Taking his way to the railway station Shank Leather found himself ere
long at his mother's door.
He entered without knocking.
"Shank!" exclaimed Mrs Leather and May in the same breath.
"Ay, mother, it's me. A bad shilling, they say, always turns up. _I_
always turn up, therefore _I_ am a bad shilling! Sound logic that, eh,
May?"
"I'm glad to see you, dear Shank," said careworn Mrs Leather, laying
her knitting-needles on the table; "you _know_ I'm always glad to see
you, but I'm naturally surprised, for this visit is out of your regular
time."
"Has anything happened?" asked May anxiously. And May looked very
sweet, almost pretty, when she was anxious. A year had refined her
features, developed her mind and body, and almost converted her into a
little woman. Indeed, mentally, she had become more of a woman than
many girls in her neighbourhood who were much older. This was in all
likelihood one of the good consequences of adversity.
"Ay, May, something has happened," answered the youth, flinging himself
gaily into an arm-chair and stretching out his legs towards the fire; "I
have thrown up my situation. Struck work. That's all."
"Shank!"
"Just so. Don't look so horrified, mother; you've no occasion to, for I
have the offer of a better situation. Besides--ha! ha! old Crossley--
close-fisted, crabbed, money-making, skin-flint old Crossley--is going
to pray for me. Think o' that, mother--going to pray for me!"
"Shank, dear boy," returned his mother, "don't jest about religious
things."
"You don't call old Crossley a religious thing, do you? Why, mother, I
thought you had more respect for him than that comes to; you ought at
least to consider his years!"
"Come, Shank," returned Mrs Leather, with a deprecating smile, "be a
good boy and tell me what you mean--and about this new situation."
"I just mean that my friend and chum and old schoolfellow Ralph Ritson--
jovial, dashing, musical, handsome Ralph--you remember him--has got me a
situation in California."
"Ralph Ritson?" repeated Mrs Leather, with a little sigh and an uneasy
glance at her daughter, whose face had flushed at the mention of the
youth's name.
"Yes," continued Shank, in a graver tone, for he had observed the flush
on May's face. "Ralph's father, who is manager of a gold mine in
California, has asked his son to go out and assist him at a good salary,
and to take a clerk out with him--a stout vigorous fellow, well up in
figures, book-keeping, carpenting, etcetera, and ready to turn his hand
to anything, and Ralph has chosen me! What d'ee think o' that?"
From her silence and expression it was evident that the poor lady's
thoughts were not quite what her son had hoped.
"Why don't you congratulate me, mother?" he asked, somewhat petulantly.
"Would it not be almost premature," she replied, with a forced smile,
"to congratulate you before I know anything about the salary or the
prospects held out to you? Besides, I cannot feel as enthusiastic about
your friend Ralph as you do. I don't doubt that he is a well-meaning
youth, but he is reckless. If he had only been a man like your former
friend, poor Charlie Brooke, it would have been different, but--"
"Well, mother, it's of no use wishing somebody to be like somebody else.
We must just take folk as we find them, and I find Ralph Ritson a
remarkably fine, sensible fellow, who has a proper appreciation of his
friends. And he's not a bad fellow. He and Charlie Brooke were fond of
each other when we were all schoolboys together--at least he was fond of
Charlie, like everybody else. But whether we like him or not does not
matter now, for the thing is fixed. I have accepted his offer, and
thrown old Jacob overboard."
"Dear Shank, don't be angry if I am slow to appreciate this offer," said
the poor lady, laying aside her knitting and clasping her hands before
her on the table, as she looked earnestly into her son's face, "but you
must see that it has come on me very suddenly, and I'm so sorry to hear
that you have parted with good old Mr Crossley in anger--"
"We didn't part in anger," interrupted Shank. "We were only a little
less sweet on each other than usual. There was no absolute quarrel.
D'you think he'd have promised to pray for me if there was?"
"Have you spoken yet to your father?" asked the lady.
"How could I? I've not seen him since the thing was settled. Besides,
what's the use? _He_ can do nothing for me, an' don't care a button
what I do or where I go."
"You are wrong, Shank, in thinking so. I _know_ that he cares for you
very much indeed. If he can do nothing for you _now_, he has at least
given you your education, without which you could not do much for
yourself."
"Well, of course I shall tell him whenever I see him," returned the
youth, somewhat softened; "and I'm aware he has a sort of sneaking
fondness for me; but I'm not going to ask his advice, because he knows
nothing about the business. Besides, mother, I am old enough to judge
for myself, and mean to take the advice of nobody."
"You are indeed old enough to judge for yourself," said Mrs Leather,
resuming her knitting, "and I don't wish to turn you from your plans.
On the contrary, I will pray that God's blessing and protection may
accompany you wherever you go, but you should not expect me to be
instantaneously jubilant over an arrangement which will take you away
from me, for years perhaps."
This last consideration seemed to have some weight with the selfish
youth.
"Well, well, mother," he said, rising, "don't take on about that.
Travelling is not like what it used to be. A trip over the Atlantic and
the Rocky Mountains is nothing to speak of now--a mere matter of a few
weeks--so that a fellow can take a run home at any time to say `How do'
to his people. I'm going down now to see Smithers and tell him the
news."
"Stay, I'll go with you--a bit of the way," cried May, jumping up and
shaking back the curly brown hair which still hung in native freedom--
and girlish fashion--on her shoulders.
May had a charming and rare capacity for getting ready to go out at a
moment's notice. She merely threw on a coquettish straw hat, which had
a knack of being always at hand, and which clung to her pretty head with
a tenacity that rendered strings or elastic superfluous. One of her
brother's companions--we don't know which--was once heard to say with
fervour that no hat would be worth its ribbons that didn't cling
powerfully to such a head without assistance! A shawl too, or cloak,
was always at hand, somehow, and had this not been so May would have
thrown over her shoulders an antimacassar or table-cloth rather than
cause delay,--at least we think so, though we have no absolute authority
for making the statement.
"Dear Shank," she said, clasping both hands over his arm as they walked
slowly down the path that led to the shore, "is it really all true that
you have been telling us? Have you fixed to go off with--with Mr
Ritson to California?"
"Quite true; I never was more in earnest in my life. By the way, sister
mine, what made you colour up so when Ralph's name was mentioned?
There, you're flushing again! Are you in love with him?"
"No, certainly not," answered the girl, with an air and tone of decision
that made her brother laugh.
"Well, you needn't flare up so fiercely. You might be in love with a
worse man. But why, then, do you blush?"
May was silent, and hung down her head.
"Come, May, you've never had any secrets from me. Surely you're not
going to begin now--on the eve of my departure to a foreign land?"
"I would rather not talk about him at all," said the girl, looking up
entreatingly.
But Shank looked down upon her sternly. He had assumed the parental
_role_. "May, there is something in this that you ought not to conceal.
I have a right to know it, as your brother--your protector."
Innocent though May was, she could not repress a faint smile at the idea
of a protector who had been little else than a cause of anxiety in the
past, and was now about to leave her to look after herself, probably for
years to come. But she answered frankly, while another and a deeper
blush overspread her face--
"I did not mean to speak of it, Shank, as you knew nothing, and I had
hoped would never know anything about it, but since you insist, I must
tell you that--that Mr Ritson, I'm afraid, loves _me_ at least he--"
"Afraid! loves you! How do you know?" interrupted Shank quickly.
"Well, he said so--the last time we met."
"The rascal! Had he the audacity to ask you to marry him?--him--a
beggar, without a sixpence except what his father gives him?"
"No, Shank, I would not let him get the length of that. I told him I
was too young to--to think about such matters at all, and said that he
must not speak to me again in such a way. But I was so surprised,
flurried, and distressed, that I don't clearly remember what I said."
"And what did _he_ say?" asked Shank, forgetting the parental _role_ for
a moment, and looking at May with a humorous smile.
"Indeed I can hardly tell. He made a great many absurd protestations,
begged me to give him no decided answer just then, and said something
about letting him write to me, but all I am quite sure of is that at
last I had the courage to utter a very decided _No_, and then ran away
and left him."
"That was too sharp, May. Ralph is a first-rate fellow, with capital
prospects. His father is rich and can give him a good start in life.
He may come back in a few years with a fortune--not a bad kind of
husband for a penniless lass."
"Shank!" exclaimed May, letting go her brother's arm and facing him with
flashing eyes and heightened colour, "do you really think that a fortune
would make me marry a man whom I did not love?"
"Certainly not, my dear sis," said the youth, taking May's hand and
drawing it again through his arm with an approving smile. "I never for
a moment thought you capable of such meanness, but that is a very
different thing from slamming the door in a poor fellow's face. You're
not in love with anybody else. Ralph is a fine handsome young fellow.
You might grow to like him in time--and if you did, a fortune, of
course, would be no disadvantage. Besides, he is to be my travelling
companion, and might write to you about me if I were ill, or chanced to
meet with an accident and were unable to write myself--don't you know?"
"He could in that case write to mother," said May, simply.
"So he could!" returned Shank, laughing. "I never thought o' that, my
sharp sister."
They had reached the shore by that time. The tide was out; the sea was
calm and the sun glinted brightly on the wavelets that sighed rather
than broke upon the sands.
For some distance they sauntered in silence by the margin of the sea.
The mind of each was busy with the same thought. Each was aware of
that, and for some time neither seemed able to break the silence. The
timid girl recovered her courage before the self-reliant man!
"Dear Shank," she said, pressing his arm, "you will probably be away for
years."
"Yes, May--at least for a good long time."
"Oh forgive me, brother," continued the girl, with sudden earnestness,
"but--but--you know your--your weakness--"
"Ay, May, I know it. Call it sin if you will--and my knowledge of it
has something to do with my present determination, for, weak though I
am, and bad though you think me--"
"But I _don't_ think you _bad_, dear Shank," cried May, with tearful
eyes; "I never said so, and never thought so, and--"
"Come, come, May," interrupted the youth, with something of banter in
his manner, "you don't think me _good_, do you?"
"Well, no--not exactly," returned May, faintly smiling through her
tears.
"Well, then, if I'm not good I must be bad, you know. There's no
half-way house in this matter."
"Is there not, Shank? Is there not _very_ good and _very_ bad?"
"Oh, well, if you come to that there's pretty-good, and rather-bad, and
a host of other houses between these, such as goodish and baddish, but
not one of them can be a _half-way_ house."
"Oh yes, one of them _can_--_must_ be."
"Which one, you little argumentative creature?" asked Shank.
"Why, middling-good of course."
"Wrong!" cried her brother, "doesn't middling-bad stand beside it, with
quite as good a claim to be considered half-way? However, I won't press
my victory too far. For the sake of peace we will agree that these are
semi-detached houses in one block--and that will block the subject.
But, to be serious again," he added, stopping and looking earnestly into
his sister's face, "I wanted to speak to you on this weakness--this
sin--and I thank you for breaking the ice. The truth is that I have
felt for a good while past that conviviality--"
"Strong drink, brother, call it by its right name," said May, gently
pressing the arm on which she leaned.
"Well--have it so. Strong drink has been getting the better of me--mind
I don't admit it _has_ got the better of me yet--only _is getting_--and
convivial comrades have had a great deal to do with it. Now, as you
know, I'm a man of some decision of character, and I had long ago made
up my mind to break with my companions. Of course I could not very well
do this while--while I was--well, no matter why, but this offer just
seemed to be a sort of godsend, for it will enable me to cut myself free
at once, and the sea breezes and Rocky Mountain air and gold-hunting
will, I expect, take away the desire for strong drink altogether."
"I hope it will--indeed I am _sure_ it will if it is God's way of
leading you," said May, with an air of confidence.
"Well, I don't know whether it is God who is leading me or--"
"Did you not call it a god-send just now--"
"Oh, but that's a mere form of speech, you know. However, I do know
that it was on this very beach where we now stand that a friend led me
for the first time to think seriously of this matter--more than a year
ago."
"Indeed--who was it?" asked May eagerly.
"My chum and old school-fellow, poor Charlie Brooke," returned Shank, in
a strangely altered voice.
Then he went on to tell of the conversation he and his friend had had on
that beach, and it was not till he had finished that he became aware
that his sister was weeping.
"Why, May, you're crying. What's the matter?"
"God bless him!" said May in fervent yet tremulous tones as she looked
up in her brother's face. "Can you wonder at my feeling so strongly
when you remember how kind Charlie always was to you--to all of us
indeed--ever since he was a little boy at school with you; what a
true-hearted and steady friend he has always been. And you called him
poor Charlie just now, as if he were dead."
"True indeed, it is very, very sad, for we have great reason to fear the
worst, and I have strong doubt that I shall never see my old chum again.
But I won't give up hope, for it is no uncommon thing for men to be
lost at sea, for years even, and to turn up at last, having been cast
away on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, or something of that
sort."
The thoughts which seemed to minister consolation to Shank Leather did
not appear to afford much comfort to his sister, who hung her head and
made no answer, while her companion went on--
"Yes, May, and poor Charlie was the first to make me feel as if I were a
little selfish, though that as you know, is not one of my conspicuous
failings! His straightforwardness angered me a little at first, but his
kindness made me think much of what he said, and--well, the upshot of it
all is that I am going to California."
"I am glad--so glad and thankful he has had so much influence over you,
dear Shank, and now, don't you think--that--that if Charlie were with
you at this moment he would advise you not to go to Mr Smithers to
consult about your plans?"
For a few moments the brother's face betrayed a feeling of annoyance,
but it quickly cleared away.
"You are right, May. Smithers is too much of a convivial harum-scarum
fellow to be of much use in the way of giving sound advice. I'll go to
see Jamieson instead. You can have no objection to him--surely. He's a
quiet, sober sort of man, and never tries to tempt people or lead them
into mischief--which is more than can be said of the other fellow."
"That is a very negative sort of goodness," returned May, smiling.
"However, if you must go to see some one, Jamieson is better than
Smithers; but why not come home and consult with mother and me?"
"Pooh! what can women know about such matters? No, no, May, when a
fellow has to go into the pros and cons of Californian life it must be
with _men_."
"H'm! the men you associate with, having been at school and the desk all
their lives up till now, must be eminently fitted to advise on
Californian life! That did not occur to me at the first blush!" said
May demurely.
"Go home, you cynical baggage, and help mother to knit," retorted Shank,
with a laugh. "I intend to go and see Jamieson."
And he went. And the negatively good Jamieson, who never led people
into temptation, had no objection to be led into that region himself, so
they went together to make a passing call--a mere look in--on Smithers,
who easily induced them to remain. The result was that the unselfish
man with decision of character returned home in the early hours of
morning--"screwed."