Nearly Bedtime Part 4

Perhaps he said "only" to make us understand that they were just alike in the matter of age, but that there the likeness ended.

Bob, the merry and talkative, was the one who led Tom, the quiet and silent. Bob's twinkling, puppy-like eyes--which peeped at you through a tangled fringe of brown hair--were the exact contrast to Tom's shy blue eyes, shaded by long, fair, girlish lashes. And Bob's jolly little round figure seemed to say, "Anything, be it meagre soup or even dry bread, fattens _me_;" while Tom's thin little limbs gave one a thought of unconscious cravings for appetising food.

The room where they were watching for father was a third floor front in Pleasant Court, not far from Waterloo Junction. Like many such "living-rooms," it can be best described by telling you that everything in it which should be large was small, and the other way about.

For instance, the fireplace was small and the crack under the door very large. The cupboard was very roomy, but the things kept in it very much too small and scarce. The bed was wide, but the blanket and counterpane sadly narrow.

Was there nothing that was as big as it should be?

Yes, indeed! In spite of these unsatisfactory surroundings, there was as large-hearted a love to be found in the small family which these four walls sheltered from the cold outside world, as any one could wish to see.

"I don't believe father's _never_ coming;" and Bob sighed again.

By this time the herring had found a cindery resting-place on a plate before the fire, and the twins were sitting side by side, with their bare toes on the fender and their eyes fixed upon the door, watching eagerly, like two little terriers.

But the sigh was answered by a distant sound, the plod--plod--plodding of weary feet up the two flights of uncarpeted stairs.

Then there was a grand commotion! The cushionless armchair was dragged nearer the fire; the old slippers dropped sole uppermost into the fender. And then Bob and Tom clung with a vice-like embrace each to an arm of the tall, gaunt, kindly eyed man who had opened the door.

"Father, father! the 'erring's done just lubly. I _am_ glad you're come at last!" This from Bob.

The father's hard, rough hand rested upon his tangled crop, but his eyes were looking into Tom's upturned face.

"And Tom, eh?" he asked.

"Jolly glad," answered the child readily.

Then the three sat down to their evening meal.

Would you like to know what it consisted of?

Tea, of a watery description, but _hot_ (Bob took care of that) and _sweet_--at least, father's cup, owing to Tom's kindly attentions with a grimy thumb and finger. The herring. This, of course, was the chief dish. Several t.i.t-bits, trembling upon father's fork, find their way into the "twinses'" mouths.

Lastly, bread and dripping.

Gull had tried to teach his motherless lads "to do as mother used." So there followed a systematic cleaning and arranging of the small supply of crockery.

Tom was the first to find a seat upon father's knee as he sat by the fire; but Bob soon climbed opposite to him, and together they looked with expectant eyes into father's face.

And father rubbed his head ruefully as he said, "Eh! I've got to tell the little lads summat to-night, have I? But there's nothing new been done, as far as I knows. It's the old dull story, bairnies. The fewest tips when the weather's the bitterest."

Gull was an outside porter at Waterloo Junction; and a slight lameness, caused by rheumatism, often cost him dearly. If his step could have been quicker, it would many times have taken him in the front of the younger porters, who darted forward and seemed to get all the jobs. The sixpences came very slowly into his pocket.

To-night he felt more than usually _down_, as he expressed it; and when he felt Tom's little bare toes slipping for warmth under his strong brown hand, tears crept into his eyes, and had to be rubbed away with the back of his sleeve.

Bob was very quick to notice this.

"I say," he cried, "you've been and gone and got something in your eye!"

"s.m.u.ts," suggested Tom.

"Oh, let me get them out, father! _Do!_ I'll be ever so gentle." And Bob suited the action to the word by raising himself on his knees to a level with Gull's face, and thrusting a screw of his old jacket into the corner of the suffering eye.

The operation ended in merry laughter, and the boys never knew that the s.m.u.ts were really tears forced to the surface by an overburdened heart.

"Father was just _real_ funny," that evening, as Bob whispered to Tom, when half the blanket covered them, later on--"just _real_ funny, wasn't he?"

And Tom answered sleepily, but happily, "Yes, jolly."

Meanwhile, the tired bread-winner sat alone by the fire, with all the fun faded from his face as he wondered "how long bad times lasted with most folks?" It was not until, with the childlike simplicity that was part of his nature, he had knelt and repeated the short and perfect prayer with which his little lads had made him so familiar, that any look of comfort or hope returned to his care-lined face.

A little anxiety, but a very pressing one just now, came with the thought that the four dear little feet, which had been treading the world for the past weeks chilled and barefooted, would very probably have to curl up piteously on the cold pavement for some time longer.

To get two pairs of small boots, and hope for money to pay for them by-and-by, never entered Gull's head. He had always paid his way without owing any man anything, as his father had before him.

Poor father! and poor little twins!

Yet wishes are sometimes carried quickly to their fulfilment; for a divine Lord changes them into prayers as they go upward.

The following evening, just at the hour when his boys were again straining their ears for the first sound of his footsteps, Gull was standing against one of the lamp posts outside Waterloo Station. He was peering anxiously into the face of every pa.s.senger who entered the station, every traveller who drove up from the busy streets, every business man who hurried in from the City.

Gull's lips were hard set. His eyes had a strained, anxious look; his expression was that of a warrior who was fighting a battle against heavy odds.

All day long there had been an inward struggle. Hour by hour the fight had been prolonged. Would honesty win the day? Was Gull leaning upon a strength mightier than his own?

He kept one hand buried in his pocket, always fingering there a _something_ which was the cause of all this mental disturbance. His other hand b.u.t.toned and unb.u.t.toned his overcoat with nervous restlessness.

And as he watched, two gentlemen came towards him under the gas lamps.

They were walking arm-in-arm, and talking earnestly about shares and stocks, and all those mysterious and fascinating things, that a certain Mr. Weller said "always went up and down in the city."

When Gull saw them he started forward, and looked searchingly into the face of the elder of the two. Then he followed them closely into the station--shuffling along lamely but resolutely.

Twice he put out his hand to touch this gentleman's sleeves, but something stronger than his will seemed to hold him back.

At the platform gate the ticket collector spoke to him.

"What! are you going by the 6.5, Gull?"

"No," he answered; "but I'm bound to have a word with yon gent before he goes."

"If it's a tip you're after, you're on the wrong tack, mate. I know yon gentleman too well." But he let Gull through the gate.

Mr. Kingsley, the elder traveller, was settling himself in a first-cla.s.s carriage, and leisurely enjoying the delightful employment of lighting his first cigar after a long day's work, when Gull opened the door and looked in.

"Beg pardon, sir," he began, "but did I carry a box for you this morning to the South Eastern, sir?"

Mr. Kingsley looked him well over before he answered, with a twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his little bright eyes--