"Certainly," agreed the Hon. Secretary. "Two guineas. Hi, there, aft!
Where's Mr Willett?"
Other voices carried back the call, and presently the Treasurer, Mr Willett—a pursey little man with enormous side-whiskers,—came hurrying forward from the after-companion, where he had been engaged in hearing a protest from an excited disputant—a competitor in the 16-foot class— who had in fact come in last, even on his handicap, but with a clear notion in his own mind, and an array of arguments to convince others, that he was entitled to the prize. Such misunderstandings were frequent enough at Passage Regatta, and mainly because .Mr Willett, whom nobody cared to cashier—he had been Treasurer for so many years,—had as a rule imbibed so much beer in the course of the forenoon that any one argument appeared to him as cogent as any other. He seemed, in fact, to delight in hearing a case from every point of view; and by consequence it could be securely predicted of any given race in Passage Regatta that "You had never lost till you'd won."
Now, on Cai's secret recommendation the Committee had engaged the boy Palmerston—who was quick at sums—to stand by Mr Willett during the forenoon and count out the cash for him. The Treasurer (it was argued) would be suspicious of help from a grown man; whereas he could order a boy about, and even cuff his head on emergency. So Palmerston, seated by the after-companion, had spent a great part of the morning in listening to disputes, and counting out money as soon as the disputes were settled. Nor was objection taken—as it might have been at more genteel fixtures—to a part of the prize being produced from Palmerston's mouth, in which he had a knack of storing petty cash, for convenience of access—and for safety too, to-day, since he had discovered a hole in one of his pockets.
Mr Willett then, rising and cutting short an altercation between two late competitors in the 16-foot race, came hurrying forward with Palmerston, ever loyal, in his wake. For the boy, without blaming anyone, anxious only to fulfil a responsibility that weighed on him, was aware that Mr Willett—whether considered as a man or as a treasurer— had taken in overmuch beer, and might need support in either capacity or in both.
But while Mr Willett advanced, in a series of hasty plunges,—as though the Committee vessel were ploughing the deep with all sail set,—voices around Mrs Bosenna had already begun to call for a speech; and the cry was quickly taken up from the many boats overside, now gathered in a close throng.
"A speech! a speech!"
Mrs Bosenna laughed, and turned about prettily.
"I did not bargain for any speech," she protested. "I—in fact I never made a speech in my life. If—if Captain Hocken would say a few words—"
"Ay, Cap'n," exhorted a voice, "speak up for her, like a man now!
Seems to us she've given you the right."
There was a general laugh, and it brought a heightened flush to Mrs Bosenna's cheek. Cai, not noting it, cleared his throat and doffed his tall hat. "Here, hold this," said he, catching sight of Palmerston, and cleared his throat again.
"Friends and naybours," said he, and this opening evoked loud applause.
As it died down, he continued, "Friends and naybours, this here has been
a most successful regatta. Of which, as a fitting conclusion, the
Brave has received his reward at the hands of the Fair."
"Lord! he means hisself!" interrupted a giggling voice from one of the boats.
This interruption called forth a storm of applause. Oars were rattled on rowlocks and feet began stamping on bottom boards.
"By the Brave," continued Cai, pitching his voice higher, "I mean, of course, our respected fellow-citizen, Mr Walter Sobey, whose handling of his frail craft—"
("Hear! Hear!")
"—Whose handling of his frail craft to-day was of a natur' to surprise and delight all beholders."
At this point Mr Willett, the Treasurer, who had for some seconds been staring at the speaker with glazed uncertain eye, interrupted in a voice thick with liquor—
"The question is, Who wants me?"
"Nobody, you d—d old fool!" snapped the Hon. Secretary. "Can't you see
Cap'n Hocken is makin' a speech?"
"I see," answered Mr Willett with drunken deliberation, "and, what's more, I don't think much of it. . . . Gentlemen over there 'pears t' agree with me," he added: for from the rear of the group a scornful laugh had endorsed his criticism.
"Any one can tell what hasn't agreed with you this mornin'," retorted the Hon. Secretary, still more angrily. "Go home, and—"
But Cai had lifted a hand. "No quarrelling, please!" he commanded, and resumed, "As I was sayin', ladies and gentlemen—or as I was about to say—the handlin' of a small boat demands certain gifts or, er, qualities; and these gifts and, er, qualities bein' the gifts and h'm qualities what made England such as we see her to-day,—a sea-farin' nation an' foremost at that,—it follows that we cannot despise them if we wish her to occupy the same position in the futur'—which to my mind is education in a nutshell."
Again the scornful laugh echoed from the back of the crowd, and this time Cai knew the voice. It stung him the more sharply, as in a flash he recollected that the phrase "education in a nutshell" belonged properly to a later paragraph, and in his flurry he had dragged it in prematurely. His audience applauded, but Cai swung about in wrath.
"My remarks," said he, "don't seem to commend themselves to one o' my hearers. But I'm talkin' now on a subjec' about which I know som'at,— not about ploughin'."
The thrust was admirably delivered,—the more adroitly in that, on the edge of delivering it, he had paused with a self-depreciatory smile. Its point was taken up on the instant. The audience on deck sent up a roar of laughter: and the roar spread and travelled away from the ship in a widening circle as from boat to boat the shrewd hit was reported. Distant explosions of mirth were still greeting it, when Cai, finding voice again, and wisely cutting out his prepared peroration, concluded as follows:—
"Any way, friends and naybours, I can wind up with something as'll
commend itself to everybody: and that is by wishin' success to Passage
Regatta, and askin' ye to give three cheers for Mrs Bosenna.
Hip—hip—"
"Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!" The cheers were given with a will and passed down the river in rolling echoes. But before the last echo died away—while Mrs Bosenna smiled her acknowledgment—as the band formed up for "God Save the Queen"—as they lifted their instruments and the bandmaster tapped the music-stand with his baton,—at the top of his voice 'Bias delivered his counter-stroke.
"And one more for Peter Benny!"
There was a momentary hush, and then—for Troy's sense of humour is impartial, and everyone knew from what source Captain Hocken derived his public eloquence—the air was rent with shout upon shout of merriment. Even the band caught the contagion. The drummer drew a long applausive rattle from his side-drum; the trombone player sawing the air with his instrument, as with a fret-saw, evoked noises not to be described.
In the midst of this general mirth—while Cai stood his ground, red to the ears, and Mrs Bosenna plucked nervously at the tassel of her sunshade—'Bias came thrusting forward, shouldering his way through the press. But 'Bias's face reflected none of the mirth he had awakened.
"I mayn't know much about ploughin', Cai Hocken—" he began.
"Ah? Good day, Captain Hunken!" interposed Mrs Bosenna.
"Good-day to you, ma'am." He raised his hat without answering her smile. Then, with a gesture that dismissed the tactful interruption, "I mayn't know much about ploughin', though it sticks in my mind that as between us the judges handed me the stakes, even at that. But at handlin' a boat—one o' these here dingheys if you will, an' if you care to make good your words—"
"What was my words?"
"Oh, I beg pardon." 'Bias corrected himself with a snort of contempt. "'Peter Benny's words,' maybe I should have said: but 'education in a nutshell' was the expression."
"I'll take you up—when and where you please, and for any money,"
Cai challenged, white to the lips and shaking with rage.
"A five-pound note, if you will."
"As you please. . . . I haven't five pound here, upon me."
"Nor I, as it happens. But here's a sovereign for earnest."
"Here's another to cover it, anyway. Who'll hold the stakes? . . .
Will you, ma'am?" Cai appealed to Mrs Bosenna.
"Certainly not," she answered, tapping the deck angrily with the ferrule of her sunshade. "And I wonder how you two can behave so foolish, before folks."
But for the moment they were past her control.
"Here . . . Pam! Pam will do, eh?"
"Well as another."
"Right. Here Pam, take hold o' this sovereign and keep it careful!"
"Mine too. . . . That makes the wager, eh?"
"For five pounds?"
"Five pounds. Right.
"Boats?"
"I don't care. Our own two, or draw lots for any two here, as you please."
"But—gentlemen!" interposed the Hon. Secretary.
"Now, don't you start interferin'"—Bias turned on him sullenly.
"Else you might chance to get what you don't like."
"Oh, they're mad!" wailed Mrs Bosenna, and Dinah was heard to murmur, "You've pushed' em too far, mistress: an' don't say as I didn' warn you!"
"I—I was only goin' to suggest, gentlemen," urged the Hon. Secretary, "it bein' already ten minutes past noon, and everybody waitin' for 'God Save the Queen.'"
"Hullo!" hailed a voice alongside, at the foot of the accommodation table; and Mr Philp's top hat, Mr Philp's deceptively jovial face, Mr Philp's body clad in mourning weeds, climbed successively into view. "There, naybours!" he announced. "I'm in the nick of time, after all, it seems,—though when I heard the church clock strike twelve it sent my heart into my mouth." He stood and panted.
"Ah! good-day, Mr Philp!" Mrs Bosenna turned, hailing his intervention, and advanced to shake hands.
"Good-day to you, ma'am. Been enjoy in' yourself, I hope?" said Mr
Philp, somewhat taken aback by the warmth of her greeting.
"A most successful Regatta . . . don't you agree?"
"I might, ma'am," answered Mr Philp solemnly. "I don't doubt it, ma'am.
But as a matter of fact I have just come from a funeral."
"Oh! . . . I—I beg your pardon—I didn't know—"
"There's no call to apologise, ma'am. . . . The deceased was not a relative. A farm-servant, ma'am—female—at the far end of the parish: Tuckworthy's farm, to be precise: and the woman, Sarah Jane Collins by name. Probably you didn't know her. No more did I except by sight: but a very respectable woman—a case of Bright's disease. In the midst of life we are in death, and, much as I enjoy Passage Regatta—"
"You have missed it then?"
"The woman had saved money, ma'am. There was a walled grave, by request." Mr Philp sighed over this remembered consolation. "She could not help it clashin', poor soul."
"No, indeed!"
"And you may or may not have noticed it, ma'am, but when a man sets duty before pleasure, often as not he gets rewarded. Comin' back along the town before the streets filled, I picked up a piece o' news, and hurried along with it. I reckoned it might be of interest if I could reach here ahead of 'God Save the Queen.'"
"Gracious! What has happened?" Mrs Bosenna clasped her hands. Indeed Mr Philp, big with his news and important, had somehow contrived to overawe everyone on deck.
"The news is," he announced slowly, "that the Saltypool has gone down, within fifty miles of Philadelphia. Crew saved in the boats. Cable reached Mr Rogers at eleven o'clock, and"—he paused impressively, "there and then Rogers had a second stroke. Point o' death, they say."
Above the sympathetic murmur of Mr Philp's audience there broke, on the instant, a gasping cry—followed by a yet more terrible sound, as of one in the last agony of strangulation.
All turned, as Palmerston—dashing forward between the music-stands of the band and scattering them to right and left—flung himself between Cai and 'Bias at their very feet.
"Masters—masters! I've a-swallowed the stakes!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
FANCY BRINGS NEWS.
"Which," Mrs Bowldler reported to Fancy, who had left her master's sick-bed to pay a fleeting visit to Palmerston's, "the treatment was drastic for a growin' child. First of all Mrs Bosenna, that never had a child of her own, sent down to the cabin for the mustard that had been left over from the Sailin' Committee's sangwidges, and mixed up a drink with it and a little cold water. Which the results was nil; that is to say, pecuniarily speakin'. Then somebody fetched along Mr Clogg the vet. from Tregarrick, that had come over for the day to judge the horses, and he said as plain salt-and-water was worth all the mustard in the world, so they made the poor boy swallow the best part of a pint, and he brought up eighteenpence."
"Saints alive! But I thought you told me—"
"So I did: two solid golden sufferins. And that," said Mrs Bowldler, "was for some time the most astonishin' part of the business. Two solid golden sufferins: and low!—as the sayin' is—low and behold, eighteen pence in small silver!"
"Little enough too, for a miracle!" mused Fancy.
"It encouraged 'em to go on. Captain Hocken—he's a humane gentleman, too, and never graspin'—no, never in his life!—but I suppose he'd begun to get interested,—Captain Hocken ups and suggests as they were wastin' time, mixin' table-salt and water when there was the wide ocean itself overside, to be had for the dippin'. So they tried sea-water."
"My poor Pammy.'"
"Don't you start a-pityin' me," gasped a voice, faint but defiant, from the bed. "If I die, I die. But I got the account to balance."
"I disremember what sum—er—resulted that time," confessed Mrs
Bowldler; "my memory not bein' what it was."
"Ninepence; an' two threepennies with the soap—total two-and-nine, which was correct. If I die, I die," moaned Palmerston.
"'Ero!" murmured Fancy, stepping to the bedside and arranging his pillow.
"You take my advice and lie quiet," counselled Mrs Bowldler. "You're not a-goin' to die this time. But there's been a shock to the system, you may make up your mind," she went on, turning to Fancy. "I'd most forgotten about the soap. That was Philp's suggestion, as I heard. They found a cake of Monkey Brand in the ship's fo'c'sle, and by the time Doctor Higgs arrived with his stomach-pump—"
"They'd sent for him? What, for two pounds?"
"Less two-an'-nine, by this—as they thought. But, of course, there was the child's health to be considered . . . I ought to mention that before Dr Higgs came Captain Hunken remembered how he'd treated a seaman once, that had swallowed carbolic by mistake. He recommended tar: but there wasn't any tar to be found—which seems strange, aboard a ship."
"It was lucky, anyhow."
"There was a plenty of hard pitch about, and one or two reckoned the marine glue in the deck-seams might be a passable substitute. They were diggin' some out with their penknives when Doctor Higgs arrived with his pump."
"And did he use it?"
"He did not. He asked what First Aid they had been applyin', an' when they told him, his language was not to be repeated. 'D'ye think,' said he, 'as I'd finish the child for—'well, he named the balance, whatever 'twas."
"One-seventeen-three," said the voice from the bed.
"That's so. And 'Monkey Brand?' says he. 'Why, you've scoured his little stummick so, you might put it on the chimbly-piece and see your face in it! Fit an' wrap what's left of him in a blanket,' says Doctor Higgs; 'an' take him home an' put him to bed,' says he—which they done so," concluded Mrs Bowldler, "an' if you'll believe it, when I come to put him to bed an' fold his trowsers across the chair, out trickles the two sufferins!"
"You don't say!"
"He's been absent-minded of late. It they'd only turned his pockets out instead of—well, we won't go into details: but the two pounds was there all the time. 'Twas the petty cash he'd swallowed, in the shock at hearin' about Mr Rogers. . . . And how's he, by the way?"
"Bad," answered Fancy, "dreadful bad. I don't think he's goin' to die, not just yet-awhile: but he can't speak, and his mind's troubled."
"Reason enough why, if all's truth that they tell of him."
"But it isn't."
"He brought your own father to beggary."
"Well, you may put it that way if you choose. It's the way they all put it that felt for Dad without allowin' their feelin's to take 'em further. Not that he'd any claim to more'n their pity. He speckilated with Mr Rogers, and Mr Rogers did him in the eye, that's all. And I'm very fond of Dad," continued the wise child; "but the longer I live the more I don't see as one man can bring another to beggary unless the other man helps. The point is, Mr Rogers didn' leave him there. . . . We've enough to eat."
"Ho! If that contents you—" Mrs Bowldler shrugged her shoulders.
"Who said it did? We don't ezackly make Gawds of our bellies, Dad and I; but there's a difference between that and goin' empty. Ask Pammy!" she added, with a twitch and a grin.
"I've heard you say, anyway, that you was afraid Mr Rogers'd go to the naughty place. A dozen times I've heard you say it."
"Rats!—you never did. What you heard me say was that he'd go to hell, and I was sure of it. . . . And you may call it weak, but I can't bear it," the child broke out with a cry of distress, intertwisting her fingers and wringing them. "It's dreadful—dreadful!—to sit by and watch him lyin' there, with his mind workin' and no power to speak. All the time he's wantin' to say something to me, and—and—Where's Cap'n Hocken?"
"In his parlour. I heard his step in the passage, ten minutes ago, an' the door close."
"I'm goin' down to him, if you'll excuse me," said Fancy, rising from the bedroom chair into which she had dropped in her sudden access of grief.
"Why?"
"I dunno. . . . He's a good man, for one thing. You haven't noticed any difference in him?"
"Since when?" The question obviously took Mrs Bowldler by surprise.
"Since he heard—yesterday—"
"Me bein' single-handed, with Palmerston on his back, so to speak, I hev' not taken particular observation," said Mrs Bowldler. "Last night, as I removed the cloth after supper, he passed the remark that it had been a very tirin' day, that this was sad news about Mr Rogers, but we'd hope for the best, and when I mentioned scrambled eggs for breakfast, he left it to me. Captain Hunken on the other hand chose haddock: he did mention—come to think of it and when I happened to say that a second stroke was mostly fatal—he did go so far as to say that all flesh was grass and that Palmerston would require feedin' up after what he'd gone through."
"He—Cap'n Hunken—didn' seem worried in mind, either?"
"Nothing to notice. Of course," added Mrs Bowldler, "you understand that our appetites are not what they were: that there has been a distink droppin' off since—you know what. They both eats, in a fashion, but where's the pleasure in pleasin' 'em? Heart-renderin', I call it, when a devilled kidney might be a plain boiled cabbage for all the heed taken, and you knowin' all the while that a woman's at the bottom of it."
Fancy moved to the door. "Well," said she, "I'm sorry for the cause of it: but duty's duty, and I reckon I've news to make 'em sit up."
She went downstairs resolutely and knocked at Cai's parlour door.
"Come in! . . . Eh, so it's you, missy? No worse news of the invalid, I hope?"
"He isn' goin' to die to-day, nor yet to-morrow, if that's what you mean. May I take a chair?"
"Why, to be sure."
"Thank you." Fancy seated herself. "If you please, Cap'n Hocken, I got a very funny question to ask."
"Well?"
"You mustn't think I'm inquisitive—"
"Go on."
"If you please, Cap'n Hocken, are you very fond indeed of Mrs Bosenna?"
Cai turned about to the hearth and stooped for the tongs, as if to place a lump of coal on the fire. Then he seemed to realise that, the season being early summer, there was no fire and the tongs and coal-scuttle had been removed. He straightened himself up slowly and faced about again, very red and confused (but the flush may have come from his stooping).
"So we're not inquisitive, aren't we? Well, missy, appearances are deceptive sometimes—that's all I say."
"But I'm not askin' out o' curiosity—really an' truly. And please don't turn me out an' warn me to mind my own business; for it is my business, in a way. . . . I'll explain it all, later on, if only you'll tell."
"I admire Mrs Bosenna very much indeed," said Cai slowly. "There now,— will that satisfy you?"
Fancy shook her head. "Not quite," she confessed, "I want to know, Are you so fond of her that you wouldn' give her up, not on any account?"
Cai flushed again. "Well, missy, since you put it that way, we'll make it so."
Still the answer did not appear to satisfy the child. She fidgetted in her chair a little, but without offering to go.
"Not for no one in the wide world?" she asked at length.
"Why, see here,"—Cai met her gaze shyly—"isn't that the right way to feel when you want to make a woman your wife?"
"Ye-es—I suppose so," admitted Fancy with a sigh. "But it makes things so awkward—" She paused and knit her brows, as one considering a hard problem.
"What's awkward?"
Her response to this, delayed for a few seconds, was evasive when it came.
"I used to think you an' Cap'n Hunken was such friends there was nothin' in the world you wouldn' do for him."
"Ah!" Cai glanced at her with sharp suspicion. "So that's the latest game, is it? He's been gettin' at you—a mere child like you!—and sends you off here to work on my feelin's! . . . I thought better of 'Bias: upon my soul, I did."
"An' you'd better go on thinkin' better," retorted Fancy with spirit. "Cap'n Hunken sent me? What next? . . . Why, he never spoke a word to me!"
"Then I don't see—"
"Why I'm here? No, you don't; but you needn't take up with guesses o' that sort."
"I'm sorry if I mistook ye, missy."
"You ought to be. Mistook me?—O' course you did. And as for Cap'n Hunken's sendin' me, he don't even know yet that he's lost his money: and if he did he'd be too proud, as you ought to know."
"Lost his money?" echoed Cai. "What money?"
"Well, to start with, you don't suppose Mr Rogers got his stroke for nothin'? 'Twas the news about the Saltypool that bowled him out: an' between you an' me, in a few days there's goin' to be a dreadful mess. He always was a speckilator. The more money he made—and he made a lot, back-along—the more he'd risk it: and the last year or two his luck has been cruel. In the end, as he had to tell me—for I did all his writin', except when he employed Peter Benny,—he rode to one anchor, and that was the Saltypool. He ran her uninsured."
"Uninsured?" Cai gave a low whistle. "But all the same," said he, "an' sorry as I am for Rogers, I don't see how that affects—"
"I'm a-breakin' it gently," said Fancy, not without a small air of importance. "Cap'n Hunken had a small sum in the Saltypool—a hundred pounds only."
"I wonder he had a penny. 'Tisn't like 'Bias to put anything into an uninsured ship."
"Mr Rogers did it without consultin' him. Cap'n Hunken didn' know, and I didn' know, for the money didn' pass by cheque. Some time back in last autumn—I've forgot the date, but the books'll tell it—the old man handed me two hundred pound in notes, not tellin' me where they came from, with orders to pay it into his account: which I took it straight across to the bank—"
"Belay there a moment," interrupted Cai. "A moment since you mentioned one hundred."
"So I did, because we're talkin' of Cap'n Hunken. Two hundred there were, and all in bank notes: but only one hundred belonged to him—and I only found that out the other day, when he heard that Mr Rogers had put it into the Saltypool, and there was a row. As for the other— Lawks, you don't tell me 'twas yours!" exclaimed Fancy, catching at the sudden surmise written on Cai's face.
"Why not? . . . If he treated 'Bias that way? Sure enough," said Cai.
"I took him a hundred pounds to invest for me, about that time."
"Did he pay you a dividend this last half-year?"
"To be sure—seven pound, eight-an'-four."
"That was on the Saltypool," Fancy nodded. "And oh! Cap'n Hocken, I am so sorry! but that hundred pound o' yours is at the bottom of the sea."
"Well, my dear," said Cai after a pause, pulling a wry face, "to do your master justice, he warned me 'twas a risk. There's naught to do but pay up un' look pleasant, I reckon. 'Twon't break me."
"Cut the loss, you mean. The shares was paid up in full, and there can't be no call."
"You're knowledgeable, missy: and yet you're wrong this time, as it happens. For (I may tell you privately) the money didn' belong to me, but to Mrs Bosenna, who asked me to invest it for her."
"Oh!—and Cap'n Hunken's hundred too?"
Cai reached a hand to the mantelpiece for the tobacco-jar, filled a pipe very deliberately, lit it, and drawing a chair up to the table, seated himself in face of her.
"I shouldn't wonder," said he, resting both arms on the table and eyeing her across a cloud of tobacco-smoke. "Though I don't understand what she—I mean, I don't understand what the game was."
"Me either," agreed the child, musing. "No hurry, though: I'll be a widow some day, please God—which is mor'n you can hope. But now we get to the point: an' the point is, you can pay the woman up. Cap'n Hunken can't."
"Why not?"
"He don't know it yet, but he can't."
"So you said: an' Why not? I ask. Within a thousand pound 'Bias owns as much as I do."
The child stood up, pulled her chair across to the table, and reseating herself, gazed steadily across at him through the tobacco-smoke.
"Where d'ye keep your bonds an' such like?" she asked.
"In my strong box, for the most part: two or three in the skivet of my sea-chest."
"You got 'em all?"
"All. That's to say all except the paper for this hundred pounds, which 'twas agreed Rogers should keep."
"You're a lucky man. . . . Where did Cap'n Hunken keep his?"
"Darn'd if I know. Somewheres about. He was always a bit careless over his securities—and so I've told him a dozen times,"
"When did you tell him last?"
This was a facer, and it made Cai blink. "We haven't discussed these things much—not of late," he answered lamely.
"I reckoned not. He don't keep 'em in his strong-box?"
"He hasn't one."
"In his chest?"
"Maybe."
"But he don't. He's left 'em with Mr Rogers from the first, or I'm mistaken. I used to see the two bundles, his and yours, lyin' side by side on the upper shelf o' the safe when the old man sent me to unlock it an' fetch something he wanted—which wasn't often. Then, about six months back, I noticed as one was gone. I mentioned it to him, and he said as 'twas all his scrip—that was his word—made up in a parcel an' docketed by you, and that some time afterwards you'd taken it away."
"Quite correct, missy. And t'other one is 'Bias's, as I know. I had 'em in my hands together when I opened the safe as Mr Rogers told me to do, givin' me the key. I took out the two, not knowing t'other from which, made sure, docketed mine careful—to take away—and put 'Bias's back in the safe afore lockin' it. That would be back sometime in October last."
Fancy nodded. "That's what he told me: and up to this mornin' I reckoned Cap'n Hunken's bonds was still there, though it must be a month since I opened the safe. This mornin' I had a talk with Dad—he doesn't know the half about the master's affairs, nor how they've been these two years, and I didn' let on: but I allowed as we ought to look into things and call in Peter Benny—knowin' that Peter Benny was made execlator, if anything happened. So we agreed, and called him in: and I told Peter Benny enough to let him see that things were serious. In the end I fetched the keys, and he unlocked the safe. There was a good few papers in it, which he overhauled. But there wasn' no parcel 'pon the top shelf where I'd seen it last."
"Then you may depend he'd given it to 'Bias unbeknown to you, same as he handed mine over to me. Wasn' that Benny's opinion?"
"Oh, you make me tired!" exclaimed the wise child frankly. "As if I'd no more sense than to go there an' then an' frighten him—an' him with all those papers to look over!"
"Then if you're so shy about worriting Benny—and I don't blame you—why be in such a hurry to worrit yourself? 'Bias has the papers—that you may lay to."
Fancy tapped her small foot on the floor, which it just reached. "As if I should be wastin' time, botherin' you! On my way here I ran against Cap'n Hunken, and of course he wanted to hear the latest of master—said he was on his way to inquire. So I told him that matters was bad enough but while there was life there was hope—the sort o' thing you have to say: and I went on that the business would be all in a mess for some time to come, and I hoped he'd got all his papers at home, which would save trouble. 'Papers?' said he. 'Not I!'—and I wonder I didn' drop: you might have knocked me down with a feather. 'Papers?' said he. 'I haven't seen 'em for months. I don't trouble about papers! But you'll find 'em in the safe all right, though I haven't seen 'em for months.' Those were the very words he used: and nothin' would interest him but to hear how the invalid was doin'. He went off, cheerful as a chaffinch. It's plain to me," Fancy wound up, "that he hasn't the papers. He trusted you, to start with, and he's gone on trustin' you and the master. Didn' you intejuce him?"
"Sure enough I did," Cai allowed. "But—confound it, you know!—'Bias
Hunken isn't a child."
"Oh! if that contents you—" But well she knew it did not.
"Mr Rogers never would—"
"I've told you," said Fancy, "more'n ever I ought to have told. There's no knowin', they say, what a man'll do when he's in Queer Street: and the papers have gone: and Cap'n Hunken thinks they're in the safe, where they ain't: and I come to you first, as used to be his friend."
"Good Lord '" Cai stood erect. "If—if—"
"That's so," assented Fancy, seated and nodding. "If—"
"But it can't be!"
"But if it is?" She slipped from her chair and stood, still facing him.
He stared at her blankly. "Poor old 'Bias!" he murmured. "But it can't be."
"Right O! if you will have it so. But, you see, I didn' put the question out o' curiosity altogether."
"The question? What question?"
"Why, about Mrs Bosenna."
"What has Mrs Bosenna to do with—Oh, ay, to be sure! You're meanin' that hundred pounds." His wits were not very clear for the moment.
"No, I'm not," said Fancy, moving to the door. In the act of opening it she paused. "'Twas through you, I reckon, he first trusted master with his money."
"I—I never suggested it," stammered Cai.
"I'm not sayin' you did," the girl answered back coldly. "But he went to master for your sake, because you was his friend and he had such a belief in you. Just you think that out."
With a nod of the head she was gone.
Before leaving the house she visited the kitchen, to bid good-night to
Mrs Bowldler. But Mrs Bowldler was not in the kitchen.
She mounted the stairs and tapped at the door of Palmerston's attic chamber.
"Hullo!" said she looking in, "what's become of Geraldine?" (Mrs Bowldler's Christian name was Sarah, but the two children vied in inventing others more suitable to her gentility).
"If by Geraldine you mean Herm-Intrude," said Palmerston, sitting up in bed and grinning, "she's out in the grounds, picking—"
"Culling," corrected Fancy. "Her own word."
"Well then—culling lamb mint."
"I should ha' thought sage-an'-onions was the stuffin' relied on by this establishment."
"Seasonin'," corrected Palmerston. "But what have you been doin' all this time?"
"My dear, don't ask!" Fancy seated herself at the foot of the bed.
"If you must know, I've been playin' Meddlesome Matty life-size. . . .
These grown-ups are all so helpless—the men especially! . . .
Feelin' better?"
"Heaps. 'Tis foolishness, keepin' me in bed like this, and I wish you'd tell her so. I'm all right—'xcept in my mind."
"What's wrong with your mind?"
"'Shamed o' myself: that's all—but it's bad enough."
"There's no call to be ashamed. You did it in absence o' mind, and all the best authors have suffered from that. It's well known."
"To go through what I did," said Palmerston bitterly, "just to bring up two-an'-nine! 'Tis such a waste of material!"
"That's one way of puttin' it, to be sure."
"I mean, for a book—for' Pickerley.' I s'pose there's not one man in a thousand—not one liter'y man, anyhow—has suffered anything like it. And I can't put it into the book!"
"No," agreed Fancy meditatively. "I don't suppose you could: not in 'Pickerley' anyhow. You couldn' make your 'ero swallow anything under a di'mund tiyara, and that's not easy."
"I'll have to write the next one about low life," said Palmerston. "If only I knew a bit more about it! Mrs Bowldler says it can be rendered quite amusin', and I wouldn' mind makin' myself the 'ero."
"Wouldn't you? Well, I should, and don't you let me catch you at it! The man as I marry'll have to keep his head up and show a proper respect for his-self."
Poor Palmerston stared. The best women in the world will never understand an artist.
CHAPTER XXV.
CAI RENOUNCES.
If this thing had happened—?
After Fancy left him Cai dropped into his armchair, and sat for a long while staring at the paper ornament with which Mrs Bowldler had decorated his summer hearth. It consisted of a cascade of paper shavings with a frontage of paper roses and tinsel foliage, and was remarkable not only for its own sake but because Mrs Bowldler had chosen to display the roses upside down. But though Cai stared at it hard, he observed it not.
For some minutes his mind refused to work beyond the catastrophe.
"If it had happened—if 'Bias had indeed lost all his money. . . ."
He arose, lit a pipe, and dropped back into his chair.
It may be that the tobacco clarified his brain. . . . Of a sudden the child's words recurred and wrote themselves upon it, and stood out, as if traced in fire—"He went to master for your sake, because you was his friend and he had such a belief in you."
Ay, that was true, and in a flash it lit up a new pathway, down which he followed the thought in the child's mind only to lose it and stand aghast at his own reflections.
''Bias went to Rogers through his belief in me.'
—'I did not encourage him. On the other hand, I said nothing to hinder him.'
—'Yet, afterwards and in practice, I did encourage him, going to Rogers with him and discussing our investments together.'
—'In a dozen investments we acted as partners.'
—'He was my friend, and in those days entirely open with me. He let me read all his character. I knew him to be strict in paying his debts, uneasy if he owed a sixpence, yet careless in details of business, and trustful as a child.'
—'Then this quarrel sprang up between us, and I let him go his way. I had no right to do that, having led him so far. In a sense, he has gone on trusting me; that is, he has gone on trusting Rogers for my sake. To be quit of responsibility, I should have given him fair warning.
—'I ought to have gone to him and said, "Look here; Rogers is a friend of mine, and known to me from childhood. There's honesty in him, but 'tis like streaks in bacon; and for some reason or another he chooses that all his dealin's with me shall keep to the honest streak. If you ask me how I know this, 'twouldn't be easy to answer: I do know it, and I trust him as I'd trust myself, a'most. But Rogers isn't a man for everyone's money, and there's many as don't scruple to call him a knave. He hasn't known you from a child, and you haven't known him. You'll be safe in putting it that what he's done honest for you he's done as my friend—"'
Here Cai was seized by a new apprehension.
—'Ay, and—the devil take it!—I've let Rogers see, lately, that 'Bias and I had dissolved partnership and burnt the papers! 'Twouldn't take more than that to persuade Rogers he was quit of the old obligation towards 'Bias—himself in difficulties too, and 'Bias's money under his hand.'
—'Good Lord! . . . Suppose the fellow even allowed to himself that he was helping me! If Mrs Bosenna—?'
At this point Cai came to a full stop, appalled. Be it repeated that neither he nor 'Bias had wooed Mrs Bosenna for her wealth; nor until now had her wealth presented itself to either save in comfortable after-thought.
Cai sat very still for a while. Then drawing quickly at his pipe, he found that it was smoked out. He arose to tap the bowl upon the bars of the grate. But they were masked and muffled by Mrs Bowldler's screen of shavings, and he wandered to the open window to knock out the ashes upon the slate ledge. Returning to the fireplace, he reached out a hand for the tobacco-jar, but arrested it, and laying his pipe down on the table, did something clean contrary to habit.
He went to the cupboard, fetched out decanter, water-jug, and glass, and mixed himself a stiff brandy-and-water.
"Hullo!" said a voice outside the window. "I didn' know as you indulged between meals."
It was Mr Philp, staring in.
"I heard you tappin' on the window-ledge, and I thought maybe you had caught sight o' me," suggested Mr Philp.
"But I hadn't," said Cai, somewhat confused.
"I said to myself, 'He's beckonin' me in for a chat': and no wonder if 'tis true what they're tellin' down in the town."
"Well, I wasn't," said Cai, gulping his brandy-and-water hardily.
"But what are they tellin'?"
"There's some," mused Mr Philp, "as don't approve of solitary drinkin'. Narrow-minded bodies I call 'em. When a man is in luck's way, who's to blame his fillin' a glass to it—though some o' course prefers to call in their naybours; an' that's a good old custom too."
Cai ignored the hint. "What are they tellin' down in the town?"
"All sorts o' things, from mirth to mournin'. They say, for instance, as you and the Widow have fixed it all up to be married this side o' Jubilee."
"That's a lie, anyway."
"And others will have it as the engagement's broken off by reason of your losin' all your money in Johnny Rogers's smash?"
"And that," said Cai, "is just as true as the other. But who says that
Rogers has gone smash?"
"Everyone. I tackled Tabb upon the subject this mornin', and he couldn' deny it. The man's clean scat. He's been speckilatin' for years: I always looked for this to be the end, and when they told me the Saltypool wasn't insured, why, I drew my conclusions. As I was sayin' to Cap'n Hunken just now—"
"Eh? . . . Where is he?"
"Who?"
"'Bias Hunken. You said as you been speakin' with him—"
"Ay, to be sure, over his garden wall. I looked over and saw him weedin' among the rose-bushes, an' pulled up to give him the time o' day."
"You didn' tell him about the Saltypool?"
"As it happens, that's just what I did. He'd heard she was lost, but he'd no notion Rogers hadn't taken out an insurance on her, and he seemed quite fetched aback over it."
"The devil!"
"I'm sorry you feel like that about him. As I was tellin' him, when I heard your tap here at the window—"
"But I don't—and I wasn' tappin' for you, either."
"Appears not," said Mr Philp, with a glance at the empty glass in Cai's hand.
"Where is he? Still in the garden, d'ye say?"
"Ay: somewheres down by the summer-house. Says I, when I heard you tappin', 'That's Cap'n Hocken,' says I, 'signallin' me to come an wish him joy, an' maybe to join him in a drink over his luck. And why not?' says I. 'Stranger things have happened.'"
"You'll excuse me. . . . If he's in his garden, I want a chat with him."
Cai hurried out to the front door.
"Maybe you'd like me to go with you," suggested Mr Philp, ready for him.
"Maybe I'd like nothin' of the sort," snapped Cai. "Why should I?"
"Well, if you ask me, he didn' seem in the best o' tempers, and it might come handy to take along a witness."
"No, thank'ee," said Cai with some asperity. "You just run along and annoy somebody else."
He descended the garden, to find 'Bias at the door of his summer-house, seated, and puffing great clouds of tobacco-smoke.
"Good evenin'!"
"Good evenin'," responded 'Bias in a tone none too hospitable.
"You don't mind my havin' a word with you?"
"Not if you'll make it short."
"I've just come from Philp. He's been tellin' you about the Saltypool, it seems."
"Well?"
"She was uninsured."
"And on top o' that, the fools overloaded her."
"And 'tis a serious thing for Rogers."
"Ruination, Philp tells me—that's if you choose to believe Philp."
"I've better information than Philp's, I'm sorry to say."
"Whose?"
"Fancy Tabb's."
"She didn' tell me so when I saw her to-day."—(And good reason for why, thought Cai.)—"Still, if she told you, you may lay there's some truth in it. That child don't speak at random. I don't see, though, as it makes much difference, up or down?"
"No difference?"
"I didn' say 'no difference.' I said 'not much.' Ruination's not much to a man already down with a stroke."
"Oh, . . . him?" said Cai. "To tell the truth, I wasn't thinkin' about Rogers, not at this moment."
"No?" queried 'Bias sourly. "Then maybe I'm doin' you an injustice. I thought you might be pushin' your way in here to suggest our doin' something for the poor chap." Before Cai had well recovered from this, 'Bias went on, "And if so, I'd have answered you that I didn' intend to be any such fool."
"I—I'm afraid," owned Cai, "my thought wasn' anything like so unselfish. It concerned you and me, rather."
"Thinkin' of me, was you?" 'Bias stuffed down the tobacco in his pipe with his forefinger. "I reckon that's no game, Caius Hocken, to be takin' up again after all these months; and I warn you to drop it, for 'tis dangerous."
Whatever his faults, Cai did not lack courage. "I don't care a cuss for threats, as you might know by this time. What I owe I pay,—and there's my trouble. I introduced you to Rogers, didn't I?"
"That's true," agreed 'Bias slowly. "What of it?"
"Why, that I'm in a way responsible that you took your affairs to him."
"Not a bit."
"But it follows. Surely you must see—"
"No, I don't. I ain't a child, and I'll trouble you not to hang about here suggestin' it. I didn' trust Rogers till I saw for myself he was a good man o' business and the very sort I wanted. He sarved me, well enough; and, well or ill, I don't complain to you."
"See here, 'Bias," said Cai desperately. "You may take this tone with me if you choose. But you don't choke me off by it, and you'll have to drop it sooner or later. I was your friend, back along—let's start with that."
"And a nice friend you proved!"
"Let's start with that, then," pursued Cai eagerly—so eagerly that 'Bias stared willy-nilly, lifting his eye-brows. "Put it, if you please, that I was your friend and misled you to trust in Rogers, that you lost money by it—"
"Who said so?"
"I say so. Put it at the lowest—that you sunk a hundred pound' in the Saltypool—"
"Eh?"
"In the Saltypool—" Cai met his stare and nodded. "And not your own money, neither. Mrs Bosenna—"
'Bias started and laid down his pipe. "Drop that!" he interjected with a growl.
"Nay, you don't frighten me," answered Cai valiantly. "We're goin' to talk a lot of Mrs Bosenna, afore we've done. Present point is, she gave you a hundred pound, to invest for her. She gave me the like."
"What!" 'Bias clutched both arms of his chair in the act of rising.
But Cai held up a hand.
"Steady! She gave me the like. . . . You handed the money over to Rogers, and close on fifteen per cent he was makin' on it—in the Saltypool."
"Who—who told you?"
"Wait! I did the like. . . . Seven pounds eight-and-four was my dividend, whatever yours may have been—eh? You may call it a—a coincidence, 'Bias Hunken: but some would say as our minds worked on the same lines even when—even when—" Cai seemed to swallow something in his throat. "Anyhow, the money's gone, and we'll have to make it good."
"Well, I should hope so!"
"I'll see to that, 'Bias—whatever happens."
"So will I, o' course." 'Bias turned to refill his pipe.
Cai was watching him narrowly. "Happen that mightn't be none too easy," he suggested.
"Why so?"
"Heark'n to me now: I got something more serious to tell. The Lord send we may be mistaken, but—supposin' as Rogers has played the rogue?"
'Bias, not at all discomposed, went on filling his pipe. "I see what you're drivin' at," said he. "'Tis the same tale Philp was chantin' just now, over the wall; how that Rogers had lost his own money and ours as well, and 'twas in everybody's mouth. Which I say to you what I said to him: ''Tis the old story,' I says, 'let a man be down on his back, and every cur'll fly at him.'"
"But suppose 'twas true? . . . Did Rogers ever show the bonds and papers for your money?"
"'Course he did. Showed me every one as they came in, and seemed to make a point of it. 'Made me count 'em over, some time back. 'Wouldn' let me off 'till I'd checked 'em, tied 'em up in a parcel, docketed 'em, sealed 'em, and the Lord knows what beside. Very dry work. I claimed a glass o' grog after it."
"And then you took 'em away?" asked Cai with a sudden hope.
"Not I. For one thing, they're vallyble, and I don't keep a safe.
I put 'em back in the old man's—top shelf—alongside o' yours."
Cai groaned. "They're missin' then!"
"Who told you?"
"The child—Fancy Tabb."
'Bias looked serious. "Why didn' she come to me, I wonder?"
"I reckon—knowing what friends we'd been—she left it to me to break the news."
"I won't believe it," declared 'Bias slowly. But he sat staring straight at the horizon, and after each puff at the pipe Cai could hear him breathing hard.
"The child's not given to lyin'. And yet I don't see—Rogers bein' helpless to open the safe on his own account. At the worst 'tis a bad job for ye, 'Bias."
"Eh? . . . 'Means sellin' up an' startin' afresh: that's all—always supposin' there's jobs to be found, at our age. I don't know as there wouldn't be consolations. This here life ashore isn't all I fancied it."
Now Cai had in mind a great renunciation: but unfortunately he could not for the moment discover any way to broach it. He played to gain time, therefore, awaiting opportunity.
"As for getting a job," he suggested, "there's no need to be downcast; no need at all. If the worst came to the worst, there's the Hannah Hoo, f'r instance, and a providence she never found a buyer."
"Ay, to be sure—I'd forgot the bark'nteen."
"Come!" said Cai with a quick smile, playing up towards his grand coup. "What would you say to shippin' aboard the Hannah Hoo?"
"What?—as mate under you? . . . I'd say," answered 'Bias slowly, "as I'd see you damned first."
"But"—Cai stared at him in bewilderment—"who was proposin' any such thing? As skipper I thought o' you—what elst? Leastways—"
"And you?"
"Me? . . . But why? There's no call for me goin' to sea again."
"Ah, to be sure," said 'Bias bitterly, "I was forgettin'. You'll stay ashore and make up your losses by marryin'!"
"But I haven't had any losses!" stammered Cai. "Not beyond the hundred pound in the Saltypool. . . . Didn't I make that plain?"
"No, you didn't." 'Bias laid down his pipe. "Are you standin' there and tellin' me that your papers are all right and safe?"
"To be sure they are. Rogers handed 'em over to me, and I took 'em home and locked 'em in my strong-box—it may be four months ago."
"Ay, that would be about the time. . . . Well, I congratulate you," said 'Bias, with deepening bitterness of accent. "The luck's yours, every way, and that there's no denyin'."
"Wait a bit, though. You haven't heard me finish."
"Well?"
"Since this news came I've been thinkin' pretty hard over one or two things . . . over our difference, f'r instance, an' the cause of it. To be plain, I want a word with you about—well, about Mrs Bosenna."
"Stow that," growled 'Bias. "If you've come here to crow—"
"The Lord knows I've not come here to crow. . . . I've come to tell you, as man to man, that I don't hold 'twas a pretty trick she played us over them two hundreds. You may see it different, and I hope you do. I don't bear her no grudge, you understand? . . . But if you've still a mind to her, and she've a mind to you, I stand out from this moment, and wish 'ee luck!"
'Bias stood up, stiff with wrath.
"And the Lord knows, Cai Hocken, how at this moment I keep my hands off you! . . . Wasn't it bad enough before, but you must stand patronisin' there, offerin' me what you don't want? First I'm to ship in your sarvice, eh? When that won't do, I'm to marry the woman you've no use for? And there was a time I called 'ee friend! Hell! if you must poison this garden, poison it by yourself! Let me get out o' this. Stand aside, please, ere I say worse to 'ee!"
He strode by, and up the garden path in the gathering twilight.
Poor 'Bias!
Poor Cai, too! His renunciation had cost him no small struggle, and he had meant it nobly; but for certain he had bungled it woefully.
His heart was sore for his friend: the sorer because there was now no way left to help. The one door to help—reconcilement—was closed and bolted! closed through his own clumsiness.
It had cost him much, a while ago—an hour or two ago, no more—to resign his pretensions to Mrs Bosenna's hand. The queer thing was how little—the resolutions once taken—Mrs Bosenna counted. It was 'Bias he had lost.
As he sat and smoked, that night, in face of Mrs Bowldler's fire-screen, staring at its absurd decorations, it was after 'Bias that his thoughts harked—always back, and after 'Bias—retracing old friendship faithfully as a hound seeking back to his master.
'Bias would never think well of him again. As a friend, 'Bias was lost, had gone out of his life. . . . So be it! Yet there remained a 'Bias in need of help, though stubborn to reject it: a 'Bias to be saved somehow, in spite of himself, an unforgiving 'Bias, yet still to be rescued. Cai smoked six pipes that night, pondering the problem. He was aroused by the sound of the clock in the hall striking eleven. Before retiring to bed he had a mind to run through his parcel of bonds and securities on the chance—since he and 'Bias had made many small investments by consent and in common—of finding some hint of possible salvage.
His strong-box stood in a recess by the chimnney-breast. A stuffed gannet in a glass case surmounted it—a present from 'Bias, who had shot the bird. The bird's life-like eye (of yellow glass) seemed to watch him as he thrust the key into the lock.
He took out the parcel, laid it on the table under the lamp, and—with scarcely a glance at the docket as he untied the tape—spread out the papers with his palm much as a card-player spreads wide a pack of cards before cutting. . . . He picked up a bond, opened it, ran his eye over the superscription and tossed it aside.
So he did with a second—a third—a fourth.
On a sudden, as he took up the fifth and, before opening it, glanced at the writing on the outside, his gaze stiffened. He sat upright.
After a moment or two he unfolded the paper. His eyes sought and found two words—the name "Tobias Hunken."
He turned the papers over again. Still the name not his—"Tobias
Hunken!"
He pushed the paper from him, and timorously, as a man possessed by superstitious awe, put out his fingers and drew forward under the lamplight the four documents already cast aside.
The name on each was the same. The bonds belonged to 'Bias. By mistake, those months ago, he had carried them off and locked them up for his own.
Should he arouse 'Bias to-night and tell him of the good news? He gathered up the bonds in his hand, went to the front door, unbarred it, and stepped out into the roadway. Not a light showed anywhere in the next house.
Cai stepped back, barred the door, and sought his chamber, after putting out the lamp. He slept as soundly as a child.
CHAPTER XXVI.
'BIAS RENOUNCES.
"Is Cap'n Hunken upstairs?"
"Ay, ay, sir," answered Mr Tabb from behind his pile of biscuit tins and soapboxes. The pile had grown—or so it seemed to Cai—and blocked out more of the daylight than ever. "Won't you step up? You'll be kindly welcome."
"I was told I should find him here." Cai, on requesting Mrs Bowldler that morning to inform him how soon Captain Hunken would be finishing breakfast, had been met with the information that Captain Hunken had breakfasted an hour before, and gone out. ("Which," said Mrs Bowldler, "it becomes not one in my position to carry tales between one establishment and another: but he bent his steps in the direction of the town. I beg, sir, however, that you will consider this to be strickly between you and me and the gatepost, as the saying is.") Cai at once surmised the reason of this early sallying forth, and, following in chase, ran against the Quaymaster, from whom he learnt that 'Bias had entered the ship-chandler's shop half an hour ago. "He has not since emerged," added the Quaymaster Bussa darkly, as doubtful that in the interim Captain Hunken might have suffered forcible conversion into one of the obscurer "lines" of ship-chandlery, wherein so much purports to be what it is not.
—"I was told I should find him here," said Cai. "But would ye mind fetchin' him down to me? The fact is, I want him on a matter of private business."
Mr Tabb considered for a moment. "If I may advise, sir," he suggested meekly, "you'll find it as private up there as anywhere. The master's past hearin' what you say—or, if he hears, he's past takin' notice: whereas down here, you're liable to be interrupted by customers—let alone that I mustn't leave the shop. And," concluded Mr Tabb, "I would hardly recommend the Quay. Mr Philp's just arrived there."
On recovering from his previous stroke, Mr Rogers had given orders that, if another befell him, his bed was to be fetched downstairs and laid in the great bow-window of the parlour. There Cai found him with Fancy in attendance, and 'Bias seated on a chair by the bedside.
"Good-mornin'," Cai nodded, hushing his voice, and advanced towards the bed almost on tiptoe. "He won't reckernise me, I suppose?"
The invalid reclined in a posture between lying and sitting, his back propped with pillows, his eyes turned with an expressionless stare towards the harbour. Save for its rigidity and a slight drawing down of the muscles on the left side of the mouth, there was nothing to shock or terrify in the aspect of the face, which kept, moreover, its customary high colour.
"He can't show it, if that's what you mean," answered Fancy. "But he knows us, somewhere at the back of his eyes—of that I'm sure. I got to be very clever watchin' his eyes, the last stroke he had, and there was quite a different look in 'em when he was pleased, or when he was troubled or wanted something. If you go over quiet and stand by the window, right where he must see you if he sees at all, maybe you'll notice what I mean."
But Cai, though he obeyed, and stood for a moment in the direct line of their vision, could detect no change in the unwinking eyes.
"Cap'n Hunken will even have it that he hears what's said, or scraps of it. But that I don't believe. . . . I believe 'tis but a buzzin' in his ears, with no sense to it, an' 'twould be jus' the same if we was the band of the R'yal Lifeguards."
"Well, whether he hears or not, I've a piece o' news for 'Bias Hunken, here. . . . P'raps he'd like to step outside an' discuss it?" suggested Cai awkwardly, remembering how he and 'Bias had parted overnight.
"I don't want to hear anything you can say," growled 'Bias.
"Oh, yes, you do! . . . I reckoned as you'd be down here, first thing after breakfast, sarchin' for them papers we talked about."
"Did you, now?"
"And I tried to catch you afore you started; but you'd breakfasted early. . . . Well, the long and short is, they're not lost after all!" Cai produced the bundle triumphantly.
"Eh! Where did you find 'em?" asked Fancy, while 'Bias took the parcel without a word of thanks, glanced at it carelessly, and set it down on the little round table beside the bed.
"In my strong-box. . . . There was two parcels, pretty much alike, on the top shelf of the safe yonder, and I must have taken 'Bias's by mistake. I'm glad, anyway," he went on, turning with moist eyes upon 'Bias, who appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. "I'm glad, anyway, t'have eased your mind so soon, let alone to have cut short your sarchin' which must ha' been painful enough—in a house o' sickness."
"Who was sarchin'?" asked 'Bias curtly. "Not me."
"And that's true enough," corroborated Fancy. "Why, Cap'n Hunken has never mentioned the papers! I guessed as you hadn' told him they was missin'."
"Eh? . . . I thought—I made sure, by his startin' down here so early—"
"Not a word of any papers did he mention," said Fancy. "He just come early to sit an' keep master company, havin' a notion that his poor old mind takes comfort from it somehow. Seven hours he sat here yesterday, an' never so much as a pipe of tobacco the whole time. Doctor said as a bit o' tobacco-smoke wouldn' do any harm in the room: but Cap'n Hunken allows as he'll be on the safe side."
Cai started. . . . For aught 'Bias knew then—as indeed 'Bias had reason to suspect—this husk of a man, helpless on the bed, had robbed him of his all, ruined him, left him no prospect but to begin life over again when late middle-age had sapped his vigour, attenuated the springs of action, left sad experience in the room of hope. And 'Bias's thought, ignoring it all, had been to sit beside this man's calamity, on the merest chance of piercing it with one ray of comfort!
Whereupon, as goodness takes inspiration from goodness, in Cai's heart, too, a miracle happened, He forgot himself, forgot his loss which was 'Bias's gain: forgot that, keeping his surly attitude, 'Bias had uttered neither a "thank you" nor a word of pity. Old affection, old admiration, old faith, and regard came pouring back in a warm tide, thrilling, suffusing his consciousness, drowning all but one thought— one proud thought that stood like a sea-mark above the flood, justifying all—"Even such a man I made my friend!"