An Old Man's Love Part 22

"She is indifferent to the gentleman in the Cape Town penal settlement?"

"Altogether, I don't think she ever really cared for him. To tell the truth, she only wanted some one to take her away from--me."

"And now she trusts you again?"

"Oh dear, yes;--completely. She is my wife, you know, still."

"I suppose so."

"That sacred tie has never been severed. You must always remember that. I don't know what your feelings are on such a subject, but according to my views it should not be severed roughly. When there are children, that should always be borne in mind. Don't you think so?"

"The children should be borne in mind."

"Just so. That's what I mean. Who can look after a family of young children so well as their young mother? Men have various ways of looking at the matter." To this John Gordon gave his ready consent, and was anxious to hear in what way his a.s.sistance was to be asked in again putting Mr and Mrs Tookey, with their young children, respectably on their feet. "There are men, you know, stand-off sort of fellows, who think that a woman should never be forgiven."

"It must depend on how far the husband has been in fault."

"Exactly. Now these stand-off sort of fellows will never admit that they have been in fault at all. That's not my case."

"You drank a little."

"For the matter of that, so did she. When a woman drinks she gets herself to bed somehow. A man gets out upon a spree. That's what I used to do, and then I would hit about me rather recklessly. I have no doubt Matilda did get it sometimes. When there has been that kind of thing, forgive and forget is the best thing you can do."

"I suppose so."

"And then at the Fields there isn't the same sort of prudish life which one is accustomed to in England. Here in London a man is nowhere if he takes his wife back. n.o.body knows her, because there are plenty to know of another sort. But there things are not quite so strict. Of course she oughtn't to have gone off with Atkinson;--a vulgar low fellow, too."

"And you oughtn't to have licked her."

"That's just it. It was t.i.t for tat, I think. That's the way I look at it. At any rate we are living together now, and no one can say we're not man and wife."

"There'll be a deal of trouble saved in that way."

"A great deal. We are man and wife, and can begin again as though nothing had happened. No one can say that black's the white of our eye. She'll take to those darling children as though nothing had happened. You can't conceive how anxious she is to get back to them.

And there's no other impediment. That's a comfort."

"Another impediment would have upset you rather?"

"I couldn't have put up with that." Mr Fitzwalker Tookey looked very grave and high-minded as he made the a.s.sertion. "But there's nothing of that kind. It's all open sailing. Now,--what are we to live upon, just for a beginning?"

"You have means out there."

"Not as things are at present,--I am sorry to say. To tell the truth, my third share of the old Stick-in-the-Mud is gone. I had to raise money when it was desirable that I should come with you."

"Not on my account."

"And then I did owe something. At any rate, it's all gone now. I should find myself stranded at Kimberley without a red cent."

"What can I do?"

"Well,--I will explain. Poker & Hodge will buy your shares for the sum named. Joshua Poker, who is out there, has got my third share.

Poker & Hodge have the money down, and when I have arranged the sale, will undertake to give me the agency at one per cent on the whole take for three years certain. That'll be 1000 a-year, and it's odd if I can't float myself again in that time." Gordon stood silent, scratching his head. "Or if you'd give me the agency on the same terms, it would be the same thing. I don't care a straw for Poker & Hodge."

"I daresay not."

"But you'd find me as true as steel."

"What little good I did at the Fields I did by looking after my own business."

"Then what do you propose? Let Poker & Hodge have them, and I shall bless you for ever." To this mild appeal Mr Tookey had been brought by the manner in which John Gordon had scratched his head. "I think you are bound to do it, you know." To this he was brought by the subsequent look which appeared in John Gordon's eyes.

"I think not."

"Men will say so."

"I don't care a straw what men say, or women."

"And you to come back in the same s.h.i.+p with me and my wife! You couldn't do it. The Fields wouldn't receive you." Gordon bethought himself whether this imagined rejection might not arise rather from the character of his travelling companions. "To bring back the mother of three little sainted babes, and then to walk in upon every s.h.i.+lling of property which had belonged to their father! You never could hold up your head in Kimberley again."

"I should have to stand abashed before your virtue?"

"Yes, you would. I should be known to have come back with my poor repentant wife,--the mother of three dear babes. And she would be known to have returned with her misguided husband. The humanity of the Fields would not utter a word of reproval to either of us. But, upon my word, I should not like to stand in your shoes. And how you could sit opposite to her and look her in the face on the journey out, I don't know."

"It would be unpleasant."

"Deuced unpleasant, I should say. You remember the old Roman saying, 'Never be conscious of anything within your own bosom.' Only think how you would feel when you were swelling it about in Kimberley, while that poor lady won't be able to buy a pair of boots for herself or her children. I say nothing about myself. I didn't think you were the man to do it;--I didn't indeed."

Gordon did find himself moved by the diversity of lights through which he was made to look at the circ.u.mstances in question. In the first place, there was the journey back with Mr Tookey and his wife, companions he had not antic.i.p.ated. The lady would probably begin by soliciting his intimacy, which on board s.h.i.+p he could hardly refuse.

With a fellow-pa.s.senger, whose husband has been your partner, you must quarrel bitterly or be warm friends. Upon the whole, he thought that he could not travel to South Africa with Mr and Mrs Fitzwalker Tookey. And then he understood what the man's tongue would do if he were there for a month in advance. The whole picture of life, too, at the Fields was not made attractive by Mr Tookey's description.

He was not afraid of the reception which might be accorded to Mrs Tookey, but saw that Tookey found himself able to threaten him with violent evils, simply because he would claim his own. Then there shot across his brain some reminiscence of Mary Lawrie, and a comparison between her and her life and the sort of life which a man must lead under the auspices of Mrs Tookey. Mary Lawrie was altogether beyond his reach; but it would be better to have her to think of than the other to know. His idea of the diamond-fields was disturbed by the promised return of his late partner and his wife.

"And you mean to reduce me to this misery?" asked Mr Tookey.

"I don't care a straw for your misery."

"What!"

"Not for your picture of your misery. I do not doubt but that when you have been there for a month you will be drunk as often as ever, and just as free with your fists when a woman comes in your way."

"Never!"

"And I do not see that I am at all bound to provide for you and for your wife and children. You have seen many ups and downs, and will be doomed to see many more, as long as you can get hold of a bottle of wine."

"I mean to take the pledge,--I do indeed. I must do it gradually, because of my const.i.tution,--but I shall do it."

"I don't in the least believe in it;--nor do I believe in any man who thinks to redeem himself after such a fas.h.i.+on. It may still be possible that I shall not go back."

"Thank G.o.d!"