My Friend Smith Part 85

With a sigh very like a sob, Mr Smith left me and went down the stairs.

All that long night, as I sat beside Billy and watched his fitful sleep, I could hear the sound of voices in the room below.

What they said to one another I never knew, and never inquired.

But next morning, when Jack came and summoned me to breakfast, his happy face and Mr Smith's quiet smile answered far more eloquently than words every question I could possibly have asked about that strange and sacred meeting between a lost father and a lost son.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

HOW JACK AND I TALKED LOUDER THAN WE NEED HAVE DONE.

About a week after the experiences narrated in the last chapter, my friend Smith and I went down one morning early to Hawk Street.

We usually took a short walk on our way when we happened to be early, and I don't exactly know why we did not do so this time. But certain it is that instead of reaching the office at half-past nine, we found ourselves there a few minutes before nine.

The housekeeper was sweeping the stairs and shaking the mats on the pavement as we arrived.

She naturally looked surprised to see us, and said she had the office yet to sweep out, and we had better take a walk.

But, being lazily disposed, we declined the invitation, and determined to brave the dust and go up.

The office was certainly not very tempting for work. The windows were wide open, and the din of omnibuses and other traffic from the street below was almost deafening. Stools and chairs were stacked together in the middle of the floor, and the waste-paper of yesterday littered the whole place. Even our own desks were thick with dust.

Under these depressing circ.u.mstances we were forced to admit that possibly the housekeeper was right, and that we had better take a walk.

"It's a nuisance," said I, "for I had to leave one or two things unfinished yesterday."

"I've a good mind to try," said Jack. "Unless I can catch up my work I shall have to stay late to-night, and I don't want to do that, as father is going to try to get away early."

So we dusted our desks as best we could, shut the windows to keep out the noise, recovered our stools from the a.s.sortment in the middle, and prepared to make the best of it.

"Do you know, Jack," said I, as I was getting out my papers, "it is so queer to hear you talking of Mr Smith as father? I can hardly realise it yet."

"No more can I, often," said Jack, "though I am getting more used to the idea."

"When are you going to take him to Packworth?" I asked.

"I'm not quite sure. He thinks he can get a week at the end of this month, and I shall try to get the partners to let me take my holiday at the same time."

"I hope you'll be able to manage it."

"So do I. Poor father is in very low spirits at the prospect of meeting Mary, I think. You know we shall have to tell her everything."

"Will you? Is it necessary?"

"Oh, yes. At least father says it is. If she were to hear of his story from any other source, he says he would never dare see her again. It will be far better to tell her. But I wish it was over."

"So do I," I said. "Poor Mary!"

I had got quite into the way of talking of her to Jack by her Christian name, as if she were my sister as well as his.

"I suppose," said I, "she will still live with Mrs s.h.i.+eld at Packworth?"

"Oh, yes, for the present. There's no place to bring her to in London till we get a little better off."

"I hope that won't be very long," said I.

"I'm afraid father's situation on the staff of the _Banner_ is not a very--"

"Hus.h.!.+" I exclaimed, suddenly.

We had remained, so far, in undisturbed possession of the office, and there was no chance of any new-comer entering without our knowing. But while Jack was speaking I thought I heard a sound, not on the stairs outside, but in the partners' room, which opened out of the counting- house.

Suppose one of the partners had been there all the while, and heard all we had said.

Jack stopped dead in his talk, and with pale face looked inquiringly at me.

"I thought I heard a noise in there," said I, pointing to the door.

"What?" said Jack, with a gasp. The same thought was evidently crossing his mind which had crossed mine.

"It can't be either of the partners," whispered he, "at this hour."

"We'd better see," said I; "it may be a thief."

We went quietly to the door. All was silent as we listened; and yet I felt I could not have been mistaken about the noise. The door was closed to, but not fastened. Jack opened it softly.

There, sitting at the partners' table, with his head on his hands, apparently absorbed in work, and unconscious of everything else, sat-- Hawkesbury!

A spectre could not have startled and horrified us more!

At first he did not seem to be aware of our presence, and it was not till Jack advanced a step, and involuntarily exclaimed "Hawkesbury!"

that he looked up in a flurried way.

"Why, Smith!" he exclaimed, "and Batchelor! What a start you gave me!

What are you doing here at this hour, and in this room?"

"We've been here a quarter of an hour," said Jack, solemnly.

"Have you? How quiet you've been!"

This, at any rate, was a relief. He could hardly have heard our conversation.

"But what are you doing in here?" he added, in an important voice. "You must know this room is private, and not for the clerks."

"We heard a noise," said I, "and did not know who was here."