what better use couldhe put them than sell them to buy food--wherein the books he had writtenhad failed him? Parcel by parcel in a leather strap, he carried them tothe nearest secondhand bookseller, where he had so often bought; now hewanted to sell, but, unhappily, he soon found that books, like manyother things, are worth much less to the seller than to the buyer, andwhere Hector had calculated on pounds, only shillings were forthcoming.Yet by their sale, notwithstanding, they managed to keep a little longerout of debt.
And in these days Annie had at length finished her fair copy of Hector'slast book, writing it out in her own lovelily legible hand--not such asladies in general count legible, because they can easily read itthemselves; she could do better than that, she could write so thatothers could not fail to read. For Hector had always believed that theacceptance of his first volume had been owing not a little to the factthat he had written it out most legibly, and he held that what revealsitself at once and without possibility of mistake may justly hope for abetter reception than what from the first moment annoys the reader witha sense of ill-treatment. It is no wonder, he said, if such a manuscriptbe at once tossed aside with an imprecation. Legibility is the first andintelligibility the only other thing rendered due by the submission of amanuscript to any publisher.
Hector spent a day or two in remodeling and modifying the passagesremarked upon by his wife and his friend, and then, with hope revivingin both their hearts, the manuscript was sent in, acknowledged, and theday appointed when an answer would be ready.
Upon a certain dark morning, therefore, in November, having nothing elsewhatever to do, Hector set out in his much-worn Inverness cape to callupon his former publisher in the City, with whom of late he had had nocommunication. The weather was cold and damp, threatening rain. ButHector was too much of a Scotchman to care about weather, and too fullof anxiety to mind either cold or wet. He had, indeed, almost alwaysfelt gloomy weather exciting rather than depressing. For one thing, itseemed, when he was indoors, to close him about with protection fromuncongenial interruption, leaving the freer his inventive faculty; andnow that he was abroad in it, and no inventive faculty left awake, itseemed to clothe him with congenial sympathy, for the weather was justthe same inside him. And now, as he strode along with his eyes on theground, he scarcely saw any of the objects about him, but sought onlythe heart of the City, where he hoped to find the publisher in hisoffice, ready to print his manuscript, and advance him a small sum inanticipation of possible profit. So absorbed was he in thoughtundefined, and so sunk in anxiety as to the answer he was about toreceive, that more than once he was nearly run over by the cart of somereckless tradesman--seeming to him, in its over-taking suddenness, thetype of prophetic fate already at his heels.
At length, however, he arrived safe in the outer shop, where the booksof the firm were exposed to sight, in process of being subscribed for bythe trade. There a pert young man asked him to take a seat, while hecarried his name to the publisher, and there for some time he waited,reading titles he found himself unable to lay hold of; and there, whilehe waited, the threatened rain began, and, ere he was admitted to theinner premises, such a black deluge came pouring down as, for blacknessat least, comes down nowhere save in London. With this accompaniment, hewas ushered at length into a dingy office, deep in the recesses of thehouse, where a young man whom he saw for the first time had evidently,while Hector waited in the shop, been glancing at the manuscript he hadleft. Little as he could have read, however, it had been enough, aidedperhaps by the weather, to bring him to an unfavorable decision; hisrejection was precise and definite, leaving no room for Hector to sayanything, for he did not seem ever to have heard of him before. Hectorrose at once, gathered up his papers from the table where they layscattered, said "Good-morning," and went out into the sooty rain.
Not knowing whitherward to point his foot, he stopped at the corner ofKing William Street, close to the money-shops of the old Lombards, andthere stood still, in vain endeavor to realize the blow that had stunnedhim. There he stood and stood, with bowed head, like an outcast beggar,watching the rain that dropped black from the rim of his saturated hat.Becoming suddenly conscious, however, that the few wayfarers glancedsomewhat curiously at him as they passed, he started to walk on, notknowing whither, but trying to look as if he had a purpose somewhereinside him, whereas he had still a question to settle--whether to buy abun, and, on the strength of that, walk home, or spend his few remainingpence on an omnibus, as far as it would take him for the money, and walkthe rest of the way.
Then, suddenly, as if out of the depths of despair, arose in him anassurance of help on the way to him, and with it a strength to look inthe face the worst that could befall him; he might at least starve inpatience. Therewith he drew himself up, crossed the street to the cornerof the Mansion House, and got into an omnibus waiting there.
If only he could creep into his grave and have done! Why should thathostelry of refuge stand always shut? Surely he was but walking in hisown funeral! Were not the mourners already going about the street beforeever the silver cord was loosed or the golden bowl broken? Might he notnow at length feel at liberty to end the life he had ceased to value?But there was Annie! He would go home to her; she would comforthim--yes, she would die with him! There was no other escape; there wasno sign of coming deliverance. All was black within and around them.That was the rain on the gravestones. He was in a hearse, on his way tothe churchyard. There the mourners were already gathered. They werebefore him, waiting his arrival. No! He would go home to Annie! He wouldnot be a coward soldier! He would not kill himself to escape the enemy!He would stand up to the Evil One, and take his blows without flinching.He and his Annie would take them together, and fight to the last. Then,if they must die, it was well, and would be better.
But alas! what if the obligation of a live soul went farther than thislife? What if a man was bound, by the fact that he lived, to live on,and do everything possible to keep the life alive in him? There hisheart sank, and the depths of the sea covered it! Did God require of himthat, sooner than die, he should beg the food to keep him alive? Wouldhe be guilty of forsaking his post, if he but refused to ask, and waitedfor Death? Was he bound to beg? If he was, he must begin at once byrefusing to accept the smallest credit! To all they must tell the truthof their circumstances, and refuse aught but charity. But was there notsomething yet he could try before begging? He had had a good education,had both knowledge and the power of imparting it; this was still worthmoney in the world's market. And doubtless therein his friend could dosomething for him.
Therewithal his new dread was gone; one possibility was yet left him instore! To his wife he must go, and talk the thing over with her. He hadstill, he believed, threepence in his pocket to pay for the omnibus.
It began to move; and then first, waking up, he saw that he had seatedhimself between a poor woman and a little girl, evidently her daughter.
"I am very sorry to incommode you, ma'am," he said apologetically to thewhite-faced woman, whose little tartan shawl scarcely covered hershoulders, painfully conscious of his dripping condition, as he took offhis hat, and laid it on the floor between his equally soaking feet. But,instead of moving away from him to a drier position beyond, the woman,with a feeble smile, moved closer up to him, saying to her daughter onhis other side:
"Sit closer to the gentleman, Jessie, and help to keep him warm. She'squite clean, sir," she added. "We have plenty of water in our place, andI gave her a bath myself this morning, because we were going to thehospital to see my husband. He had a bad accident yesterday, but thankGod! not so bad as it might have been. I'm afraid you're feeling verycold, sir," she added, for Hector had just given an involuntary shiver.
"My husband he's a bricklayer," she went on; "he has been in good work,and I have a few shillings in hand, thank God! Times are sure to mend,for they seldom turns out so bad as they looks."
Involuntarily Hector's hand moved to his trouser pocket, but dropped byhis side as he remembered the fare. She saw his movement, and
broke intoa sad little laugh.
"Don't mistake me, sir," she resumed. "I told you true when I said Iwasn't without money; and, before the pinch comes, wages, I dare say,will show their color again. Besides, our week's rent is paid. And he'sin good quarters, poor fellow, though with a bad pain to keep himcompany, I'm afraid."
"Where do you live?" asked Hector "But," he went on, "why should I ask?I am as poor as you--poorer, perhaps, for I have no trade to fall backupon. But I have a good wife like you, and I don't doubt she'll think ofsomething."
"Trust to that, sir! A good woman like I'm sure she is 'll be sure tothink of many a thing before she'll give in. My husband, he was broughtup to religion, and he always says there's one as know's and don'tforget." But now the omnibus had reached the spot where Hector
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