Mr. Nathan Smith, usually one of the most matter-of-fact men in the
world, came out of Mr. Swann’s house in a semi-dazed condition, and for
some time after the front door had closed behind him stood gaping on
the narrow pavement.
He looked up and down the quiet little street and shook his head
sadly. It was a street of staid and substantial old houses; houses
which had mellowed and blackened with age, but whose quaint windows
and chance-opened doors afforded glimpses of comfort attesting to the
prosperity of those within. In the usual way Mr. Nathan Smith was of
too philosophical a temperament to experience the pangs of envy, but
to-day these things affected him, and he experienced a strange feeling
of discontent with his lot in life.
“Some people ’ave all the luck,” he muttered, and walked slowly down
the road.
He continued his reflections as he walked through the somewhat squalid
streets of his own quarter. The afternoon was wet and the houses looked
dingier than usual; dirty, inconvenient little places most of them,
with a few cheap gimcracks making a brave show as near the window
as possible. Mr. Smith observed them with newly opened eyes, and,
for perhaps the first time in his life, thought of the drawbacks and
struggles of the poor.
[Illustration: “Some people ’ave all the luck,’ he muttered.”]
In his own untidy little den at the back of the house he sat for some
time deep in thought over the events of the afternoon. He had been
permitted a peep at wealth; at wealth, too, which was changing hands,
but was not coming his way. He lit his pipe and, producing a bottle
of rum from a cupboard, helped himself liberally. The potent fluid
softened him somewhat, and a half-formed intention to keep the news
from Mr. Kybird melted away beneath its benign influence.
“After all, we’ve been pals for pretty near thirty years,” said Mr.
Smith to himself.
He took another draught. “Thirty years is a long time,” he mused.
He finished the glass. “And if ’e don’t give me something out of it
I’ll do ’im as much ’arm as I can,” he continued; and, buttoning up his
coat, he rose and set out in the direction of the High Street.
The rain had ceased and the sun was making faint efforts to break
through watery clouds. Things seemed brighter, and Mr. Smith’s heart
beat in response. He was going to play the part of a benefactor to Mr.
Kybird; to offer him access, at any rate, to such wealth as he had
never dreamed of. He paused at the shop window, and, observing through
a gap in the merchandise that Mr. Kybird was behind the counter, walked
in and saluted him.
“I’ve got news for you,” he said, slowly; “big news.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Kybird, with indifference.
“Big news,” repeated Mr. Smith, sinking thoughtlessly into the broken
cane-chair and slowly extricating himself. “Something that’ll make your
eyes start out of your ’ed.”
The small black eyes in question were turned shrewdly in his direction.
“I’ve ’ad news of you afore, Nat,” remarked Mr. Kybird, with simple
severity.
The philanthropist was chilled; he fixed his eyes in a stony stare
on the opposite wall. Mr. Kybird, who had ever a wholesome dread of
falling a victim to his friend’s cuteness, regarded him with some
uncertainty, and reminded him of one or two pieces of information which
had seriously depleted his till.
“Banns up yet for the wedding?” inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in
front of him with fathomless eyes.
“They’ll be put up next week,” said Mr. Kybird.
“Ah!” said his friend, with great emphasis. “Well, well!”
“Wot d’ye mean by ‘well, well’?” demanded the other, with some heat.
“I was on’y thinking,” replied Mr. Smith, mildly. “P’r’aps it’s all
for the best, and I’d better ’old my tongue. True love is better than
money. After all it ain’t my bisness, and I shouldn’t get much out of
it.”
“Out of wot, Nat?” inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily.
Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the
question. “Nice after the rain, ain’t it?” he said, slowly.
“It’s all right,” said the other, shortly.
“Everything smells so fresh and sweet,” continued his nature-loving
friend; “all the little dickey-birds was a-singing as if their little
’arts would break as I come along.”
“I don’t wonder at it,” said the offended Mr. Kybird.
“And the banns go up next week,” murmured the boarding-master to
himself. “Well, well.”
“’Ave you got anything to say agin it?” demanded Mr. Kybird.
“Cert’nly not,” replied the other. “On’y don’t blame me when it’s too
late; that’s all.”
Mr. Kybird, staring at him wrathfully, turned this dark saying over in
his mind. “Too late for wot?” he inquired.
“Ah!” said Nathan Smith, slowly. “Nice and fresh after the rain, ain’t
it? As I come along all the little dickey-birds—”
[Illustration: “If you’ve got anything to say, why don’t you say it
like a man?”]
“Drat the little dickey-birds,” interrupted Mr. Kybird, with sudden
violence. “If you’ve got anything to say, why don’t you say it like a
man?”
The parlour door opened suddenly before the other could reply, and
revealed the face of Mrs. Kybird. “Wot are you two a-quarrelling
about?” she demanded. “Why don’t you come inside and sit down for a
bit?”
Mr. Smith accepted the invitation, and following her into the room
found Miss Kybird busy stitching in the midst of a bewildering
assortment of brown paper patterns and pieces of cloth. Mrs. Kybird
gave him a chair, and, having overheard a portion of his conversation
with her husband, made one or two casual inquiries.
“I’ve been spending a hour or two at Mr. Swann’s,” said Mr. Smith.
“And ’ow is ’e?” inquired his hostess, with an appearance of amiable
interest.
The boarding-master shook his head. “’E’s slipping ’is cable,” he said,
slowly. “’E’s been making ’is will, and I was one o’ the witnesses.”
Something in Mr. Smith’s manner as he uttered this simple statement
made his listeners anxious to hear more. Mr. Kybird, who had just
entered the room and was standing with his back to the door holding the
handle, regarded him expectantly.
“It’s been worrying ’im some time,” pursued Mr. Smith. “’E ’asn’t got
nobody belonging to ’im, and for a long time ’e couldn’t think ’ow to
leave it. Wot with ’ouse property and other things it’s a matter of
over ten thousand pounds.”
“Good ’eavens!” said Mr. Kybird, who felt that he was expected to say
something.
“Dr. Blaikie was the other witness,” continued Mr. Smith, disregarding
the interruption; “and Mr. Swann made us both promise to keep it a dead
secret till ’e’s gone, but out o’ friendship to you I thought I’d step
round and let you know.”
The emphasis on the words was unmistakable; Mrs. Kybird dropped her
work and sat staring at him, while her husband wriggled with excitement.
“’E ain’t left it to me, I s’pose?” he said, with a feeble attempt at
jocularity.
“Not a brass farden,” replied his friend, cheerfully. “Not to none of
you. Why should ’e?
“He ain’t left it to Jack, I s’pose?” said Miss Kybird, who had
suspended her work to listen.
“No, my dear,” replied the boarding-master. “E’s made ’is will all
ship-shape and proper, and ’e’s left everything—all that ’ouse property
and other things, amounting to over ten thousand pounds—to a young man
becos ’e was jilt—crossed in love a few months ago, and becos ’e’s been
a good and faithful servant to ’im for years.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Mr. Kybird, desperately; “don’t tell me that ’e’s
been and left all that money to young Teddy Silk.”
“Well, I won’t if you don’t want me to,” said the accommodating Mr.
Smith, “but, mind, it’s a dead secret.”
Mr. Kybird wiped his brow, and red patches, due to excitement, lent a
little variety to an otherwise commonplace face; Mrs. Kybird’s dazed
inquiry, “Wot _are_ we a-coming to?” fell on deaf ears; while Miss
Kybird, leaning forward with lips parted, fixed her eyes intently on
Mr. Smith’s face.
“It’s a pity ’e didn’t leave it to young Nugent,” said that gentleman,
noting with much pleasure the effect of his announcement, “but ’e can’t
stand ’im: at no price; ’e told me so ’imself. I s’pose young Teddy’ll
be quite the gentleman now, and ’e’ll be able to marry who ’e likes.”
Mr. Kybird thrust his handkerchief into his tail-pocket, and all the
father awoke within him. “Ho, will ’e?” he said, with fierce sarcasm.
“Ho, indeed! And wot about my daughter? I ’ave ’eard of such things as
breach o’ promise. Before Mr. Teddy gets married ’e’s got to ’ave a few
words with me.”
“’E’s behaved very bad,” said Mrs. Kybird, nodding.
“’E come ’ere night after night,” said Mr. Kybird, working himself up
into a fury; “’e walked out with my gal for months and months, and then
’e takes ’imself off as if we wasn’t good enough for ’im.”
“The suppers ’e’s ’ad ’ere you wouldn’t believe,” said Mrs. Kybird,
addressing the visitor.
“Takes ’imself off,” repeated her husband; “takes ’imself off as if we
was dirt beneath ’is feet, and never been back to give a explanation
from that day to this.”
“I’m not easy surprised,” said Mrs. Kybird, “I never was from a gal,
but I must say Teddy’s been a surprise to me. If anybody ’ad told me
’e’d ha’ behaved like that I wouldn’t ha’ believed it; I couldn’t. I’ve
never said much about it, becos my pride wouldn’t let me. We all ’ave
our faults, and mine is pride.”
“I shall bring a breach o’ promise action agin ’im for _five thousand
pounds_,” said Mr. Kybird, with decision.
“Talk sense,” said Nathan Smith, shortly.
“Sense!” cried Mr. Kybird. “Is my gal to be played fast and loose with
like that? Is my gal to be pitched over when ’e likes? Is my gal—”
“Wot’s the good o’ talking like that to me?” said the indignant Mr.
Smith. “The best thing you can do is to get ’er married to Teddy at
once, afore ’e knows of ’is luck.”
“And when’ll that be?” inquired his friend, in a calmer voice.
“Any time,” said the boarding-master, shrugging his shoulders. “The old
gentleman might go out tonight, or again ’e might live on for a week or
more. ’E was so weak ’e couldn’t ’ardly sign ’is name.”
“I ’ope ’e _’as_ signed it all right,” said Mr. Kybird, starting.
“Safe as ’ouses,” said his friend.
“Well, why not wait till Teddy ’as got the money?” suggested Mrs.
Kybird, with a knowing shake of her head.
“Becos,” said Mr. Smith, in a grating voice, “becos for one thing ’e’d
be a rich man then and could ’ave ’is pick. Teddy Silk on a pound or
thereabouts a week and Teddy Silk with ten thousand pounds ’ud be two
different people. Besides that ’e’d think she was marrying ’im for ’is
money.”
“If ’e thought that,” said Mrs. Kybird, firmly, “I’d never forgive ’im.”
“My advice to you,” said Nathan Smith, shaking his forefinger
impressively, “is to get ’em married on the quiet and as soon as
possible. Once they’re tied up Teddy can’t ’elp ’imself.”
“Why on the quiet?” demanded Mr. Kybird, sharply.
The boarding-master uttered an impatient exclamation. “Becos if Mr.
Swann got to ’ear of it he’d guess I’d been blabbing, for one thing,”
he said, sharply, “and for another, ’e left it to ’im partly to make up
for ’is disappointment—he’d been disappointed ’imself in ’is younger
days, so ’e told me. Suppose ’e managed to get enough strength to alter
’is will?”
Mr. Kybird shivered. “It takes time to get married, though,” he
objected.
“Yes,” said Mr. Smith, ironically, “it does. Get round young Teddy, and
then put the banns up. Take your time about it, and be sure and let Mr.
Swann know. D’ye think ’e wouldn’t understand wot it meant, and spoil
it, to say nothing of Teddy seeing through it?
“Well, wot’s to be done, then?” inquired the staring Mr. Kybird.
“Send ’em up to London and ’ave ’em married by special license,” said
Mr. Smith, speaking rapidly—“to-morrow, if possible; if not, the day
after. Go and pitch a tale to Teddy tonight, and make ’im understand
it’s to be done on the strict _q.t._”
“Special licenses cost money,” said Mr. Kybird. “I ’ave ’eard it’s a
matter o’ thirty pounds or thereabouts.”
Mr. Nathan Smith rose, and his eyes were almost expressive. He nodded
good-night to the ladies and crossed to the door. Mrs. Kybird suddenly
seized him by the coat and held him.
“Don’t be in a ’urry, Nat,” she pleaded. “We ain’t all as clever as you
are.”
“Talk about looking a gift-’orse in the mouth—” began the indignant Mr.
Smith.
“Sit down,” urged Mr. Kybird. “You can’t expect us to be as quick in
seeing things as wot you are.”
[Illustration: “Mrs. Kybird suddenly seized him by the coat.”]
He pushed his partly mollified friend into his chair again, and, taking
a seat next him, began to view the affair with enthusiasm. “’Melia
shall turn young Nugent off tonight,” he said, firmly.
“That’s right,” said the other; “go and do a few more silly things like
that and we shall be ’appy. If you’d got a ’ead instead of wot you ’ave
got, you wouldn’t talk of giving the show away like that. Nobody must
know or guess about anything until young Teddy is married to ’Melia and
got the money.”
“It seems something like deceitfulness,” said Miss Kybird, who had been
listening to the plans for her future with admirable composure.
“It’s for Teddy’s own sake,” said Nathan Smith. “Everybody knows ’e’s
half crazy after you.”
“I don’t know that I don’t like ’im best, even without the money,” said
Miss Kybird, calmly. “Nobody could ’ave been more attentive than ’im. I
believe that ’e’d marry me if ’e ’ad a hundred thousand, but it looks
better your way.”
“Better all round,” said Nathan Smith, with an approving nod. “Now,
Dan’l, ’op round to Teddy and whistle ’im back, and mind ’e’s to keep
it a dead secret on account o’ trouble with young Nugent. D’ye twig?”
The admiring Mr. Kybird said that he was a wonder, and, in the
discussion on ways and means which followed, sat listening with
growing respect to the managing abilities both of his friend and
his wife. Difficulties were only mentioned for the purpose of being
satisfactorily solved, and he noticed with keen appreciation that the
prospect of a ten thousand pound son-in-law was already adding to that
lady’s dignity. She sniffed haughtily as she spoke of “that Nugent
lot”; and the manner in which she promised Mr. Smith that he should not
lose by his services would have graced a duchess.
“I didn’t expect to lose by it,” said the boarding-master, pointedly.
“Come over and ’ave a glass at the Chequers, Dan, and then you can go
along and see Teddy.”