It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 115

"You pa.s.s it oftener than that, sir. Excuse me, sir; I must catch the train. But one word before I go. My name must never be mentioned in this business."

"Very well; it never shall transpire, upon my honor."

Meadows felt pretty safe. As he put on his greatcoat he thought to himself: "When the story is blown and laughed over, this man's vanity will keep my name out of it. He won't miss a chance of telling the world how clever he is. My game is to pa.s.s for honest, not for clever, no, thank you."

"Good-by, sir," was his last word. "It is you for hoodwinking them."

"Ha! ha! ha! Good-by, farmer." (In a patronizing tone.)

Soon after this, Meadows was in a corner of a railway-carriage, twelve thousand four hundred and fifty pounds in his pocket, and the second part of his great complex scheme boiling and bubbling in his ma.s.sive head. There he sat silent as the grave, his hat drawn over his powerful brows that were knitted all the journey by one who never knitted them in vain.

He reached home at eight and sat down to his desk and wrote for more than half an hour. Then he sealed up the paper, and when Crawley came he found him walking up and down the room. At a silent gesture Crawley took a chair and sat quivering with curiosity. Meadows walked in deep thought.

"You demanded my confidence. It is a dangerous secret, for once you know it you must serve me with red-hot zeal, or be my enemy and be crushed out of life like a blind-worm, or an adder, Peter Crawley."

"I know that, dear sir," a.s.sented Peter, ruefully.

"First, how far have you guessed?"

"I guess Mr. Levi is somehow against us."

"He is," replied Meadows, carelessly.

"Then that is a bad job. He will beat us. He is as cunning as a fox."

Meadows looked up contemptuously; but as he could not afford to let such a sneak as Crawley think him anything short of invincible, he said coolly, "He is, and I have measured cunning with a fox."

"You have? That must have been a tight match."

"A fox used to take my chickens one hard winter; an old fox cautious and sly as the Jew you rate so high. The men sat up with guns for him--no; a keeper set traps in a triangle for him--no. He had the eye of a hawk, the ear of a hare, and his own nose. He would have the chickens, and he would not get himself into trouble. The women complained to me of the fox. I turned a ferret loose into the rabbit-hutch, and in half a minute there was as nice a young rabbit dead as ever you saw."

"Lookee there now," cried Crawley.

"I choked the ferret off, but never touched the rabbit. I took the rabbit with a pair of tongs; the others had handled their baits and pug crept round 'em and nosed the trick. I poured twenty drops of croton oil into the little hole ferret had made in bunny's head, and I dropped him in the gra.s.s near pug's track. Next morning rabbit had been drawn about twenty yards and the hole in his head was three times as big. Pug went the nearest way to blood; went in at ferret's hole. I knew he would."

"Yes, sir! yes! yes! yes! and there lay the fox."

"No signs of him. Then I said: 'Go to the nearest water. Croton oil makes 'em dry.' They went along the brook--and on the very bank there lay an old dog-fox blown up like bladder, as big as a wolf and as dead as a herring. Now for the Jew. Look at that;" and he threw him a paper.

"Why, this is the judgment on which I arrested Will Fielding, and here is the acceptance."

"Levi bought them to take the man out of my power. He left them with old Cohen. I have got them again, you see, and got young Fielding in my power spite of his foxy friend."

"Capital, sir, capital!" cried the admiring Crawley. He then looked at the reconquered doc.u.ments. "Ah!" said he, spitefully, "how I wish I could alter one of these names, only one!"

"What d'ye mean?"

"I mean that I'd give fifty pound (if I had it) if it was but that brute George Fielding that was in our power instead of this fool William."

Meadows opened his eyes: "Why?"

"Because he put an affront upon me," was the somewhat sulky reply.

"What was that?"

"Oh, no matter, sir!"

"But it is matter. Tell me. I am that man's enemy."

"Then I am in luck. You are just the enemy I wish him."

"What was the affront?"

"He called me a pettifogger."

"Oh, is that all?"

"No. He discharged me from visiting his premises."

"That was not very polite."

"And threatened to horsewhip me next time I came there."

"Oh, is that where the shoe pinches?"

"No, it is not!" cried Crawley, almost in a shriek; "but he altered his mind, and did horsewhip me then and there. Curse him!"

Meadows smiled grimly. He saw his advantage. "Crawley," said he, quickly, "he shall rue the day he lifted his hand over you. You want to see to the bottom of me."

"Oh, Mr. Meadows, that is too far for the naked eye to see," was the despondent reply.

"Not when it suits my book. I am going to keep my promise and show you my heart."

"Ah!"

"Listen and hear the secret of my life. Are you listening?"

"What do you think, sir?" was the tremulous answer.

"I--love--Miss--Merton;" and for once his eyes sank before Crawley's.

"Sir! you--love--a--woman?"

"Not as libertines love, nor as boys flirt and pa.s.s on. Heaven have mercy on me, I love her with all my heart and soul and brain! I love her with more force than such as you can hate!"

"The deuce you do!"

"I love the sweetheart--of the man--who lashed you--like a dog."