Sawn Off Part 20

"I don't think I was ever so hard up in my life," continued d.i.c.k--"and mother here will bear me out if I don't speak what's good as Gorspel; but afore I'd stay under your roof I'd try the workus. You needn't be afraid, Mr Maximilian Shingle, as your poor shoemaker of a brother, as has been unlucky all his life, a and never see the way to get up the ladder without shouldering and pulling some one else down--which wasn't his way--will ever trouble you again, nor let your wife's boys come hanging about after his poor dear gal. I never encouraged it, and never shall. Some day, p'r'aps, you'll come yourself and ask for it to be."

"I ask!" cried Max--"a common sempstress, an impudent drab!"

"Mr Shingle!" cried Tom furiously.

"Silence, sir!" shouted Max, who, roused by the opposition he had received, struck at his step-son with his ta.s.selled cane. "I said an impudent, bold-faced drab!"

"Stop!" roared d.i.c.k, from whose face the puzzled look seemed to have departed, to give place to one of angry decision; and he stepped, hammer in hand, close up to his brother. "Look here, Max," he cried, in a low, hoa.r.s.e voice, "I don't want to play Cain, and there ain't much of the Abel about you; but my poor gal here,"--he placed his arm round her as he spoke, and she hid her hot, indignant face upon his shoulder--"my poor gal here, I say, once read to me when she was a little un about a blacksmith knocking a man down with his hammer because he insulted his daughter. Now, you've insulted my dear, sweet gal, as the very poorest and lowest labourer about here has a respectful word for, and even the very costers at the stalls; and you've made my blood bile--poor, and thin, and beggarly as it is. So, now then, this is my house till I leaves it. I ain't Wat Tyler, and you ain't a tax-gatherer, but if you ain't gone in half a moment I'll give you what for."

"You scoundrel--you shall repent this!" cried Max.

But d.i.c.k made at him so menacingly that he hurried out of the house.

"Uncle," began Tom, who had stopped behind.

"Off with you!" cried d.i.c.k sternly. "I won't hear a word. No: nor you sha'n't touch her. Jessie, say good-bye to him, and there's an end of it. We'll emigrate."

"Oh, father, what have I done?" cried Jessie.

"Nothing, Jessie, but what is right, my own darling; and here, before your father and mother--"

"Tom!" shouted Max from without.

"I swear," continued Tom, "that I'll never give you up."

"That'll do," said d.i.c.k, uncompromisingly. "He's calling you. Out of my house!"

"Uncle," said Tom, "when you are cooler you'll think better of me, I hope. I can't help this. I do love Jessie dearly."

"I won't hear a word," cried d.i.c.k.

"But you'll shake hands with me?"

"No: I'm a poor shoemaker, and you're a gentleman. Be off!"

"Oh, father! father!" cried Jessie; and she flung her arms round his neck.

"No, I won't give way," cried d.i.c.k; but he was patting and soothing his child as he spoke.

"Shake hands with him, d.i.c.k," whispered Mrs Shingle. "It ain't his fault."

"I won't!" cried d.i.c.k. "It _is_ his fault. He had no business to come."

"No, father, it was my fault," sobbed Jessie. "Shake hands with him-- please do!"

All this while Tom was standing with extended hand; and at last d.i.c.k's went out to join it for a moment, and was then s.n.a.t.c.hed away.

"Good-bye, dear Jessie," said Tom then; "but mind, I shall keep to my word."

"Is that scoundrel coming?" said Max from without. d.i.c.k made a vicious "offer," as if to throw his hammer at the door; but Mrs Shingle took it from his hand.

"I'm coming," said Tom loudly; and then, taking Jessie's hand, he kissed it tenderly, and, as the poor girl began to sob piteously, he hurried out of the house and was gone.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FIVE.

FRED IS BUSY.

The offices of Maximilian Shingle were on the first-floor, in a narrow turning close to the Royal Exchange; and, though they were dark and inconvenient, they were handsomely furnished, as befitted a suite of three rooms for which a heavy rent was paid. The outer room was occupied by four clerks, the second room was allotted to his wife's elder son, and the inner sanctum was Max's own.

A morning or two after the visit to Crowder's Buildings, Fred was seated at his table, with a small open book before him--one which evidently had nothing to do with stock-broking; but he was studying it so hard that the lines were deeply marked upon his effeminate face.

Twice over he started, and closed it hastily, as he heard a step outside; but, after listening for a few moments, he resumed his task, and kept on with his study for some time. Then he closed the little memorandum book with a sigh, placed it carefully in his pocket, and opening a drawer, took out some doubled blotting paper, between which, on opening it, lay a piece of tracing paper and an old bill of exchange.

Placing this convenient to his hand, he also took a large blotter, arranged in it a sheet of paper, and wrote in the date and some half-dozen lines, before moving blotter and letter into a handy position.

This done, he listened for a few moments, and then taking the tracing paper and bill, began to go over the signature very carefully, writing it again and again, beginning at the top of his tracing paper, and forming a column of signatures.

Then there was a knock at the door; and as Fred cried "Come in!" the blotter was drawn deftly over the tracing paper, and he went on writing.

A clerk brought in a couple of letters to be signed, and this being done he retired; when Fred resumed his task, working away patiently, and always going over the writing again.

This went on for half an hour or so, until the young man started, and hastily drew the blotter over his work; for the door was being opened very slowly and quietly, and in a heavy, noiseless way, old Hopper entered the room.

"How do, Fred?" he said, approaching the table slowly.

"How do?" was the short, sharp reply. "What does he want?" he muttered.

"Hey?"

"I say what hot weather."

"Don't shout: I'm not so deaf as all that," said the old fellow hastily.

"Father in his room?"

"Yes," said Fred; "he's in there."

"Hey?"

"I say he's in there," roared the young man.

"I wish you wouldn't shout so, my lad," said the old man sourly. "I don't want the drums of my ears split. I could hear what you said. And how is the dear, good man, eh?"

"Same as usual," replied Fred, with a grin.

"Ah!" said Hopper, "you ought to be a very good young man, having such a step-father."

"I am," replied Fred.

"Hey?"