The World's Greatest Books - Volume 7 Part 11

Mr. Hardie explained to his new ally the danger that threatened him from Miss Julia Dodd.

"And now," said he, "the women have sent the father to soften me. I shall be told his girl will die if she can't have my boy."

But, instead of the heartbroken father he expected, in came the gallant sailor, with a brown cheek reddened with triumph and excitement, who held out his hand cordially, almost shouting in a jovial voice, "Well, sir, here I am, just come ash.o.r.e, and visiting you before my very wife; what d'ye think of that?"

Hardie stared, and remained on his guard, puzzled; while David Dodd showed his pocket-book, and in the pride of his heart, and the fever in his blood--for there were two red spots on his cheeks all the time--told the cold pair its adventures in a few glowing words; the Calcutta firm--the two pirates--the hurricane--the wrecks, the land-sharks he had saved it from. "And here it is safe, in spite of them all, and you must be good enough to take care of it for me."

He then opened the pocket-book, and Mr. Hardie ran over the notes and bills, and said the amount was 14,010 12s. 6d.

Dodd asked for a receipt, and while it was written poor Dodd's heart overflowed.

"It's my children's fortune, you see; I don't look on a sixpence of it as mine. It belongs to my little Julia, bless her, she's a rosebud if ever there was one; and my boy Edward, he's the honestest young chap you ever saw; but how could they miss either good looks or good hearts, and her children? Here's a Simple Simon vaunting his own flesh and blood, but you know how it is with us fathers; our hearts are so full of the little darlings, out it must come. You can imagine how joyful I feel at saving their fortune from land-sharks, and landing it safe in an honest man's hands."

Skinner gave him the receipt.

"All right, little gentleman; now my heart is relieved of such a weight.

Good-bye, shake hands. G.o.d bless you! G.o.d bless you both!" And with this he was out and making ardently for Albion Villa.

Ten minutes later the door burst open, and David Dodd stood on the threshold, looking terrible. He seemed black and white with anger and anxiety. Making a great effort to control his agitation, he said, "I have changed my mind, sir; I want my money back."

Mr. Hardie said faintly, "Certainly; may I ask----"

"No matter," cried Dodd. "Come! My money! I must and will have it."

Hardie drew himself up majestically; and Dodd said, "Well, I beg your pardon, but I can't help it!"

The banker's mind went into a whirl. It was death to part with this money and get nothing by it. He made excuses. Dodd eyed him sternly, and said quietly, "So you can't give me my money because your cas.h.i.+er has carried it away. It is not in this room, then?"

"No."

"What, not in that safe there?"

"Certainly not," said Hardie stoutly.

"My money! My money!" cried David fiercely. "No more words. I know you now. I _saw_ you put it in that safe. You want to steal my children's money. My money, ye pirate, or I'll strangle you!"

While Hardie unlocked the safe with trembling hands, Dodd stood like a man petrified; the next moment his teeth gnashed loudly together, and he fell headlong on the floor in a fit. So the 14,000 remained with the banker.

Not many days after this a crowd stood in front of the old bank, looking at the shutters, and a piece of paper announcing a suspension, only for a month or so.

Many things now came to Alfred Hardie's knowledge till he began to shudder at his own father, and was troubled with dark, mysterious surmises, and wandered alone, or sat brooding and dejected. Richard Hardie's anxiety to know whether David Dodd was to live or die increased. He was now resolved to fly to the United States with his booty, and cheat his son with the rest. On his putting a smooth inquiry to Alfred, his face flushed with shame or anger, and he gave a very short, obscure reply. So he invited the doctor to dinner, and elicited the information that David's life indeed was saved, but he was a maniac; and his sister, a sensible, resolute woman, had signed the certificate, and he was now in a private asylum.

Mr. Hardie smiled, and sipped his tea luxuriously; he would not have to go to a foreign land after all. Who would believe a lunatic? He said, "I presume, Alfred, you are not so far gone as to insist on propagating insanity by a marriage with Captain Dodd's daughter now?"

Alfred ground his teeth, and replied that his father should be the last man to congratulate himself on the affliction that had fallen on that family he aspired to enter, all the more now they had calamities for him to share.

"More fool you," put in Mr. Hardie calmly.

"For I much fear you are the cause of that calamity."

"I really don't know what you allude to."

The son fixed his eyes on his father, and said, "The fourteen thousand pounds, sir!"

One unguarded look confirmed Alfred's suspicions; he could not bear to go on exposing his father, and wandered out, sore perplexed and n.o.bly wretched, into the night.

_III.--Alfred in Confinement_

At last Alfred decided that justice _must_ be done, and confided his suspicions to the Dodds. Edward's good commonsense at once settled that, as the man who married Julia would be the greatest sufferer by Hardie senior's fraud, Hardie junior should settle his own 10,000 on her, and marry her as soon as he came of age. Alfred joyfully agreed, privately arranging that the money should be settled on Julia's parents, and preparations went on apace.

But on the wedding-day the bridal party waited in vain for the bridegroom, and Edward ran to his lodgings to fetch him.

He came back alone, white with wrath, hurried the insulted bride and her mother into the carriage, and they went home as if from a funeral. Aye, and a funeral it was; for the sweetest girl in England buried her hopes, her laugh, her May of youth that day.

As soon as possible this heartbroken trio removed to London, where Mrs.

Dodd became a dressmaker, and Edward a fireman.

It was true Alfred _had_ received a letter in a female hand, but it was from a discharged servant of his father's, offering information about the 14,000 if he would come to a house about ten miles off the next morning. He calculated he could do so, and still be in the church in time, and drove there with all his luggage, only to find himself shut up in a lunatic asylum.

He made a desperate resistance, but was soon overpowered and left handcuffed, hobbled, and strapped down, more helpless than a swaddled infant. He lay mute as death in his gloomy cell; deeper horror grew and grew, gusts of rage swept over him, gusts of despair. What would his Julia think? He shouted, he screamed, he prayed. He saw her, lovelier than ever, all in white, waiting for him, with sweet concern in her peerless face. Half-past ten struck. He struggled, he writhed, he made the very room shake, and lacerated his flesh, but that was all. No answer, no help, no hope.

By-and-by his good wit told him his only chance was calmness; they could not long confine him as a madman, being sane. But all his efforts to convince his keepers that he was sane were useless; his letters seemed to go, but he got no answers; his appeals to visiting justices were in vain. The responsibility rested with the people who signed the certificates, and he could not even find out who they were. After months of softening hearts and buying consciences, he was on the point of escape, when he was moved to another asylum. Here there was no brutality, but constant watchfulness; and he had almost prevailed on the doctor to declare him cured when he was again moved to a still more brutal place, if possible, than the first.

One day he found himself locked in his room. This was unusual, for though they called him a lunatic in words, they called him sane by all their acts. He thought the commissioners must be in the house; had he known who really was in the house he would have beaten himself to pieces against the door.

At dinner there was a new patient, very mild and silent, with a beautiful mild brown eye like some gentle animal's. Alfred contrived to say some kind word to him; and the newcomer handled his forelock, and announced himself as William Thompson, adding, with simple pride, "Able seaman, just come aboard, your honour."

At night Alfred dreamed he heard Julia's sweet, mellow voice speaking to him; and lo, it was the able seaman. He slept no more, but lay sighing.

The matron told him this was David Dodd, Alfred redoubled his efforts to escape, and at last one of the keepers consented to help him off. He was sitting on his bed full dressed, full of hope, his money in his pocket, waiting for his liberator. Every moment he expected to hear the key in the door.

Then came a smell of burning, and feet ran up and down. "Fire!" rang from men's voices. Fire cracked above his head; he sprang up at the window, and dashed his hand through it, and fell back. He sprang again, and caught the woodwork; it gave way, and he fell back, nearly stunning himself. The flames roared fearfully now, and David, thinking it was a tempest, shouted appropriate orders. Alfred implored him, and got him to kneel down with him, and prayed. He gave up all hope, and prepared to die.

Cras.h.!.+ As if discharged from a cannon, came bursting through the window a helmeted figure, rope in hand, and alighted erect and commanding on the floor. All three faces came together, and Edward recognised his father and Alfred Hardie. Edward clawed his rope to the bed, and hauled up a rope ladder, crying, "Now, men, quick for your lives!" But poor David called that deserting the s.h.i.+p, and demurred, till Alfred a.s.sured him the captain had ordered it. He then touched his forelock to Edward, and went down the ladder. Alfred followed.

They were at once overpowered with curiosity and sympathy, and had to shake a hundred hands.

"Gently, good friends; don't part us," said Alfred.

"He's the keeper," said one of the crowd, and all helped them to the back door.

Alfred ran off across country for bare life. To his horror, David followed him, shouting cheerily, "Go ahead, messmate, I smell blue water."

"Come on, then!" cried Alfred, half mad himself; and the pair ran furiously the livelong night. Free!