Sawn Off Part 30

"Not saved much, I should say," replied Hopper; "but he's making money fast. So are you."

"Um--no. I'm very heavily insured, though."

"Not in the Oldwives' Friendly?" said Hopper, with a curious look, though he knew the fact well.

"Well--er--er--yes, I am," said Max.

"They'll go to smash," said Hopper eagerly. "Haven't you heard the rumours?"

"Ye-es," faltered Max.

"The scoundrels! And you such a good man, too, who has saved up and toiled for his family. I tell you what I'd do," he said earnestly.

"What?" cried Max, turning to him with the eagerness of one in peril.

"They must last another twelvemonth, and pay up liabilities till then."

"Yes, they must do that, I should say," said Max.

"Then die at once, and let your people draw the money!" cried Hopper, slapping him in the breast, and gazing at him with the most serious of aspects. "So good and self-denying! You all over."

Max started back, with horror in his countenance, and glared at Hopper, whose countenance, however, never for a moment changed; and he hastily poured himself out a gla.s.s of port and tossed it off.

"Very hard upon you, Max. I wish I was rich, and could help you. For you have been hit hard, of course. Never mind: you've that violent girl's money in hand--six thousand. Make one of your boys marry her, and that'll be all right."

Max winced visibly.

"Haven't spent it, have you?" continued Hopper, watching him from the corners of his eyes. "No, you're too good a man for that? and it would be ugly."

"Shall we go up to the drawing-room?" said Max, rising.

"Hey? Go upstairs? No, not to-night, thankye. Say good-bye to the ladies. I'll be off now. Thankye for a bad dinner. More wine? No, I'm going to my lodging, for a quiet pipe and a gla.s.s of toddy before bed. Wretched weather, ain't it? All right: I can get my coat on.

Thankye, Max, thankye. I sha'n't die yet, you know; your secret's all right. Stop till I put on my respirator, so as to keep my lungs all right for your sake. Now my hat and stick. Thankye."

He b.u.t.toned his coat tightly, looped the elastic of his respirator over his ears, and then stumbled to the door, gave the mat an ugly stab with his stick, nodded, did not shake hands, and went stumping down the street, talking to himself the while.

"I wonder whether that Tom is a trump at bottom?" he said. "I don't know yet, but there's a bit of a mystery over it all; and about Fred and that girl Jessie. She's a puzzle, too. I wouldn't have thought it of her; but I never did understand women. And so old Max is. .h.i.t hard.

Well, it's the old saying, `Money got over old What's-his-name's back's spent under his chest;' and I'm sure of it. I'd swear it. He's spent every penny of that violent girl's fortune, as sure as my name's Hopper, which it really is."

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER NINE.

A GREAT CHANGE.

Richard Shingle was seated in his study--his own special room, tabooed, as he said, to every one but the specials--the specials being those whom he admitted. The place had a gay bachelor look about it, with a smoking-cap putting out a fiery bronze Amazon, and the green shade of a gas globe perched on one side, giving it a rakish air, as if it had been out all night. Cigars were in a box on a table, a handsome soda-water and spirit stand was on a sideboard, ready for use.

The furniture of the room was handsome, and in excellent taste; but it seemed as if finishing touches had been put by the owner himself, the said touches not being in keeping with the rest of the arrangements.

There was an absence of books, too, in the place, which certainly had not a studious air. There were, however, plenty of newspapers and reviews; and it was observable that while the _Sat.u.r.day_ and _Spectator_ were in an uncut state, _Reynold's_ and _Lloyd's_ were crumpled with much reading.

Richard Shingle, Esquire, was lolling idly back in a comfortable easy chair, in a rather loud-patterned shawl dressing-gown; one leg was thrown negligently over the chair-arm, a good cigar was in his lips, and as he smoked he diligently read the _Times_.

There was an appearance about Richard Shingle of having been dressed and had his hair brushed by somebody else, with the result that he was not quite comfortable; and every now and then he looked at the stubby fingers of his right hand, and had a bite at the hard skin at the sides, as if to help them to grow soft and genteel; for though as clean as if he had boiled them every day, to get them rid of old stains, they looked as thorough a pair of workman's hands as it was possible to encounter in friendly grasp or clenched in warfare unpleasantly near your nose.

"Phew! this is hard work," said d.i.c.k, pulling out a crimson silk handkerchief and wiping his forehead.

Then, laying down the paper, he rose, crossed the room, and poured himself out a little brandy from a decanter, before taking up a bottle of soda-water.

There was a sharp explosion: the cork struck a gas globe with a loud ring, and before d.i.c.k could pour out the contents of the bottle, half of it was on the Turkey carpet, drenching his hands and the front of his dressing-gown.

"If it was only genteel to swear," he thought, "I'd have such a good one. Yah, it's as ga.s.sy as brother Max. Wonder he has never found me out. Here's a pretty mess! Ah! that's better, though," he continued, as he poured out and drank the refreshing draught before returning to his seat, wiping his hands upon his crimson silk handkerchief. "It's very good sort of stuff, brandy and soda, specially the brandy; but I don't know that I like it so well as half a pint of beer just drawn up cool out of a cellar, with plenty of head. Ah, those were days after all!" he said, sorrowfully. "One can't go and have half-pints now.

Hold hard, my lad! Taboo! taboo! That's all taboo, you know.

"Well, I was always grumbling then, and wanting to be well off; but, somehow, we was very happy," he continued, reseating himself in his easy chair. "Now I'm well off, I'm always feeling as if I wanted something else. But I don't know: if Jessie would only look all right again, and matters be square, I don't think I should grumble much. Well, here goes once more."

He gave the paper a fierce shake, got his leg well over the arm of the chair, and went on reading aloud.

"`The Chancellor of the Ex-exchequer ap-peal-ed to the 'Ouse to give doo con-sid-e-ra-tion to the wote--vote--and said--plead--' Blow the paper!

it's awfully dry work going through all this 'Ouse of Commons business every morning. Not half so interesting as the little bits about the accidents and murders and 'saults down at the bottom of the weekly papers.--One never knows where one is; and the way I get the two sides of the 'Ouse mixed up together makes me thankful I ain't in Parlymint, or I should be doing some mischief. I wish Jessie would come. The members don't seem to talk quite so much stuff when she reads. Poor la.s.s! I'd give a thousand pounds down--and I could give it, too," he added, with a fierce slap on his knee--"to see her looking as well and happy as she used to."

He stopped, thinking for a few minutes.

"No," he said aloud, "I haven't done wrong. I've said it a dozen times, and I says it again. `No, my la.s.s, I ask no questions about it,' I says; `but that was an unpleasant piece of business about Fred Fraser, as is a reg'lar scamp; and if you loved Tom you didn't do right. You says he came and threw up something at the window, and you opened it, thinking it was Tom. Well, my gal, you didn't do right then, after what had happened.' But there, it's all over now--they belong to another set, unless they find out as we're well off now, and Max wants to be friends. Ha! ha! ha! I shouldn't wonder if he did some day. Ah, well!

let's have some more paper."

He went on reading for five minutes, and then threw the sheet impatiently away.

"If it wasn't for seeming so ignorant, I wouldn't read a blessed line of it," he cried. "Talk, talk, talk! Why, they might say it all in half an hour; only one seems so out of everything if one can't talk about politics. No one ever says a word about the interesting paragraphs.

I'm getting very tired of it all, and if ever I go into Parlymint I shall try for a comfortable seat below the gangway, or a hammock in the cabin."

He pulled out a handsome self-winding gold watch, looked at the time with a sigh, and turned it over in his hand.

"Yes, you're very pretty, and very valuable; but now I've had you six months I don't care tuppence about you, 'specially as I don't want to serve you as we used the old thirty-shilling silver vertical. `Make it ten shillings this time, Mr Dobree--do, please,' I says, one night, `and I've got tuppence in my pocket for the ticket.' `No,' he says; `seven shillings--the old price; take it or leave it,' he says. `Take it,' I says. And so it went on till we lost it. Taboo--taboo!"

exclaimed Richard, giving himself a tap on the mouth and putting away his timekeeper. "But I often wonder what's become of the old watch. It was a rum one. You never knowed what it meant to do. One week it was all gain, and another all lose; and the way in which it would shake hands with itself, as if it enjoyed having such a lark, was fine, only it forgot to leave go, and the two hands went round together. Ah, well!--the cases was worth the seven shillings; so Uncle D. didn't lose very much by the last transaction."

The door opened, and Mrs Shingle entered, looking plump and well; and, having been very tastefully dressed by a good _modiste_, she was a fair example of what money will do.

It must be certainly owned that if she were to be calculated by the standard of refinement, it would have been necessary for her to hold her peace, as at the first words a considerable amount would have had to be taken from her value; but, all the same, there was very little trace left of the homely mechanic's wife.

"Well, mother," said d.i.c.k, smiling, as she entered, "what's the best news?"

"Bad."

"Isn't Jessie any better?" he exclaimed anxiously.

Mrs Shingle shook her head.

"What does she say?"

"Nothing," said Mrs Shingle sharply: "she's like her father--has her secrets, and keeps them."