The Golden Shoemaker Part 20

"How delicious!" exclaimed Miss Owen.

"Cobbler" Horn was gazing intently at his young secretary. What vague surmisings, like shadows on a window-blind--were flitting through his brain? What dim rays of hope were struggling to penetrate the gloom?

Suddenly he started, and shook himself, with a sigh. Of course it could only be a fancy. How strange the frequent inability to perceive the significance of circ.u.mstances plainly suggestive of the fulfilment of some long-cherished hope! The joy, deferred so long comes, at last, in an hour when we are not aware, only to find us utterly oblivious that it is so near!

"Well, Miss Owen," said "Cobbler" Horn, rising to his feet, "I must be going to my cobbling. If you want me, you will know where to come."

"Yes, Mr. Horn."

She was aware of his custom of resorting now and then to his old workshop.

When he was gone, she paused for a moment, with her penholder once more between her lips.

"How nice to think that I am like what that dear little Marian would have been! I wonder whether we should have been friends, if she had lived?

Poor little thing, she's almost sure to be dead! Though, perhaps not--who can tell? How queer that Mr. Horn should have lost a little girl, just as I must have been lost, and about the same time too! As for my being like her--perhaps, after all, that's only a fancy of his. Well, at any rate, I must comfort and help him all I can. I can't step into his daughter's place exactly; but G.o.d has put it into my power to be to him, in many things, what little Marian would have been if he had not lost her; and for Christ's sake----"

At this point, the young secretary's thoughts became too sacred for prying eyes. Very soon she turned to her writing again. Half an hour later, the afternoon post arrived, bringing, amongst other letters, one or two which necessitated an immediate interview with "Cobbler" Horn. To trip up to her bedroom and dress herself for going out was the work of a very few moments; and in a short time she was entering the street where "Cobbler"

Horn and his sister had lived so long, and whence the hapless little Marian had so heedlessly set out into the great world, on that bright May morning so many years ago.

As Miss Owen entered the narrow street, she involuntarily raised her hand to her forehead. The weird feeling of familiarity with the old house and its vicinity, of which she had already been conscious more than once, had crept over her again.

"How very strange!" she said to herself. "But there can't be anything in it!"

As she approached the house, she became aware of the unconcealed scrutiny of a little man who was standing in the doorway of a shop on the other side of the street.

It was Tommy Dudgeon, who had just then come to the door to show a customer out, a civility which he was wont to bestow, if possible, upon every one who came to the shop. Lingering for a moment, in the hope of descrying another customer, he saw Miss Owen coming down the street. Tommy knew about "Cobbler" Horn's secretary; but he had not, as yet, had a fair view of the young lady. He had not even thought much about her, and he did not suspect that it was she who was now coming along the street, until she pa.s.sed into the old house. But, as he saw her now, with her black hair and dark glowing face, walking along the pavement in her decided way, he felt, as he afterwards said, "quite all-overish like." It was, at first, the vaguest of impressions that he received. Then, as he gazed, he began to think that he had seen that figure before--though he continued to a.s.sure himself that he had not; and then, as Miss Owen drew nearer, he concluded that there must be some one of whom she reminded him--some one whom he had known long ago. Then, with a flash, came back to him the scene--never to be forgotten--on that long-ago May morning; and Tommy Dudgeon heaved a sigh, for he had obtained his clue.

"What a rude little man!" thought Miss Owen. "And yet he looks harmless enough. Why he must be one of the little twin shopkeepers of whom I have heard Mr. Horn speak. That will account for his interest in me."

The absorption of the young secretary in the duties of her office, during her stay in the old house, no doubt fully accounted for the fact that she had not become more familiar with the appearance of Tommy Dudgeon.

By this time Tommy had withdrawn into his shop. But he continued to watch.

Standing partly concealed behind some of the merchandise displayed in the shop window, he saw Miss Owen enter "Cobbler" Horn's former abode, and then waited for her once more to emerge.

In ten minutes the young secretary again appeared. Pausing on the door-step, she looked this way and that, and then, with emphatic tread, stepped out in the very track of the little twinkling feet which Tommy had watched in their last departure on that ill-fated spring morning so long ago. The little man craned his neck to see the better through the window, and then, unable to restrain himself, he hurried to the doorway of the shop once more, and, with enlightened eyes, watched the figure of the girl till it pa.s.sed out of sight. Then he turned, and rushed into the kitchen behind the shop. His brother was trying to put one of the twins to sleep by carrying it to and fro; his brother's wife was making bread. He raised his hands.

"She's come back!" he cried. Then, recollecting himself, he said, more quietly, "I mean I've seen the sec'tary."

CHAPTER XXIV.

ON THE OCEAN.

The evening of the next day saw "the Golden Shoemaker" steaming out of the Mersey, on board the first-rate Atlantic liner on which his pa.s.sage had been taken by Messrs. Tongs and Ball. Miss Jemima had bidden her brother a reluctant farewell. In her secret soul, she nursed a doubt, of which, indeed, she was half-ashamed, as to the prospect of his safe return; and she endeavoured to fortify her timorous heart by the utterance of sundry sharp speeches concerning the folly of his enterprise.

The voyage across the great ocean, in the splendid _floating hotel_ in which he had embarked was a new and delightful experience to "Cobbler"

Horn. But his peace of mind sustained brief disturbance on his being shown to his quarters on board the vessel. His lawyers had, as a matter of course, taken for their wealthy client a first-cla.s.s pa.s.sage. It had not occurred to him to give them any instructions on the point, and they had taken it for granted that they were doing what he would desire. Perhaps, if they had asked him, he might, in his ignorance of such matters, have said, "Oh yes, first-cla.s.s, by all means." But when he saw the splendid accommodation which his money had procured, he started back, and said to the attendant:

"This is much too grand for me. Can't I make a change?"

The attendant stared in surprise.

"'Fraid not sir," he said, "every second-cla.s.s berth is taken."

"I don't mind about the money," said "Cobbler" Horn hastily. "But I should be more comfortable in a plainer cabin," and he looked around uneasily at the luxurious and splendid appointments of the quarters which had been a.s.signed to him, as his home, for the next few days.

The attendant, regarding with a critical eye the modest attire and una.s.suming demeanour of "Cobbler" Horn, inwardly agreed with what this somewhat eccentric pa.s.senger had said.

"The only way, sir," said the man, at length, "is to get some one to change with you."

"Ah, the very thing! How can it be managed?"

The attendant mused with hand on chin.

"Well, sir," he said, gliding into an interrogative tone, "if you really mean it----?"

"Most certainly I do."

"Then I think I can arrange it for you, sir. There is one second-cla.s.s pa.s.senger who would probably jump at such a chance. He is an invalid; and it would be a great comfort to him to get into such quarters as these.

I've heard a good bit about him since he came on board."

"Then he's our man," said "Cobbler" Horn; and then, he added hesitatingly, "there'll be a sovereign for you, if you manage it at once. I'll wait here till you let me know."

The attendant sped on his errand, and, before night, the desired exchange had been duly made--"Cobbler" Horn was established in the comfortable and congenial accommodation afforded by a second-cla.s.s cabin, and the invalid pa.s.senger was blessing his unknown benefactor, as he sank to rest amidst the luxury of his new surroundings.

It was late autumn, and the sea, though not stormy, was sufficiently restless to make the commencement of the pa.s.sage unpleasant for all who were not good sailors. "Cobbler" Horn was not one of these; and, when, upon the second day out, he observed the deserted appearance of the decks and saloons, and, on making enquiry of an official, learnt that most of the pa.s.sengers were sick, he realized with a healthy and grateful thrill of pleasure, that he was blessed with immunity from the almost universal tribulation which waylays the landsman who ventures on the treacherous deep.

It will, therefore, be readily believed that "the Golden Shoemaker" keenly enjoyed the whole of the voyage. He breathed the fresh, briny air with much relish; the wonders of the sea furnished him with many instructive and pious thoughts; and the ship itself supplied him with an inexhaustible fund of interest. In particular, he paid frequent visits to the steerage, where large numbers of emigrants were bestowed. He spent many hours amongst these poor people; and, by entering into conversation with such of them as were disposed to talk, he became acquainted with many cases of necessity, which he was not slow to relieve. Nor did the gifts of money, which he bestowed with his usual large generosity, const.i.tute the only form of help he gave. In a thousand nameless ways he ministered to the wants and relieved the difficulties of his humble fellow-pa.s.sengers, who quickly came to look upon him as the good genius of the ship. As a matter of course, the whisper soon went round, "Who is he?" And when, in some inscrutable way, the truth leaked out, the poor people regarded him with a kind of awe. Some, indeed, criticised, and said he did not look much like a millionaire; but there were many in that motley crowd in whose hearts, during those few brief days on the ocean, "Cobbler" Horn made for himself a very sacred place.

In the course of a day or two, the decks and saloons began to a.s.sume a more animated appearance. Hitherto "Cobbler" Horn had not greatly attracted the attention of the pa.s.sengers with whom he was more immediately a.s.sociated; but now that they were in a condition to think of something other than their own concerns, their interest in him began to awake. Who had not heard of "the Golden Shoemaker"--"The Millionaire Cordwainer"--"The Lucky Son of Crispin"--as he had been variously designated in the newspapers of the day? When it became known that so great a celebrity was on board, there was a general desire to make his acquaintance. Some vainly asked the captain to give them an introduction; some boldly introduced themselves.

"Cobbler" Horn was courteous to all, in his homely way; but he showed no anxiety to become further acquainted with these obtrusive persons. The simplicity of his manners and the plainness of his dress caused much surprise; and the public interest concerning him sensibly quickened when whispers floated forth of the giving up of his berth to the invalid pa.s.senger, and of his charitable doings amongst the poor emigrants.

During the voyage, "the Golden Shoemaker" spent much time in close and prayerful study of his Bible, which had ever been, and still was, his dearest, and well nigh his only, book. He was induced to do this not only by his love of the Book itself, but also by a definite desire to absorb, and transfuse into his own experience, all those teachings of the Word of G.o.d which bore upon the new position in which he had been so strangely placed.

First of all, he turned to certain notable pa.s.sages of Scripture which shot up before his memory like well-known beacon-lights along a rocky coast. There glared upon him, first of all, the lurid denunciation which opens the fifth chapter of the Epistle of James, commencing, "Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you!"

"G.o.d forbid," he cried, "that my 'gold and silver' should ever become 'cankered!' It would be a terrible thing for their 'rust' to 'witness against me,' and eat my 'flesh as it were fire'; and it would be yet more dreadful for the money which has such power for good to be itself given up to canker and rust!" Then he would meditate on the uncompromising declarations of Christ--"How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom of G.o.d!" "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of G.o.d." He trembled as he read; but, pondering, he took heart again. Though hard, it was not impossible, for a man of wealth to enter into the Kingdom of G.o.d. "Camel!"

"Eye of a Needle!" He did not know exactly what this strange saying meant; but he thought he had heard the minister say that it was intended to show the great difficulty involved in the salvation of a rich man. Then he read further, "How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the Kingdom of G.o.d," and that seemed to make the matter plain. "Ah," he thought, "may I be saved from ever trusting in my riches!"

He plucked an ear of wholesome admonition from the parable of the Sower.

"The deceitfulness of riches!" he murmured. "How true!" And he subjected himself to the most vigilant scrutiny, lest he should be beguiled by the unlimited possibilities of self-indulgence which his wealth supplied. He turned frequently to the emphatic declaration of Paul to Timothy. "They that will be rich," it runs, "fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful l.u.s.ts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows." "Ah!" he would exclaim, "I didn't want to be rich. At the very most Agur's prayer would have been mine: 'Give me neither poverty nor riches.' But it's quite true that riches bring 'temptations' and are a 'snare,' whether people 'will' be rich or become rich against their will; and I must be on the watch. And then there's that about 'the love of money' being 'the root of all evil!'" As he spoke, he drew a handful of coins from his pocket, and eyed them askance. "Queer things to love!" he mused. And then, as he thought of his balance at the bank, his large rent-roll, and his many profitable investments, his face grew very grave. "Ah," he sighed, letting copper, silver, and gold, slide jingling back into his pocket, "I think I have an idea how some people get to love their money. Lord save _me_."

He was very fond of the book of Proverbs. Its short, sententious sentences were altogether to his mind. "There is that scattereth," he read, "and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty." "I scatter," he said; "but I don't want to increase.

Lord, spare me the consequences of my scattering! 'Withholdeth more than is meet'! Lord, by Thy grace, that will not I! I have no objection to poverty; but I would not have it come in that way!"

"There is that maketh himself rich," he read again, "Yet hath nothing; there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches." "Ah," he sighed, "to possess such riches, I would gladly make myself poor!" But there was one text in the book of Proverbs which "Cobbler" Horn could never read without a smile. "The poor," it ran "is hated even of his own neighbour; but the rich hath many friends." He thought of his daily shoals of letters, of the numerous visiting cards which had been left at the door of his new abode, and of the obsequious attentions he had begun to receive from the office-bearers and leading members of his church; and he called to mind the eagerness of his fellow-voyagers to make his acquaintance.

"Ah" he mused shrewdly, "friends, like most good things, are chiefly to be had when you don't need them!"