CLARE DISREGARDS THE INTERESTS OF HIS EMPLOYERS.
Things went on for nearly a month, every one thriving but Clare. Yet
was Clare as peaceful as any, and much happier than Tommy, to whose
satisfaction adventure was needful.
One day, a lady, attracted by a muff in the shop-window labelled with
a very low price, entered, and requested to see it.
“We can offer you a choice from several of the sort, madam,” said the
shopman. “It is one of a lot we bought cheap, but quite uninjured,
after a fire.”
“I want to see the one in the window,” the lady answered.
“I hope you will excuse me, madam,” returned the shopman. “The muff is
in a position hard to reach. Besides, we must ask leave to take
anything down after the window is dressed for the day, and the master
is out. But I will bring you the same fur precisely.”
So saying, he went, and returned presently with a load of muffs and
other furs, which he threw on the counter. But the lady had heard that
“there’s tricks i’ the world,” and persisted in demanding a sight of
the muff in the window. Being a “tall personage” and cool, she carried
her point. The muff was hooked down and brought her--not
graciously. She glanced at it, turned it over, looked inside, and
said,
“I will take it. Please bring a bandbox for it.”
“I will, madam,” said the man, and would have taken the muff. But she
held it fast, sought her purse, and laid the price on the counter. The
shopman saw that she knew what both of them were about, took up the
money, went and fetched a bandbox, put the muff in it before her eyes,
and tied it up. The lady held out her hand for it.
“Shall I not send it for you, madam?” he said.
“I do not live here,” she answered. “I am on my way to the station.”
“Here, Jack,” cried the shopman to Clare, whom he caught sight of that
moment going down to the basement, “take this bandbox, and go with the
lady to the station.”
If his transaction with the lady had pleased the man, he would not
have sent such a scarecrow to attend her, although she did not belong
to the town, and they might never see her again! The lady, on her
part, was about to insist on carrying the bandbox herself; but when
Clare came forward, and looked up smiling in her face, she was at once
aware that she might trust him. The man stood watching for the moment
when she should turn her back, that he might substitute another
bandbox for the one Clare carried; but Clare never looked at him, and
when the lady walked out of the shop, walked straight out after
her. Along the street he followed her steadily, she looking round
occasionally to see that he was behind her.
They had gone about half-way to the station, when from a side street
came a lad whom Clare knew as one employed in the packing-room. He
carried a box exactly like that Clare had in his hand, and came softly
up behind him. Clare did not turn his head, for he did not want to
talk to him while he was attending on the lady.
“Look spry!” he said in a whisper. “She don’t twig! It’s all right!
Maidstone sent me.”
Clare looked round. The lad held out his bandbox for him to take, and
his empty hand to take Clare’s instead. But Clare had by this time
begun to learn a little caution. Besides, the lady’s interests were in
his care, and he could be party to nothing done behind her back! He
had not time to think, but knew it his duty to stick by the
bandbox. If we have come up through the animals to be what we are,
Clare must have been a dog of a good, faithful breed, for he did right
now as by some ancient instinct. He held fast to the box, neither
slackening his pace nor uttering a word. The lad gave him a great
punch. Clare clung the harder to the box. The lady heard something,
and turned her head. The boy already had his back to her, and was
walking away, but she saw that Clare’s face was flushed.
“What is the matter?” she asked.
“I don’t rightly know, ma’am. He wanted me to give him my bandbox for
his, and said Mr. Maidstone had sent him. But I couldn’t, you
know!--except he asked you first. You did pay for it--didn’t you,
ma’am?”
“Of course I did, or he wouldn’t have let me take it away! But if you
don’t know what it means, I do.--You haven’t been in that shop long,
have you?”
“Not quite a month, ma’am.”
“I thought so!”
She said no more, and Clare followed in silence, wondering not a
little. When they reached the station, she took the bandbox, and
looked at the boy. He returned her gaze, his gray eyes wondering. She
searched her purse for a shilling, but, unable to find one, was not
sorry to give him a half-crown instead.
“You had better not mention that I gave you anything,” she said.
“I will not, ma’am, except they ask me,” he answered.
“But,” he added, his face in a glow of delight, “is all this for me?”
“To be sure,” she answered. “I am much obliged to you for--carrying my
parcel. Be a honest boy whatever comes, and you will not repent it.”
“I will try, ma’am,” said Clare.
But, to speak accurately, he did not know what it was to _try_ to be
honest: he had never been tempted to be anything else, and had
scarcely had the idea of dishonesty in his mind except in relation to
Tommy. Do you say, “Then it was no merit to him”? Certainly it was
none. Who was thinking of merit? Not Clare. He is a sneak who thinks
of merit. He is a cad who can’t do a gentlemanly action without
thinking himself a fine fellow! It might be a merit in many a man to
act as Clare did, but in Clare it was pure rightness--or, if you like
the word better, righteousness.
Clare as little thought what awaited him. Had there been any truth,
any appreciation of honesty in his vulgar heart, Mr. Maidstone could
not have done as now he did. When his messenger came back with the
tale of how he had been foiled, he said nothing, but his lips grew
white. He closed them fast, and went and stood near the door. When
Clare, unsuspecting as innocent, opened it, he was met by a blow that
dazed him, and a fierce kick that sent him on his back to the
curbstone. Almost insensible, but with the impression that something
was interfering between him and his work, he returned to the door. As
he laid his hand on it, it opened a little, and his master’s face,
with a hateful sneer upon it, shot into the crack, and spit in
his. Then the door shut so sharply that his fingers caught an
agonizing pinch. At last he understood: he was turned off, and his
day’s wages were lost!
What would have become of him now but for the half-crown the lady had
given him! She was not _quite_ a lady, or she would have walked out of
the shop, and declined to gain by frustrating a swindle; but she was a
good-hearted woman, and God’s messenger to Clare. He bought a bigger
loaf than usual, at which, and the time of the day when he bought it,
and the half-crown presented in payment, Mr. Ball wondered; but
neither said anything--Mr. Ball from indecision, Clare from eagerness
to get home to his family.