The Story of Antony Grace

Chapter Fifty Two.

Mr Jabez has a Spasm

There had been some little dispute about the drawing up of the terms between Hallett and Mr Rowle. The former would not listen to the old gentleman’s proposition that it should be settled by a letter between them, saying that it ought to be a proper legal document, for both their sakes; and the knot was solved, as they did not wish to consult a solicitor, by my proposing to bring Tom Girtley home with me some evening, when the legal training he was undergoing might prove sufficient for the purpose.

It was settled to be so, and a few evenings later, I called in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, at the offices where Tom was now engaged, and he accompanied me to Great Ormond Street.

Mary had had her instructions to have a “high tea” ready for us, and her ideas of delicacies took the form of hot baked potatoes and cold lobsters; and upon these, with shouts of laughter, we made an attack, for it was wonderful in those days what the youthful digestive organs would conquer without fail. Tom Girtley had several times been to my apartments, but I had never introduced him to the Halletts, for there had been too much trouble in connection with Linny’s illness for their rooms to be attractive to a casual visitor.

But now times were altered; Hallett looked brighter, Linny was nearly her own merry pretty self again, and Mrs Hallett, perhaps, a little less weak and despondent, which is not saying much.

Tom Girtley had altered very much since we had become friends, having started ahead of me, and a year had changed him from a boy into quite a man, at whose hirsute appendages I used to look with perhaps just a trace of envy. There was something very frank and manly about him, and he had all a boy’s love of a bit of fun; but at the same time, he was full of shrewdness and common-sense, the former being rubbed daily by his profession into a keener edge.

All in good time Mr Jabez arrived, according to what was fast growing into a regular custom, and he favoured Tom Girtley with a short nod and a very searching look. Then together we went upstairs, where I saw Mr Jabez frown as our legal visitor was introduced to Mrs Hallett and Linny, the latter blushing slightly at Tom’s admiring gaze.

The old man uttered a sigh of relief then as Linny rose and helped Mrs Hallett to leave the room during the transaction of the business, and I noted that he was very snappish and abrupt while the arrangement went on.

It was very simple, and soon done, Tom Girtley drawing up first on foolscap a draft of the arrangement, which was agreed to on both sides, and then transferred to a couple of stamped papers, signed and witnessed, one being kept by each party to the transaction.

All this was done in so satisfactory a manner to Mr Jabez that he became somewhat less abrupt to my companion, and even went so far as to say that he had never seen a legal document which pleased him so well.

“Not so many heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, young gentleman,” he said gruffly. “You lawyers have made a lot of money out of those parties in your time. Now, don’t you think we might ask the ladies to step back?”

This was done, and we had a very pleasant evening, Tom Girtley winning golden opinions for his merry ways, even bringing a smile to Mrs Hallett’s pale face; and at last, when it was time to go, Hallett exclaimed:

“Of course, we shall see you again, Mr Girtley?”

“May I come?” he said eagerly.

“If you can find any pleasure in our rather dull home,” replied Hallett. “Good – ”

He was going to say, “gracious,” but he refrained, and looked in a puzzled and amused way at Mr Jabez, who had kicked out one leg under the table, and his foot had come in contact with his host.

“Spasm!” said Mr Jabez abruptly; and when Tom Girtley went down with me the old man remained.

“Well, Tom, what do you think of my friends the Halletts?” I said, as we went down to the door.

“I’m delighted with them,” he cried. “I like Hallett; and as for his sister – I say, Tony, are you making play there?”

“Making play?”

“There, don’t be so innocent, man alive! Are you in love with her?”

“What nonsense! No.”

“Then I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t have poached on your preserves, but it’s all over with me now. Alas, poor me! so soon, and I am barely twenty. Good-night, old boy, and thanks for a pleasant evening.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” I exclaimed. “I’m going a little way with you.”

He was in high spirits, and we were just crossing the street, when we came suddenly upon John Lister – so suddenly, that Tom observed my start.

“Who’s that?” he said quickly.

“One of our black clouds,” I said bitterly.

“Black clouds?” he said, in a puzzled tone.

“And yours, too,” I said, “if you talk like you did just now.”

“I like solving knotty points,” he said; “but you must give me a clue.”

“Not to-night, Tom,” I said. “Say good-night now. Some other time.”

“All right, my mysterious youth,” he cried, laughing; and after shaking hands, I hurried back, to find Mr Jabez standing at the door.

“Oh, here you are,” he said. “I am just waiting to say good-night. I say, Grace, is that fellow square?”

“I believe him to be a thorough scoundrel,” I said angrily.

“He seems quite taken with little Linny there.”

“I know that,” I said bitterly.

“And yet you brought him here, sir.”

“I? Brought him here?” I exclaimed. “It was going on before I knew them.”

“What! that boy – that parchment slip?” he exclaimed.

“No, no,” I said hastily. “I meant John Lister.”

As the words were leaving my lips, he of whom I spoke passed by on the other side, and turned his face to look up at the second floor, the light from a gas-lamp making his countenance perfectly clear.

“Oh!” said Mr Jabez softly; and, after standing watching the retiring figure, he too went his way.

Chapter Fifty Three.

My Visitor

Two years of hard work rapidly passed away, during which, I suppose, I made rapid progress in my profession, and also had the satisfaction of seeing Hallett’s machine grow towards perfection.

It had progressed slowly, in spite of the energy brought to bear, for Hallett toiled at it patiently and well; but the work was for the most part out of his hands now.

I had introduced him to Mr Girtley, who at once took a great deal of interest in the scheme, but who rather damped us at first by pointing out weaknesses, not of principle, but of construction, and at once proposed that before the great machine itself was attempted, a working model, four times the size of that laboriously constructed by Hallett, should be made.

“It means time and expense, Mr Hallett,” he said, “but over new things we must be slow and sure. For instance, there will be great stress upon certain parts – here – here – and here. I can say to you now that these parts must be greatly strengthened, and I could make certain calculations, but we can only learn by experience what is to be done.”

There was so much good sense in this, that Hallett at once agreed, and Mr Jabez of course nodded approval; and though it took a long time, the trial of the little machine fully bore out Mr Girtley’s prophecies; so that great modifications had to be made.

“Yes,” said Mr Girtley, after the trial, “it is discouraging, certainly; but is it not better than having a breakdown just when your hopes are highest?”

“Yes, but new moulds can be made, and you will go on at once,” said Hallett eagerly.

“Yes, the moulds shall be made, and we will go on at once.”

“Mr Girtley thought me very impatient, Antony,” said Hallett, as we walked steadily back from Great George Street, where the little machine had been set up; “but there are bounds to every one’s patience, and I feel sometimes as if the idol I have been trying to set up will not be finished in my time.”

“Nonsense?” I cried cheerily, “I guarantee it shall be. I’m to have a lot of superintending to do, Hallett, and I’ll leave no stone unturned to get it on.”

“Thank you, Antony,” he said, “do your best. I grieve for poor Mr Jabez more than for myself. Two hundred and fifty pounds of his money gone, and he has nothing yet before him in return but an unsubstantial shadow.”

Miss Carr had been a good deal away from England during this time, visiting her sister, who twice over returned with her to stay at Westmouth Street. I had, however, kept her fully informed about the progress made by Hallett. In fact, she knew my innermost life, and as much of the Halletts’ as I knew myself. Those were pleasant days, though, when she was at home, much of my time being spent with her; and though I found that Lister had made several attempts to see her, and had written continually, he had never been successful.

I learned, too, that Mr Ruddle had interfered in concert with some distant relatives of Miss Carr, and they had pretty well coerced Lister into more reasonable behaviour.

He evidently, however, lived in the hope of yet resuming his old relationship with Miss Carr, little dreaming how well acquainted she was with his character, for, in no tale-bearing spirit, but in accordance with her wish, that she should know everything in connection with my daily life, I had told her of Lister’s continued underhanded pursuit of Linny, news which I afterwards found had come to her almost in company with imploring letters, full of love, passion and repentance.

When I look back upon that portion of my life, it all seems now like a dream of pleasure, that glided away as if by magic. I had no troubles – no cares of my own, save such as I felt by a kind of reflex action. I was young, active, and full of eagerness. Hallett’s enterprise seemed to be almost my own, and I looked forward to its success as eagerly as he did himself.

The house at Great Ormond Street was a far less solemn place now than it used to be, and many and bright were the evenings we spent together. Hallett seemed less sad and self-contained, as he saw his mother take a little interest in the group that used to form about her chair. For Mr Jabez appeared to have become quite a new man, and there were not many evenings that he did not spend at the Halletts’.

“Business, you see, Grace,” he used to say, with a dry chuckle. “I must be on the spot to talk over the machine with Hallett;” but somehow very little used to be said about business: for very often after the first introduction by the old man, there used to be a snug rubber at whist, in which he and Mrs Hallett would be partners against Linny and Tom Girtley.

For Tom used to come a great, deal in those days to see me. He used to tell me, with a laughing light in his eye, that he was sure I must be very dull there of an evening, and that it was quite out of kindness to me. But, somehow or another, I suppose through my neglect, and the interest I took in Hallett’s work, he used to be driven upstairs, where his bright, hearty ways made him always welcome. For after what looked like dead opposition at first, Tom quite won Mr Jabez over to his side; and, save and excepting a few squabbles now and then, which Mrs Hallett took seriously, and which afforded Linny intense amusement, Mr Jabez and Tom became the best of friends.

“I don’t think he’s such a very bad sort of fellow, as boys go, Grace,” Mr Jabez said; “but look here, my boy, do you see how the land lies?”

“What do you mean, Mr Rowle?” I said laughing; “that Tom and Linny seem to be getting very fond of one another?”

“Yes,” he said, tapping me on the breast-bone with his snuff-box. “I spoke to Hallett about it last night, and he said he was not sorry.”

“Of course not. I am sure he likes Tom,” I said thoughtfully, as I saw how great an alteration had come about at the house, for Linny used to sing about the place now like a bird, and Mary watched over her like a dragon. In fact, Mary was a wonderful institution at Great Ormond Street, and even Mrs Hallett was afraid of her, in so much that Mary’s practical ways seemed quite to silence her murmurings, and make her take a more cheerful view of life.

“But look here, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, “don’t you be a young fool. You don’t want to grow into an old bachelor like I am.”

“I don’t know that I do,” I said.

“Then about Linny: does it suit your book for that big child to be coming here and cutting the ground from under your feet?”

“Cutting the ground from under my feet?” I said merrily. “Why, what do you mean, Mr Jabez?”

“I mean, don’t you be a young noodle, and play with your opportunities. Linny’s a very nice little girl, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if some day she had a few – perhaps a good many hundreds of her own. I tell you what it is, Grace, my boy, I shouldn’t be a bit displeased if you were to play your cards right, and make a match of it with that little girl.”

“And I hope, Mr Rowle, you would not be a bit displeased if I did not do anything of the sort?”

“H’m-m! No! I don’t know that I should, boy. But, hang it all, you are not. You have not any one else in your eye. You are not thinking about Miss Carr, are you, you puppy?”

I burst out into a hearty fit of laughter.

“No, Mr Rowle,” I said merrily. “I never think about such matters, and between ourselves,” I said with much severity, “I am surprised to find a quiet elderly gentleman like you taking to match-making.”

“Get out, you young dog!” he cried. “There, just as you like, only I thought I’d see how you felt about it, that’s all.”

Mr Rowle’s words set me thinking, and I could not help seeing that though there was no love-making, or anything out of the ordinary way in their every-day intercourse, Linny’s old sorrow had been completely swept away, and she evidently looked upon Tom as a very great friend.

I was in my own room one evening reporting progress to Hallett, who had just come in from the office where he still worked as an ordinary journeyman. Mr Jabez was upstairs with Tom Girtley, and a quiet rubber of whist was in progress, when Mary came up into the room to announce that there was some one downstairs who wanted to see me.

“Who is it, Mary?” I said.

Mary glanced at Hallett, who saw the look and rose to go.

“Don’t you run away, Hallett,” I cried. “I’ve no one to see me whom you need not know.”

I stopped there, for the thought flashed across my mind that it might be some one from Miss Carr, or perhaps it might be something to do with John Lister.

He saw my hesitation, and said quietly:

“I shall be upstairs if you want me, Antony. I think I will go now.”

He left the room.

“Well, Mary, who’s the mysterious stranger?” I said.

“Oh, Master Antony,” she cried excitedly, “whoever do you think it is? I hope it don’t mean trouble. Some one from the country.”

“Not Blakeford?” I exclaimed, with all my budding manhood seeming to be frozen down on the instant, and my boyish dread ready to return.

“No, my dear, not old Blakeford,” she said; “but that other old Mr Rowle.”

“Old Mr Rowle!” I cried excitedly, as, like a flash, all my former intercourse with him darted back – the day when he came and took possession of our dear home; our meals together; the bit of dinner in the summer-house; and his kindly help with money and advice when I was about to run away. Why, I felt that it was to him that I owed all my success in life, and my heart smote me as I thought of my ingratitude, and how I seemed to have forgotten him since I had become so prosperous and well-to-do.

“Yes,” said Mary, “old Mr Rowle. He’s standing at the door, my dear; he said he was so shabby he wouldn’t come in.”

Thank God, I was only a boy still, and full of youthful freshness and enthusiasm! I forgot all my dandyism and dress, everything, in the excitement of seeing the old man again; and almost before Mary had done speaking, I was bounding down the stairs to rush through the big hall and catch hold of the little old man standing on the steps.

He seemed to have shrunk; or was it that I had sprung up from the little boy into a young man? I could not tell then. I did not want to tell then; all I knew was that the childish tears were making my eyes dim, that there was a hot choking sensation in my throat, and that I dragged the old man in. We had a struggle over every mat, where he would stop to rub his shoes. I could not speak, only keep on shaking both his hands; and I seemed to keep on shaking them till I had him thrust down by the fire in the easy-chair.

“Why, young ’un,” he said at last, “how you have grown!”

“Why, Mr Rowle,” I said, as soon as I could speak, “I am – I am glad to see you.”

“Are you – are you, young ’un?” he said, getting up out of his chair, picking his hat off the floor, where he had set it down, and putting it on again, while in a dreamy way he ran his eye all over the room, making a mental inventory of the furniture, just as I remembered him to have done of old.

He seemed to be very little, and yellow, and withered, and he was very shabbily dressed, too; but I realised the fact that he was not much altered, as he fixed his eyes once more on me, and repeated:

“Why, young ’un, how you have grow’d!”

“Have I, Mr Rowle?” I said, laughing through my weak tears; for his coming seemed to have brought back so much of the past.

“Wonderful!” he said. “I shouldn’t have know’d you, that I shouldn’t. Why, you’ve grow’d into quite a fine gentleman, that you have, and you used to be about as high as sixpen’orth o’ ha’pence.”

“I was a little fellow,” I said, laughing.

“But you’d got a ’awful lot o’ stuff in you, young ’un,” he said. “But, I say, are you – are you really glad to see me, young ’un – I mean, Mr Grace?”

“Glad to see you?” I cried. “I can’t tell you how glad. But sit down. Here, give me your hat.”

“Gently, young ’un, there’s something in it. Pr’aps I’d better keep it on.”

“No, no,” I cried, catching it from his hands, and forcing him back into the easy-chair.

“Gently, young ’un,” he said, thrusting one hand up the cuff of his long brown coat, which, with its high collar, almost seemed to be the same as the one in which I saw him first – “gently, young ’un,” he said; “you’ve broke my pipe.”