Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“God bless her!” he muttered. “I will do something, and I believe she will wait for me; but I can’t drag her down to share my poverty. But there, I won’t curse it, when I see how it brings out the pure metal from the fire. I can’t go back to the sea, though. Pooh! what chance have I – a poor penniless servant’s son – how should I get a ship. Why, my rank has been obtained by imposture.”

The rugged, hard look came back, but the sight of an enclosure once more smoothed his forehead.

“Here’s dear little Fin,” he said to himself. “Well, after all, it’s very sweet to find out how true some hearts can be.”

Saying this to himself, he opened and read a little jerky scrawl from Fin: —

“My own dear Brother Dick, – I sent you a message by Tiny, but I thought I’d write too, so as to show you that little people can be as staunch as big. Never mind about the nasty money, or the troublesome estate – you can’t have everything; and I tell you, sir, that you’ve won what is worth a thousand Penreifes – my darling little Tiny’s heart – you great, ugly monster! Dear Dick, I’m so sorry for you, but I can’t cry a bit – only pat you on the back and say, ‘Never mind.’ I’ll take care of Tiny for you, in spite of Aunt Matty – a wicked old woman! – for if she didn’t look up from a goody-goody book, and say that she’d always expected it, and she was very glad. Ma sends her love to you, and says she shall come across to Penreife to see you, the first time papa goes over to Saint Kitt’s. She would come now, only she wants to keep peace and quietness in the house. They’re against you now, but it will soon blow over. If it don’t, we’ll win over Aunt Matty to our side by presenting her with dogs. By the way, Pepine has a cold: he sneezed twice yesterday, and his tail is all limp. Goodbye, Dick. – Your affectionate sister,

    “Fin Rea.”

Richard’s eyes brightened as he read this, and then carefully bestowed it in his pocket-book.

He then took out and read again the letter that had come by post: —

“My dear old Dick, – Had yours and its thunderclap. Gave me a bad headache. Hang it all! if it’s true, what a predicament for a fellow to find out that he’s somebody else – ‘Not myself at all,’ as the song says! But you have possession, Dick; and, speaking as a lawyer, I should say, let them prove it on the other side. Don’t you go running about and telling people you’ve no right to the property; for, after all, it may only be an hallucination of that old woman’s brain. What a dreadful creature! Why, if she isn’t your mother – and really, I think she can’t be – I should feel disposed to prosecute her; and I should like to hold the brief. Don’t be in too great a hurry to give up, but, on the contrary, hold on tight; for that’s a fine estate, and very jolly, so long as you could keep off the locusts. On looking back, though, there are a good many strange things crop up – the wonderful display of interest in dear Master Dick, and all the rest of it. Looks bad – very bad – and like the truth Dick. But, as I said before, legally you’ve got possession, and if I can help you to keep it – no, hang it, Dick! if the place isn’t yours, old boy, give it up. There, you see how suitable I am for a barrister. I could never fight a bad cause. But, as I said before, give it up, every inch of it. I wouldn’t have my old man Dick with the faintest suspicion of a dirty trick in his nature. Cheer up, old fellow, there’s another side to everything. That Sybaritish life was spoiling you. Why, my dear boy, you’ve no idea how jolly it is to be poor. Hang the wealth! a fico for it! Come up and stay with me in chambers, while we talk the matter over, and conspire as to whether we shall set the Thames on fire at high or low water, above bridge or below. Meanwhile, we’ll banquet, my boy, feast on chops – hot chops – and drink cold beady beer out of pewters. Ah, you pampered old Roman Emperor, living on your tin, what do you know of real life? Setting aside metaphysics, Dick, old boy, come up to me, and lay your stricken head upon this manly bosom; thrust your fist into this little purse, and go shares as long as there is anything belonging to, yours truly,

    “Frank Pratt.

“P.S. – I should have liked to see Tolcarne again. Pleasant, dreamy time that. Of course you will see no more of the little girls?”

“Poor old Frank,” said Richard, refolding the letter. “I believe he cared for little Fin.”

There was no time for dreaming, with the bustle of Paddington Station to encounter; and making his way into the hotel, he passed a restless, dreamless night.

New Lodgings

Richard was pretty decided in his ways. Hotel living would not suit him now; and soon after breakfast he took his little valise, earned a look of contempt from the hotel porter by saying that he did not require a cab, and set off to walk from Paddington to Frank’s chambers in the Temple; where he arrived tired and hot, to climb the dreary-looking stone stairs, and read on the door the legend written upon a wafered-up paper, “Back in five minutes.”

With all the patience of a man accustomed to watch, Richard up-ended his portmanteau, and sat and waited hour after hour. Then he went out, and obtained some lunch, returning to find the paper untouched.

Sitting down this time with a newspaper to while away the time, he tried to read, but not a word fixed itself upon his mind; and he sat once more thinking, till at last, weary and low-spirited, he walked out into the Strand, the portmanteau feeling very heavy, but his determination strong as ever.

“Keb, sir – keb, sir,” said a voice at his elbow; for he was passing the stand in Saint Clement’s Churchyard.

“No, my man – no.”

“Better take – why, I’m blest!”

The remark was so emphatic that Richard looked the speaker in the face.

“Don’t you remember me, sir – axdent, sir – op’site your club, sir – me as knocked the lady down, sir?”

“Oh yes,” said Richard, “I remember you now. Not hurt, was she?”

“On’y shook, sir. But jump in, sir. Let me drive yer, sir. Here, I’ll take the portmanter.”

“No, no,” said Richard, “I don’t want to ride, I – there, confound it, man, what are you about?”

“No, ’fence, sir – I on’y wanted to drive a gent as was so kind as you was. Odd, aint it, sir? That there lady lives along o’ me, at my house, now – lodges, you know – ’partments to let, furnished.”

“Apartments!” cried Richard, eagerly; “do you know of any apartments?”

“Plenty out Jermyn Street way, sir.”

“No, no; I mean cheap lodgings.”

“What, for a gent like you, sir?” said Sam Jenkles.

“No, no – I’m no gentleman,” said Richard, bitterly; “only a poor man. I want cheap rooms.”

“Really, sir?” said Sam, rubbing his nose viciously.

“Yes, really, my man. Can you tell me of any?”

“You jump in, sir, and I’ll run you up home in no time.”

“But I – ”

“My missus knows everybody ’bout us as has rooms to let – quiet lodgings, you know, sir; six bob a week style – cheap.”

“No, no; give me your address, and I’ll walk.”

“No you don’t, sir, along o’ that portmanter. Now, I do wonder at a gent like you being so obstinit.”

Richard still hesitated; but it was an opportunity not to be lost, and, before he had time to thoroughly make up his mind, Sam had hoisted the portmanteau on the roof, afterwards holding open the flap of the cab.

“It’s all right, sir; jump in, sir. Ratty wants a run, and you can’t carry that there portmanter.”

“A bad beginning,” muttered Richard.

Then he stepped into the cab, and the apron was banged to, Sam hopped on to his perch, and away they rattled along the Strand into Fleet Street, and up Chancery Lane.

“He’s a-going it to-day, sir, aint he?” said a voice; and Richard turned sharply round, to see Sam Jenkles’s happy-looking face grinning through the trap. “He’s as fresh as a daisy.”

The little trapdoor was rattled down again, for other vehicles were coming, and Sam’s hands were needed at the reins, the more especially that Ratty began to display the strangeness of his disposition by laying down his ears, whisking his tail, and trying hard to turn the cab round and round, clay-mill fashion. But this was got over, the rest of the journey performed in peace, and Sam drew up shortly at the door of his little home, the two front windows of which had been turned into gardens, as far as the sills were concerned, with miniature green palings, gate and all, the whole sheltering a fine flourishing display of geraniums and fuchsias, reflected in window-panes as clean as hands could make them.

“Why, this would do capitally,” said Richard, taken by the aspect of the place.

“Dessay it would, sir,” said Sam, grinning; “but our rooms is let. But come in, sir, and see the missus – she’ll pick you out somewheres nice and clean. But, hallo! what’s up?”

Richard had seen that which brought the exclamation from Sam’s lips, and stepped forward to help.

For, about a dozen yards down the quiet little street, Mrs Lane was supporting Netta, the pair returning evidently from a walk, and the latter being overcome.

“Thank you – a little faint – went too far,” said Mrs Lane, as Richard ran up to where she was sustaining her daughter. “Netta, darling, only a few yards farther. Try, dear.”

“She has fainted,” said Richard. “Here, let me carry her.”