CHAPTER XXVII
"Well," said the Squire peevishly, "I can do no more. Girls ha' theirwhimsies, and it's much if you can hinder 'em running after Mr. Wrongwithout forcing 'em to take Mr. Right. At any rate I've said what Icould for you, lad, and the end was as if I hadn't. You must fightyour own battle. Jos hasn't"--this would never have occurred to theSquire in his seeing days--"too gay a life of it, and if you're notman enough to get on the soft side of her, with a clear field, why,damme, you don't deserve to have her."
"I was well enough with her," Arthur said resentfully, "till lately.But she is changed, sir."
"Well, like enough. Girls are like that."
"There may be--someone else."
The Squire snorted. "Who?" he said. "Who?"--more roughly. "You'retalking nonsense."
Arthur could not say who. He could not name anyone. So far as he knewthere could not be anyone. But his temper, chafed by a week ofsuspense and anxiety, was not smoothed by the old man's refusal to domore. And then to fail with Josina! To be rejected by Josina, thesimple girl whom, in his heart, he had regarded as a _pis alter_, onwhom he had designed to confer a half-contemptuous affection, on whoseyouthful fancy he had played for his pastime! This was enough to tryhim, apart from the fact that things in Aldersbury looked black, andthat, losing her, he lost the consolation prize to which he had lookedforward to make all good. So, taken to task by the Squire, he did notat once assent. "Who?" he repeated gloomily. "Ah, I don't know."
"Nor I!" the Squire retorted. "There is nobody. Truth is, my lad, theman who has been robbed sees a face in every bush. However, there'tis. I've said my say, and I've done with it. Did you bring thosedeeds from Welsh's?"
Arthur swallowed his mortification as best he might--fortunately theold man could not see his face. "Yes," he said. "I left themdownstairs." The Squire had caught a cold, sitting out on the hill onthe Saturday, and had been for some days in his bedroom.
"Well, I'm going to pay wages now," he rejoined. "Bring 'em up afterdinner and I'll sign 'em. You and the girl or Peacock can witnessthem. And, hark you--here, wait a minute!" irascibly, for Arthur,giving as much rein to his temper as he dared, had turned on his heeland was marching off. "Take my keys and open the safe-cupboarddownstairs, and bring me up the agreement. I've got to compare it withthe lease--I shan't sign it without! Lock the door, d'you hear, beforeyou open the cupboard, and have a care no one sees you."
"Very well," Arthur said, and was half-way to the door when again, asif to try his patience, the old man stopped him. "What's this they'resaying about Ovington's, eh? 'Bout the bank? Pretty thing, if he's letyou in and your money too! But I'm not surprised. I told you you werea fool, young man, to dirty your hands in that bag, whatever youthought to get out of it. And if you're not going to get anything outof it, but to leave your own in, as I hear talk of--what then? Come,let's hear what you have to say about it! I'd like to know."
"I don't know what you've heard, sir," Arthur answered, sparring fortime. For self-control, provoking as the old man was, he had no longerneed to fight. For he had seen, the moment the Squire spoke, thathere, here if he chose to avail himself of it, was his chance of thetwelve thousand! Here was an opening, if he had the courage to seizeit. Granted the chance was desperate, and the opening unpromising--apoorer or less promising could hardly be. And the courage necessarywas great. But here it was. The Squire himself had brought up thesubject. He knew of the rumors: he had broken the ice. Here it was,and for a moment, uncertain, wavering, giddy with the swiftinterchange of _pros_ and _cons_, Arthur tried for time--time tothink. "What was it? What did you hear, sir?" he asked.
"What did I hear?" the Squire answered. "Why, that they're d--dsuspicious of them in the town. And I don't wonder. Up in a night, andcut off in a day, like a rotten mushroom!" He spoke with gusto,forgetting for the moment what this might mean to his listener; who,on his side, hardly heeded the brutality, so absorbed was he in thequestion which he must answer--the question whether it would be wiseor foolish, ruin or salvation, to ask the Squire for help. "He'll beanother Fauntleroy, 'fore he's done," the old man went on with relish."He'll stretch a rope, you'll see if he won't! I told him as muchmyself. I told him as much in those very words the day he came hereabout his confounded silly toy of a railroad. He might take inWoosenham and a lot of other fools, I told him, but he did not deceiveme. Now I hear that he's going to burst up, and where'll you be, mylad? Where'll you be? By Gad, you may be in the dock with him!"
Certainly he might speak on that. The old man was harsh andhard-fisted, but he was also hard-headed and very shrewd; andconceivably the case might be so put to him that he might see hisprofit in it. Certainly it might be so put that he might see a fairprospect of saving his nephew's five thousand at no great risk tohimself. The books might be laid before him, the figures be taken out.the precise situation made clear. There was--it could not be puthigher than this--just a slender chance that he would listen,prejudiced as he was.
But twelve thousand! It was such a stupendous sum to name. It neededsuch audacity to ask for it. And yet it was that or nothing. Lessmight not serve; while to ask for less, to ask for anything at all,might cost the petitioner the favor he had won--his standing in thehouse, and the advantages which the Squire's support might still gainfor him. And then it was such a forlorn hope, such a desperate,feckless venture! No, he would be a fool to risk it. He dared not doit. He had not the face.
Yet, for a few seconds after the Squire had ceased to speak, Arthurhesitated, confession trembling on his lips. The twelve thousand wouldmake all good, save all, redeem all--ay, and bind Ovington to him inbonds of steel. But no, he dared not. He would be a fool to speak. Andinstead of the words that had risen to his lips, "I think you mistake,sir," he said coldly. "I think you'll find that this is all cry andlittle wool! Of course money is tight, and there is trouble in theCity. I've heard talk of two or three weak banks being indifficulties, and I should not wonder if one or two of them stoppedpayment between this and Christmas. We are told that it is likely. Butwe are perfectly solvent. It will take more than talk to bringOvington's down."
"Umph!" the Squire grumbled. "Well, maybe, maybe. You talk as if youknew, and you ought to know. I hope you do know. After all--I don'twant you to lose your money--Gad, a pretty fool you'd look, my lad! Apretty fool, indeed! But as for Ovington, a confounded rascal, whothinks himself a gentleman because he has filled his purse at somepoor devil's expense--I'd see him break with pleasure."
"I don't think you'll have the pleasure this time!" Arthur retortedwith a bitterness which he could not repress--a bitterness caused asmuch by his own doubts as by the other's harshness. He left the roomwithout more, the keys in his hand, and went downstairs.
It wanted about an hour of the Squire's dinner-time, but Calamy hadlaid the table early, and the dining-room was dark. Arthur carried ina lamp from the hall, and himself closed the shutters. He locked thedoor. Then he opened the nearer panel and the cupboard behind it, andsought for and found the agreement--but all mechanically, his mindstill running on the Squire's words, and now approving of the coursehe had taken, now doubting if he had not missed his opportunity. Theagreement in his hand, his errand done, he closed the cupboard door,and was preparing to close the panel, when, with his hand still on it,he paused. More clearly than when his bodily eyes had rested upon themhe saw the contents of the cupboard.
And one thing in particular, a small thing, but it was on this thathis mind focussed itself--the iron box containing the India Stock. Hesaw it before him; it stood out dark, its every outline sharp. Andwith equal clearness he saw its contents, the two certificates thatremained in it. He recalled the value of them, and almost against hiswill he calculated their worth at the price of the day. India Stock,sound and safe security as it was, had fallen more than thirty pointssince the Squire had sold. It stood to-day, he thought, at two hundredand forty or a little over or a little under--somewhere about that. Atthe lowest figure five thousand pounds would fetch-
-just twelvethousand, he calculated.
Twelve thousand!
He stood staring at the door, and even by the yellow light of the lamphis face looked pale. Twelve thousand! And upstairs in a pigeon-holeof the old bureau, where he had carelessly thrust it, was the blanktransfer.
It seemed providential. It seemed as if the stock--stock to theprecise amount he required--had been placed there for a purpose.Twelve thousand! And realizable, no matter what the pinch. If heborrowed it for a month, what harm would there be? Or what risk? Thebank was solvent, he knew that: give it time, and it would stand asstrong as ever. Within a month, or two months at the most, he couldreplace the stock, and no one would be the wiser. And the bank and hisown fortune would be saved.
Whereas--whereas, if the bank failed, he lost everything. And what wasit his uncle had said? "A pretty fool you will look!" It was true, itwas horribly true. He would be the laughing stock of the county. Menof his own class would say with a sneer that it served him right. Andthe Squire--what would he say? His life would be a hell!
Still he hesitated, though he told himself that it was not by bogglingat trifles that men arrived at great ends--nor by poltroonery. And whowould be the loser? No one. It would be all gain. The Squire, if hehad common sense, would be the first to wish it done.
Yet, as he felt through the bunch, with fingers that shook a little,for the small key that opened the box, he glanced fearfully over hisshoulder. But the door of the room was locked, the windows wereshuttered: no one could see him. No one could ever say what he haddone in that room. And he was lawfully there, at the Squire's ownrequest, on his errand.
Five minutes later he closed the door, closed the panel. He took upthe lamp with a steady hand and left the room. He went into theSquire's bedroom to return the keys, loitered a minute or two at thebureau, then he went to his own room. On the table lay the lease andthe counterpart that he had brought from Aldersbury for the old man'ssignature. He closed and locked the door.
It was some hour and a half later that, having finished dinner--and hehad talked more fluently at the meal, and with less restraint than oflate--he rose from the table with Miss Peacock and Josina. "I'll comewith you," he said. "I shall have my wine upstairs." And then, turningto Miss Peacock, "The Squire will want you to witness his signature,"he said. "Will you come? He has to sign some deeds that Welsh's havesent."
Miss Peacock bewailed herself. She was in a flurry at the prospect."Oh, dear, dear," she said, "I wish he didn't! I am all of a twitter,and then he scolds me. I am sure to put my name in the wrong place, orwrite his or something."
Josina laughed. "What will you give me to go instead?" she asked."Come? But, there, I'll go. In fact, he told me before dinner that Iwas to go." She moved towards the door.
But Arthur did not move. He looked disturbed. "I don't think that thatwill do," he said slowly. "Considering what it is--I think the Peahenwould be the better."
"But if she doesn't like it?" Jos objected. "And I must go, Arthur,for he told me to go. So the sooner the better. We have sat longerthan usual, and, though Calamy is with him, he won't like to be keptwaiting."
Arthur seemed to consider it. "Oh, very well," he said at last. Hefollowed her from the room.
The Squire was sitting before the fire, at the small round table atwhich he had eaten his meal. A decanter of port and a couple ofglasses stood at his elbow. Two candles in tall silver candlesticksshed a circle of light on the table, and showed up his white head andhis hands, but failed to illumine the larger part of the room. Thegreat bed with its drab hangings, the lofty press with its brasshandles, the dark Windsor chairs, now lurked in and now sprang fromthe shadows, as the fire flickered up or sank. On the verge of thecircle of light the butler moved mysteriously, now appearing, nowdisappearing; now coming forward to set an inkstand and goose-quillsbeside the decanter, now withdrawing to pile unseen plates upon anunseen tray.
The Squire was tapping impatiently on the table when they entered."Well, you're in no hurry for your wine to-night," he said. "Have youbrought the papers? You might have a'most written them in the timeyou've been."
"Sorry, sir," said Arthur. "They are here. Will you sit here, Jos?"
"Nay, nay, she must be near by," the old man objected. His hearing wasstill good. "Close up! Close up, girl! I want her eyes. And do youfill your glass. Now have you all ready? Then do you read me theagreement first, that I may see if the lease tallies. And read slowly,lad, slowly. Calamy?"
"I am here, sir," lugubriously. "Where we'll be tomorrow----"
"D--n you, don't whine, man, but snuff the candles. And then get out.Do you hear?"
Calamy mumbled that it would be all the same at the latter end. Hewent out with his tray, and closed the door behind him.
"Now!" said the Squire, and obediently to the word Arthur began toread. Once or twice his voice failed him, and he had to clear histhroat. Josina would have thought that he was nervous, had she everknown him nervous. Fortunately, the document was short, as legaldocuments go, and some five minutes, during which the Squire satlistening intently, saw it at an end.
"Umph! Sounds all right," he commented. "Sight o' words! But there,they've got to charge. Now do you give the girl the counterpart, anddo you read the lease, lad, and read it slowly, so as I mayunderstand. And hark you, Jos, speak up if there is any differ--nailit like a rat, girl, and don't go to sleep over it! Don't you let mebe cheated. Welsh is as honest, and I'd as lief trust him, as another,but if aught's amiss it's not he that will suffer, nor the confoundedscamp of a clerk that made the mistake. And see you there's noerasures: I'm lawyer enough to know that. Now, slow, lad, slow," hecommanded, "so that I can take it in."
Arthur complied, and began to read slowly and carefully. But again hehad more than once to stop, his voice failing. He explained it bysaying that the light was not good, and he rose to snuff the candles.The lease, too, was longer than the agreement, and was full ofverbiage, and it took some time to read, and some patience. But atlong last the delivery clause was reached. No discrepancy or erasurehad been discovered, and the Squire, whose attention had neverfaltered--he was an excellent man of affairs--declared himselfsatisfied.
"Well, there," he said, in a tone of relief, "that's done! Drink up,lad, and wet your throttle." He turned himself squarely to the table."Give me the pen I used last," he continued. "And do you guide my handto the right place."
"I am afraid your pen was left to dry," Arthur said, "and the nib hasopened. You'll have to use a new one, sir, and try it first. And--thesand? We shall want that. I am afraid it is downstairs. If Josinawould not mind running down for it?"
"Pooh! pooh! Never mind the sand! Let 'em dry o' themselves. Lesschance of blotting. Where's the pen?"--holding out his hand for it.
"Here, sir. Will you try it on this? If you'll write your name infull, as if you were signing the deeds"--he guided the Squire's hand tothe place--"I shall see if it is right--and straight."
"Ay, ay, best be careful," the Squire agreed, squaring himself to histask. "'Twon't do to spoil 'em. Here?"
"Yes--just as you are now."
The old man bent over the table, his white hair shining in the centreof the little circle of light cast by the candles. Slowly andlaboriously, in a tense silence, while Arthur, leaning over hisshoulder, followed each movement of the pen, and Josina, half inlight, half in shadow, watched them both from the farther side of thetable, he wrote his name.
It was a perfect signature, though rather bolder and larger thanusual, and "Excellent!" Arthur cried in a tone of relief, whichbetrayed the anxiety he had felt. "Good! It could not be better! Welldone, sir!" He removed the paper as he spoke, but in the act lookedsharply across at Josina. The girl's eyes were upon him, but her facewas in shadow, and he could not read its expression. He hesitated amoment, the paper in his hand, then he laid it on the table besidehim--and out of her reach.
"Right!" said the Squire. "Then, now for business. Let's have thelease. My hand's in now."
Arthur laid it
before him, and guided his hand to the place. "Is thereink enough in the pen?" the old man asked.
"Quite enough, sir. It won't do to blot it."
"Right, lad, right!" The Squire wrote his name. "Now the counterpart!"he continued briskly, holding the quill suspended.
Arthur put it before him. He signed it, steadily and clearly. "Allright?" he asked.
"Quite right. Couldn't be better, sir."
"Then, thank God that's done!" He sank back in his chair, and raisedhis hand to take off his glasses, then remembered himself. "Pheugh!"he said, "it's a job when you can't see." But it was plain that he waspleased with himself.
Arthur turned to Josina. "Your turn next!" he said; and he gave herthe pen. He put the lease before her, and pointed to the place whereshe was to sign.
She was not as nervous as Miss Peacock, but she was anxious to make nomistake. "Here?" she asked.
"Yes, there. Be careful." Arthur snuffed the candles, and as he did sohe glanced over his shoulder, his eyes searching the shadows. Then heleant over her, watching her pen.
She wrote her name, slowly and carefully. "Good!" he said, and heremoved the document. He set another before her, and silently showedher with his finger where to write. She wrote her name.
"Now here," he said. "Here! But wait! Is there enough ink in the pen?"
She dipped the pen in the inkpot to make sure, and shook it, thatthere might be no danger of a blot. Again she wrote her name.
"Capital!" he said. His voice betrayed relief. "That's done, and welldone! Couldn't be better. Now it's my turn."
"But"--Jos looked up in doubt, the pen still in her hand--"but I'vesigned three, Arthur! I thought there were but two."
"Three!" exclaimed the Squire, turning his head, his attention caught."Damme!"--peevishly--"what mess has the girl made now?" It was part ofhis creed that in matters of business no woman was to be trusted to dothe smallest thing as it should be done.
But Arthur only laughed. "No mess, sir," he said. "Only a goose ofherself! She has witnessed your trial signature as well as the others.That's all. I thought I could make her do it, and she did it assolemnly as you like!" He laughed a little loudly. "I shall keep thatJos."
The Squire, pleased with himself, and glad that the business was over,was in a good humor, and he joined in the laugh. "It will teach younot to be too free with your signature, my girl," he said. "When youcome some day to have a cheque book, you'll find that that won't do!Won't do, at all! Well, thank God, that's done."
Arthur, who was stooping over the table, adding his own name,completed his task. He stood up. "Yes, sir, that's done. Done!" herepeated in an odd, rising tone. "And now--the lease goes back toWelsh's. Shall I lock up the counterpart--downstairs, sir?"
"No, lad," the Squire announced. "I'll do that myself o' Monday."
"But it's no trouble, sir." He held out his hand for the keys. "Andperhaps the sooner it's locked up--the tenant's signed it, and it iscomplete now--the safer."
But, "No, no, time enough!" the Squire persisted. "I'll put it back onMonday. I am not so helpless now I can't manage that, and I shall bedownstairs o' Monday."
For a moment Arthur hesitated. He looked as if something troubled him.But in the end, "Very good, sir. Then that's all?" he said.
"Ay; put the counterpart in the old bureau there. 'Twill be safe theretill Monday. How's the wine? Fill my glass and fill your own, lad. Youcan go, Jos. Tell Calamy to come to me at half-past nine."
Ovington's Bank Page 27
