Sawn Off Part 25

"But," said the boy suspiciously, "you won't cut off, master, and leave me. Fain larks, you know."

"No, no, no, my lad. Go and stop out in the court." The boy gazed keenly in his face, and then, with a suspicious look in his eyes, went outside.

"It seems to me as the poorer people is the fonder they get of you, mother," said d.i.c.k pitifully. "Oh, my gal, what have we done, that we should be so poor? Here have I worked early and late for the few pence we drag together, and can't get on. It's because I'm a wretched bungler, and it would have been better if I'd never been born."

"d.i.c.k, dear d.i.c.k," whispered his wife, as he sat down despairingly, and leaned his head upon his hand, while she bent over him. "Don't give way. I can bear anything but that."

"I do try, my gal, harder than you think," he groaned; "and when I'm making most of a fool of myself, and laughing and singing, it's because I've got such a gnawing here."

He raised his hand to strike his chest, but it was caught by Jessie, who drew it round her neck as she knelt at his feet.

"And I've been so much trouble instead of a comfort, father; and it's all my fault," she sobbed.

"Your fault, my precious!" he cried, as he took her piteous face in his hands and kissed it a dozen times over--"your fault! Why, you've been like suns.h.i.+ne in the place ever since you used to sit on your little stool there, and play with the bits of leather, and build houses with mother's cotton-reels. Your fault, my darling! There--there--there!

It's all over, mother, and the sun's coming out again. It won't rain any more to-day."

There was a pause here, and the little place was very silent as the cries of the children at play floated in.

"There, we'll have Jack in again. And, look here: it's cowardly and mean of me to give up like that; but it's the last time. So there, mother," he said, smiling, as he rose and stood between them, "as a respectable tradesman I object to swearing, as is only allowable when you want to take an oath. I'm going to take an oath now, when I says I'll be cussed if I give way again, and--"

"Here's a letter, master!" cried the boy, rus.h.i.+ng in.

"A letter?" said d.i.c.k, taking it with his ap.r.o.n. "Who's been a-writing to me? Perhaps it's about that money, mother, and we shall--Here, my eyes are all of a swim. Did the postman give it to you, Jack?"

"Yes, master, at the door," said the boy eagerly.

Mrs s.h.i.+ngle took the letter, and opened it, to find a clean, new ten-pound note inside, which she spread out and held to her husband.

d.i.c.k took it, turned it upside down, over, round and round, and held it up to the light.

"It's--it's a duffer, mother," he said at last, with his voice trembling; "it's a flash note, like--like they are at the races. Bank of Elegance."

"`For the Governor and Company of the Bank of England,'" read Jessie slowly.

"No! Does it say so?" cried d.i.c.k excitedly. "Then it's a good one, and it's a mistake. It isn't for me. Give me the envelope."

He took it hastily, and read aloud, "Mr Richard s.h.i.+ngle, Shoemaker, Crowder's Buildings, Lower Street, Islington."

"That's me, mother," he said, looking from wife to daughter, "ain't it?"

"Yes, d.i.c.k, it is for you."

"Let's look inside. What does it say in the letter?"

"Nothing! There, we've only the blank sheet of paper in which the note was wrapped. Yes, on one corner, the words--`For you, Richard s.h.i.+ngle.'"

"Then, it's from that Tom Fraser," cried d.i.c.k, plucking up; "and I won't take it."

"No, father," cried Jessie eagerly; and she trembled, too, as she took the paper. "It is not his writing; and he would have said `_Mr_.

Richard s.h.i.+ngle.'"

"So he would, my gal," said d.i.c.k, nodding. "Then it's from Max; and he's sorry he's been so hard on me--dear old Max! And he wants to be friends again. Blood is thicker than water, after all, mother; and I always said it was. There, I'm as pleased as if it was a hundred from any other man."

The tears stood in his eyes, as he looked from one to the other; but to read no sympathy in the countenance of wife and child.

"That's five times, you know, the money's come like that," said d.i.c.k, "and always when we've been in great trouble. It is from Max, mother; and his roughness is only the way he's got."

A faint flush of hope illumined Jessie's face as she tried to believe her father's words; but it died out directly.

"Why, mother," cried d.i.c.k joyously, "we can clear all off, and have some money to go on with; and- But, I say, if Max sent this, he wouldn't like us to go."

"Max did not send it," said Mrs s.h.i.+ngle decidedly. "Eh?"

"I am sure of it," she said.

"Then you know who did?"

"If I knew who sent it, d.i.c.k," said the poor woman, laying her hand upon his arm, "you'd have known too."

"So I should, mother--so I should," he said quietly, as he nodded his head. "Who could it be, then?"

"Some good, true friend, who don't want to be known," said Mrs s.h.i.+ngle.

"It would be a bitter pill to swallow," said d.i.c.k thoughtfully, "if it was done in charity--a gilded pill, mother, wrapped up in that bit of paper. Oh, mother, mother!" he cried, stamping up and down the room, "I'm only a poor, miserable fellow, but I've got my pride, like better men. I don't like this beggarly dependence on other people--this taking money in charity. If I could only hit a bright--invent some new thing that all the world would buy!"

"Watts was an inventor, and made the steam engine," said the boy softly.

"Hang Watts!" cried d.i.c.k impatiently. "Here, you be quiet. I don't want your union-school copy-books here."

"All right, master," said the boy, with a sniff.

d.i.c.k walked up and down the room in an excited way, with the bank-note in his left hand, while a bluebottle fly came in at the window and buzzed round the room, now up, now down, its loud hum rising and falling, as, apparently taken off from his previous thoughts, the man followed it, and as it settled he twice made ineffectual efforts to catch it.

"_Buzz_--_uzz_--_buzz_! _Um_--_um_--_um_!" went the fly; while Jack stood with open mouth and an old slipper, ready to hit at the insect if it came his way; Mrs s.h.i.+ngle and Jessie glancing at one another, and then following d.i.c.k in a troubled fas.h.i.+on with their eyes, as he still pursued the great bluebottle.

"You've a fine time of it, you have," he said, "you great, lazy wind-flitter!"

"_Buzz_--_buzz_!--_um_--_um_--_um_!" went the fly, round and round.

"Ah," said d.i.c.k, "some men hit bright ideas, and make fortunes, but I don't; and it seems (ah! I nearly had you that time)--seems, mother, as if we go on as we are that we may toil on (well, he is a sharp one, but I'll have him yet)--toil on till we get to the workhouse!"

"Oh, don't, please, master--don't go there," cried the boy. "Now, master--quick, quick. He's settled on the edge of the last shelf."

"I see him," said d.i.c.k, going cautiously up, with hand ready to catch the fly.

But, before he reached it, away it went round and round the room again.

"_Buzz_--_uzz_!--_um_--_um_--_um_!"