The Story of Antony Grace

Matters did not improve at Great Ormond Street as the months rolled on. There was evidently a serious estrangement between Linny and Stephen Hallett; and in my frequent visits I saw that she was as wilful as she was pettish, and that she was setting her brother at defiance. Mrs Hallett was more piteous and complaining than ever, and her son grew haggard and worn with care.

Once or twice, when Linny went out, Hallett had insisted upon going with her, when she had snatched off her hat and jacket, exclaiming:

“It does not matter; I can go when you are away. I am not a child, Stephen, to be treated in such a way as this.”

He stood looking down at her, more in sorrow than in anger, and beckoning me to follow, he went up to his attic and turned to his model, but sat down thinking, with his head upon his hand.

“Can I do anything to help you, Hallett?” I said anxiously; and he roused himself directly, and smiled in my face.

“No, Antony,” he said, “nothing. I could only ask you to follow her, and be a spy upon her actions, and that would degrade us both. Poor child! I cannot win her confidence. It is my misfortune, not my fault. I am no ladies’ man, Antony,” he continued bitterly. “Here, let us try the model. I meant to have finished to-night; let us see how my mistress behaves.”

He often used to speak in a laughing way of the model as his mistress, after Mrs Hallett telling him one day that it was the only thing he loved.

It was then about nine o’clock, and putting aside reading for that evening, I helped him to fit together the various parts. The framework had been set up and taken down and altered a score of times, for, as may be supposed in such a contrivance as this, with all its complications, it was impossible to make every part at first in its right proportions. In fact, I found out that for quite a couple of years past Hallett had been slowly and painfully toiling on, altering, re-making, and re-modelling his plans. It was always the same. No sooner had he by patient enterprise nearly finished, as he thought, than he would find out that some trifle spoiled the unity of the whole machine, and he had had to begin nearly all over again.

“There, Antony,” he said, on the night in question, as he laid down the last wheel, one that he had had specially made for the purpose, “I have got to the end of my thinking to-night. I have looked at the model in every direction; I have tried it from every point of view, and if it is not a success now, and will not work, I shall throw it aside and try no more. What are you smiling at, boy?”

“Only at you,” I said, laughing outright, for we were now, when at his house, on the most familiar terms.

“And why?” he said, half amused, half annoyed.

“I was thinking of what you so often say to me when I am discouraged and can’t get on.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Never say die!’” I replied, laughing. “I know you’ll try again, and again, till you get the thing right and make it go.”

“Should you?” he said, looking at me curiously.

“Of course I would,” I cried, with my cheeks flushing. “I never would give up with a puzzle at home, and this is only a big puzzle. It seems, too, as if we always get a little bit nearer to success.”

“Yes,” he said, nipping his lips together; “that’s what makes it so enticing. It seems to lure me on and on, like a will-o’-the-wisp in a marsh. You’re right, Antony, my lad; never say die! I must and will succeed.”

“Hurray!” I cried, pretending to throw up my cap. “Success to Hallett’s great invention! Patent, of course?”

“Yes,” he said, with a sigh; “but where is the money to come from for the patent?”

“Suppose we finish it first,” I said, laughing.

“Right, my young wisepate,” he cried; “but, good heavens! it’s eleven o’clock. Come, sir, pack off home to your lodging.”

“Why, I thought we were to set the model going to-night?” I said, in a disappointed tone.

“Yes, I did mean it,” he said, fitting a couple of cog-wheels one into the other. “But it is too late now.”

“Let’s try for another hour,” I said eagerly.

“No, no, my boy. I don’t like you to be out so late. Mr Revitts will be annoyed.”

“He’s away on duty,” I said. “Just another hour, and then you can walk part of the way home with me.”

“Well, just an hour,” he said, with his pale face flushing with pleasure; and we set to at once, he fitting together, while I polished and oiled wheels and spindles, and handed them and the various screws to him to fit in their places.

The model was as intricate as a clock, and there were endless little difficulties to combat; but there was something so fascinating in the task as the bright brass wheels were placed in order, and it begat such an intense longing to see it in motion, executing in miniature the great desire of Hallett’s life, that we forgot all about time, and kept steadily on till there were only a few screws to insert and nuts to tighten, and the task would be done.

Hallett looked up at me as he re-trimmed the lamp by which we worked, and I across the table at him, laughing at his puzzled face, for we had unconsciously been at work over three hours, and it was past two.

“This is dreadful, Antony,” he exclaimed, with a comical look of chagrin on his face. “I seem fated to lead you into all sorts of dissipation. What are we to do? I cannot let you go home so late as this. You must lie down here.”

“I’m not a bit sleepy,” I said, “but I am hungry.”

“Then you shall have some supper,” he said dreamily, and with his eyes fixed upon his model, forgetting me the next moment, as with his dexterous fingers he tried the action of one or other of the wheels.

“It’s a pity to leave it now,” I cried.

“Yes, yes,” he said with a sigh; “it is a pity: but it must be left. I dare – ”

He ceased talking, becoming completely abstracted in his task of screwing on a nut, and without speaking I helped and watched and helped until quite an hour and a half more had glided by, when with a look of triumph he stood erect, for the task was done.

“She’s finished, Antony,” he cried, and in the elate eager face before me I seemed to see some one quite different to the stern, quiet compositor I met daily at the great printing-office by Fetter Lane.

I was as delighted as he, and together we stood gazing down at the bright, beautiful bit of mechanism – the fruit of years of toil and endless thought; but as I gazed at it a strange dull feeling of anxiety came over me, and I glanced timorously at Hallett, for the thought flashed across my mind:

“What will he say now if it fails?”

I literally trembled with dread as this thought forced its way home, and with a choking sensation at my throat I watched his eager, elated face each moment becoming more joyous and full of pride; and the more I witnessed his pleasure, the more I feared lest his hopes should be dashed.

“Why, it’s daybreak, Antony,” he said, drawing up the blind. “My poor boy, what a thoughtless wretch I am. It is cruel to you. Come and lie down directly.”

“No,” I said eagerly, “I want to see the model going.”

“And so do I, Antony,” he cried passionately; “but now the time has come, my boy, I dare not try. I feel a horrible dread of failure, and I must cover it over with a cloth, and leave it till I feel more calm.”

He took up the large black cloth with which he had been in the habit of covering it from the dust, and stood gazing down at the bright brass model which had begun to glisten in the soft pure morning light now stealing in from amidst the London chimney-pots, while a couple of sparrows seated upon the parapet set up a cheery chirp.

I felt that I dared not speak, but as if I should have liked to lead him away from the infatuation of his life. Somehow I knew that it would break down, and the anguish he must feel would be something I could not bear to see; and yet, combined with this, I shared his longing to see the model at work – the beautiful little piece of mechanism that was to produce a revolution in printing – turning easily, smoothly, and well.

As I gazed at his eager, anxious face, the pale light in the sky changed to a soft warm flush; bright flecks of orange and gold sent their reflections into the dingy garret, and seemed to illumine Hallett’s countenance, as with straining eyes and parted lips he stood there cloth in hand.

“Antony,” he said, in a low hoarse voice, “I am a coward. I feel like a gambler who risks his all upon a stake, and dare not look upon the numbers – upon the newly cast dice. No, no, I dare not try it now; let it rest till to-night.”

As he spoke he covered it carefully with the black cloth, but only to snatch it away, apostrophising it the while.

“No, no,” he cried; “it is like covering you with a pall and saying you are dead, when, you, the birth of my brains, are ready to leap into new life – new life indeed – the life of that which has had no existence before. Antony, boy,” he said exultingly, “what time could be more fitting than the birth of a new day for my invention to see the light? Throw open the window and let in the glow of sunshine and sweet fresh air. It is unsullied yet, and it will give us strength for our – for our – ”

He hesitated, and his exulting tone changed to one of calm resignation. It was as if he had felt the shadow of failure coming on, and he said softly:

“Our triumph, Antony; or, God help me, fortitude to bear our failure!”