THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 1989, 7 April 1892, Page 37

THE NOVELIST.

fNow First Published.!

A MODERN" DICK WIIIT-

TJWTOIN 1 .

By JAMES PAYN.

Author of "For Cash Only," "A Prince of the Blood," " By Proxy," "Lost Sir Massingberd," The Confidential Agent," &c, &c.

[All Rights Reserved.]

Chaptek XV. Chaptjuk XVII. A Narrow Escape.

HE poe', tells ua that " A sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things," but even a bard's experience is limited; if he had been connected with the turf, he would probably have placed the losing of a huge sum of money when he thought he had " pulled off" a still larger one, at the summit of human woes. This was precisely what had happened to Mr Robert Sfcratton. He had stood to win L 20.000 on Ganymede (for unhke his confederate Mr Grueby he didn't bet in half crowns) and fondly imagined he had done it; whereas Ganymede had in fact lost him LSOOO. Only one person in the world hac 1 the least suspicion of the magnitude of his " transactions " in horseflesh, but when be refused Mr Salesby's offer of liquid refreshment and strode away with something

Very like a curse, that gentleman's suspicions Were excited. A man must be very hard hit indeed, he thought, to turn his back upon old whisky ; a thing he had never done himself under the most untoward circumstances. He might have invoked his bottle in (almost) the same words as the lover of music addressed to his pianoforte : —

Dear friend, whom grave or gay we seek, Heaven-holding shrine ; I pull thy cork and hear it squeak, And peace is mine. No fairy casket full of bliss Out values thee, Love only wakened with a kiss More sweet may be.

As he leant over his garden gate and watched the squire's retreating form this rustic moralist shook his head ; be had won a good stake on Tippitiwitchit, and could^afford to pity a fellow- creature. Beside his winnings Mr Salesby had another subject for satisfaction that morning ; not indeed a very solid one, but which had been at all events "an excuse for a glass." He dwelt upon it now in a dreamy, not' to say a boozy way, and winked and winked again over it with extraordinary sagacity ; and this, too, led his cheerful mind to pity. " Poor Lorry, what a dog's life the squire leads him ! He'll be harder upon him than ever now that hejias to fork out this pot of money. It is not 2s 6d that he has lost this time, I'll bet a penny. The lad's chance of getting anything out of that Oriental old scarecrow (thus he spoke of the ex-commissioner) will be next to nothing. And I don't envy the passon neither when he comes back and the squire has a word to say to him about that telegram. •Ganymede for ever'; Grueby will never beat that if he lives to be 100." And Mr Salesby gave himself up to such uncontrollable merriment as threatened to tear the garden gate from its solitary hinge.

The circumstances in question affected Mr Robert Stratton in a very different [manner. He shook, but certainly not with mirth, and, though Mr Grueby was more particularly in his thoughts, he swore at large. His loss, great as it was, bad come" upon the back of other losses, which he had fondly hoped his venture upon Ganymede would have recouped ; nor had they been half-crown losses, as Mr Salesby had called them. He could not settle this debt of honour without appealing for help to his father or to his wife, who were equally ignorant of his speculations. The ax commissioner was not one who parted with his money very readily, even for the best of objects ; if his purse was long his temper was short. As for Mrs Robert, her money had been settled on her and her children by a prudent father, though it would revert to her husband in the case of her dying childless. The squire, as Mr Salesby would have expressed it, was "in a hole," and he could see but one way out of it, such as only desperation could suggest. It was a wicked way, and also exceedingly dangerous. As he walked on with rapid but aimless steps, slashing the weeds and ferns with his walking stick, as if he was cutting off men's heads, he came upon Laurence, sitting on a stile with a pipe in his mouth, and looking very glum.

11 What are you doing there, you idle young devil ? " he inquired Btormf ally. " Smoking I " 11 If you give me any of your infernal impudence I'll cut your liver out," cried the squire, raising his stick. Laurence thrust his band into his pocket, pulled out an enormous clasp-knife, and opened it with a click. It was plain that he was prepared for "reciprocity" in livers, and that Uncle Kobert would come under the " most favoured nation " clause.

" What is that for ? " inquired the squire ; not that he cared, but because, notwithstanding his fury, he shrank from precipitating matters.

"Whittling," replied Laurence, and he produced a hunch of bread and cheese.

The witticism was thrown away upon the other, but not the coolness with which it was uttered. He was no coward, but it had suddenly struck him that the present was a very ill-chosen time for a row with his younger relative, ho wever successful might be the issue. Such violence should not go unpunished, but vengeance is a dish that can be eaten cold.

"Where is Sir Obarles?" he inquired, curtly.

" I don't know."

" But it is your business to know, sir ; as I have already told you, you are placed at his disposal to make his stay agreeable to him."

" I am not in his service nor in yours," returned Laurence coldly ; "as a matter of fact, however, when I went to look for him, as usual, this afternoon I found he had gone out. I suppose over the hill."

The squire nodded, by no means affably, but to his nephew he seldom condescended to nod, and took the direction indicated. He had only a vague purpose in so doing ; but in the desperation of his loss it bad occurred to him that the baronet might lend him money ; at all events he had the power to do so, which was something; LSOOO to him was like five thousand pence to another man ; nevertheless he had a suspicion that the other did not like him, and things were hardly so advanced between Ruth and their visitor to incline him to do him so great a favour on the ground of future friendship. He walked for miles upon the moorland without meeting with anyone ; face to face only with his dark and dismal thoughts. The song of the lark, the coo of the dove, the wave-like murmur of the pines wooed his ear in vain ; in vain the odorous air swept his frowning brow ; in vain the landscape in its fresh summer garb stretched before his heated eyes. At last, when after a long circuit he had turned towards home, his farsweeping glance fell on the man he sought ; he was a great way off, close indeed to Hillsland, but he knew it was Sir Charles by his light summer suit, and Ruth was with him. Even while he gazed the pair had entered the last pine grove beneath which lay the village. He could hardly have come up with them before they reashed home, even if he had tried ; but he had now no desire to do so ; he had indeed lost the opportunity for which he sought, but his chance in the future was greatly bettered. Since Ruth and Sir Charles wera walking alone together it was plain that their com t>hip had got on apace. He was glad that he had uot thrashed Laurence, for since thebaroneihad taken that inexplicable liking to the boy it would probably have proved an obstacle to the loan h6 had in view. What convinced

him that the love affair was ripening was that when he next caught Bight of Sir Charles he was walking alone towards the Hall ; Ruth without doubt had parted from him on the way to avoid any comment that might have been made upon their coming home together. Such delicacy of feeling was hardly in Mr Robert's way, but he knew how to appreciate it in others. If the happiness of his fellow- creatures could not be said to be his aim in life, he was not one to " spoil sport " when the game was being driven into his own net.

Before Sir Charles reached home he overtook his young friend strolling in the same direction.

" Hullo, my lad," he exclaimed cheerily, " you look aB if the rhymes didn't ccme luckily this morning. What's the matter ? "

" Nothing ; if I am dull it was because I missed your companionship. I found you had left the house when I looked into your sitting room this afternoon as usual."

"Yes, I had a headache, and knowing you were hard at work with your writing, I thought I would take a walk over the hill. Where have you been 1 But, there, I need not ask 1 "

" If you mean with Kitty, you are mistaken," answered Laurence with a blush. " I did call at ' The Corner,' but as it happened she was out ; gone into the vale, her father said, about some poultry. He is in high feather this morning because he had won oa the Derby."

"So Miss Kate may be an heiress after all, eb ? "

Laurence shook his head ; the subject was too tender for a jest.

" I had meant to tell her how kind and helpful you had been to me," he said.

" You had better wait for that till something has come of my endeavours," observed Sir Charles. " I ought to have heard from our editor before this ; he has had plenty of time to read the MSS. I sent him."

" Perhaps they have cast him into a deep sleep," murmured Laurence ruefully. " One good turn deserves another. In that case he ought to send you ' a refresher.' " Come, I should like to know what are your expectations ? "

" Expectations ? Indeed, I have none, only hopes. A five-pound note would satisfy my highest aspirations."

They had entered the garden, and Sir Charles was making for a su aimer-house, which after his long walk seemed a convenient spot to pursue their conversation.

" That is a very modest figure," he said, "at which to appraise such a mass of MS. If it comes to no more than that I shou'd recommend your giving up literature as a bad job, and appealing to the old Mummy "

As. he said the words Sir Charles found himself opposite Miss Jane, who, sitting in the arbour with an improving book on her lap had most certainly overheard them.

" I must really ask your pardon," be continued, with his sweetest smile, " for applying such an epithet as I have just used to any relative of youTS ; but my young friend here so often calls Mrs Merridew • the Mummy ' (meaning his mamma), or even • the old Mummy,' that when talking with him I have— quite inexcusably— fallen into the way of it."

It was " magnificent," and if not exactly the truth — and indeed splendide mendax would have been a fit quotation for it— it had some soupcon of truth about it. Laurence did sometimes call his mother "the Mummy " for love and euphony, but as an example of presence of mind on the very verge of a catastrophe, Sir Charles' ooup was perfection, and in that light alone it struck Laurence.

He not only recognised the fact that Mi6s Jane would never have forgi-ea his friend for speaking of her father so disrespectfully, but that it would have opened her eyes to the alliance established between himself and the baronet against the Hall authorities. His gratitude and sense of relief therefore, when he saw his aunt's grim face relax — for the familiarity taken, as she supposed, with her sister by no means displeased her — and the puckers of her mouth form themselves into its ordinary wintry smile, were overwhelming. It did not occur to him at the time that such exceeding readiness o£ defence must have owed something to a habit of duplicity. If Mr Robert had been by and heard the baronet go on to ask after Miss Ruth, as if he knew nothing of what had been that young lady's movements for the afternoon, he would have formed a different impression of him. It was no doubt a praiseworthy satisfaction that Sir Charles took to hoodwinking Aunt Jane, but he certainly accomplished it with admirable skill. Even the severe Calvanistic volume which had formed the subject of her outdoor studies, and of which she frankly expressed her conviction that it was not much in Sir Charles' way, came in for itTs share of eulogy. A theological discussion, in which he took care not to be the victor, brought down the curtain, save for a tag, spoken by the vanquished to his companion, after he had left the lady's presence, " That woman, my dear Laurence, haa made a religion for herself out of the worst parts of Christianity."

Chapter XVIII,

The Honorarium.

"I have got something for you which came by post Ibis evening," said Kir Charles to Laurence, as he took his seat and a cigar in the latter's room that night.

"Something from Mr Latham? " inquired the boy eagerly ; his face was flushed with excitement, his hand trembled as he poured out his friend's coffee for him ; Mr Latham was the London editor with whom the other had been in correspondence on his behalf.

" Yes, he Bent you this," and he tossed a sealed envelope across to him.

" A letter ; that is most kind of him."

" No ; I wish it was. and that he had sent me the other thing. He has written me a letter a3 long as my arm."

" Oh, Sir Charles, this is too much 1 " Laurence was holding in his hand what had certainly never been there before, a LlO-note. His eyes were full of wonder and gratitude and joy. It was the first money he had ever earned, which of itself is bliss; but he also beheld in it the promise of f ut ure fortune ; the means of livelihood assured ; and with it; happiness and hope and Kitty. That almost transparent piece of paper, with its delicate watermark and cabalistic figures, was like the gift of some good magician in a fairy tale which endowed its possessor with all

the wishes he longs for. It was the happiest moment of the young fellow's life. Sir Charles regarded him with a humorous smile.

" Too much," he echoed smilingly. " That's a remarkable observation for a contributor to make upon a honorarium. It's a lucky thing that Latham can't hear it. He would not be likely if he did to make such an error again, nor, on the other hand, is it probable that you will give him a second chance. ' Only this ? ' is the remark you will make next time, and • Not enough I ' the next. The appetite of the literary aspirant grows by what it feeds on. What seems ample to-day is insufficient to-morrow. I look forward with pleasure to the epoch of your dissatisfaction, which is as sure to come as daybreak." " At all events, Sir Charles, I shall always be grateful for this," returned the lad with emotion, "first to you, and then to Mr Latham."

" There is no reason for gratitude to either of us, my dear boy," answered the other drily. "To be sure I might insist upon a commission — and perhaps I may — but otherwise I am simply the intermediary ; and as for Latham, so far as he is concerned the affair is a mere matter of business. We should never waste what are called 'our better feelings,' but reserve them for some occasion worthy of them, and which their exhibition is calculated to improve." Under other circumstances this cynicism of his companion would have amused the lad, but he could think of little else than the good fortune that had befallen him.

" Did Mr Latham write anything to you about my — the — what you were good enough to send him 1 "

" Your MSS. ? Why, of course he did. You've got the pith of the matter. . But if you care to hear his criticisms — they are not all mignonette and sweetbriar, however "

"To me they would be priceless," interrupted the young fellow.

" Well, they are so in one sense, no doubt ; it's advice gratis. I'll read you what he says with pleasure."

" ' Dear Walden, — You must indeed be almost bored to death.' Ob, that's nothing; 1 1 never knew literature to be in your line before.' Ob, that's nothing. « To find you Interesting yourself about other people.' Confound his impudence, where does he begin about the MSS. ? oh, here it i?. ' Your young friend's best things are his poems, which at first sight, considering his needs, would seem to be unfortunate ; but it is not really so, for out of the young poet almost always grows the good prose writer. la the pictures called "In the Train," that of the "Mother and Middy" is capital.' I am ashamed to say I forget it, Laurence. Repeat, recite."

With a blush of modesty the boy quoted his poem : — A widowed mother with her boy ; One that parts with her last joy With steady hand and tearless eye, And en finds speech for her " good-bye." Grief and she are two old friends, For least mistrust of the good ends To which all trials, God-sent, tends. By the voipe that 3eems as though Musicless it could not flow, By the grace that doth appear Still about her silvering hair, By the fingers delicate, Wealth or Ease was once her Mate, By the weeds so worn and coarse Theirs has been a long divorce.

" That's good ; I remember the description of the boy," interposed Sir Charles a little hastily. He was afraid of being bored, and still more afraid of showing it. "He was a good plucked one, just what a middy should be. Now let's hear the conclusion." Boy and Mother of that race Meeting peril face to face, Firm to friends and firm to foes, On whose cheek nor comes nor goes For shame nor fear, the blood-red rose, Calm of eye and clear of head, English born and English bred.

" Ton my life that ought to bring down the house, Laurence, or at all events the gallery. You deserve a pension for patriotic song, like Dibden."

As a general rule young poets (and also old ones) do not like being chaffed about their Muse, but there are different ways of doing it, and that of fcir Charles was a very pleasant way. Laurence well understood that it was solely for bis own sake, and not at all for any pleasure derived from his verses that Sir Charles was so patient a listener, and yet he was grateful to him, which showed him to be, if not a poet, something more. " ' What I like next best,' " says Latham, is your young friend's description of. the choice of a profession. The merchant is good, and the yeoman is good, but the soldier is best of all.' How does it run, my lad ? "

Merrily clash the cymbals twain With an exultant note, Stirring sounds doth the trumpet rain Adown its brazen throat ; Freshly flieth the pennant fair From the good lance's head, The stirrup's clank is blythe to hear, Blythe is the charger's tread. Fierce and clear doth the scabbard ring, With thesharp sword' for guest, But the whirl of the downward swing Of that blue blade is best ; And the tramp of a thousand steeds In thunder and in cloud, When the earth is shaken and bleeds, Maketh a man's heart proud ; More proud than words ever said, Aye, than songs ever sung, And proudest the heart's fever fed, Of the brave and the young.

" Now, that has go in it," exclaimed Sir Charles. " What a strange thing it is that one fellow whose heart is in Grub street should write like that, and another should feel it. Set old Latham on a charger and he would fall off; he has never had a more deadly weapon in his hand than an umbrella, yet he writes of that poem justly enough. •It stirs one's blood. It has something of the old ballad ring about it (those without an c), and is very refreshing after the triolets and artificialities of the modern Muse. It gives me great hopes of him.' Luckily for you, my dear fellow, Latham is oldfashioned.

A Pagan suckled on a creed outworn ;

he believes in Nature. Your • Spring Time' has 'fetched' him. It has even, fetched me, so that I remember the opening lines of it. Summer's coming, Winter's going, Sun has &et the stream a-flowing, Through our windows ere we re waking Out from Hie nests of this month's making, Come the rooks' caws without number, Preaching Work's more sweet than Slumber. From the bare branch just set swinging

By the weight of his up-springing, Trills the song bird, I'm in Clover ! Spring's begun and Winter's ovef t No more blowing, no more Snowing, Fruit's a budding, Wheat's a growing*

"It is curious how spring revives the oldest of us, gives a spring to even the most worn-out machine. When Cicero tells us that there is no man so old but thinks that he will live a year, it is the spring that makes him think so. I dare say you conclude that my old bones are dry." " Indeed," continued Laurence confusedly, "such an idea never entered into my mind."

" That's because you never thought about it; compared with you, no doubt I 3eem a centenarian. . Well, they're not dry."

(To be continued.)