"Don't mind telling you now," said Frank Pratt, sitting back in the
railway carriage, with his hands under his head, and great puffs of
smoke issuing from between his lips as he stared at Richard, who was
gazing quietly at the pleasant Devon prospect past which they flew.
"Don't mind telling me what?" said Richard, dreamily.
"That I never expected to get you down here. Dick, old man, I've felt
like a steam-tug fussing about a big ship these last few days. However,
I've got you out of dock at last."
"Yes," said Richard, dreamily, "you've got me out of dock at last."
They relapsed into silence for a time, Pratt sitting watching his
friend, and noting more than ever the change that had come over him
during the last few months. There were lines in his forehead that did
not exist before, and a look of staid, settled melancholy, very
different from the calm, insouciant air that used to pervade his
countenance.
"Poor old Dick," muttered Pratt, laying aside his pipe; "I mustn't let
him look down like this." Then aloud, "Dick, old boy, I'm going to
preach to you."
Richard turned to him with a sad smile.
"Go on, then," he said.
"I will," said Pratt. "Never mind the text or the sequence of what I
say. I only wanted to talk to you, old fellow, about life."
"I was just then thinking about death," said Richard, quietly.
"About death?"
"I was visiting in spirit the little corner at Highgate where that poor
girl lies, and thinking of a wish she expressed."
"What was that?"
Richard shook his head, and they were silent as the train rushed on.
"Life is a strange mystery, Dick," said Pratt at last, laying his hand
on his friend's knee; "and I know it is giving you great pain to come
down here and see others happy. It is to give them pleasure you are
coming down?"
Richard nodded.
"Last time we were down here together, Dick, I was one of the most
miserable little beggars under the sun. I don't mind owning it now."
His friend grew more attentive.
"You were happy then, old fellow, and very hard you tried to make others
so too, but I was miserable."
"Why?"
"Because I was poor--a perfect beggar, without a prospect of rising, and
I had found out that in this queer little body of mine there was a very
soft heart. Dick, old boy, the wheel of fortune has given a strange
turn since then. I've gone up and you have gone down, and 'pon my soul,
old fellow, I'm very, very sorry."
"Nonsense, Franky," said Richard, speaking cheerfully. "If ever a man
was glad, I am, at your prosperity. But you don't look so very
cheerful, after all."
"How can I?" said Frank, dolefully, "with you on my mind for one thing,
and the lion's mouth gaping for my unlucky head."
"Lion's mouth?"
"Yes, Dick; I'm going to Tolcarne to pop my head in; and, to make
matters worse, there's a horrible, sphinxy griffin sits and guards the
lion's den."
"You mean that you are going to propose for little Fin?"
"I am, Dick, I am," said Pratt, excitedly. "I wouldn't have said a word
if I had kept poor, but with my rising income--"
"And some one's permission?"
"Bless her, yes; she says she hates me, and always shall, till her
sister's happy, but I may ask papa, so as to get rid of poor Flick and
his persecutions. I believe the poor chap cares for her; but I can't
afford to let him have her, and make her miserable--eh, Dick?"
"Frank, old fellow, I wish you joy, and I'm glad of it, for she's a dear
little girl."
"Oh, that don't express it within a hundred," said Pratt. "Dear little
girl! That's the smallest of small beer, while she's the finest vintage
of champagne. But, I say, Dick, old fellow, you've got to help me over
this."
"I? How?"
"She says she shall hate me till her sister's happy; and, Dick, old
fellow, there's only one way of making Valentina Rea happy, and that you
know. There--there--I've done. Don't look at me like that. Fortune's
wheel keeps turning on: I shall be down in the mud again soon, and you
cock-a-hoop on the top. Do you stick to your purpose of not going on
to-night?"
"Yes, I shall go on in the morning from Plymouth, be present at the
wedding, and then come away."
"But you'll go and see the old people? Dick, recollect Mrs Lloyd did
all out of love and pride in her boy."
"Yes, I have made up my mind to go and see them," said Richard, quietly.
"I'll try and be a dutiful son."
"And if I can manage it, you shall be a dutiful friend and
brother-in-law too, my boy," muttered Pratt, as he sank back in his
seat, relit his pipe, and smoked in peace.
Plymouth platform was in a state of bustle on the arrival of the train.
The friends had alighted from their coupe, inquired about the early
morning train for Penzance, pointed out their light luggage toon
obsequious porter, whose words buzzed with z's, and were about to make
their way to the great hotel, when Pratt's attention was taken by a
little grey, voluble old woman, very neatly and primly dressed in blue
print, with a scarlet shawl, and a wonderful sugar-loaf beaver hat upon
her head. She was in trouble about her railway ticket, two bundles tied
up in blue handkerchiefs, and a large, green umbrella.
"I can't find it, young man; I teclare to cootness, look you, I can't
find it."
"Very sorry, ma'am," said the ticket collector, who had followed her
from the regular platform; "then you'll have to pay from Bristol."
"Put look you," cried the old lady, "I tid pay once and cot the ticket,
look you, and I put it somewhere to pe safe."
"Have you searched all your pockets?" said Richard.
"Yes, young man," said the old lady; "I've only cot one, look you--
there!" and she dragged up her dress to display a great olive green
pocket as big as a saddle-bag, out of which, after placing a bundle in
Pratt's hands and the umbrella in Richard's to hold, she turned out a
heterogeneous assortment of nutmegs, thimbles, reels of cotton, pieces
of wax-candle, ginger, a bodkin case, pincushions, housewives, and, as
the auctioneers say, other articles too numerous to mention.
"It don't seem to be there," said Richard, kindly.
"No, young man, it isn't. I hunted it all over, look you, and I must
have peen robbed."
"Well, ma'am, I'm very sorry," said the collector, "but you must pay
again."
"I teclare to cootness, young man, I can't, and I won't. I shall have
no money to come pack."
"Can't help that," said the collector, civilly enough. "I must do my
duty, ma'am."
"How much is it?" said Richard.
"From Bristol, third-class, sir, eight and tenpence."
"Look you, young man, I shall pe ruined," cried the old woman,
tearfully.
"I'll pay it," said Richard, thrusting his hand into his pocket.
"You're a tear, coot poy, pless you," cried the old lady; and to the
amusement of all on the platform, she went on tiptoe, reached up to
Richard, and gave him a sounding kiss. "Pless you for it. Coot teeds
are never thrown away."
"I hope you are a witch, Mother Hubbard," said Pratt, laughing. "Here's
your bundle. Don't forget to do him a good turn."
Richard took out the money, and the collector was about to write a
receipt, when it suddenly occurred to the young man to open the
umbrella, which he did with some difficulty, and the missing ticket fell
out.
"There," cried the old lady, joyfully, "I knew I put it somewhere to pe
safe. Thank you, young man, and pless you all the same; for, look you,
it was as coot a teed as if you had tone it."
"Don't say any more, mother," said Richard, laughing. "Good-bye."
Volume 3, Chapter XIX.