A Dog with a Bad Name Part 55

The boy asked his question so eagerly and anxiously that it was evident it was not a case of idle curiosity.

"You must be meaning the son; I'm talking about the father. Wait till we get home, my boy, and you shall hear."

It required all Percy's patience to wait. The very mention of his friend's name had excited him. It never occurred to him there were hundreds of Jeffreys in the world, and that his uncle and he might be interested in quite different persons. For him there was but one Jeffreys in the universe, and he jumped at any straw of hope of finding him.

The reader knows all Colonel Atherton was able to tell Percy and Raby-- for Raby was not an uninterested listener--of the story of Mr Halgrove's partner. Percy in turn told what he knew of his Jeffreys; and putting the two stories together, it seemed pretty clear it was a history of parent and son.

Early next morning the colonel was at Clarges Street, seated in the study with his two old college friends.

"Well," said he, "here's a case of we three meeting again with a vengeance. And what have you been up to, Halgrove, these twenty years?

No good, I'll be bound."

"I have at least managed to keep clear of matrimony," said Mr Halgrove, "which is more than either of you virtuous family men can say."

"Ah, well," said the colonel, with a sigh, "that's not all misfortune-- witness my sweet daughter and Rimbolt's fine boy. What have you got to show against that?"

"Nothing, I confess."

"By the way, though, haven't you? The last I heard of you was in the papers; a record of a generous act on your part. You had adopted the son of an unfortunate partner of yours who had died. Is he still with you?"

"No," said Mr Halgrove; "that turned out an unfortunate speculation in every way."

"Did the boy bolt?"

"Not exactly. I sent him to a first-rate school, where he distinguished himself in a way of his own by an act of homicide."

"What?" exclaimed the colonel; and Mr Rimbolt suddenly became attentive.

"Yes. He either quite or very nearly did for a young schoolfellow in a fit of the tantrums, and found it convenient to quit the place rather abruptly."

"What was the name of the school?" asked Mr Rimbolt quietly.

"Bolsover, in --shire."

"Singular!" exclaimed the colonel. "I had a chum in India who had a boy at that very school."

Here the speaker became aware of a sharp kick under the table and a significant look from Mr Rimbolt. The old soldier was used to obey the word of command at a moment's notice and pulled up now.

"I should think a thing like that would be very bad for the school,"

said Mr Rimbolt quietly, and in an off-hand way.

"Fatal," said Mr Halgrove. "I believe Bolsover went to the dogs after it."

"And so you had--you had young--what was his name?"

"Jeffreys."

"Young Jeffreys on your hands?"

"Scarcely. We parted company. As I told him, I never was particular, but a man must draw the line somewhere, and I drew it at manslaughter."

"What became of him?"

"Well, before I went abroad he was usher in a dame school in York. He may be there still, unless by this time all his pupils are devoured."

"Very unpleasant business for you," said Mr Rimbolt.

"And," asked the colonel, with a wink at his brother-in-law, "did he, like the prodigal, take his portion of goods with him? I mean what his father left him."

Mr Halgrove for a moment raised his brows uncomfortably.

"No," said he; "Benjamin Jeffreys was an eccentric man, and invested his money in eccentric securities. His son's money, like the lad himself, went to the dogs, and left me decidedly out of pocket by my term of guardianship. I really advise neither of you to indulge your philanthropy in adopting somebody else's sons; it doesn't pay."

"Yours certainly was not a lucky experience," said Mr Rimbolt; "however, when you were last heard of, Fame reported that you could afford to drop a little."

"_Fama volat_, and so does money. No one could repeat the libel now with truth. The fact is, this visit to an old college friend is a trifle interested. My journey to the West has turned out badly, and, greatly as I should like it, I could not offer to lend either of you fellows a hundred pounds at this present moment. So I hope you won't ask me."

The talk here took a financial turn, and Mrs Rimbolt presently joining the party, she and her brother were left to themselves while Mr Rimbolt and the colonel took a short stroll.

Mr Rimbolt took the opportunity of telling his brother-in-law what he knew, not only of Jeffreys but of young Forrester, and the colonel told him of his obligation to find if possible the child of his dead companion-in-arms.

"It's a mixed-up business altogether," said he, "and from all I can judge something of a family matter. My little girl, Rimbolt, whom you've been so good to, seems to me more interested in this librarian of yours than she would like any one to suspect--eh?"

"I have fancied so," said Mr Rimbolt, "sometimes."

"Pleasant to come home and find everybody in the dumps about some person one has never seen. The sooner the rascal comes to light, the better for everybody and for my holiday. By the way, Rimbolt, that struck me as fishy about Jeffreys' money, didn't it you?"

"It did. I had never heard anything about Halgrove having a partner."

"I had. He went out of his mind and died by his own hand; but from what I knew of Halgrove then, I should say it was _he_ who had a weakness for eccentric speculations. However, the money's gone; so it's all the same for young Jeffreys."

Raby found her life at Regent's Park very different from that either at Wildtree or Clarges Street. Colonel Atherton was a man who hated ceremony of any kind, and had a great idea of letting everybody do as they chose. Raby consequently found herself her own mistress in a way she had never experienced before. It was not altogether a delightful sensation; for though she loved her father's companionship and the care of looking after his wants, she often felt the time hang heavy on her hands.

The colonel had a number of old friends to look up, and a great deal of business to do; and Raby, used to company of some sort, found his absences lonely. Percy was often at the house, but he in his present dismal mood was poor company. His one topic was Jeffreys; and that to Raby was the last topic on which she felt drawn to talk to any one.

When, therefore, a neighbour suggested to her one day to give an hour or two a week to visiting the poor of the district, Raby hailed the proposal gladly. It was work she had been used to at Wildtree, and to which she had already had yearnings in London, though Mrs Rimbolt had opposed it.

"Mind? Not a bit," said her father, when she broached the subject to him, "as long as you don't get small-pox or get into mischief. I should like to be a denizen of a slum myself, for the pleasure of getting a visit from you."

And so the girl began her work of charity, spending generally an hour a day, under the direction of her friend, in some of the closely packed alleys near. As she made a point of being home always to welcome her father in the afternoon, her visits were generally paid early in the day, when the men would be away at work and when the chief claimants on her help and pity would be the poor women and children left behind, with sometimes a sick or crippled man unable to help himself. It was often sad, often depressing work. But the brave girl with a heart full of love faced it gladly, and felt herself the happier for it day by day.

It was on an afternoon shortly after this new work had been begun that she was overtaken by a sudden October squall as she was hurrying back through Regent's Park towards home. The morning had been fine, and she had neither cloak nor umbrella. No cab was within sight; and there was nothing for it but to stand up under a tree till the rain stopped, or walk boldly through it. She was just debating this question with herself when she became aware of an umbrella over her, and a voice at her side saying,--

"This is most fortunate. Miss Atherton. Who would have thought of meeting you here?"

It was Scarfe; and Raby would sooner have met any one else in the world.

"Thank you," said she, "I shall be quite sheltered under this tree.

Don't let me detain you."