Post Haste Part 18

Little did good Miss Stivergill imagine that she had dug a mine that night under Rosebud Cottage, and that the match which was destined to light it was none other than her innocent _protegee_, little Bones.

Throwing herself into the receptive arms of her mother, two days after the events just described, Tottie poured the delight and amazement of her surcharged spirit into sympathetic ears. Unfortunately her glowing descriptions also reached unsympathetic ears. Mrs Bones had happily recovered her husband, and brought him home, where he lay in his familiar corner, resting from his labours of iniquity. The unsympathetic ears belonged to Mr Abel Bones.

When Tottie, however, in her discursive wandering began to talk of pearls, and rubies, and diamonds, and treasures worth thousands of gold and silver, in a box on the sideboard, the ears became suddenly sympathetic, and Mr Bones raised himself on one elbow.

"Hush! darling," said Mrs Bones, glancing uneasily at the dark corner.

Mr Bones knew well that if his wife should caution Tottie not to tell him anything about Rosebud Cottage, he would be unable to get a word out of her. He therefore rose suddenly, staggered towards the child, and seized her hand.

"Come, Tot, you and I shall go out for a walk."

"Oh, Abel, don't. Dear Abel--"

But dear Abel was gone, and his wife, clasping her hands, looked helplessly and hopelessly round the room. Then a gleam of light seemed to come into her eyes. She looked up and went down on her knees.

Meanwhile Abel went into a public-house, and, calling for a pint of beer, bade his child drink, but Tottie declined. He swore with an oath that he'd compel her to drink, but suddenly changed his mind and drank it himself.

"Now, Tot, tell father all about your visit to Miss Stivergill. She's very rich--eh?"

"Oh! awfully," replied Tottie, who felt an irresistible drawing to her father when he condescended to speak to her in kindly tones.

"Keeps a carriage--eh?"

"No, nor a 'oss--not even a pony," returned the child.

"An' no man-servant about the house?"

"No--not as I seed."

"Not even a gardener, now?"

"No, only women--two of 'em, and very nice they was too. One fat and short, the other tall and thin. I liked the fat one best."

"Ha! blessin's on 'em both," said Mr Bones, with a bland smile. "Come now, Tot, tell me all about the cottage--inside first, the rooms and winders, an' specially the box of treasure. Then we'll come to the garden, an' so we'll get out by degrees to the fields and flowers. Go ahead, Tot."

It need scarcely be said that Abel Bones soon possessed himself of all the information he required, after which he sent Tottie home to her mother, and went his way.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

MISS LILLYCROP GETS A SERIES OF SURPRISES.

What a world this is for plots! And there is no escaping them. If we are not the originators of them, we are the victims--more or less. If we don't originate them designedly we do so accidentally.

We have seen how Abel Bones set himself deliberately to hatch one plot.

Let us now turn to old Fred Blurt, and see how that invalid, with the help of his brother Enoch, unwittingly sowed the seeds of another.

"Dear Enoch," said Fred one day, turning on his pillow, "I should have died but for you."

"And Miss Lillycrop, Fred. Don't be ungrateful. If Miss Lillycrop had not come to my a.s.sistance, it's little I could have done for you."

"Well, yes, I ought to have mentioned her in the same breath with yourself, Enoch, for she has been kind--very kind and patient. Now, I want to know if that snake has come."

"Are you sure you've recovered enough to attend to business?" asked the brother.

"Yes, quite sure. Besides, a snake is not business--it is pleasure. I mean to send it to my old friend b.a.l.l.s, who has been long anxious to get a specimen. I had asked a friend long ago to procure one for me, and now that it has come I want you to pack it to go by post."

"By post!" echoed the brother.

"Yes, why not?"

"Because I fear that live snakes are prohibited articles."

"Get the Post-Office Directory and see for yourself," said the invalid.

The enormous volume, full six inches thick, which records the abodes and places of business of all noteworthy Londoners, was fetched.

"Nothing about snakes here," said Enoch, running his eye over the paragraph referring to the articles in question,--"`Gla.s.s bottles, leeches, game, fish,' (but that refers to dead ones, I suppose) `flesh, fruit, vegetables, or other perishable substances' (a snake ain't perishable, at least not during a brief post-journey)--`nor any bladder or other vessel containing liquid,' (ha! that touches him: a snake contains blood, don't it?)--`or anything whatsoever which might by pressure or otherwise be rendered injurious to the contents of the mail-bags or to the officers of the Post-Office.'--Well, brother,"

continued Enoch, "I'm not quite sure that it comes within the forbidden degrees, so we'll give it the benefit of the doubt and pack it. How d'you propose doing it up? In a letter?"

"No, I had a box made for it before I was taken ill. You'll find it in the shop, on the upper shelf, beside the northern diver."

The little box was brought, and the snake, which had been temporarily consigned to an empty gla.s.s aquarium, was put into it.

"You're sure he don't bite, Fred, and isn't poisonous?"

"Quite sure."

"Then here goes--whew! what a lively fellow he is!"

This was indeed true. The animal, upwards of a yard in length, somewhat resembled the eel in his efforts to elude the grasp of man, but Mr Blurt fixed him, coiled him firmly down on his bed of straw and wadding, pressed a similar bed on the top of him to keep him quiet, and shut the lid.

"There; I've got him in all right. Now for the screws. He can't move easily, and even if he could he wouldn't make much noise."

The box was finally secured with a piece of string, a label with the address and the proper number of stamps was affixed, and then it was committed to the care of George Aspel to post, in time for the evening mail.

It was five minutes to six when Aspel ascended the steps of St.

Martin's-le-Grand. The usual rush was in progress. There was a considerable crowd in front of the letter-box. Instead of pushing through, George took advantage of his height, stretched his long arm over the heads of the people, and, with a good aim, pitched the box into the postal jaws.

For a few seconds he stood still, meditating a call on Phil Maylands.

But he was not now as eager to meet his friend as he used to be. He had begun a course of dissipation, and, superior though he was in years, physique, and knowledge to his friend, he felt a new and uncomfortable sense of inferiority when in the presence of the straightforward, steady boy.

At seventeen a year adds much to the manhood of a youth. Phil's powers of perception had been greatly quickened by his residence in London.

Although he regarded Aspel with as warm affection as ever, he could not avoid seeing the change for the worse in him, and a new feeling of deep anxiety and profound but respectful pity filled his heart. He prayed for him also, but did not quite believe that his prayers would be heard, for as yet he did not fully realise or comprehend the grand truths of the religion in which his mother had faithfully trained him. He did not at that time understand, as he afterwards came to understand, that the prayer of faith--however weak and fluttering--is surely answered, whether we see the answer or not, and whether the answer be immediate or long delayed.

On one occasion, with feelings of timorous self-abas.e.m.e.nt, he ventured to remonstrate with his friend, but the effort was repelled. Possibly the thought of another reproof from Phil was the cause of Aspel's decision not to look him up on the present occasion.

As he descended the steps, a man as tall and powerful as himself met him and stared him in the face. Aspel fired up at once and returned the stare. It was Abel Bones, on his way to post a letter. The glare intensified, and for a moment it seemed as if the two giants were about to fight. A small street boy, observing the pair, was transfixed with ardent hope, but he was doomed to disappointment. Bones had clenched his right hand. If he had advanced another inch the blood of the sea-kings would have declared for war on the spot, regardless of consequences. But Bones was too old a bird thus to come within reach of his great enemy, the law. Besides, a deeper though not immediate plan of revenge flashed into his mind. Relaxing the hand and frown simultaneously, he held out the former.