The Garret and the Garden - Robert Michael Ballantyne (e book reader TXT) 📗

/> "Have the shares been lang at this high figure?" asked Laidlaw.

"Yes; they have improved steadily for several years back."

"What say ye to that freend?" demanded David, turning to Sam with a triumphant look.

Sam turned on his friend a look as expressionless as that of a Dutch clock, and said sententiously, "_I_ says, go in an' win."

"_I_ says ditto!" thought Tommy Splint, but he meekly and wisely held his tongue.

Meanwhile the lawyer went into another room, from which, returning after a short absence, he produced a bundle of Reports which fully bore out his statement as to the flourishing condition of the Washab and Roria Railway.

"Weel, I'll see aboot it," said David, after a few moments' consideration, with knitted brows. "In the meantime, sir, what have I to pay to you for yer information?"

Mr Lockhart said he had nothing to pay, and hoped he would have the pleasure of seeing him soon again.

"Noo, isn't _that_ a blagyird?" demanded Laidlaw, when they were again in the street.

"No doubt he is," replied Sam; "but how will you manage to haul him up and prove that he has been swindling the old woman?"

"Hoo can I tell? Am I a lawyer? But I'll fin' oot somehoo."

"Well, mate, while you are finding out," returned the sailor, "I'll go to Cherub Court. So, Tommy, will you go with Mr Laidlaw or with me?"

The boy looked first at one and then at the other with a curious "how-happy-could-I-be-with-either" expression on his sharp countenance, and then elected to accompany the sailor. On the way he told Sam of the "swell visitors" to the garret, whom Laidlaw had prevented him from going back to see.

"Quite right he was, Tommy, my boy," said his friend. "It is easy to see that you have not profited as much as you might from the example and teaching of my dear Susy an' chimney-pot Liz."

"Chimley-pot," murmured the boy, correcting him in a low tone. "Vell, you could 'ardly expect," he added, "that a child of my age should git the profit all at once. I suppose it's like a bad ease o' waxination-- it ha'n't took properly yet."

"Then we must have you re-vaccinated, my boy. But tell me, what were the swells like?"

The description of the swells occupied Tommy all the rest of the walk to Cherub Court, where they found old Liz and Susan in a state of great excitement about the visitors who had just left.

"Why, who d'ye think they was?" exclaimed the old woman, making the fang wobble with a degree of vigour that bid fair to unship it altogether, "it was my dear sweet little boy Jacky--"

"Little boy! Granny!" cried Susan, with a merry laugh.

"Of course, child, I mean what he was and ever will be to me. He's a tall middle-aged gentleman now, an' with that nice wife that used to visit us--an' their sweet daughter--just like what the mother was, exceptin' those hideous curls tumblin' about her pretty brow as I detest more than I can tell. An' she's goin' to be married too, young as she is, to a clergyman down in Devonshire, where the family was used to go every summer (alongside o' their lawyer Mr Lockhart as they was so fond of, though the son as has the business now ain't like his father); the sweet child--dear, dear, how it do call up old times!"

"And didn't they," broke in Tommy, "never say a word about 'elpin' you, granny, to git hout of your troubles?"

"'Ow could they offer to 'elp me," returned old Liz sternly, "w'en they knew nothink about my troubles? an' I'm very glad they didn't, for it would have spoiled their visit altogether if they'd begun it by offerin' me assistance. For shame, Tommy. You're not yet cured o' greed, my dear."

"Did I say I _was_?" replied the urchin, with a hurt look.

Lest the reader should entertain Tommy's idea, we may here mention that Colonel Brentwood and his wife, knowing old Liz's character, had purposely refrained from spoiling their first visit by referring to money matters.

After a full and free discussion of the state of affairs--in which, however, no reference was made to the recent visit to the lawyer, or to the suspected foul play of that gentleman--the sailor went off to overhaul Messrs. Stickle and Screw in the hope of inducing that firm to retain Susy on its staff. Failing which, he resolved to pay a visit to Samson and Son. As for Tommy, he went off in a free-and-easy sort of way, without any definite designs, in search of adventures.

That evening old Liz filled her teapot, threw her apron over it, and descended to the court to visit Mrs Rampy.

"Well, you _are_ a good creetur," said that masculine female, looking up as her friend entered. "Come away; sit down; I was wantin' some one to cheer me up a bit, for I've just 'ad a scrimidge with Mrs Blathers, an' it's bin 'ard work. But she 'ave comed off second best, _I_ knows."

As a black eye, dishevelled hair, and a scratched nose constituted Mrs Rampy's share in the "scrimidge," Mrs Blathers's condition could not have been enviable. But it was evident from Mrs Rampy's tone and manner that a more powerful foe than Mrs Blathers had assaulted her that afternoon.

"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said her visitor, pouring out a cup of tea with a liberal allowance of sugar, "if you'd only give up that--"

"Now, old Liz," interrupted her friend impressively, "don't you go for to preach me a sermon on drink. It's all very well to preach religion. That's nat'ral like, an' don't much signify. You're welcome. But, wotiver you do, old Liz, keep off the drink."

"Well, that's just what I do," replied Liz promptly, as she handed her friend a cup of hot tea, "and that's just what I was goin' to advise _you_ to do. Keep off the drink."

Feeling that she had slightly committed herself, Mrs Rampy gave a short laugh and proceeded to drink with much gusto, and with a preliminary "Here's luck!" from the force of habit.

"But what's the matter with you to-day, Liz?" she asked, setting her cup down empty and looking, if not asking, for more; "you looks dull."

"Do I? I shouldn't ought to, I'm sure, for there's more blessin's than sorrows in _my_ cup," said Liz.

"Just you put another lump o' sugar in _my_ cup, anyhow," returned her friend. "I likes it sweet, Liz. Thank 'ee. But what 'as 'appened to you?"

Old Liz explained her circumstances in a pitiful tone, yet without making very much phrase about it, though she could not refrain from expressing wonder that her railway dividends had dwindled down to nothing.

"Now look 'ee here, chimley-pot Liz," cried Mrs Rampy in a fierce voice, and bringing her clenched fist down on the table with a crash that made the tea-cups dance. "You ain't the only 'ooman as 'as got a tea-pot."

She rose, took a masculine stride towards a cupboard, and returned with a tea-pot of her own, which, though of the same quality as that of her friend, and with a similarly broken spout, was much larger. Taking off the lid she emptied its contents in a heap--silver and copper with one or two gold pieces intermixed--on the table.

"There! Them's my savin's, an' you're welcome to what you need, Liz. For as sure as you're alive and kickin', if you've got into the 'ands of Skinflint Lockhart, 'e'll sell you up, garding an' all! _I_ know 'im! Ah--I know 'im. So 'elp yourself, Liz."

Tears rose to the eyes of old Liz, and her heart swelled with joy, for was there not given to her here unquestionable evidence of her success in the application of loving-kindness? Assuredly it was no small triumph to have brought drunken, riotous, close-fisted, miserly, fierce Mrs Rampy to pour her hard-won savings at her feet, for which on her knees she thanked God that night fervently. Meanwhile, however, she said, with a grave shake of her head--

"Now, Mrs Rampy, that _is_ uncommon good of you, an' I would accept it at once, but I really won't require it, for now that Susy's father 'as returned, I can borrow it from him, an' sure he's better able to lend it than you are. Now, don't be angry, Mrs Rampy, but--'ave some more tea?"

While she was speaking her friend shovelled the money back into the teapot with violence, and replaced it in her cupboard with a bang.

"You won't git the hoffer twice," she said, sitting down again. "Now, Liz, let's 'ave another cup, an' don't spare the sugar."

"That I won't" said Liz, with a laugh, as she poured out her cheering but not inebriating beverage.

On the second day after the tea-party just described, John Lockhart, Esquire, and Mr Spivin met in a low public-house not far from Cherub Court. They drank sparingly and spoke in whispers. It may seem strange that two such men should choose a low tavern in such a neighbourhood for confidential intercourse, but when we explain that both were landlords of numerous half-decayed tenements there, the choice will not seem so peculiar. Lockhart frowned darkly at his companion.

"From what you have told me of his inquiries about me," he said, "this man's suspicions had certainly been roused, and he would not have rested until he had made undesirable discoveries. It is lucky that you managed to get the job so well done."

They put their heads together and whispered lower. From time to time Lockhart gave vent to a grim laugh, and Spivin displayed his feelings in a too-amiable smile.


CHAPTER NINE.


THE PLOT THICKENS.

In his remarkably eager and somewhat eccentric pursuit of pleasure--that pursuit which is so universal yet so diverse among men, to say nothing about boys--Tommy Splint used to go about town like a jovial lion-cub seeking whom he might terrify!

To do him justice, Tommy never had any settled intention of being wicked. His training at the hands of chimney-pot Liz and the gentle Susy had so far affected his arab spirit that he had learned, on the whole, to prefer what he styled upright to dishonourable mischief. For instance, he would not steal, but he had no objection to screen a thief or laugh at his deeds. His natural tenderness of heart prevented his being cruel to dogs or cats, but it did not prevent his ruffling some of the former into furious rage, and terrifying many of the latter into cataleptic fits.

One afternoon, having roved about for some time without aim, sometimes howling in at open doors and bolting, frequently heaping banter upon good-natured policemen, occasionally asking of mild old ladies the way to places he had never heard of, or demanding what o'clock it was of people who did not possess watches, and whistling most of the time with irritating intensity--our little hero at last came to the conclusion that felicity was not to be obtained by such courses--not at least, at that time. He was out of sorts, somehow, so he would return to the garden and comfort Susy and the old woman, i.e. find comfort to himself in their society.