Mattie:-A Stray Volume I Part 24

"No, my boy--don't let me keep you from your club engagements. If you are behind time take the carriage."

"No, no--not so selfish as that, sir. Good night."

"Good night."

The good-looking young man did not wait to see the result of his father's mission; he glanced for a moment at Mattie, and then took his departure, leaving the stately old gentleman confronting her at the counter.

"This is Mr. Wesden's, stationer, I believe?" he asked, surveying Mattie through his gla.s.ses.

"Yes, sir."

"A Mr. Hinchford lives here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he within?"

"Not the old gentleman, I believe, sir."

"As I have not come hither to base my hopes of an interview on the belief of a black-eyed shop-girl, will you be kind enough to inquire?"

The old gentleman sat down and loosened the gilt clasp of a long cloak which he wore--an old-fashioned, oddly cut black cloak, with a cape to it.

Mattie forgot the likeness which this gentleman bore to the lodger up-stairs; lost her impression of the carriage at the door, and thought of Mrs. Watts and the hundred tricks of London thieves. She began thumping with her heels on the floor, until she quite shook up the old gentleman on the other side of the counter.

"What's that for, my child?" he asked.

"That'll bring up the servant--I never leave the shop."

The gentleman closed his gla.s.ses, and rapped upon the counter with them, in rather an amused manner.

"By Jupiter Tonans, that's amusing! She thinks I am going to make off with the stationery," he said, more to himself than Mattie.

Ann Packet, round eyed and wondering as usual, looked over the parlour blind. Mattie beckoned to her, and she opened the parlour door.

"Run up and tell Mr. Sidney that a gentleman wishes to see his father.

Is he to wait, or to call again?"

"I think I might answer that question better myself--stay."

The slim old gentleman very slowly and deliberately searched for his card-case, produced it and drew forth a card.

"Present that to Mr. Sidney, and say that the bearer is desirous of an interview."

Ann Packet took the card in her great red hand, turned it over, looked from it to the owner, gave vent to an idiotic "Lor!" and then trudged up-stairs with the card. Mattie and the old gentleman, meanwhile, continued to regard each other--the suspicions of the former not perfectly allayed yet.

Ann Packet returned, appearing by the staircase door this time.

"Mr. Sidney Hinchford will see you, sir--if your business is of importance, he says."

The gentleman addressed compressed his lips--very thin lips they became on the instant--but deigned no reply. He rose from his chair, and followed Ann through the door, up-stairs towards Mr. Hinchford's room, leaving his hat on the counter, where he had very politely placed it upon entering the shop.

Mattie put it behind her, and then scowled down a lack-a-daisical footman, who was simpering at her between a _Family Herald_ and a portrait of T. P. Cooke.

The stranger followed Ann Packet up-stairs, and entered the room on the first floor, glancing sharply round him through his gla.s.ses, and taking a survey of everything which it contained on the instant. There was a fire burning in the grate that autumn night; the gas was lighted; the tea-things ready on the table; at a smaller table by the window, working by the light of a table-lamp adorned with a green shade, and with another green shade tied across his forehead by way of extra protection for the eyes he worked so mercilessly, sat Sidney Hinchford, the only occupant of the room.

Sidney rose, bowed slightly, pointed to a chair with the feather of his pen, then sat down again, and looked at his visitor from under the ugly shade, which cast his face into shadow.

The gentleman bowed also, and took the seat indicated, keeping his gold-rimmed gla.s.ses on his nose.

"You are my brother James's son, I presume?"

"The same, sir."

"You are surprised to see me here?"

"Yes, sir--now."

"Why now?" was the quick question that followed like the snap of a trigger.

"Years and years ago, when I was a lad, I fancied that you might visit here, and make an effort to bridge over an ugly gulf, sir."

"Years and years ago, young man, I had too much upon my mind, and, it was just possible, more pride in my heart than to make the first advances."

"You were the richer man--and you had done the wrong."

"Wrong, sir!" replied the other; "there was no wrong done that I am aware of. I was a man careful of my money, and your father was a man improvident with his. Was it wrong to object to an alliance?"

"I have but a dim knowledge of the story, sir. My father does not care to dwell upon it."

"I will tell it you."

The old gentleman drew his chair nearer to Sidney; the young man held up his hand.

"Pardon me, but I have no desire to hear it. Were I to press my father, I could learn it from his own lips. Please state the object of your coming hither."

"To make the first advances in the latter days that have come to him and me," he said; "can I say more? To help him if he be in distress--and to a.s.sist his son if he find the world hard to cope with. It is a romantic appearance, a romantic penitence if you will, for not allowing your father to spend my money as well as his own," he added, with a slight curl of the lip, which turned Sidney suddenly against him; "but it is an effort to bridge over the gulf to which you have recently alluded."

"I fear my father will not thank you for the effort," was the cold reply; "and for the help which you would offer now, I can answer for his refusal."

"Ah! he was always a proud fellow, and blind to his own interest," was the quiet observation here; "his friends laughed at his pride, and traded in his weakness before you were born."

"He has one friend living who respects them now, sir."

"His son, I presume?"

"His son, sir."