A Dog with a Bad Name Part 50

The footsteps were not those of a policeman. They approached fitfully, now quickly, now slowly, now stopping still for a moment or two, yet they were too agitated for those of a drunkard, and too uncertain for those of a fugitive from justice.

As they drew near to the bridge they stopped once more, and Jeffreys, peering through the darkness, saw a form clutching the railings, and looking down in the direction of the water. Then a voice groaned, "Oh my G.o.d!" and the footsteps hurried on.

Jeffreys had seen misery in many forms go past him before, but something impelled him now to rise and follow the footsteps of this wanderer.

The plas.h.i.+ng rain drowned every sound, and it was with difficulty that Jeffreys, weak and weary as he was, could keep pace with the figure flitting before him, for after that glance over the bridge the fugitive no longer halted in his pace, but went on rapidly.

Across the bridge he turned and followed the high banks of the ca.n.a.l.

Then he halted, apparently looking for a way down. It was a long impatient search, but at last Jeffreys saw him descend along some railings which sloped down the steep gra.s.s slope almost to the towing- path.

Jeffreys followed with difficulty, and when at last he stood on the towing-path the fugitive was not to be seen, nor was it possible to say whether he had turned right or left.

Jeffreys turned to the right, and anxiously scanning both the bank and the water, tramped along the muddy path.

A few yards down he came upon a heap of stones piled up across the path.

Any one clambering across this must have made noise enough to be heard twenty yards away, and, as far as he could judge in the darkness, no one had stepped upon it. He therefore turned back hurriedly and retraced his steps.

The sullen water, hissing still under the heavy rain, gave no sign as he ran along its edge and scanned it with anxious eyes.

The high bank on his left, beyond the palings, became inaccessible from below. The wanderer must, therefore, be before him on the path.

For five minutes he ran on, straining his eyes and ears, when suddenly he stumbled. It was a hat upon the path.

In a moment Jeffreys dived into the cold water. As he came to the surface and looked round there was nothing but the spreading circles of his own plunge to be seen; but a moment afterwards, close to the bank, he had a glimpse of something black rising for an instant and then disappearing. Three strokes brought him to the spot just as the object rose again.

To seize it and strike out for the bank was the work of a moment. The man--for it was he--was alive, and as Jeffreys slowly drew him from the water he opened his eyes and made a faint resistance.

"Let me go!" he said with an oath; "let me go!"

But his head fell heavily on his rescuer's shoulder while he spoke, and when at last he lay on the path he was senseless.

Jeffreys carried him to the shelter of an arch, and there did what he could to restore animation. It was too dark to see the man's face, but he could feel his pulse still beating, and presently he gave a sigh and moved his head.

"What did you do it for?" he said piteously.

Jeffreys started. He knew the voice, hoa.r.s.e and choked as it was.

"What's your name?" he said, raising the form in his arms and trying to see the face. "Who are you?"

"I've got no name! Why couldn't you let me be?"

"Isn't your name Trimble--Jonah Trimble?"

The poor fellow lifted his head with a little shriek.

"Oh, don't give me up! Don't have me taken up! Help me!"

"I will help you all I can, Trimble."

"Why, you know me, then?--you're--Who are you?"

"I'm John Jeffreys."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

AN ANGEL UNAWARES.

In a wretched garret of a house in Storr Alley, near Euston, at the sick-bed of his old enemy, Jeffreys reached a turning-point in his life.

How he conveyed the half-drowned Jonah on the night of the rescue from the ca.n.a.l bank to his lodgings he scarcely knew.

The hand of a friend is often near when it is least expected. So Jonah had found, when he believed all hope and life to be gone; and so Jeffreys had found, when, with his poor burden in his arms, he met, beside a barge at daybreak, a dealer in vegetables for whom he had sometimes worked at Covent Garden, and who now, like a Good Samaritan, not only gave the two a lift in his cart, but provided Jeffreys with an opportunity of earning a s.h.i.+lling on the way.

This s.h.i.+lling worked marvels. For both Trimble and Jeffreys were on the verge of starvation; and without food that night rescue would have been but a farce.

It was soon evident that Jonah had far more the matter with him than the mere effects of his immersion. He was a wreck, body and soul. The dispensary doctor who called to see him gave him a fortnight to live, and the one or two brave souls who penetrated, on errands of mercy, even into Storr Alley, marked his hollow cough and sunken cheeks, and knew that before long one name more would drop out of their lists.

It was slowly, and in fragments only, that Jeffreys heard his story.

Jonah was for ever reproaching him with what had happened on the ca.n.a.l bank.

"Why couldn't you have left a fellow alone? I know, you wanted to gloat over me. Go on, be as happy as you like. Enjoy your revenge. I did you a bad turn; now you've done me one, so we're quits!"

Here a fit of coughing would shake the breath out of the sufferer, and it would be a minute or two before he could proceed.

Jeffreys wisely avoided all expostulations or self-excuse. He smoothed the poor fellow's pillow, and supported him in his arms till the cough was over and he could proceed. "It was a bad day you ever came to our school, John"--Jonah had adopted the name by which Jeffreys was known in Storr Alley--"I hated you the first time I saw you. You've got the laugh on your side now; but I can tell you you wouldn't have had it then if you knew the way I followed you up. Yes"--and here came a shadow of his own sinister smile--"I made it all fit in like a puzzle. Did you never miss a letter you had that day you called at the York post- office--a letter about the dead burying their dead, and young Forrester?

oh yes, you may start; I know all about it. I took that letter out of your pocket. And I know where you buried his body; do you suppose I didn't see you throw yourself on the very place and say, 'It was here'?

You held your nose in the air, didn't you, in the school, and palmed yourself off on Freddy and Teddy for a model? But I bowled you out. I showed you up. That was the day of my laugh. Now you've got yours."

The cough again stopped him; and when he recovered his breath Jeffreys said quietly--

"Don't talk, Jonah; you bring on your cough. Let me read to you."

Then for the remainder of that day the story would rest; till later on Jonah would abruptly return to it.

"Mother believed in you, and cried a whole day after you had gone. Yes, and you'll be glad to hear the school broke up all to pieces. Farmer Rosher took away his boys and spread a report about us; and at the end of a month we had scarcely a dozen urchins. Mother and I lived like cat and dog. I struck work, and she had to do everything, and it broke her up. It would never have happened if you hadn't come into the place. I couldn't live there any longer. Mother had a little bit saved, fifty pounds or so, and one night, after we had had a terrible row, I took every penny of it out of her money-box and came up to London. Now are you pleased? Hadn't she something to bless you for? I say, John, get us some water quick, I'm parched!"

On another day Jeffreys heard the rest.

"I came up to London, but it wasn't the fun I expected. Everybody I met I thought was a detective, and all night long I dreamed of my mother. I tried to drown it, and lived as wild a life as you like till my money was done. Then it would have been worth your while to see me.

Everybody was against me. Fellows I'd stood treat to kicked me out into the street, and fellows who owed me money laughed in my face. I thought I'd go back to York after all and get mother to take me back; but when I came to start I couldn't face it. That's all. I stood it as long as I could. I p.a.w.ned everything, and when that was done I stole--and got three months on the treadmill. How do you like that? When I got out, a city missionary heard of me and found me a job; but I stole again, and ran away. You wouldn't have thought I had it in me at York, would you?

I was a respectable young fellow there. But it was all there; and it was you brought it all out. Last week I made up my mind to put an end to it all. It took me a struggle to face it; but I was settled to do it--and then, as if you hadn't done enough harm, you come and spoil my last chance."

"Not your last chance, Jonah."

"No. I've a week more to live. Then you'll be rid of me. Who's to save me then?"

"Some one, Jonah. We have both forgotten Him, but He's not forgotten us."