The Daughters of a Genius Part 18

"I can account for some of it at least," Mr Neil said. "I saw that the boy was troubled, and found out that he was in need of money.

Eventually he asked me for the loan of five pounds. I said, 'My boy, you must not begin borrowing at your age. It is a bad habit, and I won't encourage you in it. But I had made up my mind to give you a cheque for a Christmas present; and you shall have it in advance, if that would be a help to you.' He said it would, and I gave him the five pounds for which he had asked."

"It was not right of you. No! you should not have done it. It was leading the boy into temptation." Philippa spoke in tones of strong reproach; but though Mr Neil's face was troubled, it was in nowise repentant.

"I have been a boy in an office myself, Miss Philippa," he said gently, "for two years--two long, miserable years--and I know--forgive me for saying so--that there is an even greater temptation in being too short of money. When a lad gets his first taste of independence it goes hard with him if he cannot indulge in the little luxuries which his companions enjoy; and the shops seem irresistible. I hoped that by means of my gift Barney might be able to pay off his debts and start afresh."

"You have been very generous and very forgiving, Mr Neil," said Steve; "and we are much indebted to you. But what can we do this morning? I must get to the office as soon as I can, for there are already two men away. It won't do for me to lose my berth into the bargain."

Steve spoke with a tinge of bitterness, for in truth he found himself in a painful position--the position of the elder brother in the parable.

He had never got into debt, nor betted, nor failed in a single instance in his duty to his sisters, and it was a little hard to realise, as he did this morning, that to each one of the four--Phil included--the curly-headed prodigal was dearer than himself. He looked at the Hermit, and asked anxiously, "Can you come with me?"

"It is what I was about to propose. I am my own master, and can give all my time to the search. We had better go to the office first, and try to discover who was the companion of the tobacconist's shop; then if we get a clue I will follow it up."

"Right," said Steve, and went into the little hall, to find Hope already brushing the coat which she had taken down from its peg. She helped him to put it on, turned down the collar at the back, and let her hand rest against his neck as she murmured a few low words: "Dear old Steve! What should we do without you?" It was always Hope's way to divine a wound and lay a healing hand upon it.

The two men went straight to the insurance office, and interviewed the manager in his room. "Waxworks," as Barney had irreverently dubbed him, was unaffectedly grieved to hear of the boy's flight, and repentant of his own share in the catastrophe. "I liked the lad," he said. "One could not help liking him. If I had consulted my own wishes only I should have lectured him and let him stay on, but in a big place like this it is necessary to keep a firm hand. I had overlooked several breaches of discipline, and it could not go on. He must be found, of course; and then, if you take my advice, you will let him live an out-of-door life. Send him abroad. He is just the type that is wanted in the colonies. Now I'll send for Young, and you can question him as you please."

Mr Young, however, had no light to throw upon the subject; neither had Barney's special companions among the clerks, who were interviewed in their turn. The lad had left the office alone, so that the ident.i.ty of his companion still remained a mystery, which the tobacconist alone could solve. The two therefore made their way to the little shop, where Madge's sketch was displayed in all its glory in the window, but neither brother nor friend had the heart to laugh at it to-day. The tinkling bell announced their entrance to the proprietor, and they lost no time in telling him the object of their visit. Two young gentlemen had been in the habit of visiting his shop and asking his advice on racing matters, their last call happening the night before, somewhere about five o'clock. The younger of the two was tall, dark, and handsome; for private reasons his friends were anxious to interview his companion.

Who was he, and where employed?

Did the man know or did he not? He professed utter ignorance, but there was a slyness on his face which did not escape the notice of his questioners. A number of gentlemen came to his shop; sometimes they did happen to talk of a race if it was near at hand; but he never inquired a customer's name. Gentlemen wouldn't like it. Couldn't say for certain that he remembered the two just mentioned.

"The man lies. We will waste no more time on him," said the Hermit sternly as he turned away from the door. "Go back to your office, Charrington, and leave me to see the police and put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the papers. That is all that we can do at the moment, though I shall not rest until I have tracked that unknown friend. He will probably be able to tell us more than any one else. I'll think out a plan of action for the next few days. This is my business as well as yours; for the boy has been like a young brother to me this last year."

Looking back on the days which followed Barney's disappearance, the Charringtons were often puzzled to understand how they endured the strain and suspense, and marvelled at their own composure. Day after day the Hermit continued his search, and came home weary and disappointed; day by day Philippa listened to his report with a steady face, and abated not one of her usual efforts for the comfort of the household, while the three younger sisters set their teeth and went on doggedly with their work.

"If we were actresses or public singers we should have to keep our appointments, and smile and look cheerful; if we were clerks or teachers we should have to turn out as usual, and be patient and forbearing; if we were shop a.s.sistants we should have to stand on our feet all day long, and be polite, however much we were aggravated. We are poor things if we call ourselves working women and then indulge our feelings like any fine lady," Theo had said sternly to two drooping figures who sat by the fire gazing at idle fingers, and she had no need to speak a second time. In the temporary eclipse of Madge's bright spirits, Theo had taken upon herself to be the cheery, inspiring member of the family, which role shook her out of the old self-engrossed groove, and suited her well. Now, as she went into her room and sat down at her desk, her heart swelled with a sense of joy and grat.i.tude for the talent which had been entrusted to her care. She took up her ma.n.u.script and set to work with none of the difficulty and hesitation which often hampered her progress: the thoughts crowded into her brain; the right word came of itself and did not need to be sought; the difficult point was overcome, and she laughed with delight at the wittiness of her own dialogue.

Here, then, was a discovery, that even sorrow had its compensation, since it brought with it fresh understanding, earnestness, and delicacy of touch. When she went in to lunch, the light on her face made her sisters look and wonder.

"No need to ask how you have fared to-day, Theo," Hope said. "I don't know who your characters are at the moment, but they have been good children this morning."

"Couldn't be better," said the author brightly. "So charmingly alive, and saying such witty things! It is a curious delusion, but when I do my best work I always feel as if some one else suggested it. I was sad enough in my own heart to-day, but as I wrote a little sprite seemed to whisper in my ear. The good things _came_! I didn't create them. I suppose the really great writers often feel like that I am quite sure that when they read over their books they are astounded at their own cleverness."

"It must be a very--a very agreeable sensation. I have never been the least little bit surprised at mine. I tried to work, too, but I didn't get on well. You two girls make me ashamed of myself, but I think sometimes that I was never meant to be a public character," sighed Hope, wrinkling her forehead in her pretty, wistful fashion. "I don't seem to have the faculty of earning money."

"Because nature intended some one else to make it for you, darling! You are one of the dear, frightened, humble little creatures who need a big strong man to stand between them and the world. I do hope you will marry, Hope! Do, please, the first chance you get. You'd be ever so much happier, and it would be so agreeable for us. Marry a rich man who lives in the country, and send us hampers every week!" cried unsuspecting Madge. It seemed natural enough to the others that Hope should blush at the suggestion; only Theo understood the meaning of that blush, and the train of thought which suggested the reply.

"I think I shall go to see Avice this afternoon. I promised Steve that I would call before the end of the week if we had no news. He doesn't want uncle to hear about Barney in town; he might be annoyed that we had not told him ourselves."

When Hope saw her aunt's face, however, she knew at a glance that she was too late with her news, and sat meekly listening to the tirade which followed, thankful that she was the listener instead of Philippa. Her gentleness was her best weapon, however; for, having said her say, Mrs Loftus began to soften and to regret having spoken so strongly.

Argument or contradiction would have incensed her still further; but how could one go on scolding a pretty, timid creature who merely sat still and looked miserable? She paused, frowned, and finally asked the amount of the debts which Barney had left behind. "Everything, I mean--the whole sum for which you are liable."

"I think, perhaps--I'm afraid nearly t-twenty pounds!"

The gasp with which Hope replied was for the magnitude of the sum mentioned; the echoing gasp from the other side of the fireplace was for an exactly opposite reason.

"Only twenty pounds!" cried Avice; "the price of a gown! The poor boy ran away for that! Hope dear, I will pay it myself; I will give it to you this afternoon before you go. You sha'n't be worried about it any more."

"It is paid already, dear. Steve saw to that at once. You are very kind, but Barney would not like it, and we have a good deal of money still left. Philippa drew it out of the bank."

"You will be in the workhouse soon," Mrs Loftus prophesied cheerfully.

"I never heard anything more mad than to spend your capital as you are doing. Just think of the inroads you must have made into it this year!"

"I'd rather not, Aunt Loftus, if you don't mind. It is always the first step which costs, but we have made a start, and hope to do wonders next year. At the worst I shall avoid the workhouse by throwing myself on Avice's mercy.--You would have me down at the lodge, wouldn't you, dear?"

The glance exchanged between the two cousins was full of confidence and affection, and Avice's voice had a new ring of animation as she replied:

"I should like to have you always. Oh Hope! I _do_ enjoy shopping now, and seeing the girls who were with us in summer. Mother is quite scandalised because we talk so much, but being with them does me more good than I can say. And the conjurer's daughter is going to be married--to a magic-lantern man! I thought of having them down for their honeymoon."

"Avice is far more interested in that engagement than she is in Truda Bennett's; and she is to be one of Truda's bridesmaids, too," said Mrs Loftus in a puzzled tone as she pushed back her chair and rose from her place before the tea-table. Hope rose too, with an impulse of escape, and bent down to pick up m.u.f.f and gloves. Her heart had given a great leap of fear, and was beating in heavy throbs, but she said savagely to herself, "You _sha'n't_ blush! You sha'n't look startled!" and turned an unmoved face to her aunt.

"Miss Bennett engaged! I didn't, know."

"You can't have used your eyes, then, when you were with us last year.

They flirted shockingly! It ought to have been announced long ago. By the way, Hope, we go down to The Shanty next week. You had better come with us for a little visit. I meant to write and ask you, and you look pale--as if you needed a change. We shall be almost the same party as before."

"Dear aunty, I can't. It is good of you to think of it, but I couldn't leave home just now. I should be so anxious and troubled that I should be of no use to you."

"You must come later, then. It will be all the same to us, but the others will be disappointed. Truda asks after you continually, and Ralph Merrilies said he looked forward to some more delightful music. I wish you could come, Hope."

"He wanted to meet me, then," said Hope drearily to herself as she took her way home. "It's just as I always thought: he cared for me only as a friend, and was kind to me because I was poor and friendless. He must have grown fond of Truda, after all. She is so bright and amusing! I suppose she showed him tricks and made him laugh; and he is so serious himself that he needs some one cheerful. I hope he will be very, very happy." Her eyes smarted suddenly, and a sob swelled in her throat.

"But oh, I wish I had never met him! I wish I was not so wretched!

Truda had so many other things, and I could have made him happy. It is hateful of me, but I believe I should make a nicer wife. I should have been so good to him! Oh Ralph! Ralph!"

Alas, poor Hope! She pulled down her thick veil, and cried quietly behind its shelter as she wended her way home through the busy streets.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

AN UNEXPECTED CLUE.

Ten days pa.s.sed by and brought no news of Barney. Steve devoted every spare moment to the search, the Hermit was unremitting in his efforts, but with the best will in the world they proved but poor detectives.

The tobacconist remained stubbornly uncommunicative, and as Madge would not have recognised Barney's companion if she had seen him, it was little use watching the shop. The insurance clerks were interviewed again and again, but Barney had been prudent in one respect at least--he had not breathed a word of his betting transactions in the office. He had vaguely mentioned "a friend of mine"--"a fellow I know," but had given no names, and the consensus of opinion was that he must have picked up acquaintances in the luncheon hour, when, boy-like, he was fond of wandering about from place to place. The Hermit lunched diligently in all the princ.i.p.al restaurants in the neighbourhood of the office, and made a point of entering into conversation with his companions, but he failed to meet any one who remembered Barney.

"I am at a standstill. I don't know what to do next. I am afraid there is very little of the Sherlock Holmes about me, Miss Philippa," he said dejectedly on the tenth afternoon, as he detailed the history of the day's search. It had become a custom for him to come upstairs to tell his story and to be refreshed with tea and scones, and the girls welcomed his advent as a break in the long, anxious day. So far he had brought no good news, but while he was devoting so much time to their service, they felt bound to cheer him for his disappointments, and the effort was good for themselves also.

"Never mind; if you were Sherlock Holmes you wouldn't be yourself, and you are a much pleasanter neighbour as you are," replied Philippa as she lifted the little copper kettle from its stand and poured the water into the teapot. She kept her face turned aside so that he might not see the disappointment written upon it, and reminded herself for the hundredth time that she could afford to be patient. Had not Barney promised to keep straight for her sake? Perhaps, after all, this separation from home might teach him its value as no amount of petting and spoiling would have done, and on his return he would show a gentler, more disciplined spirit. Philippa would never allow herself to believe that this absence was more than temporary. She handed the plate of home-made scones to the Hermit, smiling the while with some of her old mischievous brightness.

"Hungry?"

"I had steak to-day. I find, on the whole, that steak suits me best,"

replied the Hermit, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes in judicial fashion. "It's so tough that it takes a long time to despatch. Then, again, it takes ten minutes to prepare. I calculate that I can while away a good half-hour on a plate of steak, to say nothing of after-courses. In this way I get several changes of companions, and I manage to work round the conversation until I can bring in Barney's name, and inquire if they happen to have met him. I am getting quite skilled in the exigencies of small-talk."

"Poor thing, and you hate it so! It is n.o.ble of you to persevere as you do, for I am sure there is nothing you dislike more."

"No, no; don't say that. It is good for me. I have studied books too much, and men too little, in my life--to my own great loss. Before you took me in hand a year ago I was a veritable hermit, and the old habits cling about me still. I feel terribly rusty among all those bright, alert young fellows, and they treat me as if I belonged to a different species. Do you--do you notice anything pedantic in my manner?"