JACK'S AUNT'S FLAT CANDLESTLOK.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 160, 2 March 1871, Page 7

JACK'S AUNT'S FLAT CANDLESTLOK.

(From " Temple Bar.")

j ac ] cc — that is, Jack Wyvill, of course was one of the staff of the " Saturday Startler," a weekly journal combining sensation romance with the political aud other intelligence. I was dramatic critic of that organ, an arrangement which suited me, because, having to do the theatres for tbe "Daily Dasbaway," I found it no great difficulty to reel off a second notice of tbe same piece for tbe hebdomadal.

Jack Wyvill was doing the leading romance and a few other odd things on tbe paper. "We took a fancy to each other, and spent many an afternoon, and not a few evenings together. He was a gentlemen — that there was not a doubt of — but he was in sorelyreduced circumstances ; and the anecdotes he related to me of the time when he and a friend, who was an Academy student, lived in a garret in Gray's Inn, were as amusing as his stories in the "Startler," with the advantage of being true besides. But, amusing as they might be to those who heard them, they could not have been pleasant to the actors ; and I said as much to Jack.

" What would you have ?" he answered. "When you're dunned for money you don't choose to pay, it's all very well ; you can ring tho curtain on the comedy when you're tired. But when you positively can't pay, you must play — play it out to the last scene."

" But hang it all !" said I, with a recollection of stress of debt at college, and of its removal, " couldn'nt you apply to your friends ?" " Hold hard, young man !" said Jack — he was some four or five y ears my senior in age — in experience of the world and life more than that — " you're using a word there which I always like to have clearly defined. What do you mean by ' friends ?' I had only one real ' friend ' then, Jim Downes, the young painter I told you of, who shared chambers. He had exactly as much as I had — nothing ! If he had been possessed of a penny more than I, he wouldn't have been a real friend. If you mean the ordinary article termed ' friend,' and procurable (while you have money) in assorted lots, then let me tell you they' would have been the last people I should have applied to : it being my experience that a confession of weakness to them is dangerous. There are only two sets of people, as far as my experience #oes, who really will go out of their way to injure you — the friends you've always tried to help, and the enemies you've never tried to harm. The rest of the world doesn't know enough about you to take any trouble, Now, give me a light, for I've let my pipe out during the sermon. " I meant relations, Jack," said I, apologetically, " when I used the conventional vagueness you have very

properly pitched into." • " Oh ! that's even worse ; for of all people in the world one's relations are those who are least likely to prove one's friends. I have no relations — except a rich old aunt."

" The very party to apply to !"

" Possibly. But also the very party to be refused aid by — with a snubbing in ! Bless you, the old girl is serious. When she learned I was a ' writing fellow ' — especially of fiction (though for that matter I don't see much difference between a story-teller and a newspaper correspondent,) — she resolutely refused to see me or hear of me. Tracts I might have written, and remained in her favour. I never cared to bother her ; for I had always, as a youngster, been foolishly independent, and hated the notion of making up to her for her coin. I said I would make my own way in the world by my talent."

Jack, as his remarks show, was full of bitterness and scorn. x^nd no wonder, for, in spite of his undoubted powers, he had never been able to geton — had been a hack and a drudge all his time, with no hope of rising. He was too strictly honourable to shirk his work, no matter how poor the pay, and by this conscientious performance of his duty limited his opportunities. I remember once when Pottimore Mullins, in one of his "superior style" essays, talked about the present day as a time Avhen any able man and scholar could live by his pen " securely and pleasantly," that poor Jack dashed the magazine down in a rage with " Yes, securely and pleasantly enough, if be isn't above selling his work two or three times over to different people, without taking the trouble to alter it much, even ! That may do for men of ability and scholars ; but bang me, if a gentleman can do it, Master Mullins !"

I was doing fairly well at the time. My college debt having been cleared off, I was keeping my terms at the Temple on an income, which, with what I got by my pen, was more than enough for my humble requirements. I was able to bo of some assistance to Jack therefore — though only in the way of loans, which he scrupulously repaid when he drew his money. Time went on, and I was called to the bar. Jack was at my call-aupper — and that was the last I aaw of him for a long time ! For my mother was taken seriously ill, and I was telegraphed for. I went home, and watched by her bedside until sba was taken away. I was very fond of her, tbe only parent I had ever known, for my father had died while I was an infant. I was b,er only child.

It was a long time before I recovered from the blow, and the arrangement of affairs kept me in the country yet longer. When I returned to town I found the little world in which I bad moved knew me no longer. My place had been filled up, and had I wanted work — which luckily I did not — I should bave had but a poor chance of procuring emploj'uient on auy paper. I had dropped out of tbe running completely.

Several times I visited old haunts, chiefly in tbe hope of meeting Jack again. But I never fell in with him, and some one told me lie thought he had gone as "sub" for a provincial paper.

But one night as I was sitting alone iv my chambers studying a brief — I had begun to practice in a small way — there came a timid knock at the door. I opened, and in came the ghost of Jack Wyvill. He nad never — as my description of him will have led you to suppose — looked too robust, well-fed, or prosperous. But now be was the shadow of his former self.

We hardly spoke, tor, after shaking him warmly by the hand and thrusiin^ him into an eas\ r chair by the lire, I rushed into my larder willi au instinctive knowledge that bo was faint for want of food. When he had eat-.>n the modest meal of cold meat and bivad and cheese which my stores supplied, and drank a little warm grog, bo and T besan to talk.

" What has been going wronp 1 , Jack ?" I asked.

" Nothing ! at least nothing more wrong than usual. When I saw you last I was going down hill — and there's not much difference now, I guess — unless it is that 1 must bo pretty near tbe bottom of tho bill ; unless ifc happens to bo the sloping side of a pit that s^ntll bo nameless."'

'' Why didn't you come before r" "I. came so often and found tbe oak sported that I gave ie np."

I told him the reason of mv absence for such a lon^ ti-no, and inquired what ho had been doin^. lie took a note-book from his pocket, full of that paper which is known as reporter's " flimsy." " Penny-a-line !" said Jack.

" Parliamentary ?" I aaknl

"Fires!" was the reply. " Bui there are so many in the same line. Still." he added, with a i;ri.>i smile that reminded me of old tinier, ■' I've one advantage !"' "Style?"'

" No ! But as lam generally without a lodging, and have to walk about the streets all night, I gob the start of tbe others."

I was horror-struck. The idea of such a man without a roof to cover him, wandering about tbe cruel street — weary and footsore ! I cast an involuntary glance at his fcet,\ as this thought occurred to me. " Yes !" he said, seeing the direction of the look. " That's the worst of it !" and he turned his foot up so that I could see his boots were almost soleless, so worn and ragtied were they. " You haven't an old pair to spare?"

At which request I used profane language that 1 trust tbe Recording An^el, acting upon precedent, was good enough not to set down in indelible ink. I vowed Jack should bave a new rig-out, and a homo in my rooms till things looked up for him.

" That will be never !" said he, despondingly. " I have come down gradually and surely. If I bad come from the top of the stairs to the bottom with one crash, I might find courage- to hark back; but, hang it all ! I've come down tho whole flight, with ii bump on each particular stop." " How did it happen ?" " I don't know ! Bad luck, competition, and tbe spite and jealousy of others — notably of tbab impostor. Brown — John Brown, who, when he was turned away by his master, tho chemist and dru^»ist, for licking tho antibilious pills, took to literature, and assumed the name of Plantageuet Brown. He never forg&ve me for nicknaming him ' Hoofs.' You remember be had the biggest feet and the smallest brains ev^r known. If he could only have gono through the world t'other end up, like Quilp's boy, in tbe ' Old Curiosity Shop, 1 he'd have been a success. He got me out of my romance work for tbe ' Startler,' and contrived to wriggle me out of some other jobs. Then I had to try my hand afc ' penny awfuis,' but that didn't do, as I couldn't refrain from punishing my highwaymen heroes, and making my burglar heroes pitiful sneaks. My last chance was working for a red specimen of a Jew, who tried to pasn himself off for a Christian, simply because an ancestor of bis happened to be crucified at the same time as tbe Founder of our faith. I bad a foreknowledge he would be tbe end of me."

"What an illiboral chap you are about Jews !"

" Always was — never got over being swindled at my first start by Blagg, who got me to do bis work and took the credit to himself." " But he wasn't a Jew." " No, but wasn't he exactly like one 1 ? Seemed as if nature had considerately put that mark, on him to save Christianity from the disgrace of him."

" Jack, I'm ashamed of you — your language isn't Christianity, goodness knows."

"Oome! just you try and cultivate gentleness and forbearance in my school — -starvation aud hotnelessness."

I have only described Jack, and his tern par, and his troubles, to show what he would suffer sooner than ask help from his aunt. He told me the old lady had made overtures of peace to him, bub that they had come through a greasy sycophant, who hung about her in "hopes of getting her money. The overtures, so Jack declared, were more insulting than neglect, and he sent his aunt such a reply as silenced all further attempts at a reconciliation. Her emissary was a retired chandler, who had taken to preaching and collecting for missions. His aunt had said she hoped, if Jack came home, that he would be a "brand snatched from the burning " by the sanctimonious tallow merchant. Jack's answer was, that he would rather not be made a farthing clip of to be stuck in such a flat candlestick.

Well, to make a long story short, I did what I could for .Tack, gave him the run of my rooms, a share of my purse, and procured him some, copying; for he wouldn't consent to take a penny of me untilthe saw a chance of earning the money to i-epay me. At last, one evening when T camp home to chambers, T found a slip of paper and a cutting from ;i daily journal. On the slip was pencilled — " Look at the cutting. Aunt departed. Went to her lawyers, more out of bravado than anything else. They knew nothing about the will, but believed there was a legacy for me. I'm off to find it out."

I must tell the rest, us Jack told it to me on his return.

"I went to the old girl's lawyer's, as I told you on that scrap of paper. They were rather in a huff about her behaviour, and offended at 'Old Tallow,' so they told me I'd better see what the legacy was. It seems that a year ago an agent, who had boon collector of her rents, had swindled her, and whs deiertcd by Old Tiillow— "Set a ihief, &c.' ft[y aunt was furious, sold all her house property — and even such stock as she had — and put nil the money she realised into the Bank of England, which she vowed was the only safe place for a defenceless woman to put her little all in. Consequently .she paid her lawyers their bill, and there was an end of their agency — much to their disgust.

" Well, off T went to my aunt's whore I found the old housekeeper was furious at the; will, which left everything to Old Tallow, except a paltry legacy to me, about which more anon.

" ' It's all a mystery to me, Master John' — she seemed still to think of n<e f.s the* bey I was when I us°d to spend my holidays thfrc — ' and if you mean to dispute it, I'll swear she was out of hey mind. Bless yon, she'd found that smooth-tongued vagabond out, and that is what puzzles me so. She' told me the very clay before she made the will that sho had overheard him and his wife — who came pretending to nurse her — whispering when they thought she was asleep. He had been saying how clever it was of him not to give you her message (which was a forgiving one, Master John) and had made yon so s.ivage that you wrote so as to cut off your chance. They talked about a lot of other things too. and quite opened tha old lady's eyes to their wicked ways. And she told me .so — as sure as you stand there, sir — ;iud said how she'd defeat them by her will, ."fust fancy my astonishment, then, when I came to witness her will next day, and it gave all she had in the world to him, except her old china bed-candlestick, which she left to you.'

"Of course I saw what the legacy meant — an allusion to my message — so I fancied the oM housekeeper must have been mistaken about my aunt's discovery and relenting. But she stuck to it all the samp. While we were talking who should come in but Old Tallow himself, with a greasy smile of satisfaction, and a sneaking declaration that he forgave my enmity and abuse ; he had, he said, a sacred duty to perform — to deliver to me with his own hands my aunt's leg-icy' ; he grinned as he said it, for he knew the allusion as well as I diil.

" ' Hero it is, sir,' he said, 'in exact accordance with the instructions of her will, to wit, "The white porcelain flat candlestick which stands by my bedside, together with all it contains." There it is, sir I Good day."

" He took his leave hastily, for he saw something unpleasant in my eye. He left me standing in the parlour with

the candlestick in my hand, and went hurriedly down sfcaira, and out of the house, before I could find words. The instant I recovered myself, I flung up the window and hurled the candlestick out into the street.

" There was a smash, and a loud cry of pain. The missile had descended on Old Tallow's head as he was crossing the road, had knocked his hat over his eyes, and given him a hardish rap on the crown. Aa soon as he got clear of his hit, he beckoned a policeman who was standing near. I hurried down to explain the accident, followed by the policeman.

" He insisted to the policeman ib was an assault, with malice prepense ; I appealed to the housekeeper to prove that I had thrown the candlestick away without looking out of the window.

" But she, with a woman's instinct, had picked up the fragments of the candlestick, with an unconscious wonder whether it would mend. She pulled the bit of candle-end out ; the scrap of paper wound round it, coming out with it, became partially unfolded. I saw

her give a start, seize the paper, and open it ; then she burst out laughing, and handed it to me.

"It was a cheque — dated the d\y previous to that on which the will had been signed— for every penny my aunt had in "the bank ; in other words, for all her fortune."

" You should have seen Old Tallow's face then ! But look here, it's all right isn't it? The old housekeeper will swear to her conversation about defeating Old Taiiow. The old girl wanted to pay him in his own coin, perhaps ; or she thought if she made a different will he'd forge, one, and if she left the cheque openly for me he'd steal it. But what I was going to say is, do you think the money is legally mine in case Old Tallow disputes it ? Her .vords were, 'The candlestick and nil it contains.' "

That's the cud of Jack's story ; I am engaged now in examining his claim, and looking up the law of the case, on the chance of Old Tallow's throwing the matter into Chancery.