A month passed, and Sewell heard nothing of Lemuel. His charge, always
elusive and evanescent, had now completely vanished, and he could find
no trace of him. Mr. Corey suggested advertising. Bellingham said, why
not put it in the hands of a detective? He said he had never helped work
anything up with a detective; he rather thought he should like to do it.
Sewell thought of writing to Barker's mother at Willoughby Pastures, but
he postponed it; perhaps it would alarm her if Barker were not there;
Sewell had many other cares and duties; Lemuel became more and more a
good intention of the indefinite future. After all, he had always shown
the ability to take care of himself, and except that he had mysteriously
disappeared there was no reason for anxiety about him.
One night his name came up at a moment when Sewell was least prepared
by interest or expectation to see him. He smiled to himself in running
downstairs, at the reflection that he never seemed quite ready for
Barker. But it was a relief to have him turn up again; there was no
question of that, and Sewell showed him a face of welcome that dropped
at sight of him. He scarcely new the gaunt, careworn face or the shabby
figure before him, in place of the handsome, well-dressed young fellow
whom he had come to greet. There seemed a sort of reversion in Barker's
whole presence to the time when Sewell first found him in that room;
and in whatever trouble he now was, the effect was that of his original
rustic constraint.
Trouble there was of some kind, Sewell could see at a glance, and his
kind heart prompted him to take Lemuel's hand between both of his. “Why,
my dear boy!” he began; but he stopped and made Lemuel sit down, waited
for him to speak, without further question or comment.
“Mr. Sewell,” the young man said abruptly, “you told me once you--that
you sometimes had money put into your hands that you could lend.”
“Yes,” replied Sewell, with eager cordiality.
“Could I borrow about seventy-five dollars of you?”
“Why, certainly, Barker!” Sewell had not so much of what he called his
flying-charity fund by him, but he instantly resolved to advance the
difference out of his own pocket.
“It's to get me an outfit for horse-car conductor,” said Lemuel. “I can
have the place if I can get the outfit.”
“Horse-car conductor!” reverberated Sewell. “What in the world for?”
“It's work I can do,” answered Lemuel briefly, but not resentfully.
“But there are so many other things--better--fitter--more profitable!
Why did you leave Mr. Corey? I assure you that you have been a great
loss to him--in every way. You don't know how much he valued you,
personally. He will be only too glad to have you come back.”
“I can't go back,” said Lemuel. “I'm going to get married.”
“Married!” cried Sewell in consternation.
“My--the lady that I'm going to marry--has been sick, ever since the
first of October, and I haven't had a chance to look up any kind of
work. But she's better now; and I've heard of this place I can get. I
don't like to trouble you; but--everything's gone--I've got my mother
down here helping take care of her; and I must do something. I don't
know just when I can pay you back; but I'll do it sometime.”
“Oh, I'm sure of that,” said Sewell, from the abyss of hopeless
conjecture into which these facts had plunged him; his wandering fancy
was dominated by the presence of Lemuel's mother with her bloomers in
Boston. “I--I hope there's nothing serious the trouble with your--the
lady?” he said, rubbing away with his hand the smile that came to his
lips in spite of him.
“It's lung trouble,” said Lemuel quietly.
“Oh!” responded Sewell. “Well! Well!” He shook himself together, and
wondered what had become of the impulse he had felt to scold Barker for
the idea of getting married. But such a course now seemed not only far
beyond his province,--he heard himself saying that to Mrs. Sewell in
self-defence when she should censure him for not doing it,--but utterly
useless in view of the further complications. “Well! This is great news
you tell me--a great surprise. You're--you're going to take an important
step--You--you--Of course, of course! You must have a great many demands
upon you, under the circumstances. Yes, yes! And I'm very glad you came
to me. If your mind is quite made up about----”
“Yes, I've thought it over,” said Lemuel. “The lady has had to work
all her life, and she--she isn't used to what I thought--what I
intended--any other kind of people; and it's better for us both that
I should get some kind of work that won't take me away from her too
much----” He dropped his head, and Sewell with a flash of intelligence
felt a thrill of compassionate admiration for the poor, foolish,
generous creature, for so Lemuel complexly appeared to him.
Again he forbore question or comment.
“Well--well! we must look you up, Mrs. Sewell and I. We must come to see
your--the lady.” He found himself falling helplessly into Lemuel's way
of describing her. “Just write me your address here,”--he put a scrap
of paper before Lemuel on the davenport,--“and I'll go and get you the
money.”
He brought it back in an envelope which held a very little more than
Lemuel had asked for--Sewell had not dared to add much--and Lemuel put
it in his pocket.
He tried to say something; he could only make a husky noise in his
throat.
“Good night!” said Sewell pressing his hand with both of his again, at
the door. “We shall come very soon.”
“Married!” said Mrs. Sewell, when he returned to her; and then she
suffered a silence to ensue, in which it seemed to Sewell that his
inculpation was visibly accumulating mountains vast and high. “_What did
you say_?”
“Nothing,” he answered almost gaily; the case was so far beyond despair.
“What should _you_ have said?”