FATHER AND SON.
Boots' errand--Mutual explanations--Mrs
Blewcome--Questioned--Astonished--Overwhelmed--The parting.
Half-an-hour afterwards Harry was sitting with his father in a private
room of the best hotel in the town, his heart full of delight, and very
much to the astonishment of the waiters, who could not understand why
the gentleman had brought in this young ragamuffin to eat with him, and
to be waited on by their dignified hands.
But the father was too reserved to enlighten them, and Harry too
bewildered at the strange events of that evening, to say anything at
supper which might betray the relationship to the attendant menials.
What was their surprise, however, when Mr Campbell gave directions for
word to be sent to the Royal Menagerie that was "exhibiting" in the
town, to request the proprietor or his wife, or both, to come at once
to the hotel, as he wished to speak with them. There was quite a
contention down stairs, as to who should go on the degrading errand.
"A nasty low place," said the head waiter. "He can't be good for much."
"Master had best look sharp after his bill," chimed in the
under-waiter; while the bar-maid, who was much more liberally-minded,
ejaculated to both--
"Law, there now, it's no odds to you! The gentleman can do what he
likes, can't he? You won't have to go. It's Boots' place!"
So Boots went; and Boots was a very long time, too, for he took care to
have a good look round the show before he delivered the message to Mr
and Mrs Blewcome. Having done which, he volunteered to escort them to
the hotel.
"Go, Jemimar!" said Mr Blewcome, tragically, as usual. "I must not
quit my post!" and, with the air of a martyr, he motioned to Jemima to
start on her mysterious errand. And so the obedient Mrs Blewcome
followed Boots as fast as her breath would suffer her.
Meanwhile Harry had told his long story; incoherently, it is true; but
Doctor Palmer in his letter had explained so much, that his father only
wanted to know what had befallen him since the night he had run away
from school; all of which Harry told him. And then he, in his turn,
gladly and proudly related to his boy all that had taken place at
school. How that he was proved innocent; how Doctor Palmer praised and
spoke highly of him in every way; and how delighted the whole school
had been when the guilty one had been detected, and he righted.
And you may be sure Harry's heart was very glad when he heard all
this--all this that he might have known two years ago. Two years ago,
he could scarcely believe it. Two years is such a long while to the
young.
Afterwards, they spoke of what was nearest to their hearts; the death
that happened far back on that afternoon in June, far away in the
little farm at Wilton by the sea. And Alan made his boy repeat over
and over again all he could remember of those last days, and last words
uttered by the lips that were so dear to them both, and that never were
to touch theirs again. And they had for the time entirely forgotten
about the message sent to the good people of the show; so that when
there came a rap at the door, and Mrs Blewcome entered, Mr Campbell
looked up, and said bluntly--
"Well, ma'am, who are you?"
This was too much for Mrs Blewcome. She had been sent for by "this
man!" and he asked her who she was! She drew herself up, and answered
with dignity:
"Mrs Blewcome! of Blewcome's Royal Menaggery!" and, catching sight of
Harry, she exclaimed--
"So it's you as have taken our boy off, is it?"
"Sit down, my good woman, sit down, and I will explain my reason for
sending for you."
Mrs Blewcome deposited the enormous umbrella which she invariably
carried in the finest weather, upon the clean white tablecloth, and,
seating herself with a bump upon a chair, clasped two very hot hands
upon her lap, and waited.
"When, and where, did you find this little boy?" asked Mr Campbell.
Mrs Blewcome did not like this point-blank questioning. She fidgetted
in her chair and said nothing. Mr Campbell repeated his question. Mrs
Blewcome repeated her movements, expressive of unwillingness to reply.
"Very well," said Mr Campbell, good-humouredly; "as you won't tell me,
I'll tell you. You found him, two years ago, about three miles outside
Wilton, a small village on the Bristol Channel. He had run away from
school. He told you a long tale about himself, and, among other
things, that he had a father at sea. I am his father. I only landed
here last night, and, by a mere chance, have thus stumbled across my
boy. Had I hunted for him, I dare say I never should have found him."
Mrs Blewcome sat in astonishment. After she had somewhat recovered,
she burst out--
"Well, there, to be sure, I am so glad; dear boy; but I don't know what
I shall do without 'im. I don't know what I shall do, to be sure; and
Blewcome getting that hindolentlike!"
This good-natured, believing speech, touched Alan's heart. There was
no indignation at her prize being carried off by one who was a mere
stranger to her. There was no doubting or disbelieving his reality as
the boy's father, but only unselfish joy that Harry found his own again
at last!
"You are a good soul," said Mr Campbell, quite affected. "I cannot
thank you enough for all your care of my boy. It's been a strange home
for him, but that's no fault of yours. I shall never forget you. Here
is a card; and if you are ever in need, write to me, and I will do all
I can for you."
"So I s'pose I must say good-bye to 'im, sir," asked Mrs Blewcome, with
trembling voice.
"Well, yes," meditated Mr Campbell, "I suppose you must."
And the parting on both sides convinced him how truly kind the good
woman had been to his boy, and how she had completely won his heart.
"Don't be offended, Mrs Blewcome," he added; "but here's a trifle for
you, it'll help you to paint up your caravans. I dare say they'll be
none the worse for a fresh bit of colour."
"Thank you, sir, thank you," said Mrs Blewcome, with open eyes and
hands. "I'm not a-going to be proud;" and she didn't look as if she
were, as she slipped Alan's ill-spared ten-pound note into her pocket.
"Good-bye, sir. Good-bye, my dear boy! Here's a ticket for the show,
sir, if I may make so bold; we've got some werry fine beastesses, sir.
Good-bye, dear!" And Mrs Blewcome curtsied herself from the room, with
moist eyes and a heart genuinely saddened, for Harry had grown very
dear to her during their two years' strange acquaintance.