The Vast Abyss Part 95

"Yes, sir. There was certain papers, sir, as--"

"Thank you, Pringle," cried Tom quickly; "neither my Uncle Richard nor I want to hear a single word about matters that are dead and buried."

"Thank you, Tom," cried Uncle Richard eagerly. "Mr Pringle will bear me out when I say, that you have used my exact words."

"Yes, sir," said Pringle, looking into his hat, as if to consult the maker's name. "I can corroborate that--the very words."

"So you see, Mr Pringle," continued Uncle Richard, rising to lay his hand upon his nephew's shoulder, "you have brought your information to a bad market, and if you expected to sell--"

"Which I'm sure I didn't, sir," cried the clerk, springing up, and indignantly banging his hat down upon the table, to its serious injury about the crown. "I never thought about a penny, sir, and I wouldn't take one. I came down here, sir, because I was free, sir, and to try and do a good turn to Mr Thomas here, sir, who was always a pleasant young gentleman to me, and I didn't like the idea of his being done out of his rights."

"Indeed!" said Uncle Richard, looking at the man searchingly.

"Yes, sir, indeed; I'd have spoken sooner if I could, but I always said to myself there was plenty of time for it before Mr Thomas would be of age. Good-morning, sir; good-morning, Mr Thomas. I'd like to shake hands with you once more. I'm glad to see you, sir, grown so, and looking so happy; but don't you go thinking that I came down on such a mean errand as that. I ain't perfect, I know, and in some cases I might have expected something, but I didn't here."

"I don't think you did, Pringle," cried Tom, holding out his hand, at which the clerk s.n.a.t.c.hed.

"Neither do I, Mr Pringle, now," said Uncle Richard, "though I did at first. Thank you for your proffer, but once more, that unhappy business is as a thing forgotten to my nephew and me."

"Very good, sir; I'm very sorry I came," began Pringle.

"And I am not. I beg your pardon, Mr Pringle; and I am sure my nephew is very glad to see you."

"Oh, don't say no more about it, sir; I only thought--"

"Yes, you did not quite know us simple country people," said Uncle Richard. "There, Tom, see that your visitor has some lunch. Dinner at the usual time, and we'll have tea at half-past seven, so as to give you both a long afternoon. I dare say Mr Pringle will enjoy a fine day in the country."

"I should, sir, but I've to go back."

"Plenty of time for that," said Uncle Richard; "the station fly shall be here to take you over in time for the last train. There, you will excuse me."

That evening, as Tom rode over to the station with his visitor, and just before he said good-bye, Pringle rubbed away very hard at his damaged hat, but in vain, for the breakage still showed, and exclaimed--

"I don't care, sir, I won't believe it."

"Believe what, Pringle?"

"As them two's brothers, sir. It's against nature. Look here, I wouldn't have it at first, but he was quite angry, and said I must, and that I was to take it as a present from you."

"What is it?" said Tom; "a letter?"

"Yes, sir, to your uncle's lawyer, asking him as a favour to try and get me work."

"Then you'll get it, Pringle," cried Tom.

"That I shall, sir. And look here, cheque on his banker for five-and-twenty pounds, as he would make me have, to be useful till I get a fresh clerkship. Now, ought I to take it, Mr Thomas?"

"Of course," cried Tom. "There, in with you. Good-night, Pringle, good-night."

"But ought I to take that cheque, Mr Thomas? because I didn't earn it, and didn't want to," cried Pringle, leaning out of the carriage window; "Ought I to keep it, sir?"

"Yes," cried Tom, as the train moved off, and he ran along the platform, "to buy a new hat."

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

"And you did not know anything about it, Pete?" said Tom one day, as he sat beside the lad in Mother Warboys' cottage, while the old woman kept on going in and out, muttering to herself, and watching them uneasily.

Pete looked very thin and hollow-cheeked, but for the first time perhaps for many years his face was perfectly clean, and his hair had been clipped off very short; while now, after pa.s.sing through a phase of illness which had very nearly had a fatal result, he was slowly gaining strength.

The dog, which had been lying half asleep beside his master, suddenly jumped up, to lay its long, thin nose on Tom's knee, and stood watching him, perfectly happy upon feeling a hand placed for treating as a sheath into which he could plunge the said nose.

"You give him too much to eat," said Pete. Then suddenly, "No, I can't recklect. It was blowin' when I got in to go and sleep, 'cause she was allus grumblin', and then somethin' ketched me, and my arm went crack, and it got very hot, and I went to sleep. I don't 'member no more. I say."

"Yes."

"I shan't take no more doctor's stuff, shall I?"

But he did--a great deal; and in addition soups and jellies, and sundry other preparations of Mrs Fidler's, till he was able to go about very slowly with his arm in a sling, to where he could seat himself in some sandy hollow, to bask in the sun along with his dog.

"But it's bringing up all the good in his nature, Tom," said the Vicar, rubbing his hands, "and we shall make a decent man of him yet."

"Humph! doubtful!" said Uncle Richard.

"You go and look for comets and satellites," cried the Vicar good-humouredly. "Tom's on my side, and we'll astonish you yet. Wait a bit."

Uncle Richard smiled, and David, when Pete formed the subject of conversation, used to chuckle.

"Not you, Master Tom," he said; "you'll never make anything of him, but go on and try if you like. I believe a deal more in the dog. He arn't such a bad one. But Pete--look here, sir. If you could cut him right down the thick part below his knees, which you couldn't do, 'cause he arn't got no thick part, for them shambling legs of his are like pipe-shanks--"

"What are you talking about, David?" said Tom merrily.

"Pete Warboys, Master Tom. I say, if you could cut him down like that, and then graft in a couple o' scions took of a young gent as I knows-- never you mind who--bind 'em up neatly, clay 'em up, or do the same thing somewheres about his middle, you might grow a noo boy, as'd bear decent sort o' fruit. But you can't do that; and Pete Warboys 'll be Pete Warboys as long as he lives."

The old gardener had some ground for his bad opinion, for as the time rolled on, Pete grew strong and well, and then rapidly began to grow into a st.u.r.dy, strongly-built fellow, who always had a grin and a nod for Tom when they met; but it was not often, for he avoided every one, becoming princ.i.p.ally a night bird, and only showed his grat.i.tude to those who had nursed him through his dangerous illness, after saving his life, by religiously abstaining from making depredations upon their gardens.

"Which is something," David said with a chuckle. "But I allus told you so, Master Tom; I allus told you."

Tom, too, proved that the country air and his life with his uncle agreed with him, for he grew wonderfully.

"But you do sit up too much o' nights, Master Tom," said Mrs Fidler plaintively. "I wouldn't care if you'd invent a slope up in the top of the mill; but you won't."

"I often get a nap on the couch down below," said Tom, laughing. "Look here, Mrs Fidler, come up again some evening, and you shall see how grand it all is."

"No, my dear, no," said the housekeeper, shaking her head. "I don't understand it all. It scares me when you show me the moon galloping away through the skies, and the stars all spinning round in that dizzy way. It makes me giddy too; and last time I couldn't sleep for thinking about the world going at a thousand miles an hour, for it can't be safe.

Then, too, I'm sure I should catch a cold in my head with that great shutter open. I was never meant for a star-gazer. Let me be as I am."