IN NEED OF REPAIRS.
After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn set out with his agent on a tour of
inspection through the village.
"We'll take this row first, sir, if you please," said Mr. Gray. "One of
the people has sent for me to call."
So saying he led the way towards a row of decrepit cottages which, with
their dingy walls and black thatch, looked like a group of fungi, rather
than a row of habitations erected by the hand of man.
At the crazy door of the first cottage they were confronted by a stout,
red-faced woman with bare beefy arms, who, on seeing "Cobbler" Horn,
dropped a curtsey, and suppressed the angry salutation which she had
prepared for Mr. Gray.
"A friend of mine, Mrs. Blobs," said the agent.
"Glad to see you, sir," said the woman to "Cobbler" Horn. "Will you please
to walk in, gentlemen."
"Just cast your eye up there, Mr. Gray," she added when they were inside.
"It's come through at last."
Sure enough it had. Above their heads was a vast hole in the ceiling, and
above that a huge gap in the thatch; and at their feet lay a heap of
bricks, mortar, and fragments of rotten wood.
"Why the chimney has come through!" exclaimed Mr. Gray.
"Little doubt of that," said Mrs. Blobs.
"Was anybody hurt?"
"No, but they might ha' bin. It was this very morning. The master was at
his work, and the children away at school; but, if I hadn't just stepped
out to have a few words with a neighbour, I might ha' bin just under the
very place. Isn't it disgraceful, sir," she added, turning to "Cobbler"
Horn, "that human beings should be made to live in such tumbledown places?
I believe Mr. Gray, here, would have put things right long ago; but he's
been kept that tight by the old skin-flint what's just died. They do say
as now the property have got into better hands; but----"
"Well, well, Mrs. Blobs" interposed the agent; "we shall soon see a change
now I hope."
"Yes," assented "Cobbler" Horn, "we'll have----that is, I'm sure Mr. Gray
will soon make you snug, ma'am."
"We must call at every house, sir," said Mr. Gray, as they passed to the
next door. "There isn't one of the lot but wants patching up almost every
day."
"Cheer up, Mr. Gray," said "the Golden Shoemaker." "There shall be no more
patching after this."
In each of the miserable cottages they met with a repetition of their
experience in the first. If the reproaches of the living could bring back
the dead, old Jacob Horn should have formed one of the group in those
mouldy and rotting cottages, to listen to the reiteration of the shameful
story of his criminal neglect. Here the windows were bursting from their
setting, like the bulging eyes of suffocating men; and here the door-frame
was in a state of collapse. In one cottage the ceiling was depositing
itself, by frequent instalments, on the floor; and in another the floor
itself was rotting away. In every case, Mr. Gray made bold to promise the
speedy rectification of everything that was wrong; and "Cobbler" Horn
confirmed his promises in a manner so authoritative that it would have
been a wonder if his discontented tenants had not caught some glimmering
of the truth as to who he was.
On leaving the cottages, Mr. Gray took his employer to one of the
farm-houses which his property comprised. They found the farmer, a burly,
red-faced, ultra-choleric man, excited over some recently-consummated
dilapidations on his premises. He conducted his visitors over his house
and farm-buildings, grumbling like an ungreased wagon. His abuse of
"Cobbler" Horn's dead uncle was unstinted, and almost every other word was
a rumbling oath. Mr. Gray assured him that all would be put right now in a
very short time; and "Cobbler" Horn said, "Yes, he was sure it would."
The farmer stared in surprise; but his blunter perception proved less
penetrative than the keen insight of the women, and he simply wondered
what this rather rough looking stranger could know about it, anyhow. He
expressed a hope that it might be as Mr. Gray said. For himself he hadn't
much faith. But, if there wasn't something done soon, the new landlord had
better not show himself there, that was all; and the aggrieved farmer
clenched his implied threat with the most emphatic oath he was able to
produce.
Their inspection of the remainder of the village revealed, on every side,
the same condition of ruin and decay; and it was with a sad and indignant
heart that "Cobbler" Horn at length sat down, in Mrs. Gray's front
parlour, to a late but welcome cup of tea.
"To-morrow," he said, "we'll have a look at the old hall."
"The Golden Shoemaker" spent the evening in close consultation with his
agent. The state of the property was thoroughly discussed, and Mr. Gray
was invested with full power to renovate and renew. His employer enjoined
him to make complete work. He was to exceed, rather than stop short of,
what was necessary, and to do even more than the tenants asked.
"You will understand, Mr. Gray," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I want all my
property in this village to be put into such thorough repair that, as far
as the comfort and convenience of my tenants are concerned, nothing shall
remain to be desired. So set to work with all your might; and we shall
not quarrel about the bill----if you only make it large enough."
Mr. Gray's big heart bounded within him, as he received this generous
commission.
"And don't forget your own house," added his employer. "I think you had
better build yourself a new one while you are about it; and let it be a
house fit to live in."
Mr. Gray warmly expressed his thanks, and they proceeded to the
consideration of the numberless matters which it was necessary to discuss.
In the morning, under the guidance of the agent, "Cobbler" Horn paid his
promised visit to the old Hall. It was a venerable Elizabethan mansion,
and, like everything else in the village that belonged to him, was sadly
out of repair. As he entered the ancient pile, and passed from room to
room, a purpose with regard to the old Hall which already vaguely occupied
his mind, took definite shape; and he seemed to hear, in the empty rooms,
the glad ring of children's laughter and the patter of children's feet. In
memory of his long-lost Marian, and for the glory of the Divine Friend of
children, the old Hall should be transformed into a Home for little ones
who were homeless and without a friend.
As they drove to the station, a little later, he announced his attention,
with regard to the Hall, to Mr. Gray.
"I shall leave the business in your hands, Mr. Gray. You must consult
those who understand such things, and visit similar institutions, and turn
the old place into the best 'Children's Home' that can be produced."
"Very well, sir; but the children?"
"That matter I will arrange myself."
The agent was getting used to surprises; but the next that came almost
took his breath away.
"I believe," said "Cobbler" Horn, at the end of a brief silence, "that
your salary, Mr. Gray, is £150 a year?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I wish to increase the amount. Pray consider that you will receive,
from this time, at the rate of £500 a year."
"Mr. Horn!" cried the startled agent, "such generosity!"
"Not at all; I mean you to earn it, you know. But let your horse move on,
or I shall miss my train. And, by the way, will you oblige me, Mr. Gray,
by procuring for yourself a horse and trap better calculated to serve the
interests of my property than this sorry turn-out. Get the best equipment
which can be obtained for money."
The agent, not knowing whether he was touched the more by the kindness
of the injunction, or by the delicacy with which it had been expressed,
murmured incoherent thanks, and promised speedy compliance with his
employer's commands.