenish hopes for his future.
“You’re wasting time,” said Mr. Price, calmly, as he paused for breath.
“Don’t get ’em if you don’t want to. I’m trying to help you, that’s
all. I don’t mind anybody knowing where I’ve been. I was innercent. If
you will give way to sinful pride you must pay for it.”
Mr. Spriggs, by a great effort, regained his self-control. “Will you go
away if I give you a quid?” he asked, quietly.
“No,” said Mr. Price, with a placid smile. “I’ve got a better idea of
the value of money than that. Besides, I want to see my dear niece, and
see whether that young man’s good enough for her.”
“Two quid?” suggested his brother-in-law.
Mr. Price shook his head. “I couldn’t do it,” he said, calmly. “In
justice to myself I couldn’t do it. You’ll be feeling lonely when you
lose Ethel, and I’ll stay and keep you company.”
The bricklayer nearly broke out again; but, obeying a glance from his
wife, closed his lips and followed her obediently upstairs. Mr. Price,
filling his pipe from a paper of tobacco on the mantelpiece, winked at
himself encouragingly in the glass, and smiled gently as he heard the
chinking of coins upstairs.
“Be careful about the size,” he said, as Mr. Spriggs came down and took
his hat from a nail; “about a couple of inches shorter than yourself
and not near so much round the waist.”
Mr. Spriggs regarded him sternly for a few seconds, and then, closing
the door with a bang, went off down the street. Left alone, Mr. Price
strolled about the room investigating, and then, drawing an easy-chair
up to the fire, put his feet on the fender and relapsed into thought.
Two hours later he sat in the same place, a changed and resplendent
being. His thin legs were hidden in light check trousers, and the
companion waistcoat to Joseph’s Coat graced the upper part of his body.
A large chrysanthemum in the button-hole of his frock-coat completed
the picture of an Australian millionaire, as understood by Mr. Spriggs.
“A nice watch and chain, and a little money in my pockets, and I shall
be all right,” murmured Mr. Price.
“You won’t get any more out o’ me,” said Mr. Spriggs, fiercely. “I’ve
spent every farthing I’ve got.”
“Except what’s in the bank,” said his brother-in-law. “It’ll take you a
day or two to get at it, I know. S’pose we say Saturday for the watch
and chain?”
Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly at his wife, but she avoided his gaze. He
turned and gazed in a fascinated fashion at Mr. Price, and received a
cheerful nod in return.
“I’ll come with you and help choose it,” said the latter. “It’ll save
you trouble if it don’t save your pocket.”
He thrust his hands in his trouser-pockets and, spreading his legs wide
apart, tilted his head back and blew smoke to the ceiling. He was in
the same easy position when Ethel arrived home accompanied by Mr.
Potter.
“It’s—it’s your Uncle Gussie,” said Mrs. Spriggs, as the girl stood
eying the visitor.
“From Australia,” said her husband, thickly.
Mr. Price smiled, and his niece, noticing that he removed his pipe and
wiped his lips with the back of his hand, crossed over and kissed his
eyebrow. Mr. Potter was then introduced and received a gracious
reception, Mr. Price commenting on the extraordinary likeness he bore
to a young friend of his who had just come in for forty thousand a
year.
“That’s nearly as much as you’re worth, uncle, isn’t it?” inquired Miss
Spriggs, daringly.
Mr. Price shook his head at her and pondered. “Rather more,” he said,
at last, “rather more.”
[Illustration: “Mr. Potter was then introduced and received a
gracious reception.”]
Mr. Potter caught his breath sharply; Mr. Spriggs, who was stooping to
get a light for his pipe, nearly fell into the fire. There was an
impressive silence.
“Money isn’t everything,” said Mr. Price, looking round and shaking his
head. “It’s not much good, except to give away.”
His eye roved round the room and came to rest finally upon Mr. Potter.
The young man noticed with a thrill that it beamed with benevolence.
“Fancy coming over without saying a word to anybody, and taking us all
by surprise like this!” said Ethel.
“I felt I must see you all once more before I died,” said her uncle,
simply. “Just a flying visit I meant it to be, but your father and
mother won’t hear of my going back just yet.”
“Of course not,” said Ethel, who was helping the silent Mrs. Spriggs to
lay supper.
“When I talked of going your father ’eld me down in my chair,”
continued the veracious Mr. Price.
“Quite right, too,” said the girl. “Now draw your chair up and have
some supper, and tell us all about Australia.”
Mr. Price drew his chair up, but, as to talking about Australia, he
said ungratefully that he was sick of the name of the place, and
preferred instead to discuss the past and future of Mr. Potter. He
learned, among other things, that that gentleman was of a careful and
thrifty disposition, and that his savings, augmented by a lucky legacy,
amounted to a hundred and ten pounds.
“Alfred is going to stay with Palmer and Mays for another year, and
then we shall take a business of our own,” said Ethel.
“Quite right,” said Mr. Price. “I like to see young people make their
own way,” he added meaningly. “It’s good for ’em.”
It was plain to all that he had taken a great fancy to Mr. Potter. He
discussed the grocery trade with the air of a rich man seeking a good
investment, and threw out dark hints about returning to England after a
final visit to Australia and settling down in the bosom of his family.
He accepted a cigar from Mr. Potter after supper, and, when the young
man left—at an unusually late hour—walked home with him.
It was the first of several pleasant evenings, and Mr. Price, who had
bought a book dealing with Australia from a second-hand bookstall, no
longer denied them an account of his adventures there. A gold watch and
chain, which had made a serious hole in his brother-in-law’s Savings
Bank account, lent an air of substance to his waistcoat, and a pin of
excellent paste sparkled in his neck-tie. Under the influence of good
food and home comforts he improved every day, and the unfortunate Mr.
Spriggs was at his wits’ end to resist further encroachments. From the
second day of their acquaintance he called Mr. Potter “Alf,” and the
young people listened with great attention to his discourse on “Money:
How to Make It and How to Keep It.”
His own dealings with Mr. Spriggs afforded an example which he did not
quote. Beginning with shillings, he led up to half-crowns, and,
encouraged by success, one afternoon boldly demanded a half-sovereign
to buy a wedding-present with. Mrs. Spriggs drew her over-wrought
husband into the kitchen and argued with him in whispers.
“Give him what he wants till they’re married,” she entreated; “after
that Alfred can’t help himself, and it’ll be as much to his interest to
keep quiet as anybody else.”
Mr. Spriggs, who had been a careful man all his life, found the
half-sovereign and a few new names, which he bestowed upon Mr. Price at
the same time. The latter listened unmoved. In fact, a bright eye and a
pleasant smile seemed to indicate that he regarded them rather in the
nature of compliments than otherwise.
“I telegraphed over to Australia this morning,” he said, as they all
sat at supper that evening.
[Illustration: “A gold watch and chain lent an air of substance to
his waistcoat.”]
“About my money?” said Mr. Potter, eagerly.
Mr. Price frowned at him swiftly. “No; telling my head clerk to send
over a wedding-present for you,” he said, his face softening under the
eye of Mr. Spriggs. “I’ve got just the thing for you there. I can’t see
anything good enough over here.”
The young couple were warm in their thanks.
“What did you mean, about your money?” inquired Mr. Spriggs, turning to
his future son-in-law.
“Nothing,” said the young man, evasively.
“It’s a secret,” said Mr. Price.
“What about?” persisted Mr. Spriggs, raising his voice.
“It’s a little private business between me and Uncle Gussie,” said Mr.
Potter, somewhat stiffly.
“You—you haven’t been lending him money?” stammered the bricklayer.
“Don’t be silly, father,” said Miss Spriggs, sharply. “What good would
Alfred’s little bit o’ money be to Uncle Gussie? If you must know,
Alfred is drawing it out for uncle to invest it for him.”
The eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Spriggs and Mr. Price engaged in a triangular
duel. The latter spoke first.
“I’m putting it into my business for him,” he said, with a threatening
glance, “in Australia.”
“And he didn’t want his generosity known,” added Mr. Potter.
The bewildered Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly round the table. His
wife’s foot pressed his, and like a mechanical toy his lips snapped
together.
“I didn’t know you had got your money handy,” said Mrs. Spriggs, in
trembling tones.
“I made special application, and I’m to have it on Friday,” said Mr.
Potter, with a smile. “You don’t get a chance like that every day.”
He filled Uncle Gussie’s glass for him, and that gentleman at once
raised it and proposed the health of the young couple. “If anything was
to ’appen to break it off now,” he said, with a swift glance at his
sister, “they’d be miserable for life, I can see that.”
“Miserable for ever,” assented Mr. Potter, in a sepulchral voice, as he
squeezed the hand of Miss Spriggs under the table.
“It’s the only thing worth ’aving—love,” continued Mr. Price, watching
his brother-in-law out of the corner of his eye. “Money is nothing.”
Mr. Spriggs emptied his glass and, knitting his brows, drew patterns on
the cloth with the back of his knife. His wife’s foot was still
pressing on his, and he waited for instructions.
For once, however, Mrs. Spriggs had none to give. Even when Mr. Potter
had gone and Ethel had retired upstairs she was still voiceless. She
sat for some time looking at the fire and stealing an occasional glance
at Uncle Gussie as he smoked a cigar; then she arose and bent over her
husband.
“Do what you think best,” she said, in a weary voice. “Good-night.”
“What about that money of young Alfred’s?” demanded Mr. Spriggs, as the
door closed behind her.
“I’m going to put it in my business,” said Uncle Gussie, blandly; “my
business in Australia.”
“Ho! You’ve got to talk to me about that first,” said the other.
His brother-in-law leaned back and smoked with placid enjoyment. “You
do what you like,” he said, easily. “Of course, if you tell Alfred, I
sha’n’t get the money, and Ethel won’t get ’im. Besides that, he’ll
find out what lies you’ve been telling.”
“I wonder you can look me in the face,” said the raging bricklayer.
“And I should give him to understand that you were going shares in the
hundred and ten pounds and then thought better of it,” said the unmoved
Mr. Price. “He’s the sort o’ young chap as’ll believe anything. Bless
’im!”
Mr. Spriggs bounced up from his chair and stood over him with his fists
clinched. Mr. Price glared defiance.
“If you’re so partikler you can make it up to him,” he said, slowly.
“You’ve been a saving man, I know, and Emma ’ad a bit left her that I
ought to have ’ad. When you’ve done play-acting I’ll go to bed. So
long!”
He got up, yawning, and walked to the door, and Mr. Spriggs, after a
momentary idea of breaking him in pieces and throwing him out into the
street, blew out the lamp and went upstairs to discuss the matter with
his wife until morning.
Mr. Spriggs left for his work next day with the question still
undecided, but a pretty strong conviction that Mr. Price would have to
have his way. The wedding was only five days off, and the house was in
a bustle of preparation. A certain gloom which he could not shake off
he attributed to a raging toothache, turning a deaf ear to the various
remedies suggested by Uncle Gussie, and the name of an excellent
dentist who had broken a tooth of Mr. Potter’s three times before
extracting it.
Uncle Gussie he treated with bare civility in public, and to
blood-curdling threats in private. Mr. Price, ascribing the latter to
the toothache, also varied his treatment to his company; prescribing
whisky held in the mouth, and other agreeable remedies when there were
listeners, and recommending him to fill his mouth with cold water and
sit on the fire till it boiled, when they were alone.
He was at his worst on Thursday morning; on Thursday afternoon he came
home a bright and contented man. He hung his cap on the nail with a
flourish, kissed his wife, and, in full view of the disapproving Mr.
Price, executed a few clumsy steps on the hearthrug.
“Come in for a fortune?” inquired the latter, eying him sourly.
“No; I’ve saved one,” replied Mr. Spriggs, gayly. “I wonder I didn’t
think of it myself.”
“Think of what?” inquired Mr. Price.
“You’ll soon know,” said Mr. Spriggs, “and you’ve only got yourself to
thank for it.”
Uncle Gussie sniffed suspiciously; Mrs. Spriggs pressed for
particulars.
“I’ve got out of the difficulty,” said her husband, drawing his chair
to the tea-table. “Nobody’ll suffer but Gussie.”
“Ho!” said that gentleman, sharply.
“I took the day off,” said Mr. Spriggs, smiling contentedly at his
wife, “and went to see a friend of mine, Bill White the policeman, and
told him about Gussie.”
Mr. Price stiffened in his chair.
“Acting—under—his—advice,” said Mr. Spriggs, sipping his tea, “I wrote
to Scotland Yard and told ’em that Augustus Price, ticket-of-leave man,
was trying to obtain a hundred and ten pounds by false pretences.”
Mr. Price, white and breathless, rose and confronted him.
“The beauty o’ that is, as Bill says,” continued Mr. Spriggs, with much
enjoyment, “that Gussie’ll ’ave to set out on his travels again. He’ll
have to go into hiding, because if they catch him he’ll ’ave to finish
his time. And Bill says if he writes letters to any of us it’ll only
make it easier to find him. You’d better take the first train to
Australia, Gussie.”
“What—what time did you post—the letter?” inquired Uncle Gussie,
jerkily.
“’Bout two o’clock,” said Mr. Spriggs, glaring at the clock. “I reckon
you’ve just got time.”
Mr. Price stepped swiftly to the small sideboard, and, taking up his
hat, clapped it on. He paused a moment at the door to glance up and
down the street, and then the door closed softly behind him. Mrs.
Spriggs looked at her husband.
“Called away to Australia by special telegram,” said the latter,
winking. “Bill White is a trump; that’s what he is.”
“Oh, George!” said his wife. “Did you really write that letter?”
Mr. Spriggs winked again.
THE TEST
[Illustration]
THE TEST
Pebblesea was dull, and Mr. Frederick Dix, mate of the ketch
_Starfish_, after a long and unsuccessful quest for amusement, returned
to the harbor with an idea of forgetting his disappointment in sleep.
The few shops in the High Street were closed, and the only
entertainment offered at the taverns was contained in glass and pewter.
The attitude of the landlord of the “Pilots’ Hope,” where Mr. Dix had
sought to enliven the proceedings by a song and dance, still rankled in
his memory.
The skipper and the hands were still ashore and the ketch looked so
lonely that the mate, thinking better of his idea of retiring, thrust
his hands deep in his pockets and sauntered round the harbor. It was
nearly dark, and the only other man visible stood at the edge of the
quay gazing at the water. He stood for so long that the mate’s easily
aroused curiosity awoke, and, after twice passing, he edged up to him
and ventured a remark on the fineness of the night.
“The night’s all right,” said the young man, gloomily.
“You’re rather near the edge,” said the mate, after a pause.
“I like being near the edge,” was the reply.
Mr. Dix whistled softly and, glancing up at the tall, white-faced young
man before him, pushed his cap back and scratched his head.
“Ain’t got anything on your mind, have you?” he inquired.
The young man groaned and turned away, and the mate, scenting a little
excitement, took him gently by the coat-sleeve and led him from the
brink. Sympathy begets confidence, and, within the next ten minutes, he
had learned that Arthur Heard, rejected by Emma Smith, was
contemplating the awful crime of self-destruction.
“Why, I’ve known ’er for seven years,” said Mr. Heard; “seven years,
and this is the end of it.”
The mate shook his head.
“I told ’er I was coming straight away to drownd myself,” pursued Mr.
Heard. “My last words to ’er was, ‘When you see my bloated corpse
you’ll be sorry.’”
“I expect she’ll cry and carry on like anything,” said the mate,
politely.
The other turned and regarded him. “Why, you don’t think I’m going to,
do you?” he inquired, sharply. “Why, I wouldn’t drownd myself for fifty
blooming gells.”
“But what did you tell her you were going to for, then?” demanded the
puzzled mate.
“’Cos I thought it would upset ’er and make ’er give way,” said the
other, bitterly; “and all it done was to make ’er laugh as though she’d
’ave a fit.”
“It would serve her jolly well right if you did drown yourself,” said
Mr. Dix, judiciously. “It ’ud spoil her life for her.”
“Ah, and it wouldn’t spoil mine, I s’pose?” rejoined Mr. Heard, with
ferocious sarcasm.
“How she will laugh when she sees you to-morrow,” mused the mate. “Is
she the sort of girl that would spread it about?”
Mr. Heard said that she was, and, forgetting for a moment his great
love, referred to her partiality for gossip in the most scathing terms
he could muster. The mate, averse to such a tame ending to a promising
adventure, eyed him thoughtfully.
“Why not just go in and out again,” he said, seductively, “and run to
her house all dripping wet?”
“That would be clever, wouldn’t it?” said the ungracious Mr. Heard.
“Starting to commit suicide, and then thinking better of it. Why, I
should be a bigger laughing-stock than ever.”
“But suppose I saved you against your will?” breathed the tempter; “how
would that be?”
“It would be all right if I cared to run the risk,” said the other,
“but I don’t. I should look well struggling in the water while you was
diving in the wrong places for me, shouldn’t I?”
“I wasn’t thinking of such a thing,” said Mr. Dix, hastily; “twenty
strokes is about my mark—with my clothes off. My idea was to pull you
out.”
Mr. Heard glanced at the black water a dozen feet below. “How?” he
inquired, shortly.
“Not here,” said the mate. “Come to the end of the quay where the
ground slopes to the water. It’s shallow there, and you can tell her
that you jumped in off here. She won’t know the difference.”
With an enthusiasm which Mr. Heard made no attempt to share, he led the
way to the place indicated, and dilating upon its manifold advantages,
urged him to go in at once and get it over.
“You couldn’t have a better night for it,” he said, briskly. “Why, it
makes me feel like a dip myself to look at it.”
Mr. Heard gave a surly grunt, and after testing the temperature of the
water with his hand, slowly and reluctantly immersed one foot. Then,
with sudden resolution, he waded in and, ducking his head, stood up
gasping.
“Give yourself a good soaking while you’re about it,” said the
delighted mate.
Mr. Heard ducked again, and once more emerging stumbled towards the
bank.
“Pull me out,” he cried, sharply.
Mr. Dix, smiling indulgently, extended his hands, which Mr. Heard
seized with the proverbial grasp of a drowning man.
“All right, take it easy, don’t get excited,” said the smiling mate,
“four foot of water won’t hurt anyone. If—Here! Let go o’ me, d’ye
hear? Let go! If you don’t let go I’ll punch your head.”
“You couldn’t save me against my will without coming in,” said Mr.
Heard. “Now we can tell ’er you dived in off the quay and got me just
as I was sinking for the last time. You’ll be a hero.”
The mate’s remarks about heroes were mercifully cut short. He was three
stone lighter than Mr. Heard, and standing on shelving ground. The
latter’s victory was so sudden that he over-balanced, and only a
commotion at the surface of the water showed where they had
disappeared. Mr. Heard was first up and out, but almost immediately the
figure of the mate, who had gone under with his mouth open, emerged
from the water and crawled ashore.
“You—wait—till I—get my breath back,” he gasped.