From Squire to Squatter: A Tale of the Old Land and the New
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this was the mystery. Archie was henceforward, so it appeared, tolive in an atmosphere of scented soap; his hope must centre in bubbles.He was to assist this Mr Glorie's star to rise to the zenith, while hisown fortune might sink to nadir. And he had paid his premium. It wasswallowed up and simmering in that ugly old grease-pot, and except forthe miserable salary he received from Mr Glorie he might starve.
Poor Archie! He certainly did not share his employer's enthusiasm, andon this particular evening he did not walk home on feathers, and when hesat down to supper his face must have appeared to Sarah quite as longand lugubrious as Mr Glorie's; for she raised her hands and said:
"Lawk-a-doodle, sir! What's the matter? Have ye killed anybody?"
"Not yet," answered Archie; "but I almost feel I could."
He stuck to his work, however, like a man; but that work became more andmore allied to soap, and the front shop hardly knew him any more.
He had informed the fellows at the club-room that he was employed atlast; that he was apprenticed to the drug trade. But the soap somehowleaked out, and more than once, when he was introduced to somenew-comer, he was styled--
"Mr Broadbent," and "something in soap."
This used to make him bite his lips in anger.
He would not have cared half so much had he not joined this very club,with a little flourish of trumpets, as young Broadbent, son of SquireBroadbent, of Burley Old Castle, England.
And now he was "something in soap."
He wrote home to his sister in the bitterness of his soul, telling herthat all his visions of greatness had ended in bubbles of rainbow hue,and that he was "something in soap." He felt sorry for having done soas soon as the letter was posted.
He met old Winslow one day in the street, and this gentleman graspedArchie's small aristocratic hand in his great brown bear's paw, andcongratulated him on having got on his feet at last.
"Yes," said Archie with a sneer and a laugh, "I'm `something in soap.'"
"And soap's a good thing I can tell you. Soap's not to be despised.There's a fortune in soap. I had an uncle in soap. Stick to it, mylad, and it'll stick to you."
But when a new apprentice came to the shop one day, and was installed inthe front door drug department, while he himself was relegated to theslums at the back, his cup of misery seemed full, and he proceededforthwith to tell this Mr Glorie what he thought of him. Mr Glorie'sface got longer and longer and longer, and he finally brought hisclenched fist down with such a bang on the counter, that every bottleand glass in the place rang like bells.
"I'll have the law on you," he shouted.
"I don't care; I've done with you. I'm sick of you and your soap."
He really did not mean to do it; but just at that moment his foot kickedagainst a huge earthenware jar full of oil, and shivered it in pieces.
"You've broke your indenture! You--you--"
"I've broken your jar, anyhow," cried Archie.
He picked up his hat, and rushing out, ran recklessly off to his club.
He was "something in soap" no more.
He was beggared, but he was free, unless indeed Mr Glorie should puthim in gaol.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
THE KING MAY COME IN THE CADGER'S WAY.
Mr Glorie did not put his runaway apprentice in gaol. He simplyadvertised for another--with a premium.
Poor Archie! His condition in life was certainly not to be envied now.He had but very few pounds between him and actual want.
He was rich in one thing alone--pride. He would sooner starve thanwrite home for a penny. No, he _could_ die in a gutter, but he couldnot bear to think they should know of it at Burley Old Farm.
Long ago, in the bonnie woods around Burley, he used to wonder to finddead birds in dark crannies of the rocks. He could understand it now.They had crawled into the crannies to die, out of sight and alone.
His club friends tried to rally him. They tried to cheer him up in moreways than one. Be it whispered, they tried to make him seek solace ingambling and in the wine-cup.
I do not think that I have held up my hero as a paragon. On thecontrary, I have but represented him as he was--a bold, determined lad,with many and many a fault; but now I am glad to say this one thing inhis favour: he was not such a fool as to try to drown his wits in wine,nor to seek to make money questionably by betting and by cards.
After Archie's letter home, in which he told Elsie that he was"something in soap," he had written another, and a more cheerful one.It was one which cost him a good deal of trouble to write; for he reallycould not get over the notion that he was telling white lies when hespoke of "his prospects in life, and his hopes being on the ascendant;"and as he dropped it into the receiver, he felt mean, demoralised; andhe came slowly along George Street, trying to make himself believe thatany letter was better than no letter, and that he would hardly have beenjustified in telling the whole truth.
Well, at Burley Old Farm things had rather improved, simply for thisreason: Squire Broadbent had gone in heavily for retrenchment.
He had proved the truth of his own statement: "It does not take much inthis world to make a man happy." The Squire was happy when he saw hiswife and children happy. The former was always quietly cheerful, andthe latter did all they could to keep up each other's hearts. Theyspent much of their spare time in the beautiful and romantic tower-room,and in walking about the woods, the grounds, and farm; for Rupert waswell now, and was his father's right hand, not in the rough-and-tumbledashing way that Archie would have been, but in a thoughtful,considering way.
Mr Walton had gone away, but Branson and old Kate were still to thefore. The Squire could not have spared these.
I think that Rupert's religion was a very pretty thing. He had lostnone of his simple faith, his abiding trust in God's goodness, though hehad regained his health. His devotions were quite as sincere, histhankfulness for mercies received greater even than before, and he hadthe most unbounded faith in the efficacy of prayer.
So his sister and he lived in hope, and the Squire used to build castlesin the green parlour of an evening, and of course the absent Archie wasone of the kings of these castles.
After a certain number of years of retrenchment, Burley was going torise from its ashes like the fabled phoenix--machinery and all. TheSquire was even yet determined to show these old-fashioned farmer folksof Northumbria "a thing or two."
That was his ambition; and we must not blame him; for a man withoutambition of some kind is a very humble sort of a clod--a clod of verypoor clay.
But to return to Sydney.
Archie had received several rough invitations to go and visit MrWinslow. He had accepted two of these, and, singular to say,Etheldene's father was absent each time. Now, I refuse to bemisunderstood. Archie did not "manage" to call when the ex-miner wasout; but Archie was not displeased. He had taken a very great fancy forthe child, and did not hesitate to tell her that from the first day hehad met her he had loved her like his sister Elsie.
Of course Etheldene wanted to know all about Elsie, and hours were spentin telling her about this one darling sister of his, and about Rupertand all the grand old life at Burley.
"I should laugh," cried Archie, "if some day when you grew up, youshould find yourself in England, and fall in love with Rupert, and marryhim."
The child smiled, but looked wonderfully sad and beautiful the nextmoment. She had a way like this with her. For if Etheldene had beentaken to represent any month of our English year, it would have beenApril--sunshine, flowers, and showers.
But one evening Archie happened to be later out in the suburbs than heought to have been. The day had been hot, and the night wasdelightfully cool and pleasant. He was returning home when a tall,rough-looking, bearded man stopped him, and asked "for a light, oldchum." Archie had a match, which he handed him, and as the light fellon the man's face, it revealed a very handsome one indeed, and one thatsomehow seemed not unfamiliar to him.
Archie went on. There was th
e noise of singing farther down the street,a merry band of youths who had been to a race meeting that clay, andwere up to mischief.
The tall man hid under the shadow of a wall.
"They're larrikins," he said to himself, and "he's a greenhorn." Hespat in his fist, and kept his eye on the advancing figures.
Archie met them. They were arm-in-arm, five in all, and instead ofmaking way for him, rushed him, and down he went, his head catching thekerb with frightful force. They at once proceeded to rifle him. Butperhaps "larrikins" had never gone to ground so quickly and sounexpectedly before. It was the bearded man who was "having his fling"among them, and he ended by grabbing one in each hand till a policemancame up.
Archie remembered nothing more then.
When he became sensible he