Sawn Off Part 27

"Here's the note, mother; and don't spare expense--as far as five shillings go. Get a drop of whiskey, too."

"Hey! whiskey? Who said whiskey?" exclaimed Hopper. "Going to have a drop of whiskey to-night, d.i.c.k?"

d.i.c.k nodded.

"That's good," said the old fellow, laughing and nodding his head.

"We'll drink success to the new venture, d.i.c.k."

"We will. Now, then, what's it to be, eh? Here we go: `Life's a b.u.mper!' That'll do, for it is; and many a b.u.mp and bruise it has given me."

Hopper's head went down over his 'cello, d.i.c.k's cheek on his violin; and the oddly a.s.sorted couple began to solemnly sc.r.a.pe away, sometimes melodiously, sometimes getting into terrible tangles over the score, consequent upon its being set for three voices or instruments, and d.i.c.k having to dodge up and down, from the treble to the tenor and back; while Hopper, with half-closed eyes, and his head moving to and fro like a snag on an American river, kept on sawing away, regardless of everything but the deep tones he evolved from the strings.

From "Life's a b.u.mper" they went on to "Vital Spark," and from "Vital Spark" to the "Hallelujah Chorus," and from the "Hallelujah Chorus" to "Forgive, blest Shade;" and then d.i.c.k tried a solo known as "The Cuckoo." But it was a failure; for though he managed the first note of the bird, the second would not come--all owing to want of practice,--so he gave way to Hopper, who, with knitted brows, played his solo, "Adeste fideles," with variations; the effect upon the boy being absolutely painful, causing him to thrust his legs up under the stool, and head down, with his arms crossed over his person. His face, too, was drawn; and had it not been for the variations, it seemed probable that he would have had a fit of sobbing. These latter, being more lively, saved him; though he had a painful relapse during the third variation, which was _largo_, and in A minor, his face during the performance being a study.

However, he became convalescent during the _allegro finale_, and all ended well.

Tea being declared ready, the musicians ceased their toils for the time being, and feasted on watercress and shrimps; and though the "creases,"

as d.i.c.k called them, were a little yellow, and the shrimps dull in hue, and too crumby and soft for crustaceans, the meal was a great success, and Hopper actually made a joke.

Like giants refreshed, d.i.c.k and he returned to their instruments, and sawed away until supper, which was luxurious, consisting, as it did, of a highly savoured rump-steak pudding, with so much pepper in it, in fact, that both took off their coats, and perspired in peace.

"Ha!" said Hopper suddenly--"I like this; it's better than eating curry in company at your brother's, where you can't scratch your head."

"Yes, nice pudding," said d.i.c.k, with his mouth full. "You've put a good lot of salt in it, Jessie."

"Lot!" chuckled Hopper. "I had one bit that tasted as if Jessie had put in Lot's wife as well--the whole pillar. But, never mind, my dear; that's the best pudding I ever ate in my life. I could taste your fingers in the crust."

The table being cleared, half a bottle of whiskey and the pipes were placed, with hot water, on the table by Jessie, whose eyes were always wandering nervously towards the door, as if expecting to see some one come in.

Hopper was the first to help himself to whiskey, which he did liberally, apparently not being able to judge the quant.i.ty on account of the foreshortening effect of the tumbler.

"That boy Fred been about here lately?" he said, taking his pipe from his mouth, and poking at the lump of sugar in his gla.s.s with a spoon, as if he were offended with it, or looked upon it as Fred's head.

"Not for some days," said d.i.c.k, puffing out a cloud of smoke, while he glanced at Jessie, whose forehead contracted, and she turned slightly away.

"Don't have him here: he's a bad one," said Hopper. "I don't like him.

Look at his moustaches."

"Ain't here."

"Hey? Ain't here? Who said he was? Just look at his moustaches, stretching straight out on both sides, and worked into a point with wax."

"Well, they ain't pretty, certainly."

"Pretty? Did you say pretty?"

d.i.c.k nodded.

"Look as if they were fixed there as handles to open his mouth with, or to steer him. I don't like that boy. You, Jessie, if you let that chap make love to you--Heyday, what's the matter now?"

The matter was that Jessie had darted an indignant look at him and gone upstairs to her bedroom.

"Look at that now!" said Hopper.

"Well, you shouldn't speak to her like that," said Mrs Shingle indignantly.

"Oh, if it's coming to pride, I'm off," said Hopper.

"This is getting on in the world." And, laying down his pipe, he prepared to go.

"No, no, no--what nonsense!" cried d.i.c.k and his wife. And together they forced the old fellow back into his chair, where, becoming somewhat mollified after another gla.s.s of whiskey and water, he began to talk.

"She oughtn't to have huffed off like that," he said. "But I like Jessie: she's a sensible girl, wears her own hair, and doesn't turn her boot-heels into stilts and walk like a hen going to peck the ground with her beak; though how she expects to get on without being more fashionable I don't know. Ah! it's a strange world, but it's a great nuisance that we shall all have to die some day. Max won't mind it a bit," he chuckled, "he's such a good man."

"You leave Max alone," said d.i.c.k gruffly.

"Hey? what say?"

"I say you leave Max alone. He's my brother; and blood is thicker than water after all--ain't it, mother?"

"Hush!" said Hopper, suddenly removing his pipe and making signs with the stem.

"What's the matter?"

"There's some one outside, under the window," he said, in a whisper.

"Why, you can't hear," said d.i.c.k, in the same low voice.

"Can't hear? No; but I can feel some one there."

"It's the boy," said d.i.c.k.

"No; he's gone to bed this hour," said Mrs Shingle nervously.

"Let's go and see," whispered Hopper.

"Stop a moment," said d.i.c.k, frowning; and, getting up, he opened the door that led upstairs, when a low whispering was plainly heard from above.

d.i.c.k shut the door quickly, and turned to his wife.

"Mother," he said huskily, "I wouldn't have believed this if I'd been told. Did you know of it?"

"No, dear--no," she cried agitatedly. "But pray--stop. What are you going to do?"

"Put an end to it!" he cried fiercely. "My gal's going to be a lady; and do you think I'm going to let her be the talk of the town?"

"Don't do anything rash, d.i.c.k, old chap," said Hopper, laying his hand upon the other's arm.

"Rash!" cried d.i.c.k, bitterly. "I've been waiting for prosperity to come all my life; but, curse it, give me poverty again, if riches are to be like this."