Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 39

It chanced that on the very same Sunday evening, when they were talking at North Villa of Valentine's doings, Tom broached the subject to his mother. They were sitting out of doors in the warm summer twilight, sniffing the hayc.o.c.ks in the neighbouring field. Tom spoke abruptly.

"Should you mind my going to London, mother?"

"To London!" cried Mrs. Chandler. "What for?"

"To live."

"You--you are not leaving Mr. Paul, are you?"

"I am thinking of it. You see, mother mine, there is no prospect of advancement where I am. It seems to me that I may jog on for ever at two hundred a-year----"

"It is enough for us, Tom."

"As things are, yes: but nothing more. If--for instance--if I wanted to set up a home of my own, I have no means of doing it. Never shall have, at the present rate."

Mrs. Chandler turned and looked at Tom's face. "Are you thinking of marrying, Tom?"

"No. It is of no use to think of it. If I thought of it ever so, I could not do it. Putting that idea aside, it occurs to me sometimes to remember that I am eight-and-twenty, and ought to be doing better for myself."

"Do you fancy you could do better in London?"

"I am sure I could. Very much better."

Opening the Bible on her lap, Mrs. Chandler took out the spectacles that lay between the leaves, and put them into their case with trembling fingers.

"Do whatever you think best, Tom," she said at length, having waited to steady her voice. "Children leave their parents' home for one of their own; this Book tells us that they should do so. Had Jacob Chandler done the right thing by you, you would never have needed to leave Islip: had his son done the right thing by me, I should not be the burden to you that I am. But now that George has taken to sending me money over from Canada----"

"Burden!" interrupted Tom, laughingly. "Don't you talk treason, Mrs.

Chandler. If I do go to London, you will have to come with me, and see the lions."

That night, lying awake, Tom made his mind up. He had been offered a good appointment in London to manage a branch office for a large legal firm--four hundred a-year salary. And he would never for a moment have hesitated to take it, but for not liking to leave old Paul and (especially) old Paul's daughter.

Walking to Islip the next morning, he thought a bit about the best way of breaking it to Mr. Paul--who would be sure to come down upon him with a storm. By midday he had found no opportunity of speaking: people were perpetually coming in: and in the afternoon Tom had to go a mile or two into the country. In returning he overtook Emma. She was walking along the field-path under the hedge, her hat hanging on her arm by its strings.

"It is so warm," said she, in apology, as Tom shook hands. "And the trees make it shady here. I went over to ask Mary Maceveril to come back with me and dine: but they have gone to Worcester for the day."

"So much the better for me," said Tom. "I want to tell you, Emma, that I am going to leave."

"To leave!"

"I have had a very good place offered me in London. Mr. Paul knows nothing about it yet, for I did not make up my mind till last night, and I could not get a minute alone with him this morning."

She had turned her face suddenly to the hedge, seemingly to pick a wild rose. Tom saw that the pink roses on her cheek had turned to white ones.

"I shall be very sorry to leave Islip, Emma. But what else can I do?

Situated as I am now, I cannot even glance at any plans for the future.

By making this change, I may be able to do so. My salary will be a good one and enable me to put by: and the firm I am going to dropped me a hint of a possible partnership."

"I wish these dog-roses had no thorns! And I wish they would grow double, as the garden roses do!"

"So that I--having considered the matter thoroughly--believe I shall do well to make the change. Perhaps then I may begin to indulge dreams of a future."

"There! all the petals are off!"

"Let me gather them for you. What is the matter, Emma?"

"Matter? Nothing, sir. What should there be?"

"Here is a beauty. Will you take it?"

"Thank you. I never thought you would leave papa, Mr. Chandler."

"But--don't you perceive my reasons, Emma? What prospect is there for me as long as I remain here? What hope can I indulge, or even glance at, of--of settling in life?"

"I dare say you don't want to settle."

"I do not put the question to myself, because it is so useless."

"I shall be late for dinner. Good-bye."

She took a sudden flight to the little white side-gate of her house, which opened to the field, ran across the garden, and disappeared within doors. Tom, catching a glimpse of her face, saw that it was wet with tears.

"Yes, it's very hard upon her and upon me," he said to himself. "And all the more so that I cannot in honour speak, even just to let her know that I care for her."

Continuing his way towards the office, he met Mr. Paul, who was just leaving it. Tom turned with him, having to report to him of the business he had been to execute.

"I expected you home before this, Chandler."

"Willis was out when I arrived there, and I had to wait for him. His wife gave me some syllabub."

"Now for goodness' sake don't mix up syllabubs with law!" cried the old gentleman, testily. "That's just you, Tom Chandler. Will Willis do as I advise him, or will he not?"

"Yes, he is willing; but upon conditions. I will explain to-morrow morning," added Tom, as Mr. Paul laid his hand upon the handle of his front-gate, to enter.

"You can come in and explain now: and take some dinner with me."

Emma did not know he was there until she came into the dining-room. It gave her a sort of pleasant shock. They were deep in conversation about Willis, and she sat down quietly.

"I am glad he has asked me," thought Tom. "It will give me an opportunity of telling him about myself after dinner."

Accordingly, when the port wine was on the table and Emma had gone, for she never stayed after the cloth was removed, Tom spoke. Old Paul was pouring out his one large gla.s.s. The communication was over in a few words, for Tom did not feel it a comfortable one to make.

"Oh!" said old Paul, after listening. "Want to better yourself, do you?

Going to London to get four hundred a-year, with a faint prospect of partnership? Have had it in your mind some time to make a change? No prospects here at Islip? Can only just keep your mother? Perhaps you want to keep a wife as well, Tom Chandler?"

Tom flushed like a school-girl. As the old gentleman saw, peering at him from under his bushy grey eyebrows.

"I should very much like to be able to do it, sir," boldly replied Tom, playing with his wine-gla.s.s. "But I can't. I can't as much as think of it under present circ.u.mstances."