READY-MONEY MORTIBOY.

Grey River Argus, Volume XIII, Issue 1588, 6 September 1873, Page 4

READY -MONEY MORTIBOY.

A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY. ' Chapter XXXlV.— Continued. "All fair play,"echoed Lafleur, with the faintest smile on his lips. "It was better than the blockade running, after all ; though there were some very pretty days in that. It: Avas better than — I say, after all, don't you tMnk the best moment of pur lives was • when we stood on board the little schooner, dripping wet, after, our .swim from the reef of Palmiste ?" ' '. / ' At another time; Lafleur would have resented this recollection of an' extremely j disagreeable episode in his! life.- JSow he laughed. ■ „ . : : | " Yes," he said, " perhaps it was a moment or relief, after a mauvqis ; quart d' heure. It was then that we swore our partnersliip." ■■'■ ! ■■■• • ■ "It was," said Dick. ."We've kept to our Germs ever since. Lafleur, the time has come for : our seperation.; I can no longer lead the old life. All that is done with. We are adventurers nomore. I have my fortune ; you possess your capital and— your System." • ! ■ '■-'' .•'•■' " I shall soon be as rich as you with it," 1 said Lafleur, confidently. ! "' •- A "We are partners no longer then ? It is dissolved, Lafleur. I've 'got ! the best of it ; but dbh't say' Dick Mortiboy ever turned his back upon a friend. , If you have not money enuogh, let *rie know. Take more." " I have plenty. , I cannot fail. : It is impossible. But 1 want you to come to Hombburg with me. See me succeed, Dick— see me triumph with my Sysi&m. That is all I ask." •' ■■■■ '■ «• I will see," said Dick. "I will not promise to go with you. Twelve years, Lafleur, we have fought our battles side by side. I remember the' words; of my oath to you as well as. if I spoke ' them yesterday :— ' If I can help you, I will help you. If I.haye any luck, you shall have half. If I ever have any money you shall have half.' Was it hot so .' Yet you have only had live thousand pounds of all my money. It is,. because my father's money is not mine really. I only hold it. I have it for . certain purposes — I hardly know what yet. I could not keep my word in its literal sense." "Dick, 1 don't 1 ask you," said Lafleur. ♦ ' I have told you lam satisfied." "Then you give me back' my word ?" said Dick. "I solemnly give it back, Dick," was the reply. ' '„.:.'.'., He held out his hand, which Dick grasgrasped. He heaved.a great sighi : , Their partnersMp was dissolved. His oath had been heavy upon him, for 'Dick's word was sacred — the only sacred thing he knew. The vast fortune into wMch he had- so unexpectedly fallen, and all, its duties and responsibilities, which Dick was already beginning to realise^ was so complicated an affair, that, in the; most perfect honesty, lie cbiild not literally fulfil liis promise. He did the next best thing. He gave, Lafleur all he asked for. He was prepared to give him as much again— three times as much, if necessary. But he was glad to get back his word— returned to him like a' paid cheque,- or a duly honoured bill. Is it not clear that Dick is progressing in civilization ? He has recognized the voice of public opinion. , He / has remarked that ihe force of circumstances compels him, whether he will or ,nd, to lead an outwardly decorous life, j He has recognized dimly as yet, that this vast property cannot be made ducks and drakes of, filing away* spent,; recklessly, as he fondly promised himself when he undeceived his father. : He sees that it is like the root work of ■some-great, trees j. : spreading out branches in all directions, small and great branches : .1 o tear, up and destroy them, would; l^e :to change the < fortunes of thousands, to ruin, to revolutionize, to devastate;: ■ "■■■ .■■-■•.: ; : TMngs' must be as they. am . Heis now free :he has got back his word, > and is clear of Lafleur.' • ' ; '■ ■> ' •■■'.'■ Thisia a great gaiiii' : ' ' ■ There is stilly however, one link "' which holds him with the. past. ", ( ' ■ / ivfe""" ■' ■"■PoLfocV"'; ';, : 'V^ !l^' ; '.." ! ' : _".?..' ' . CiubteVJ^XV,;' '■; : ; ;' After living three' or four weeks at; Mrs : Skimps, Frank made up his mind to; shift, his quarters. • Great rjoy,. accordingly, fell upon the inmates' of the boarding-house in = Granyille-sqnare, in 'whose opinion Mr Melliship gave Mmself unbecoming airs— nobodyj except old £6 wkeir "and halfwitted Eddrup, being good enough company, for him.. ',';'"".' ,' . "After all, what was he?" they asked scornfully. "A singer at a music ' hall ! " Mrs Skimp, was divided between wrath and sorrow: when Frank told , her he ; was going to leave: ; and when she saw thai the case was hopelessy and she could not keep him, remarked, 1 withtart dignity; ;th'at — " She desired to receive sociable gentlemen into her circle, arid MrM'ellis]iij)had not agreed very, well with the other'gentlemen— one or two of the gentlemen had spoken to her about it. ,But as a gentleman.like Mr Leweson had introduced— " and soon. , .., , ' „ It was a long, speech Mrs Skunp always made when any of .her boarders left her without leaving London too. . Captain Bowker, who had never before found such' a listener as Frank; was most unf eignedly sorry to see the ' only person in the place with an ear for poetry depart. Besides, the old'fellbwliked JFrank, and so begged him , to coin'e \&M'\ spend Sunday evenings with tiiin when the others were generally out. , This Fr uik promised to: do when he could, to the Captain's great relief, -v ' '■■■•■ "■ ■'■ ; \ The first day after he left, one or two of Mrs Skimp's' gentlemen .so farplucked up courage again as to -begin their-persecu-tion of Mr Eddrup as: of .old. But he had a friend in the old' sailor,' who taught by Frank's example, confronted Ms assailants with so angry a visage, and language of such briny flavour, ; that they reluctantly gave up their fun. " ' . ' , ' ir So that at Mrs Skimp^s table Frank's me mory' was kept green by the Captain, and ihe good he had effected in Mr Eddrup's behalf was notallo wed :,to.. ; perish.,. .■•; ........ As Mr Leweson had sent him to Skimps, when Frank made up his mind to leave there he mentioned the matter to him. " You might lodge' 'with the Silvers. They have room, for somebody .with them, I know," Mr. . Lewesjon^ sa(^y-;iegfetting next moment that Tie" had "suggested' it, foreboding disturbance to,PaiiyVp.e»ceof mind. ■-; •.•■!« ■'>■'■ :'j*\f- '■■,■■■ v.-.-.i-y.- ;' ■■'

Frank offered to become the occupant of Mr Silver's two "vacant rooms, and was accepted without demur. He was heartily glad to escape from the noise and coarseness of Skimps to a room of his own, where, at least, he could be alone.

Patty Silver had furnished the first floor— left empty by their last tenant — for him, not magnificently, it is true, but as well as the slender funds of the family permitted. He had a bed ; : and, in Ms sitting-room, a carpet and a table, and as many chairs as he could expect for twelve shillings a-week. Patty cooked his dinner for him ; and before he went to the Palace, he took a cup of tea with this Silvani Family ; then, after he had sung his three songs, and borne the applause— which humiliated him more than singing the songs— he smoked a pipe in Mr Silver's company before he Avent to bed ; but as he smoked and listened, or replied in monosyllables to the prophetic discourse of the acrobat —who never talked on any subject but one — his thoughts were miles away in the past or in the future. " The future !" he used to think, after his nightly purgatory. "How long shall Igo on with it 1 And what next ¥' He had the pleasure 0f... sending something weekly to his mother and sister. He had the pleasure weekly of hearing of them, and of Grace. But he could not continue to sing at the, Palace after \ his engagement was over. It was but the shift of a penniless man. All day he lived in terror lest some old friend should see him, and proclam his disgrace — as he thought it. Night after night he searched the sea of faces for one he knew. He never . saw one. The Palace is not a place where country cousins go. The loonatics who patronized Mr Leweson were all of Islington blood ; unmixed Cockneys ; City clerks, dressed dla mode ? young shopmen, making half-a-crown purchase nearly as much dissipation as a sovereign wiil buy in the west ; with a good sprinkling of honest citizens, fond of an evening out, neither they nor their wives averse to the smell of tobacco and the taste of beer. But no face he knew. He was as safe from discovery, under the cover of Signor Cipriano, at the Palace as he would, have been in San Francisco. Still he resolved not to stay with Mr Leweson after the two months' engagement had expired. When he told him, Mr Leweson sighed — " I thought so — I always thought so. You are too good for my loonatics. Now I shall begin to advertise your last nights. " ; The poster came out. " Last Nights of Signor Cipriano !" in flaring capitals, stared Frank in the face from every hoarding round Islington. His fame went up by means of thebills to the breezy heights of Hampstead, to hilly Highgate, to the woods of Hornsey, and to far-off Finchley. At liis lodgings, Frank did not see very much of Patty. At lea in the evening they met; but the girl hardly spoke. She left the talking to her father, who poured out a never-ending stream of commentary. ' Frank, as lie listened, learned what strange shapes religion sometimes take in a mind uneducated, but enthusiastic, simple, and imaginative.

Mr Silver had but one desire — to spiritualize himself. To the utmost. He cared nothing what ; he ate and drank : except that it must be sufficient to maintain his strength. He was indfferent to his calling, come failure or success : save that he recognized the duty of doing his in it. He had no fears for the future, either for himself or -his children, in whom he thought he saw the " Light. " A man indifferent to the world, iitterly unselfish, utterly un-cdrefiil. That his ; daughter should perform on the bars with himself seemed to him a matter so simple, after all the practice they had had together, that he had never thought about it at all ; and his own conscience being satisfied, he cared absolutely nothing about the opinion of tlie world.

It pleased .him to have Frank with him. First, because he could talk. Talk with a man who disputes and argues is a great deal more refreshing than talk with one .who accepts undoubtingly, as Patty and her brother used to do. Then Frank was cheery .■}» kept thechidren, as Mr Silver called both Patty and Joe, alive and happy— told them : stories, and made them ilaugh. The Prophet, as Frank called him, had no objection to seeing people laugh — his religion was not a gloomy one. I have shown how Frank sketched a portrait of Mr Silver. But in three days after he' moved into his new lodgings, he renewed Ms proposition to draw a portrait of Patty.

: "Vanity," said the Prophet, with a smile. ■

"You are pleased with yours, father," urged his daughter.

I : ? '.■ Draw her if you like, Mr MellisMp. " They had a sitting that very afternoon, in Frank's sitting-room. His easel, the i table ;Ms canvas, a large piece of rough drawing paper; his materials, chalks, he was going' to draw her ;life-size. Mr Silver thought there was going to be made a pencil sketch in a dozen touches, like that of himself .

• Frank engaged the girl to silence, and worked away for a few mornings with a will. ; , He only put in her head, as she refused to have her hands drawn. The poor girl was very sensitive about her disfigured hands. The likeness was perfect ; but he permitted himself, with the licence of an artist, to add a few accessories. Her hair was dressed and crowned with flowers ; jewels were round her neck. She was no longer Patty the acrobat, but a countess, a queen, dressed for conquest. The picture conquered Patty. Ever since Frank caught her in Ms arms, and saved her from death, the . image of the fairhaired, sweet-spoken young man, the only gentleman she had ever spoken to, the only gentleman wk) had ever spoken to her, filled her: foolish little brain. He came to tea with them ; he came and lived with theni '; brought brightness into a house which had. almost too much of Ezekiel about it. . Then he brought flowers every, day for: her, because she liked flowers ;he bought ribbons for her, because she: liked a little finery ; and gloves, because her own pair were old and dirty. He paid 'her little attentions, meaning nothin?, though she thought they meant a good deal. And so, like Margaret— type of every innocent and ignorant girl— she asked herself a dozen/ times a day, "He love me— loves me not ?" He loved her not; he hardly gave her a ; thought, save that she was nice, pleasant to look at, pleasant to talk to. But love I

; Sometimes in the mornings, when there wasno,r6hearaal,he went for walks with her, starting early, and going up to High-

gate and beyond — where there are fields and wild flowers still to be had, though London is so near, The boy went with them ; but Patty had the pleasure of talking to Frank, telling him all her little hopes : for the girl was as confiding as innocence could make her, save when her own secret was concerned.

The portrait was framed, and hung in the room where the family ate and drank and sat. This, in spite of protests from the father— who soon,, however got into the habit of looking at the portrait of his daughter. Aa lie looked, he said, the likeness dissappeared.

One day, after gazing steadily at tlia picture for a long time, he exclaimed — "I have it now. It is no longer the portrait of my daughter— it is the picture of the daughter of Jephthah." ••-■■■•

Frank looked at Ms handiwork. It was, in a sense, true. Patty's features ; but somehow there was in her eyes, what he had never noticed before, a look of expectancy, as of suffering to come— the tale of lamentation and sacrifice foreshadowed in her gaze. It was wonderful. His hands had done it all nnawares ; but it was there.

"It might stand for the daughter of Jephthah," he mumured. " But Patty's face is too bright."! See, Mr Silver," he said, as Patty looked up from her work, "there is no sadness there. You don't see any sacrifice in Patty's eyes, do you ?" Patty blushed as her father looked first at her, and then at the picture.

"It is there, the expression is there: the look of Jephthah's daughter : as well as in the. portrait."

He relasped into one of the trances, becoming now more frequent, and was silent.

Patty's face, to an outsider, certainly offered as few indications of future sorrow as many girls'. The dimples in her cheeks showed how prone she was, by original sin, to light heartedness and gaiety; the clearly defined arch of her eyebrows, her clustering chestnut hair, the deep brown of her eyes, the freshness of her cheeks, pointed her out as one destined to be loved. But to all this Frank was blind. He had only one love— only one idea of womanhood. Blind ! Blind !

For they were together during these weeks ; and day after day, Patty was drinking new draughts of intoxication and of passion. She looked at herself in the glass more than she had ever done before ; she put on the little bright bits of colour which Frank had bought her in the shape of ribbons ; she lamented over her hands ; she began to be ashamed of her work. More than all, she began to be ashamed of her professional costume. She rejoiced that her performances began when Frank's were finished, andtlmt he did not see them : she thought little of the thousands of eyes that did. All these were nothing. What did it matter what she did before the stupid public who came to see her fly through the air and perhaps kill herself?

"'He loves me— loves me not?' He is a gentleman, delicately nurtured. He cannot bear rough, coarse hands, pulled out of shape by hard, unwomanly work. He loves women with accomplishments, who can dress in silk and satan, and put on all manner of bravery. He has some one in that upper worldto which he belongs — some one whom he loves."

Or she would awake fresh, and hopeful, and radiant as the rosy-figured dawn. "He talked to me all day yesterday. He bought me flowers and fruit. He laughed at what I said, and called me silly. He admired my bonnet. He loves me! He loves me!"

So the little tragedy went on ;— the girl trying to tMnk that Frank loved her ; the little heart beating with all the nameless hopes and fears ; the eyes that watched for a sign, only the smallest sign, of love ; the ears that listened for the least little vibration of passion jthecheeksthatflushed when he drew near, and flushed again when he went away. And Frank and her father, callous to it all, ignorant to it, unsuspecting—each thinking of the tln'ng that interested him most : Frank burning to get through his two months' engagement, the Prophet finding ever fresh food for his mystic imagination.. "Patty," said Frank one morning, " one thing always astonishes me about you. Where are yowr lovers] What are all the young fellows thinking of ?" She flushed scarlet. Her lovers? Alas! She had but one, and he did not love her. And only this morning she liadrisen so full hope and joy, because Frank had spoken to her the day before more kindly, as she thought, than usual.

"Lovers!" she echoed, sharply. "I have none —l want none."

And went straightway to her own room, where she sobbed her eyes out. Frank looked after her in some surprise. He had never, known Patty in a temper before.

He went out to see Mr Eddrup, know ing by tMs time where to find liim in the morning. ;

Mr Eddrup was in his court— the court which now, save one or two houses, belonged to Mm. It was his. In it he had organized a sorb of parish, of which he was the soleministerand vicarin charge jforthe parish had given it up in dispair. Here he had a school ; here was a chapel ; here Avas a wash-house and baths ; here, in itself complete, all the things that go to soften and ameliorate the lot of poverty. And here,' for forty years, he had spent his days and nights : a long • self-sacrifice, more complete than that of the hermits of the Thebaid, perhaps with more suffering. Here he had spent every fartliiug that could be snatched from the expenses of his meagre life— the money that should have clothed him well, that might have procured Mm comfort and even luxury that misrnt have given him a position in the world. And not the money only. That was nothing. But his youth, his pride, Ms ambition, hispassion, his dreams of love and visions of fair women — all, all were merged and sunk in this little court of twenty houses, which he found a den of thieves, and had turned into a house of prayer. Seventy years of age now— an old man bowed and benfc ; but full of zeal and eriergy. He went to and fro among his people. They were always sinning and always being punished because the poor get punished in this wOrld'niore than the rich. They were always in distress, out of work, out of health, behind with everything ; and they looked to him for everything— for help, advice, consolation. He gave them what he had. For money ; he lent it, at no interest. They paid him back when they were able. Advice^ consolation, experience, he gave them for notliing. It was his metier to give. :■. Not to give money : that was his rule.

Not to pauperize the people. To avoid the mistakes of the Church ; to make people provident ; to help them in their efforts ;to trust in their honesty, and to make them honest by trusting them. To teach especially the things that belongs to poor people — the virtues, not of obedience and contentment, which are servile virtues, but of moderation, cleanliness, and good temper. TMs was his method. He neither wrote nor agitated ; but found a little spot 111 tMs great London, and set Mmself to improve it. Presently, as it became improved, came the necessity for religion. Then he made himself their leader, and held services for prayer and praise, where every one might speak the thing that was in him. The people respected themselves : they respected their friend and teacher more.

Frank found him at the entrance of the court, preparing to slip away, in his noiseless and shy way, along the streets to Skimps, in ffranville-square. "Frank offered him Ms arm, and walked with him. The old man was very silent, as usual. It was not by any means their first meeting in tMs way. Once or twice aweek Frank came round to the court at three o'clock, the time when Mr Eddrup's work was generally over, and walked home with him. They seldom talked much. But the old man's heart had warmed to Frank. He was the only one, for forty years, who had brought his youth and cheerfulness across his path ; the only gentleman — and Mr Eddrup's heart still warmed to gentlemen — who had crossed Ms weary path ; always excepting Captain Hamilton and the medical students of Skimps. .'. ;

To-day, he said not a word till they reached the door of Skimps. " You asked me, some time since," he began, abruptly, pausing with the latch key in Ms hand, " why I live this life. Come in, and I will tell you." There was no one in the drawing-room. Mr Eddrup sat down at the open window, and passed his hands across his brow.

•• Forty years," he murmured — "forty years. lam like the children of Israel in the wilderness. It is a long time. But it will soon be over. A few more months, or days, and my work will be done. Mr Melliship, you have told me your v story. It is a sad one — it is a very sad one. But you have one consideration — the greatest : it is not your fault that you are poor. You can look the world in the face and laugh at it, because you are innocent., I asked you to look at my forehead. Look again. Is there not the seal of guilt upon it 1 The mark of Cain ? Look close. Do not tMnk to spare me."

He threw back hislonjf wMte locks with a gesture of dispair. " I see nothing," said Frank, " But the reverend white hairs of a good man."

Mr Eddrup sighed. " I will tell you. . I knew I must tell it before I died," he said. " I don't ask you to keep my secret. All the world may know it again, as they did before. I shall some day— soon— tell my people : whenever I feel strong enough, I mean," he said, correcting himself hastily — " whenever I feel less cowardly, and able to do so. Mr Melliship, I am notliing better than a convicted thief ! You shrink —you shrink from me. See how quickly this veil of reputation drops off !" ' ' Mr Eddrup, I did not shrink. "What you have heen } matters not. The thing is, what you are."

" What I am — what I am !"he repeated. " What lam ? A hypocrite, who wears a mask — a man who goes about the world under false pretences. See— see this — read it."

He took from Ms pocket-book part of a worn newspaper, yellow with age, ragged at the edges. An old Times, dated July the Bth, 1825. Frank half opened it, and gave it back.

" I don't want to read it. Why should 1 1 Mr Eddrup, you who preach of Faith and Charity, have you forgotten Hope ?" "It was more than forty years ago. I was poor. I was burning with zeal and ambition. I longed to distinguish myself. I had talen+s— not, great talents, but some abilities. But I was too poor to make myself known. I wanted to go into the world, and get friends. Then a terrible temptation assailed me. I was beset with it night and day. I had no rest. The voice of the tempter woke me at night, and kept me feverish all Jay, It said, ' Use it, use it — no one will know. Presently, you will have money, and you will replace it.' Trust money ! I waited, and listened to the tempting voice. The years passed by. I was nearly thirty. I used it. It is ; forty years ago ; but even now the memory of that clay and the misery I felt when my self-respect was gone, haunt me till I know not whether it is repentance or the gnawiDg of the worm that never dies. I used the money — for my own purposes." — Once a- Week."

medicine.

ions