Tony Butler Part 9

"I don't think so: I won't do it," broke in Tony, hotly. "If you have no other counsel to give me than one you never would have given to my father, all I have to say is, I wish I had spared myself the trouble, and my poor mother the cost of this journey."

If the great man's wrath was moved by the insolent boldness of the first part of this speech, the vibrating voice and the emotion that accompanied the last words touched him, and, going over to where the young man stood, he laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, and said: "You'll have to keep this warm temper of yours in more subjection, Butler, if you want to get on in life. The advice I gave you was very worldly, perhaps; but when you live to be my age, such will be the temper in which you'll come to consider most things. And, after all,"

said he, with a smile, "you 're only the more like your father for it!

Go away now; look up your decimals, your school cla.s.sics, and such like, to be ready for the Civil Service people, and come back here in a week or so,--let Darner know where to find you," were the last words, as Tony retired and left the room.

"Well, what success?" cried Darner, as Tony entered his room.

"I can scarcely tell you, but this is what took place;" and he recounted, as well as memory would serve him, all that had happened.

"Then it's all right,--you are quite safe," said Darner.

"I don't see that, particularly as there remains this examination."

"Humbug,--nothing but humbug! They only pluck the 'swells,' the fellows who have taken a double-first at Oxford. No, no; you 're as safe as a church; you 'll get--let me see what it will be--you'll get the Postmaster-ship of the Bahamas; or be Deputy Coal-meter at St. Helena; or who knows if he'll not give you that thing he exchanged for t'other day with F. O. It's a Consul's place, at Trincolopolis. It was Cole of the Blues had it, and he died; and there are four widows of his now claiming the pension. Yes, that's where you 'll go, rely on't. There 's the bell again. Write your address large, very large, on that sheet of paper, and I 'll send you word when there 's anything up."

CHAPTER VI. DOLLY STEWART

Tony's first care, when he got back to his hotel, was to write to his mother. He knew how great her impatience would be to hear of him, and it was a sort of comfort to himself, in his loneliness, to sit down and pour out his hopes and his anxieties before one who loved him. He told her of his meeting with the Minister, and, by way of encouragement, mentioned what Damer had p.r.o.nounced upon that event. Nor did he forget to say how grateful he felt to Damer, who, "after all, with his fine-gentleman airs and graces, might readily have turned a cold shoulder to a rough-looking fellow like me."

Poor Tony! in his friendlessness he was very grateful for very little.

Nor is there anything which is more characteristic of dest.i.tution than this sentiment. It is as with the schoolboy, who deems himself rich with a half-crown!

Tony would have liked much to make some inquiry about the family at the Abbey; whether any one had come to ask after or look for him; whether Mrs. Trafford had sent down any books for his mother's reading, or any fresh flowers,--the only present which the widow could be persuaded to accept; but he was afraid to touch on a theme that had so many painful memories to himself. Ah, what happy days he had pa.s.sed there! What a bright dream it all appeared now to look back on! The long rides along the sh.o.r.e, with Alice for his companion, more free to talk with him, less reserved than Isabella; and who could, on the pretext of her own experiences of life,--she was a widow of two-and-twenty,--caution him against so many pitfalls, and guard him against so many deceits of the world. It was in this same quality of widow, too, that she could go out to sail with him alone, making long excursions along the coast, diving into bays, and landing on strange islands, giving them curious names as they went, and fancying that they were new voyagers on unknown seas.

Were such days ever to come back again? No, he knew they could not They never do come back, even to the luckiest of us; and how far less would be our enjoyment of them if we but knew that each fleeting moment could never be re-acted! "I wonder, is Alice lonely? Does she miss me?

Isabella will not care so much. She has books and her drawing, and she is so self-dependent; but Alice, whose cry was, 'Where 's Tony?' till it became a jest against her in the house. Oh, if she but knew how I envy the dog that lies at her feet, and that can look up into her soft blue eyes, and wonder what she is thinking of! Well, Alice, it has come at last. Here is the day you so long predicted. I have set out to seek my fortune; but where is the high heart and the bold spirit you promised me? I have no doubt," cried he, as he paced his room impatiently, "there are plenty who would say, it is the life of luxurious indolence and splendor that I am sorrowing after; that it is to be a fancied great man,--to have horses to ride, and servants to wait on me, and my every wish gratified,--it is all this I am regretting. But _I_ know better! I 'd be as poor as ever I was, and consent never to be better, if she 'd just let me see her, and be with her, and love her, to my own heart, without ever telling her. And now the day has come that makes all these bygones!"

It was with a choking feeling in his throat, almost hysterical, that he went downstairs and into the street to try and walk off his gloomy humor. The great city was now before him,--a very wide and a very noisy world,--with abundance to interest and attract him, had his mind been less intent on his own future fortunes; but he felt that every hour he was away from his poor mother was a pang, and every shilling he should spend would be a privation to her. Heaven only could tell by what thrift and care and time she had laid by the few pounds he had carried away to pay his journey! As his eye fell upon the tempting objects of the shop-windows, every moment displaying something he would like to have brought back to her,--that nice warm shawl, that pretty clock for her mantelpiece, that little vase for her flowers; how he despised himself for his poverty, and how meanly the thought of a condition that made him a burden where he ought to have been a benefit! Nor was the thought the less bitter that it reminded him of the wide s.p.a.ce that separated him from her he had dared to love! "It comes to this," cried he bitterly to himself, "that I have no right to be here; no right to do anything, or think of anything that I have done. Of the thousands that pa.s.s me, there is not, perhaps, one the world has not more need of than of me! Is there even one of all this mighty million that would have a kind word for me, if they knew the heavy heart that was weighing me down?" At this minute he suddenly thought of Dolly Stewart, the doctor's daughter, whose address he had carefully taken down from his mother, at Mr. Alexander M'Grader's, 4 Inverness Terrace, Richmond.

It would be a real pleasure to see Dolly's good-humored face, and hear her merry voice, instead of those heavy looks and busy faces that addled and confused him; and so, as much to fill up his time as to spare his purse, he set out to walk to Richmond.

With whatever gloom and depression he began his journey, his spirits rose as he gained the outskirts of the town, and rose higher and higher as he felt the cheering breezes and the perfumed air that swept over the rich meadows at either side of him. It was, besides, such a luxuriant aspect of country as he had never before seen nor imagined,--fields cultivated like gardens, trim hedgerows, ornamental trees, picturesque villas on every hand. How beautiful it all seemed, and how happy! Was not Dolly a lucky girl to have her lot thrown in such a paradise? How enjoyable she must find it all!--she whose good spirits knew always how "to take the most out of" whatever was pleasant How he pictured her delight in a scene of such loveliness!

"That's Inverness Terrace, yonder," said a policeman of whom he inquired the way,--"that range of small houses you see there;" and he pointed to a trim-looking row of cottage-houses on a sort of artificial embankment which elevated them above the surrounding buildings, and gave a view of the Thames as it wound through the rich meadows beneath. They were neat with that English neatness which at once pleases and shocks a foreign eye,--the trim propriety that loves comfort, but has no heart for beauty. Thus, each was like his neighbor. The very jalousies were painted the same color; and every ranunculus in one garden had his brother in the next No. 4 was soon found, and Tony rang the bell and inquired for Miss Stewart.

"She's in the school-room with the young ladies," said the woman servant; "but if you 'll step in and tell me your name, I 'll send her to you."

"Just say that I have come from her own neighborhood; or, better, say Mr. Tony Butler would be glad to see her." He had scarcely been a moment in the neat but formal-looking front parlor, when a very tall, thin, somewhat severe-looking lady--not old, nor yet young--entered, and without any salutation said, "You asked for Miss Stewart, sir,--are you a relative of hers?"

"No, madam. My mother and Miss Stewart's father are neighbors and very old friends; and being by accident in London, I desired to see her, and bring back news of her to the doctor."

"At her father's request, of course?"

"No, madam; I cannot say so, for I left home suddenly, and had no time to tell him of my journey."

"Nor any letter from him?"

"None, madam."

The thin lady pursed up her parched lips, and bent her keen cold eyes on the youth, who really felt his cheek grow hot under the scrutiny. He knew that his confession did not serve to confirm his position; and he heartily wished himself out of the house again.

"I think, then, sir," said she, coldly, "it will serve every purpose if I inform _you_ that Miss Stewart is well; and if I tell _her_ that you were kind enough to call and ask after her."

"I'm sure you are right, madam," said he, hurriedly moving towards the door, for already he felt as if the ground was on fire beneath him,--"quite right; and I 'll tell the doctor that though I did n't see Miss Dora, she was in good health, and very happy."

"I did n't say anything about her happiness, that I remember, sir; but as I see her now pa.s.sing the door, I may leave that matter to come from her own lips. Miss Stewart," cried she, louder, "there is a gentleman here, who has come to inquire after you." A very pale but nicely featured young girl, wearing a cap,--her hair had been lately cut short in a fever,--entered the room, and, with a sudden flush that made her positively handsome, held out her hand to young Butler, saying, "Oh, Tony, I never expected to see you here! how are all at home?"

Too much shocked at the change in her appearance to speak, Tony could only mumble out a few broken words about her father.

"Yes," cried she, eagerly, "his last letter says that he rides old Dobbin about just as well as ever; 'perhaps it is,' says he, 'that having both of us grown old together, we bear our years with more tolerance to each other;' but won't you sit down, Tony? you 're not going away till I have talked a little with you."

"Is the music lesson finished, Miss Stewart?" asked the thin lady, sternly.

"Yes, ma'am; we have done everything but sacred history."

"Everything but the one important task, you might have said, Miss Stewart; but, perhaps, you are not now exactly in the temperament to resume teaching for to-day; and as this young gentleman's mission is apparently to report, not only on your health but your happiness, I shall leave you a quarter of an hour to give him his instructions."

"I hate that woman," muttered Tony, as the door closed after her.

"No, Tony, she's not unkind; but she doesn't exactly see the world the way you and I used long ago. What a great big man you have grown!"

"And what a fine tall girl, you! And I used to call you a stump!"

"Ay, there were few compliments wasted between us in those days; but weren't they happy?"

"Do you remember them all, Dolly?"

"Every one of them,--the climbing the big cherry-tree the day the branch broke, and we both fell into the melon-bed; the hunting for eels under the stones in the river,--was n't that rare sport? and going out to sea in that leaky little boat that I 'd not have courage to cross the Thames in now!--oh, Tony, tell me, you never were so jolly since?"

"I don't think I was; and what's worse, Dolly, I doubt if I ever shall be."

The tone of deep despondency of these words went to her heart, and her lip trembled, as she said,--

"Have you had any bad news of late? is there anything going wrong with you?"

"No, Dolly, nothing new, nothing strange, nothing beyond the fact that I have been staring at, though I did not see it three years back, that I am a great hulking idle dog, of no earthly use to himself or to anybody else. However, I _have_ opened my eyes to it at last; and here I am, come to seek my fortune, as we used to say long ago, which, after all, seems a far nicer thing in a fairy book than when reduced to a fact."

Dolly gave a little short cough, to cover a faint sigh which escaped her; for she, too, knew something about seeking her fortune, and that the search was not always a success.

"And what are you thinking of doing, Tony?" asked she, eagerly.

"Like all lazy good-for-nothings, I begin by begging; that is to say, I have been to a great man this morning who knew my father, to ask him to give me something,--to make me something."

"A soldier, I suppose?"

"No; mother won't listen to that She 's so indignant about the way they treated my poor father about that good-service pension,--one of a race that has been pouring out their blood like water for three centuries back,--that she says she 'd not let me accept a commission if it were offered to me, without it came coupled with a full apology for the wrong done my father; and as I am too old for the navy, and too ignorant for most other things, it will push all the great man's ingenuity very close to find out the corner to suit me."