Thereby Hangs a Tale Part 81

"Well, I will, Humphrey," said Richard, holding out his hand, though he repented the next moment, as his successor took his leave.

"Seen Mrs Vanleigh lately?" said Pratt, as soon as they were alone.

"Poor woman! no, not for two days. I must call."

"Van's behaving very well now that it's too late. There's a regular allowance for her at his army agents. I didn't believe a man could have changed so as he did. It was that fever did it, coming upon the shock.

Poor wretch! I never saw a man so stricken down as he was at the poor girl's funeral."

He caught Richard's eye.

"There, what a blundering a.s.s I am, d.i.c.k, old man. It's my trade to rout out all sorts of old sores. But, mum, I won't say any more. How's our friend the cabby?"

"Oh, quite well!"

"And Madame?"

"Excellently well. They say that perhaps Mrs Vanleigh is coming to stay with them again; but I don't think it would be wise for the poor woman to do so."

"Quite right," said Pratt. "Well, I must be off and work. I've got an Indian case on--Jeefee Rustam versus Tomkins, and two or three more things to get out of the way before I go down to Cornwall. By the way, I met our languid friend, Flick, at the dub yesterday."

"Well?"

"He cut me, sir. Looked bayonets, lance-points, and sabres at me.

Heigho! Well, we can't all win. Ta-ta."

"Good-bye."

"Cornwall, mind."

Richard nodded, and he was left alone, to make up his mind a dozen times that he could not go down to the old place without a great sacrifice of dignity, and as often something seemed to whisper him that he must go; and to that faint whisper he lent an attentive ear, for the desire grew so strong at last that he found himself unable to resist.

Volume 3, Chapter XVIII.

A FELLOW-TRAVELLER.

"Don't mind telling you now," said Frank Pratt, sitting back in the railway carriage, with his hands under his head, and great puffs of smoke issuing from between his lips as he stared at Richard, who was gazing quietly at the pleasant Devon prospect past which they flew.

"Don't mind telling me what?" said Richard, dreamily.

"That I never expected to get you down here. d.i.c.k, old man, I've felt like a steam-tug fussing about a big s.h.i.+p these last few days. However, I've got you out of dock at last."

"Yes," said Richard, dreamily, "you've got me out of dock at last."

They relapsed into silence for a time, Pratt sitting watching his friend, and noting more than ever the change that had come over him during the last few months. There were lines in his forehead that did not exist before, and a look of staid, settled melancholy, very different from the calm, insouciant air that used to pervade his countenance.

"Poor old d.i.c.k," muttered Pratt, laying aside his pipe; "I mustn't let him look down like this." Then aloud, "d.i.c.k, old boy, I'm going to preach to you."

Richard turned to him with a sad smile.

"Go on, then," he said.

"I will," said Pratt. "Never mind the text or the sequence of what I say. I only wanted to talk to you, old fellow, about life."

"I was just then thinking about death," said Richard, quietly.

"About death?"

"I was visiting in spirit the little corner at Highgate where that poor girl lies, and thinking of a wish she expressed."

"What was that?"

Richard shook his head, and they were silent as the train rushed on.

"Life is a strange mystery, d.i.c.k," said Pratt at last, laying his hand on his friend's knee; "and I know it is giving you great pain to come down here and see others happy. It is to give them pleasure you are coming down?"

Richard nodded.

"Last time we were down here together, d.i.c.k, I was one of the most miserable little beggars under the sun. I don't mind owning it now."

His friend grew more attentive.

"You were happy then, old fellow, and very hard you tried to make others so too, but I was miserable."

"Why?"

"Because I was poor--a perfect beggar, without a prospect of rising, and I had found out that in this queer little body of mine there was a very soft heart. d.i.c.k, old boy, the wheel of fortune has given a strange turn since then. I've gone up and you have gone down, and 'pon my soul, old fellow, I'm very, very sorry."

"Nonsense, Franky," said Richard, speaking cheerfully. "If ever a man was glad, I am, at your prosperity. But you don't look so very cheerful, after all."

"How can I?" said Frank, dolefully, "with you on my mind for one thing, and the lion's mouth gaping for my unlucky head."

"Lion's mouth?"

"Yes, d.i.c.k; I'm going to Tolcarne to pop my head in; and, to make matters worse, there's a horrible, sphinxy griffin sits and guards the lion's den."

"You mean that you are going to propose for little Fin?"

"I am, d.i.c.k, I am," said Pratt, excitedly. "I wouldn't have said a word if I had kept poor, but with my rising income--"

"And some one's permission?"

"Bless her, yes; she says she hates me, and always shall, till her sister's happy, but I may ask papa, so as to get rid of poor Flick and his persecutions. I believe the poor chap cares for her; but I can't afford to let him have her, and make her miserable--eh, d.i.c.k?"

"Frank, old fellow, I wish you joy, and I'm glad of it, for she's a dear little girl."

"Oh, that don't express it within a hundred," said Pratt. "Dear little girl! That's the smallest of small beer, while she's the finest vintage of champagne. But, I say, d.i.c.k, old fellow, you've got to help me over this."

"I? How?"