Under the Waves: Diving in Deep Waters Part 36

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

TAKING THE TIDE AT THE EBB.

When things in this world reach their lowest ebb, it is generally understood or expected that the tide will turn, somehow, and rise. Not unfrequently the understanding and the expectation are disappointed.

Still, there are sufficiently numerous instances of the fulfilment of both, to warrant the hope which is usually entertained by men and women whose tide has reached its lowest.

Mr Hazlit was naturally of a sanguine temperament. He entertained, we had almost said, majestic views on many points. Esteeming himself "a beggar" on three hundred a year--the remains of the wreck of his vast fortune--he resolved to commence business again. Being a man of strict probity and punctuality in all business matters, and being much respected and sympathised with by his numerous business friends, he experienced little difficulty in doing so. Success attended his efforts; the tide began to rise.

Seated in a miniature parlour, before a snug fire, in his cottage by the sea, with one of the prettiest girls in all England by his side, knitting him a pair of inimitable socks, the "beggar" opened his mouth slowly and spake.

"Aileen," said he, "I've been a fool!"

Had Mr Hazlit said so to some of his cynical male friends they might have tacitly admitted the fact, and softened the admission with a smile.

As it was, his auditor replied:--

"No, papa, you have _not_."

"Yes, my love, I have. But I do not intend to prove the point or dispute it. There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the ebb, leads on to fortune."

Aileen suspended her knitting and looked at her sire with some surprise, for, being a very matter-of-fact unpoetical man, this misquotation almost alarmed her.

"`Taken at the _flood_,' is it not, papa?"

"It may be so in Shakespeare's experience. _I_ say the ebb. When first I was reduced to beggary--"

"You never were _that_, papa. We have never yet had to beg."

"Of course, of course," said Mr Hazlit, with a motion of his hand to forbid further interruption. "When I say `beggary,' you know what I mean. I certainly do _not_ mean that I carry a wallet and a staff, and wear ragged garments, and knock at backdoors. Well, when I was reduced to beggary, I had reached the lowest ebb. At that time I was led--mark me, I was led--to `take the tide.' I took it, and have been rising with the flood to fortune ever since. And yet, strange to say, though I am now rich in a way I never before dreamed of, I have still an insane thirst for earthly gold. What was the pa.s.sage, dear, that you quoted to me as being your text for the day?"

"`Owe no man anything,'" replied Aileen.

"Yes, it is curious. I have never mentioned the subject to you, my child, but some months ago--when, as I have said, the tide was very low--I was led to consider that pa.s.sage, and under the influence of it I went to my creditors and delivered up to them your box of jewels. You are aware, no doubt, that having pa.s.sed through the insolvency court, and given up all that I possessed, I became legally free. This box was recovered from the deep, and restored to me after my effects had been given up to my creditors, so that I might have retained it. But I felt that this would have been unjust. I respect the law which, after a man has given up all he possesses, sets him free to begin life again with some degree of hope, but I cannot avoid coming to the conclusion that moral duties cannot be abrogated by human laws. I take advantage of the law to prevent inhuman creditors from grinding me to death, but I refuse to take advantage of the law so as to escape from the clear duty that I ought to pay these creditors--gradually and according to my ability--to the uttermost farthing. Having been led to act on this opinion, I gave up the box of jewels. To my surprise, my creditors refused to take them. They returned them to me as a gift. I accepted the gift as a trust. On the proceeds, as you see, we manage to live comfortably, and I am now conducting a fairly successful business in the old line--on a small scale."

Mr Hazlit smiled sadly as he uttered the last words.

"And the debts, papa, which you told me once were so heavy, do you mean to pay them all?" asked Aileen, anxiously.

"I do," replied her father, earnestly; "by slow degrees it may be, but to the last farthing if I live. I shall try to owe no man anything."

A glad smile lit up Aileen's face as she was on the point of throwing her arms round her father's neck, when the door opened, and a small domestic--their only one besides the cook--put a letter into the hands of her young mistress.

Aileen's countenance a.s.sumed a troubled look a she handed it to her father.

"It is for you, papa."

Mr Hazlit's visage also a.s.sumed an expression of anxiety as he opened and read the letter. It ran thus:--

"Deer Sur,--i thinks it unkomon 'ard that a man shood 'ave is beed sold under im wen anuther man oas im munny, speshally wen is wifes ill--praps a-dyin--the Law has washt yoo sur, but it do seam 'ard on me, if yoo cood spair ony a pownd or two id taik it kind.--Yoors to komand, John Timms."

"This is very much to the point," said Mr Hazlit, with a faint smile, handing the letter to Aileen. "It is, as you see, from our old green-grocer, who must indeed be in great trouble when he, who used to be so particularly civil, could write in that strain to me. Now, Aileen, I want your opinion on a certain point. In consequence of your economical ways, my love, I find myself in a position to give fifty pounds this half-year towards the liquidation of my debts."

The merchant paused, smiled, and absolutely looked a little confused.

The idea of commencing to liquidate many thousands of pounds by means of fifty was so inexpressibly ridiculous, that he half expected to hear his own respectful child laugh at him. But Aileen did not laugh. With her large earnest eyes she looked at him, and the unuttered language of her pursed, grave, little mouth was "Well, go on."

"The liquidation of my debts," repeated Mr Hazlit, firmly. "The sum is indeed a small one--a paltry one--compared with the amount of these debts, but the pa.s.sage which we have been considering appears to me to leave no option, save to begin at once, even on the smallest possible scale. Now, my love, duty requires that I should at once begin to liquidate. Observe, the law of the land requires nothing. It has set me free, but the law of G.o.d requires that I should pay, at once, as I am able. Conscience echoes the law, and says, `pay.' What, therefore, am I to do?"

Mr Hazlit propounded this question with such an abrupt gaze as well as tone of interrogation, that the little pursed mouth relaxed into a little smile as it said, "I suppose you must divide the sum proportionally among your creditors, or something of that sort."

"Just so," said Mr Hazlit, nodding approval. "Now," he continued, with much gravity, "if I were to make the necessary calculation--which, I may remark, would be a question in proportion running into what I may be allowed to style infinitesimal fractions--I would probably find out that the proportion payable to one would be a shilling, to another half a sovereign, to another a pound or so, while to many would accrue so small a fraction of a farthing that no suitable coin of this realm could be found wherewith to pay it. If I were to go with, say two shillings, and offer them to my good friend Granby as part payment of my debt to him, the probability is that he would laugh in my face and invite me to dinner in order that we might celebrate the event over a bottle of very old port. Don't you think so?"

Aileen laughed, and said that she did think so.

"Well, then," continued her father, "what, in these circ.u.mstances, says common sense?"

Aileen's mouth became grave again, and her eyes very earnest as she said quickly--

"Pay off the green-grocer!"

Mr Hazlit nodded approval. "You are right. Mr Timms' account amounts to twenty pounds. To offer twenty pounds to Mr Granby--to whom I owe some eight thousand, more or less--would be a poor practical joke. To give it to Mr Timms will evidently be the saving of his business at a time when it appears to have reached a crisis. Put on your bonnet and shawl, dear, and we will go about this matter without delay."

Aileen was one of those girls who possessed the rare and delectable capacity to "throw on" her bonnet and shawl. One glance in the mirror sufficed to convince her that these articles, although thrown on, had fallen into their appropriate places neatly. It could scarcely have been otherwise. Her bonnet and shawl took kindly to her, like all other things in nature--animate and otherwise. She reappeared before her sedate father had quite finished drawing on his gloves.

Mr John Timms dwelt in a back lane which wriggled out of a back street as if it were anxious to find something still further back into which to back itself. He had been in better circ.u.mstances and in a better part of the town when Mr Hazlit had employed him. At the time of the rich merchant's failure, the house of Timms had been in a shaky condition.

That failure was the removal of its last prop; it fell, and Timms retired, as we have seen, into the commercial background. Here, however, he did not find relief. Being a trustful man he was cheated until he became untrustful. His wife became ill owing to bad air and low diet. His six children became unavoidably neglected and riotous, and his business, started on the wreck of the old one, again came to the brink of failure. It was in these circ.u.mstances that he sat down, under the impulse of a fit of desperation, and penned the celebrated letter to his old customer.

When Mr Hazlit and his daughter had, with great difficulty, discovered Mr Timms' residence and approached the door, they were checked on the threshold by the sound of men apparently in a state of violent altercation within.

"Git out wid ye, an' look sharp, you spalpeen," cried one of the voices.

"Oh, pray don't--don't fight!" cried a weak female voice.

"No, I won't git out till I'm paid, or carry your bed away with me,"

cried a man's voice, fiercely.

"You won't, eh! Arrah then--hup!"

The last sound, which is not describable, was immediately followed by the sudden appearance of a man, who flew down the pa.s.sage as if from a projectile, and went headlong into the kennel. He was followed closely by Rooney Machowl, who dealt the man as he rose a sounding slap on the right cheek, which would certainly have tumbled him over again had it not been followed by an equally sounding slap on the left cheek, which "brought him up all standing."

Catching sight at that moment of Mr Hazlit and Aileen, Rooney stopped short and stood confused.

"Murder!" shrieked the injured man.

"Hooray! Here's a lark!" screamed a small street-boy.

"Go it! Plice! A skrimmage!" yelled another street-boy in an ecstasy of delight, which immediately drew to the spot the nucleus of a crowd.

Mr Hazlit was a man of prompt.i.tude. He was also a large man, as we have elsewhere said, and by no means devoid of courage. Dropping his daughter's arm he suddenly seized the ill-used and noisy man by the neck, and thrust him almost as violently back into the green-grocer's house as Rooney had kicked him out of it. He then said, "Go in," to the amazed Rooney, and dragging his no less astonished child in along with him, shut and locked the door.