A Dog with a Bad Name Part 60

Jeffreys told him. The story was the history of his life since he had left Bolsover; and it took long to tell, for he pa.s.sed over nothing.

"Poor old man!" said Forrester, when it was done; "what a lot you have been through!"

"Have I not deserved it? That day at Bolsover--"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't go back to that. You know it was an accident, and what was not an accident was the fault of my own folly.

That night I awoke and saw you standing at the door, I knew that you had already suffered as much as I had."

"That was the last time I saw you. You forget I have still to hear what happened to you afterwards."

"It's pretty easily told. But I say, Jeff, what did you say her name was?"

"Raby Atherton," said Jeffreys, smiling. This was about the twentieth time the boy had broken in with some question about her. "She is the daughter of your guardian, Colonel Atherton, who was your father's comrade in Afghanistan. Some day she will tell you the story of a battle out there which will make you proud of being Captain Forrester's son. But I want to hear about you."

"I was taken home to Grangerham, you know. My grandmother was ill at the time, and just starting South, so I was left in charge of my old nurse. She was an awful brick to me, was that old soul, and I don't believe I know yet all she did and put up with for me.

"The doctors at Grangerham couldn't make anything of me. One said I'd be cutting about again in a few weeks, and another said I'd be buried in a few days. It's hard to decide when doctors disagree at that rate, and old Mary gave it up, and did what was the best thing--kept me quietly at home. Of course we thought that my grandmother had written to my father, but she hadn't, so he can't have heard for ages. We heard of my grandmother's death presently, and then made the pleasant discovery that she had died in debt, and that the furniture of the house was hired.

That pulled Mary and me up short. She had saved a little, and I believe she spent every penny of that to get me up to London to a hospital. I didn't have a bad time of it there for a month or two. I was considered an interesting case, and had all sorts of distinguished fellows to come and look at me, and I lived like a fighting-c.o.c.k all the time. I found, as long as I lay flat, and didn't get knocked about, I was really pretty comfortable, and what was more, I could use my hands. That was no end of a blessing. I had picked up a few ideas about drawing you know, at Bolsover, and found now that I could do pretty well at it. I believe some of my sketches at the Middles.e.x were thought well of. Mary came to see me nearly every day. I could see she was getting poorer and poorer, and when at last I was discharged, the little rooms she took me to were about as poor as they could be to be respectable.

"I'd hardly been back a week, when one day after going out to try to sell some of my sketches, she came home ill and died quite suddenly. I was all up a tree then--no money, no friends, no legs. I wrote to Frampton, but he can't have got my letter. Then I got threatened with eviction, and all but left out in the street, when the person old Mary had sold my sketches to called round and ordered some more. I didn't see him, but a brute of a woman who lived in the house did, and was cute enough to see she could make a good thing out of me. So she took possession of me, and ever since then I've been a prisoner, cut off from the outside world as completely as if I had been in a dungeon, grinding out pictures by the dozen, and never seeing a farthing of what they fetched, except in the food which Black Sal provided to keep me alive.

Now and then, in an amiable mood, she would get me a newspaper; and once I had to ill.u.s.trate a cheap edition of Cook's _Voyages_, and of course had the book to go by. But she never let me write to anybody or see anybody, and mounted guard over me as jealously as if I had been a veritable goose that laid golden eggs.

"You know the rest. We got turned out when they pulled down the old place, and took refuge in Driver's Alley, a nice select neighbourhood; and there you found me, old man."

"Think of being near one another so long," said Jeffreys, "and never knowing it."

"Ten to one that's exactly what my guardian's daughter is observing to herself at this moment. I say, Jeff, compared with Driver's Court, this is a palatial apartment, and you are a great improvement on Black Sal; but for ah that, don't you look forward to seeing a little civilisation--to eating with a fork, for instance, and hearing an 'h'

aspirated; and--oh, Jeff, it will be heavenly to wear a clean collar!"

Jeffreys laughed.

"Your two years' trouble haven't cast out the spirit of irreverence, youngster," said he.

"It _is_ jolly to hear myself called youngster," said the boy, in a parenthesis; "it reminds me of the good old days."

"Before Bolsover?" said Jeffreys sadly.

"Look here! If you go back to that again, and pull any more of those long faces, Jeff, I'll be angry with you. Wasn't all that affair perhaps a blessing in the long run? It sent me to a school that's done me more good than Bolsover; and as for you--well, but for it you'd never have had that sweet visitor this morning."

"Don't talk of that. That is one of the chief drawbacks to my going back into civilisation, as you call it."

"A very nice drawback--if it's the only one--"

"It's not--there's another."

"What is that?"

"My babies!"

It was a strange, happy night, that last in the Storr Alley garret.

Jeffreys had begged Raby to let them stay where they were in peace for that day; and she considerately kept their counsel till the morning.

Then she told her father the strange story.

"Two birds with one stone, and such a stone!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the bewildered colonel.

"Four birds, father--there are two babies as well."

"Whew!" said the colonel, "what a holiday I am having!"

"Poor father," said the girl, "it's too bad!"

"Oh, well. The more the merrier. What's to be done now? We'd better charter a coach and four and a bra.s.s band and go and fetch them home in state. If they'd wait till to-morrow we would have up a triumphal arch too."

"How frivolous you are, father! We must get them away with as little fuss as possible. I arranged with Mr Jeffreys that he would bring Mr Forrester here in a cab this morning."

"And the babies?"

"He will go back for them afterwards."

"Well, as you like; but what about Percy and the Rimbolts?"

"Percy was to go out of town to-day, you know, and will not be back till to-morrow. By that time we shall be able to find out what Mr Jeffreys would like best."

"Oh, very good. We'll wait till his royal highness signifies his pleasure, and meanwhile our relatives and friends must be avoided-- that's what you mean."

"No," said Raby, colouring; "but you know how easily frightened he is."

The colonel laughed pleasantly.

"All right, Raby; they shall be let down as easily as you like. Now shall I be in the way when they come, or shall I make myself scarce?

And, by the way, I must go at once and get a perambulator, and feeding- bottles, and all that sort of thing. How many times a day am I to be sent out to take them walks?"

"You're too silly for anything," said Raby dutifully.

She was grateful to him for making things so easy, and for covering her own ill-disguised embarra.s.sment by this adroit show of frivolity.

There was no frivolity in the manner in which the gallant soldier welcomed his old comrade's son, when an hour later he entered the house, borne in the strong arms of his friend. A couch was ready for him, and everything was made as simple and homelike as possible. Jeffreys stayed long enough to help the boy into the civilised garments provided for him, and then quietly betook himself once more to Storr Alley.

The curiosity roused by the departure of 'Black Sal's Forrester' in a cab was redoubled when, late that afternoon, Jeffreys was seen walking out of the alley with the baby in one arm and Tim holding onto the other. He had considered it best to make no public announcement of his departure. If he had, he might have found it more difficult than it was to take the important step. As it was, he had to run a gauntlet of a score of inquisitive idlers, who were by no means satisfied with the a.s.surance that he was going to give the children an airing.

The general opinion seemed to be that he was about to take the children to the workhouse, and a good deal of odium was worked up in consequence.

Some went so far as to say he was going to sell or drown the infants; and others, Driver's Alley refugees, promised him a warm reception if he returned without them! He neither returned with nor without them. They saw him no more. But it was given to the respectable inhabitants of a crescent near Regent's Park, about half an hour later, to witness the strange spectacle of a big young man, carrying a small baby in his arms and a big one on his shoulder--for Tim had turned restive on his hands-- walk solemnly along the footpath till he reached the door of Colonel Atherton's, where he rang.

The colonel and Raby had a queer tea-party that evening. When the meal was ended, Jeffreys was called upon to put his infants to bed, and a wonderful experience to those small mortals was the warm bath and the feather-bed to which they were severally introduced. Jeffreys was thankful that the baby was restless, and gave him an excuse for remaining in retirement most of the evening. At length, however, silence reigned; and he had no further excuse.

Entering the parlour, he perceived almost with a shock that Mr Rimbolt was there. He had called in accidentally, and had just been told the news.

"My dear fellow," said he, as he took his old librarian's hand, "how we have longed for this day!"