"A Tale of a Family Tree" (continued 3)

“Can’t hear? No; but I can feel some one there.”

“It’s the boy,” said Dick.

“No; he’s gone to bed this hour,” said Mrs Shingle nervously.

“Let’s go and see,” whispered Hopper.

“Stop a moment,” said Dick, frowning; and, getting up, he opened the door that led upstairs, when a low whispering was plainly heard from above.

Dick shut the door quickly, and turned to his wife.

“Mother,” he said huskily, “I wouldn’t have believed this if I’d been told. Did you know of it?”

“No, dear—no,” she cried agitatedly. “But pray—stop. What are you going to do?”

“Put an end to it!” he cried fiercely. “My gal’s going to be a lady; and do you think I’m going to let her be the talk of the town?”

“Don’t do anything rash, Dick, old chap,” said Hopper, laying his hand upon the other’s arm.

“Rash!” cried Dick, bitterly. “I’ve been waiting for prosperity to come all my life; but, curse it, give me poverty again, if riches are to be like this.”

A complete change seemed to have come over the man, as he darted to the door and swung it open, just as there was the rush of rapid footsteps along the paved court, and he ran off in pursuit; while Mrs Shingle and Hopper followed.

They met Dick at the entrance, coming back panting; and he motioned them into the house, and closed the door.

“Mother,” he panted, in a voice that trembled with grief and passion, “I’ve left it to you to train our girl while I earned—no, tried to earn—the bread; and it’s been my pride through it all to hold up my head and point to our Jessie, and say to folks, ‘Look at her—she’s not like the rest as go to the warehouse for work.’”

“But, Dick—dear Dick, don’t, pray don’t judge hastily,” cried Mrs Shingle.

“I won’t,” said Dick hoarsely. “All I say is there was a man out there, and she was talking to him on the sly. Is that right, Hopper? I say, is that right?”

The old man looked at him vacantly, and seemed not to hear.

“Curse him! whoever he was,” cried Dick hoarsely; “he was ashamed to meet me. It was Tom Fraser, I’ll swear; and he’s not the man I thought him. Here,” he cried, swinging open the door that led upstairs, “Jessie—Jessie, come down! Hopper, old man, you’re like one of us—you needn’t go.”

The visitor, with a sorrowful look upon his face, had already reached the door, where he stood, leaning upon his stick, as Jessie slowly descended, looking very pale, and glancing anxiously from one to the other.

Mrs Shingle was crossing—mother-like—to her child’s side; but Dick motioned her back.

“Stop there!” he said fiercely; and then, taking a step forward—“Jessie, you were talking to some one outer window just now?”

She did not answer for a moment, but gazed at him in a frightened way.

“I say you were talking to some one outer window?”

“Yes, father,” she faltered.

“It was to Tom Fraser,” he said, in a low, angry voice. “And he’s a sneak.”

There was no answer.

“I say it was—to Tom Fraser.”

“No, father, it was not,” said Jessie, in a low clear voice.

“Who was it, then?” cried Dick.

There was no answer.

“I say, who was it, then?”

“It was to his brother Fred, father,” said Jessie, almost in a whisper.

But all the same Tom Fraser had stood at the entrance to the court, and been a witness of the scene.

Volume Two—Chapter Eight.

After a Lapse.

Max Shingle lived in the unfashionable district of Pentonville; but he had a goodly house there, and well furnished, at the head of a square of little residences that some ingenious builder had erected to look like a plantation of young Wesleyan chapels, growing up ready for transplanting at such times as they were needed to supply a want.

Mrs Max, relict of the late Mr Fraser, was a tall, bony, washed-out woman, with a false look about her hair, teeth, and figure; large ears, in each of which, fitting close to the lobe, was a large pearl, looking like a button, to hold it back against her head. She was seated in her drawing-room, but not alone; for opposite to her, in a studied, graceful attitude, sat Max’s ward, Violante, daughter of a late deacon of his chapel—a rather good-looking girl in profile, but terribly disfigured, on looking her full in the face, by a weakness in one eye, the effect of which was that it never worked with its twin sister, but was always left behind. Thus, whereas her right eye turned sharply upon you, and looked you through and through, the left did not come up to its work until the right had about finished and gone off to do duty on something else. The consequence was that when talking to her you found you had her attention for a few moments; and then, just as you seemed to have lost it, eye Number 2 came up to the charge, and generally puzzled and confused a stranger to a remarkable extent.

“Dear me! Hark at the wind!” said Mrs Max; “and look at it. Give me my smelling bottle, Violante. I’m always giddy when the wind gets under the carpet like that.”

The smelling bottle was duly sniffed; and then, changing her position so that her fair hair and white eyebrows and lashes were full in the light, Mrs Max looked more than ever as if there had been too much soda used in the water ever since she was born; and she sighed, and took up her work, which was a large illuminated text on perforated cardboard.

In fact, Max Shingle’s house shone in brightly coloured cards and many-tinted silken pieces of tapestry, formed to improve the sinful mind. Moral aphorisms about honesty and contentment looked at you from over the hat-pegs in the hall; pious precepts peeped at you between the balusters as you went upstairs, and furnished the drawing-room to the displacement of pictures. Many of them lost their point, from being illuminated to such an extent that the brilliancy and wondrous windings of the letters dazzled the eye, and carried the mind into a mental maze, as you tried to decipher what they meant; but there they were, and Mrs Max and the ward spent their days in constantly adding to the number.

The hall mat, instead of “Cave canem,” bore the legend “Friend, do not swear; it is a sinful habit,” and always exasperated visitors; while, if you put your feet upon a stool, you withdrew them directly, feeling that you had been guilty of an irreverent act; for there would be a line worked in white beads, with a reference to “Romans xii.” or “2 Corinthians ii.” If you opened a book there was a marker within bidding you “flee,” or “cease,” or “turn,” or “stand fast.” If you dined there, and sat near the fire, a screen was hung on your chair, which was so covered with quotations that it made you feel as if you were turning your back on the Christian religion. But still, look which way you would, you felt as if you were in the house of a good man.

Pictures there were, of course. There was a large engraving of Ruth and Boaz, to which Mrs Max always drew your attention with—

“Would not you suppose that Mr Shingle had sat for Boaz?”

And when you agreed that he might, Violante always joined in, directing one eye at you, and saying—

“People always think, too, that the Ruth is so like Mrs Maximilian.” Then the other eye came slowly up to finish the first one’s task, and seemed to say, “Now, then, what do you think of that?”

The place was well furnished, but, from the pictures to the carpets, everything was of an ecclesiastical pattern; and when Max came in, with a white cravat, you felt that you were in the presence of a substantial rector, if he were not a canon, or a dean.

In a wicked fit, Dick had once dubbed his brother and sister-in-law “Sage and Onions”—the one from his solid, learned look; the other from her being always strangely scented, and her weakness for bursting into tears.

Upon the present occasion, she sat for a few minutes, and then, taking out her handkerchief, began to weep silently.

“Your guardian is always late for dinner, my dear; and everything will be spoilt. Where is Tom?”

“Gone hanging about after Miss Jessie, I suppose,” said Violante, with a roll of one eye. “And Fred as well,” she added, with the other.

“It is a strange infatuation on the part of my two sons. Your dear guardian’s Esau and Jacob,” said Mrs Max, wiping her eyes. “I wonder how it is that poor creature, Richard Shingle, makes his money.”

“I don’t know,” said Violante. “They’ve set up a very handsome carriage.”

“Dear me! It is a mystery,” said Mrs Max, still weeping. “Two years ago Richard was our poor tenant; now he must be worth thousands. I hope he is honest.”

“Perhaps we had better work him some texts,” said Violante, maliciously. Then, raising her other eye, “They might do him good.”

“I don’t know,” sighed Mrs Max; “we never see them now they have grown so rich. It is very shocking.”

Violante did not seem to see that it was shocking, for she only tossed her head.

“Has Tom been any more attentive to you lately, my dear?”

“No, not a bit,” said the girl spitefully, and one eye flashed at Mrs Max; “nor Fred neither,” she continued, bestowing a milder ray with the other.

“The infatuation will wear off,” said Mrs Max, wringing her hands, but seeming as if wringing her pocket-handkerchief, “and then one of them will come to his senses.”

“I shall never marry Tom,” cried the girl decidedly. “Don’t speak so, my child,” said Mrs Max. “You know your guardian has so arranged it; and he can withhold your money if you are disobedient.”

“Yes,” cried Violante, “money, money, money—always money. That’s why I am kept for the pleasure of those two scapegraces, and mocked at by that saucy hussy of a Jessie. I wish I hadn’t a penny.”

“Hush, hush!” cried Mrs Max, “here is your guardian.” As she spoke she hastily wiped her eyes—pretty dry this time—and put away her handkerchief, for voices were heard below.

In fact, half an hour before, Max Shingle had been rolling grandly along from the City, looking the full-blown perfection of a thick-lipped, self-inflated, sensual man, when he encountered Hopper, who hooked him at once with his stick.

“Hullo, Max Shingle!” he cried: “been doing good, as usual? Here: I’ll come home to dinner with you,” he continued, taking his arm.

Max swore a very ugly oath to himself; but he was obliged to put up with the annoyance—a feeling modified, however, by his curiosity being excited.

“I’ve just come from your brother Dick’s,” said Hopper, winking to himself.

Max was mollified directly, for reasons of his own; for, though over two years had passed, Dick had kept his own counsel so well that not a soul, even in his own family, knew the full secret of his success. Hopper was as ignorant as the rest; but he assumed a knowledge in Max’s presence that he did not possess.

“Is—is he doing well?” said Max, in an indifferent tone. “Hey?”

“I say, is he doing well?” shouted Max.

“Wonderfully! Keeps his brougham, and a carriage besides, for his wife and daughter.”

“Ah!” said Max. “Is he civil to you? No music now, I suppose?”

“Only three nights a week,” said Hopper, winking to himself. “Fine princely fellow, Dick. Ah! here we are. Very glad—I’m hungry. He wanted me to stay, but I would not.”

Max opened the front door with his latchkey, and drew back for Hopper to enter which that worthy did, and began to wipe his feat upon the mat, which said in scarlet letters, “Friend, do not swear,” etc.

“Damn that mat!” exclaimed Hopper loudly, as he caught one toe in the long pile, and nearly fell headlong, while Max gazed at him in horror.

“Couldn’t help it,” said Hopper apologetically. “Didn’t swear, did I?”

“Indeed, sir, you did.”

“Hey? What say?”

“You did, sir,” shouted Max.

“Did what?”

“Swore—at the mat.”

“Hey?” said Hopper, who had grown wonderfully deaf since he had been in the hall.

“I say you—swore—at—the—mat.”

“I swore at the mat? Did I? Tut, tut, tut! How hard it is to break oneself of bad habits! Now, I’ll be bound to say you never did such a thing as that, Max?”

Max shook his head.

“No, of course you would not. Ah, Max, I wish I was as good a man as you. It’s wonderful how some men’s minds are constituted.”

Hopper took off an unpleasant-looking respirator that he had been wearing more or less—more when he was speaking, less when he was not; and when it was in its place it seemed to have the effect of sticking his grey moustache up into his nostrils, like a fierce chevaux de frise. Then he put his hat on his hooked stick, and his great-coat on a chair, so as not to confront the moral aphorisms that were waiting to catch his eye, and followed Max up into the drawing-room, where the ladies looked horror-stricken at the sight of the guest.

But there was no help for it; and Mrs Max, at a sign from her lord, put on her most agreeable air, though Violante gave him, uncompromisingly, an ugly look with one eye, which seemed to pierce him, while she clinched the shaft with the other, Hopper replying with his lowest bow.

The brothers Tom and Fred came in directly after,—Tom to offer his hand, while Fred gave a supercilious nod and went up to his mother.

Hopper nodded, and as soon as the dinner was announced, offered his arm to Mrs Max, and they went down to the dining-room.

A well-ordered house had Max Shingle, and his dinners were nicely served; and since he was obliged to receive the visits of Hopper, he made a virtue of necessity, trying all the dinner-time to lay little traps for him to fall into about his brother Richard. But as Hopper saw Tom lean eagerly forward, and Fred turn sharply to listen to his answers, while a frown passed between the two brothers, he misunderstood every word said to him as the dinner went on.

“So Richard is doing uncommonly well, is he?” said Max.

“Hey? You’re not doing uncommonly well? So I heard in the City. Some one told me your house was quite shaky.”

“Who told you that?” cried Fred fiercely.

“Hey?”

“I say who told you that?” cried Fred, more loudly.

“I can’t hear a word you say, young man,” replied Hopper; “you must come round. This, is a bad room of yours for sound, Maximilian—I’d have it altered.”

There were several little encounters of this kind during the repast; for Hopper, as soon as he saw the object of his host, strove religiously to frustrate his efforts, and with such success that Max gave up in disgust, and tried another tack, after making up his mind to call on his brother and become reconciled. This he was the more eager for, since it was a fact that he had lost very heavily of late, and his house was tottering to its fall.

“Ah!” said Max at last, as the dinner progressed slowly, “it’s a pity, Hopper, that you have no money to invest.”

“Hey? Money to invest? No, thank you. But don’t talk shop, man. I wonder so good a creature thinks so much of money. But you keep a carriage?”

“Oh yes,” said Max, smiling good-humouredly at his wife, as if to say, “You see, he will have his joke!”

“And horses?”

“Of course,” said Max, smiling.

“There, don’t put on that imbecile smile,” cried Hopper. “There’s only been one decent dish on the table yet, and I’ve got some of it now. You don’t send your horses out to work in their nosebags? so don’t make me work when I’ve got on mine. I’m hard of hearing, but I’m fond of my digestion. Don’t treat your guest worse than your horses.”

“You always did like a joke, Hopper,” said Max.

“Joke!—it’s no joke,” cried Hopper, pointing at a pie before him. “Look at that—there’s a thing to eat! Look at the crust: just like the top of a brown skull, with all the sutures marked, ready to thrust a knife in and open it,—only it’s apple inside instead of brains.”

Mrs Max gave a horrified glance at Violante.

At last the dessert was placed on the table, and in due time the ladies rose, Tom following them shortly, and Fred, with a sneering look at his brother, rising, and saying he should go and have a cigar.

“You don’t smoke, I suppose, old Hopper?”

“Hey? Not smoke? Yes, I do; but I shall have a pipe.” Left alone, the visitor condescended to talk about Richard, and gave Max a full account of his handsomely furnished house; growing so confidential that, when he took his cup of coffee, he drew nearer and nearer, gesticulating as he described the rich Turkey carpets.

“He must be very rich,” said Max at last, as he tapped the mahogany table with his fingers.

“Not saved much, I should say,” replied Hopper; “but he’s making money fast. So are you.”

“Um—no. I’m very heavily insured, though.”

“Not in the Oldwives’ Friendly?” said Hopper, with a curious look, though he knew the fact well.

“Well—er—er—yes, I am,” said Max.

“They’ll go to smash,” said Hopper eagerly. “Haven’t you heard the rumours?”

“Ye-es,” faltered Max.

“The scoundrels! And you such a good man, too, who has saved up and toiled for his family. I tell you what I’d do,” he said earnestly.

“What?” cried Max, turning to him with the eagerness of one in peril.

“They must last another twelvemonth, and pay up liabilities till then.”

“Yes, they must do that, I should say,” said Max.

“Then die at once, and let your people draw the money!” cried Hopper, slapping him in the breast, and gazing at him with the most serious of aspects. “So good and self-denying! You all over.”

Max started back, with horror in his countenance, and glared at Hopper, whose countenance, however, never for a moment changed; and he hastily poured himself out a glass of port and tossed it off.

“Very hard upon you, Max. I wish I was rich, and could help you. For you have been hit hard, of course. Never mind: you’ve that violent girl’s money in hand—six thousand. Make one of your boys marry her, and that’ll be all right.”

Max winced visibly.

“Haven’t spent it, have you?” continued Hopper, watching him from the corners of his eyes. “No, you’re too good a man for that? and it would be ugly.”

“Shall we go up to the drawing-room?” said Max, rising.

“Hey? Go upstairs? No, not to-night, thankye. Say good-bye to the ladies. I’ll be off now. Thankye for a bad dinner. More wine? No, I’m going to my lodging, for a quiet pipe and a glass of toddy before bed. Wretched weather, ain’t it? All right: I can get my coat on. Thankye, Max, thankye. I sha’n’t die yet, you know; your secret’s all right. Stop till I put on my respirator, so as to keep my lungs all right for your sake. Now my hat and stick. Thankye.”

He buttoned his coat tightly, looped the elastic of his respirator over his ears, and then stumbled to the door, gave the mat an ugly stab with his stick, nodded, did not shake hands, and went stumping down the street, talking to himself the while.

“I wonder whether that Tom is a trump at bottom?” he said. “I don’t know yet, but there’s a bit of a mystery over it all; and about Fred and that girl Jessie. She’s a puzzle, too. I wouldn’t have thought it of her; but I never did understand women. And so old Max is hit hard. Well, it’s the old saying, ‘Money got over old What’s-his-name’s back’s spent under his chest;’ and I’m sure of it. I’d swear it. He’s spent every penny of that violent girl’s fortune, as sure as my name’s Hopper, which it really is.”

Volume Two—Chapter Nine.

A Great Change.

Richard Shingle was seated in his study—his own special room, tabooed, as he said, to every one but the specials—the specials being those whom he admitted. The place had a gay bachelor look about it, with a smoking-cap putting out a fiery bronze Amazon, and the green shade of a gas globe perched on one side, giving it a rakish air, as if it had been out all night. Cigars were in a box on a table, a handsome soda-water and spirit stand was on a sideboard, ready for use.

The furniture of the room was handsome, and in excellent taste; but it seemed as if finishing touches had been put by the owner himself, the said touches not being in keeping with the rest of the arrangements. There was an absence of books, too, in the place, which certainly had not a studious air. There were, however, plenty of newspapers and reviews; and it was observable that while the Saturday and Spectator were in an uncut state, Reynold’s and Lloyd’s were crumpled with much reading.

Richard Shingle, Esquire, was lolling idly back in a comfortable easy chair, in a rather loud-patterned shawl dressing-gown; one leg was thrown negligently over the chair-arm, a good cigar was in his lips, and as he smoked he diligently read the Times.

There was an appearance about Richard Shingle of having been dressed and had his hair brushed by somebody else, with the result that he was not quite comfortable; and every now and then he looked at the stubby fingers of his right hand, and had a bite at the hard skin at the sides, as if to help them to grow soft and genteel; for though as clean as if he had boiled them every day, to get them rid of old stains, they looked as thorough a pair of workman’s hands as it was possible to encounter in friendly grasp or clenched in warfare unpleasantly near your nose.

“Phew! this is hard work,” said Dick, pulling out a crimson silk handkerchief and wiping his forehead.

Then, laying down the paper, he rose, crossed the room, and poured himself out a little brandy from a decanter, before taking up a bottle of soda-water.

There was a sharp explosion: the cork struck a gas globe with a loud ring, and before Dick could pour out the contents of the bottle, half of it was on the Turkey carpet, drenching his hands and the front of his dressing-gown.

“If it was only genteel to swear,” he thought, “I’d have such a good one. Yah, it’s as gassy as brother Max. Wonder he has never found me out. Here’s a pretty mess! Ah! that’s better, though,” he continued, as he poured out and drank the refreshing draught before returning to his seat, wiping his hands upon his crimson silk handkerchief. “It’s very good sort of stuff, brandy and soda, specially the brandy; but I don’t know that I like it so well as half a pint of beer just drawn up cool out of a cellar, with plenty of head. Ah, those were days after all!” he said, sorrowfully. “One can’t go and have half-pints now. Hold hard, my lad! Taboo! taboo! That’s all taboo, you know.

“Well, I was always grumbling then, and wanting to be well off; but, somehow, we was very happy,” he continued, reseating himself in his easy chair. “Now I’m well off, I’m always feeling as if I wanted something else. But I don’t know: if Jessie would only look all right again, and matters be square, I don’t think I should grumble much. Well, here goes once more.”

He gave the paper a fierce shake, got his leg well over the arm of the chair, and went on reading aloud.

”‘The Chancellor of the Ex-exchequer ap-peal-ed to the ’Ouse to give doo con-sid-e-ra-tion to the wote—vote—and said—plead—’ Blow the paper! it’s awfully dry work going through all this ’Ouse of Commons business every morning. Not half so interesting as the little bits about the accidents and murders and ’saults down at the bottom of the weekly papers.—One never knows where one is; and the way I get the two sides of the ’Ouse mixed up together makes me thankful I ain’t in Parlymint, or I should be doing some mischief. I wish Jessie would come. The members don’t seem to talk quite so much stuff when she reads. Poor lass! I’d give a thousand pounds down—and I could give it, too,” he added, with a fierce slap on his knee—“to see her looking as well and happy as she used to.”

He stopped, thinking for a few minutes.

“No,” he said aloud, “I haven’t done wrong. I’ve said it a dozen times, and I says it again. ‘No, my lass, I ask no questions about it,’ I says; ‘but that was an unpleasant piece of business about Fred Fraser, as is a reg’lar scamp; and if you loved Tom you didn’t do right. You says he came and threw up something at the window, and you opened it, thinking it was Tom. Well, my gal, you didn’t do right then, after what had happened.’ But there, it’s all over now—they belong to another set, unless they find out as we’re well off now, and Max wants to be friends. Ha! ha! ha! I shouldn’t wonder if he did some day. Ah, well! let’s have some more paper.”

He went on reading for five minutes, and then threw the sheet impatiently away.

“If it wasn’t for seeming so ignorant, I wouldn’t read a blessed line of it,” he cried. “Talk, talk, talk! Why, they might say it all in half an hour; only one seems so out of everything if one can’t talk about politics. No one ever says a word about the interesting paragraphs. I’m getting very tired of it all, and if ever I go into Parlymint I shall try for a comfortable seat below the gangway, or a hammock in the cabin.”

He pulled out a handsome self-winding gold watch, looked at the time with a sigh, and turned it over in his hand.

“Yes, you’re very pretty, and very valuable; but now I’ve had you six months I don’t care tuppence about you, ’specially as I don’t want to serve you as we used the old thirty-shilling silver vertical. ‘Make it ten shillings this time, Mr Dobree—do, please,’ I says, one night, ‘and I’ve got tuppence in my pocket for the ticket.’ ‘No,’ he says; ‘seven shillings—the old price; take it or leave it,’ he says. ‘Take it,’ I says. And so it went on till we lost it. Taboo—taboo!” exclaimed Richard, giving himself a tap on the mouth and putting away his timekeeper. “But I often wonder what’s become of the old watch. It was a rum one. You never knowed what it meant to do. One week it was all gain, and another all lose; and the way in which it would shake hands with itself, as if it enjoyed having such a lark, was fine, only it forgot to leave go, and the two hands went round together. Ah, well!—the cases was worth the seven shillings; so Uncle D. didn’t lose very much by the last transaction.”

The door opened, and Mrs Shingle entered, looking plump and well; and, having been very tastefully dressed by a good modiste, she was a fair example of what money will do.

It must be certainly owned that if she were to be calculated by the standard of refinement, it would have been necessary for her to hold her peace, as at the first words a considerable amount would have had to be taken from her value; but, all the same, there was very little trace left of the homely mechanic’s wife.

“Well, mother,” said Dick, smiling, as she entered, “what’s the best news?”

“Bad.”

“Isn’t Jessie any better?” he exclaimed anxiously.

Mrs Shingle shook her head.

“What does she say?”

“Nothing,” said Mrs Shingle sharply: “she’s like her father—has her secrets, and keeps them.”

“Don’t—don’t, mother! don’t go on like that!” cried Dick imploringly. “I’ve only got one secret from you.”

“One, indeed!” said Mrs Shingle, growing red in the face; “but it’s such a big one that it’s greater than all the things you’ve told me all your life.”

“Well, it is a big one, certainly,” said Dick, caressing his chin and smiling blandly. “But it’s been the making of us.”

“And you keep it from your own wife, who’s been married to you over twenty years.”

“Over twenty years!” said Dick, smiling at her—“is it, now? Well, I suppose it is. But lor’, who’d have thought it? Why, mother, you grow younger and handsomer every day!”

“Do I?” said Mrs Shingle, evidently feeling flattered, but angry all the same. “If I do, father, it’s not from ease of mind.”

“Come, come, mother,” he said, getting up and putting his arm round her, “don’t turn cross about it. I made a sort of promise like, when I thought of the idea that I’ve worked out into this house and this style of grounds for you, and your watch and chain and joolery, that I’d keep it all a secret.”

“Then it isn’t honest, father.”

“That’s what you’ve often said, mother, when you’ve been a bit waxy with me, and that’s what I felt you might say when I first thought it out and promised to keep it a secret.”

“Who did you promise?”

“Him,” said Dick, taking up an envelope and pointing to it with pride. “See—

”‘Richard Shingle, Esq., The Ivy House, Haverstock Hill,’” he went on, reading the address. “That’s the man I promised.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle, trying to escape from his arm, but very feebly; “and kept it from your own wife.”

“Well, yes,” said Dick, with the puzzled look very strong in his face. “I have kept it from you; but it’s a sort of religious oath—like freemasonry.”

“Like free stuffery!” cried Mrs Shingle. “When we were poor you never had any secrets from me.”

“No, my dear,” said Dick, kissing her—“never had one worth keeping; and see how badly it worked—how poor we were! Now I have got a secret from you—see how nicely it works, and how well off we are!”

“I’d rather be poor again, then.”

“Well, they was happy times,” said Dick; “but there was a very rough wrong side. It was like wearing a good pair of boots with the nails sticking up inside.”

“If I’ve asked you to tell me that secret night and day—I say, if I’ve asked you once,” cried Mrs Shingle, excitedly, “I’ve asked you—”

“Two thousand times at least,” said Dick, interrupting her: “you have, mother, you have—’specially at night.”

“Then I’ll make a vow too,” cried Mrs Shingle, throwing herself into a chair. “Never more—no, not even when I’m lying on my dying bed, will I ask you again.”

She leaned back, and looked at him angrily, as if she expected that this fearful vow would bring him on his knees at her feet. And certainly Dick did come over to her; but it was with a look of relief on his countenance as he bent down and kissed her.

“Thankye, mother,” he said—“thankye. You see, it’s a very strange secret, and mightn’t agree with you.”

“It’s agreed with you.”

“Well, yes, pretty well,” he said, smiling complacently; “but there, I’ve never told a soul—not even old Hopper; and fine and wild he’s been sometimes about it.”

“I should think not, indeed!”

“There, there, don’t look like that, mother,” cried Dick; “you have got such a sweet, comfortable sort of face when it’s not cross; and—there—it’s all right, isn’t it?”

It seemed to be, for Mrs Shingle smiled once more, and Dick drew a chair close to her.

“Now, look here,” he said: “I want to talk to you about Jessie.”

Mrs Shingle sighed, and laid her head upon his shoulder.

“Poor Jessie!” she said.

“Now, what’s to be done about—”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Do you think she cares about Tom now? Because, if she does, I’ll swallow all the old pride and hold out the ’and of good fellowship to him—that is, if he’s a honest, true sorter fellow; if he ain’t, things had better stop as they are.”

“But that’s what I don’t know,” said Mrs Shingle; “she won’t talk about it. You know as well as I do that it’s all come on since that night at the old home.”

“Taboo! taboo!” muttered Dick.

“That letter was the worst part of it.”

“What, the one that come from Tom next day?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle; “it must have been very bitter and angry, for she turned red, and then white, and ended by crumpling it up and throwing it into the fire.”

“And Tom’s never tried to come nigh her since?” said Dick, musing.

“No.”

“Well, p’r’aps that’s pride,” said Dick. “He’s waiting to be asked. I don’t think the less of him for that.”

“No,” said Mrs Shingle, “Jessie won’t talk about it; but it’s my belief that Tom must have seen Fred come to see her that night, and he told her so, and threw her off, and she’s been fretting and wearing away ever since.”

“Fred’s often hanging about, though. Does she see him, do you think?”

“Oh no,” said Mrs Shingle, “I don’t think she does. Heigho! I don’t know how it’s to end. She’s getting as thin as thin, and hardly eats a bit; and she’s always watching and listening in a weary, wretched way, that makes me wish she was married.”

“Well, that’s it,” cried Dick; “let’s get her married.”

“Are you in such a hurry to part with her, then?” said Mrs Shingle bitterly.

“Part with her? Not I! I’m not going to part with her. Whoever it is as has her will have to come and live here.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Nice thing, for a young couple to be always having their father and mother in the house! Suppose whoever it is should want to bring his too?”

“Well, that would be awkward,” said Dick, rubbing his nose. “Hush! here she is.”

For Jessie came in just then, very gently, and her aspect justified Mrs Shingle’s words. She looked thin and wasted, while a sad, weary smile played about her lips, as if she were in constant pain and trying to hide it from those around. “Why, Jessie, my gal,” said Dick, “where have you been all this long time? Come along. I’ve got to leave soon—11:20 sharp,” he continued, glancing at his watch, and shutting it with a loud snap as Mrs Shingle rose and left the room.

Jessie went to his side, and kissed him, staying leaning upon his shoulder; but soon after walked away to the window and looked out.

“That’s what she’s always doing,” muttered Dick—“always looking for some one as never comes. It must be about one of those two fellows. Jessie!” he cried.

“Yes, father.”

“I met Fred Fraser yesterday.”

She started round, and looked at him with dilated eyes.

“And Tom Fraser, his brother, the day before.”

Her face flushed, and an angry look darted from her eyes as he spoke, but she turned away.

“It must be Fred,” he muttered. “I don’t like it,” he continued; “I never did see such things as gals—girls. If she wants such and such a fellow, why don’t she say so? and if money’ll get him, why, he’s hers; but I’m not going to see her die before my eyes. I’d sooner she married a scamp—if she loves him. But he don’t have the playing with any money I may give her. Now, if Max would only make the first advances, we might be friendly again. I can afford to be, and I will; but I don’t like to make the first step. Jessie, my girl, if—I say if—if I was to become friends with your uncle again—”

“Friends with Uncle Max?” cried Jessie, starting.

“I’ve been thinking of it, you know; and I was going to say he did give you—us, I mean—the rough side of his tongue once.”

“That’s—that’s all forgotten now, father,” faltered Jessie softly.

“You forgive him, my gal, for what he said to you?”

“Yes, father, yes,” she cried, with a sob.

“And you wouldn’t mind meeting him again?”

“N-no, father, I think not,” she faltered.

“And you wouldn’t mind meeting your cousin Fred, eh?”

“I—I don’t think so, father; I would try not to mind.”

“I wouldn’t press you, my dear,” he said; “but you know Uncle Max is my brother, and blood is thicker than water, eh? I say blood is thicker than water; and some day I must die, and I should like to be friends first.”

“Die, father!” said Jessie, with a weary look. “Would it be very hard to die?”

“Here, I say, Jessie, my pet, don’t talk in that way. How should I know? I never tried. What makes you say that?”

“Because—because, father—”

She stopped short.

“Oh, there, my gal, no one’s going to die yet; but I say, Jessie, your cousin Tom—you wouldn’t mind meeting him, too?”

She turned upon him a mingled look of joy and dread; and then, shaking her head—

“No, no, father,” she exclaimed, closing her eyes, and with the veins in her forehead standing out—“I could not bear to meet him.”

“It’s Fred! I said it was,” exclaimed Dick to himself. “Well, I’m sorry; but it can’t be helped. I’ll talk to him like a father, and bring him round. Now, if—What do you want, John?”

He turned sharply round, for the door opened, and a page in a neat livery, hardly recognisable as the ’prentice of the shoemaker’s workshop, entered the room.

“Please, sir, here’s a gentleman to see you.”

“Who is it?” cried Dick; “and what are you grinning at?”

“Please, sir, it’s Mr Maximilian Shingle; and ’ere’s his card.”

Max Shingle had made up his mind, without any allusion to blood being thicker than water, to make the first advance to his brother. For it was very evident that Dick had hit upon some means of making money rapidly, whilst of late matters had been turning out very badly in his own business arrangements. No matter what he tried, or how he speculated, everything went wrong; until, in a kind of reckless gambling fit, to try and recoup himself for past losses, he had plunged himself more deeply in the mire.

He had broached his intentions to his wife and ward at breakfast time, and Mrs Max had shed tears.

“I’m sure I don’t know what to say, Max,” she whimpered, “unless it be—oh!”

She uttered a loud shriek.

“My poor darling! what is it?” cried Max. “Another of your little fits? There, go to her, Violante. She will be better soon.”

“Yes, yes—it is nothing,” faltered the unhappy woman. “I shall be better directly.”

She looked in a frightened way at her smooth, smiling lord, as she ground her teeth and pressed her lips together, to keep from moaning aloud.

Violante, who did not know what was the matter, jumped up and went to Mrs Max’s assistance; while the cat, who did know, having felt Max Shingle’s boot whisk by her ears as it struck Mrs Max, crept out of harm’s way, and curled up on the mat.

Tom Fraser and his brother Fred had risen and left the table, the one for Somerset House, the other for the office, before this incident occurred, or probably it would not have taken place; but Max had his reasons for not speaking sooner—one being that he fully intended Tom to marry his ward, and the other that he wished to pay his visit before the young men were aware of the fact.

On reaching his brother’s house, it was with a feeling of annoyance that he was ushered by the boy into the handsome dining-room, opening upon a conservatory, where, amongst other pictures, that of Dick and his wife occupied conspicuous places.

“So you say your master is at home, my man?” said Max, with his most urbane smile, as the boy came back from the study.

“Yes, sir; he don’t go out till nearly midday on Toosdays. He says will you wait five minutes, sir?”

“You didn’t know me again,” said Max, smiling in an ingratiating manner.

“Oh, don’t I just know you again, sir!” cried the boy. “You’re master’s brother, as used to come to the old place.”

“Quite right, my man, quite right; I am your master’s brother.”

“You didn’t know me again, sir?”

“No, my man, no,” said Max, putting up his glass and gazing at the boy with great interest; “you have improved so wonderfully. Ah! you look better than you did in those old days.”

“I should think I did, sir. Things is altered now. Master never talks about the shoemaking; he always calls it taboo.”

“Does he really?”

“Yes, sir, and everything’s different. Never feel hollow now—nothing never gnaws inside; and master says it’s all because my ’gestion’s better. He knows.”

“Stop a moment, my man,” said Max insinuatingly; “here’s a shilling.”

“Thankye, sir: shall I go now?”

“In a moment. So he’s in his study, is he? Making patent boots and shoes?”

“Bless your ’art, no, sir; it’s patent, but he don’t make no boots and shoes now. He buys all the very best. Look at that,” said the boy, holding out a foot.

As he spoke, Dick made his appearance behind them at the conservatory door, when, on seeing Max talking to the boy, he drew back.

“Ah, yes,” said Max, “that’s a handsome boot; and you’ve got a good foot, my lad.”

“Them’s the best boots in the trade, sir,” said the boy proudly.

“He’s going to pump him,” muttered Dick. “Well, if he plays those games, I shall do the artful too.”

“So you never feel hungry and hollow now, my man?” said Max.

“I should think not, sir. Master gave orders that I was always to have as much as I liked to eat. And I do,” he added unctuously.

“He don’t know much,” muttered Dick; “but if he gets putting old Max on the scent, I’ll smother him.”

“So you eat and drink as much as you like, do you, my man?” continued Max.

“Don’t I?” said the boy, laughing. “I should just think I do. Why, I’ve growed out of two suits of livery since we’ve been here.”

“And how long’s that?”

“Twelve months, sir; and these is getting too tight.”

“You were not in quite such a fine house as this before were you?”

“Oh no, sir, nothing like; but we’ve been doing very well lately.”

“You young villain!” muttered Dick; “if you get telling tales I’ll never forgive you.”

“So I suppose,” said Max. “And so you are very happy and comfortable?”

“It’s lovely, sir.”

“Master and mistress very kind, I suppose?”

“They jest are, sir. Missus and miss seems like two angels, sir.”

“And your master—does he ever give you the stirrup-leather now?” said Max, laughing.

“Give me the sterrup-leather!” said the boy, looking pugnacious; “no, he jest don’t. I should like to ketch him at it. Sterrup-leather! why, he treats me just like a son.”

“But of course you are not his son?” said Max, with a peculiar smile.

“There’s impudence!” muttered Dick, from behind a great camellia. “Nice brotherly attack on me. Why, the young ruffian’s going to say he is, just out of pride and vanity!”

“No, sir; I was a workusser.”

“A what?”

“A workusser, and was sent out to one o’ the whitewashy schools. That’s where master got me. I’ll go and see if he’s ready.”

“Wait a moment, my lad,” said Max; “there’s another shilling, for being such a good boy and stopping in your place.”

“Stop, sir!” said John, grinning, as he bit the edge of the coin and then slipped it in his pocket—“I should think I do stop: master couldn’t afford to part with me.”

“If that boy tells all he knows, I’ll about half kill him,” muttered Dick, who, playing the eavesdropper, stood a fair chance of suffering the listener’s fate.

“I suppose not; you’re so useful to him in his business, I suppose?”

“Pooty well, sir.”

Max tried another tack.

“Master look well, John?”

“Lovely, sir!” cried the boy. “He’s a regular swell now.”

“Is he, though?”

“Tip-top, sir; never puts on a shirt twice, and wears three pairs o’ boots every day—shiny leather ones.”

“Does he, though?” said Max, drawing nearer to the boy. “And so he wouldn’t like to part with you?”

“Oh no, sir. I goes to the City with him every day—on the broom sometimes.”

“He keeps a brougham, then?”

“My master could keep anything he liked,” said the boy proudly; and Dick took a two-shilling piece out of his trousers pocket and placed it handy in his vest. “He’s going to have a yatched.”

“A what?”

“A little ship of his own, to go sailing about in.”

“Then he must be very rich?”

“Rich?” said the boy. “I should think he is.”

“And what did you say his business was, my lad?”

“Master’s business is master’s business, and nobody else’s,” said the boy sharply. “Here he is, sir.”

For just then Dick’s cough was heard, and his step in the conservatory. And then, in the whitest of vests and the glossiest of frock-coats, he came into the room as the boy backed out.

“My dear Richard!” cried Max, with effusion—and the tears stood in his eyes as he stretched out his hands—“I am delighted to see you again.”

“Are you?” said Dick coolly, and without taking any notice of the suggested embrace.

“So glad, I cannot tell you,” cried Max, taking out and unfolding a cambric handkerchief, which he held to one eye, looked at it afterwards to see if there was a moist spot for result, and, as there was not, tried the other eye with rather better success. “You’ll shake hands?”

“Oh yes,” said Dick. “How are you, Max?”

“Quite well, my dear brother: but why haven’t you been to see me all these long months?”

“Long months, eh? I never found ’em long. I began to think I was being took advantage of now that I was well off, and getting short measure.”

“Then you are very well off?”

“Tol-lol, tol-lol; nothing much to grumble about. But sit down.”

He placed an easy chair for his brother, seating himself afterwards on the edge of the table and watching his visitor sharply.

“I’m very glad of it, Richard,” cried Max, after a glance round. “You know, I always thought that a man with your brains was throwing himself away on trade, and wasting his energies.”

“Oh! you did, did you?”

“Always, my dear brother; and that’s why I used to speak so sharply to you—to rouse you—to awaken you.”

“Well, you did that, and no mistake!” said Dick, laughing.

“And look at the result. You set-to and hit up some bright idea; and now, before two years have elapsed, I come and find you a millionaire.”

“Well, not quite that, Max: a million’s a stiff sum, Max—a very stiff sum.”

“Hah! it’s refreshing to come and hear you call me again by that familiar name, Richard: it reminds me of when we were boys.” And Max again raised his handkerchief to his eyes.

“Well, old fellow, I wouldn’t cry about it if I was you. It’s all right now. You always was pretty well down upon me when I was a poor man; but as you’ve come and showed, as I said to Polly, that blood’s thicker than water, why, we’ll forget all about the past.”

“We will,” cried Max, taking his brother’s hand and beginning to pump it up and down, clinging to it the while as if he were afraid of being parted, and ending by trying to embrace him.

“I say, don’t do that!” cried Dick sharply. “I’m pretty well off, but I can only afford one clean shirt a day.”

“Jocular as ever,” said Max, holding his head on one side, and looking at him admiringly. “Humour flourishes in a golden soil. And so, my dear Richard, you make your twenty per cent, out of your profession?”

“Twenty per cent!” said Dick contemptuously. “Why, you don’t think this sort of thing’s done on twenty per cent, do you?”

“How much, then?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m not particular. I take a hundred per cent, when I can’t get a hundred and fifty.”

“A hundred and fifty per cent! My dear Richard, you must put me on to this. We must be partners, Dick—Shingle Brothers, eh? But, my dear boy, what business are you in?”

“Oh, yes—that’s it!” said Dick, closing one eye slowly, and keeping it shut while he fixed the other on the ceiling. “But here are the ladies.”

As he spoke, Mrs Shingle and Jessie entered the room.

“Never!” exclaimed Max, with an air of wonderment. “My dear sister, my dear niece—years younger on the one side, years more beautiful on the other. What a change since I saw you last!”

“There’s better light in this room than in the old one, Max; and it flatters, perhaps,” said Dick.

“Yes, so there is, Richard. That was a cruel cold place. But why speak of the past? My dear niece, you have really grown beautiful. Fred would be charmed to see you.”

Jessie’s eyes contracted as she gazed full at him, and then, bending her head slightly, turned away.

“Haven’t you married him to a lady of fortune yet?” said Dick.

“Oh no!” cried Max hastily. “He is not engaged. Tom is—to my ward, Violante—a charming girl.”

Jessie stood as if turned to stone, but no sound escaped her. Dick, however, saw that she was suffering, and he said, sharply—

“Ah! fine young fellow, Tom; but deuced low in his tastes. Wanted to marry a poor shoemaker’s gal—girl, I mean. But there, come into my study, and I’ll give you a glass of genuine port. Mother, tell them to bring in the comic port.”

“Comet port,” she whispered. “I told you before.”

“All right—only meant to get him away. Look at Jessie.”

“I shall be delighted,” said Max. “Ladies, good-bye for the present.”

His bow was perfection; and then Dick led the way through the well-filled conservatory, while Mrs Shingle caught her child’s clammy hand in her own, for Jessie seemed about to faint.

Volume Two—Chapter Ten.

A Lunatic.

“Jessie, are you ill?” cried Mrs Shingle.

“No, mother, no,” said Jessie, making a brave effort to recover herself. “It is all past now.”

“It was them talking in that heartless manner about those two fellows,” cried Mrs Shingle indignantly. “What is it, John?”

“Here’s another gentleman to see you, mum,” said the boy.

As he spoke, Mr Fred Fraser, elaborately dressed, walked into the room, a pull at the bell sounding through the house as he made his salutations, and, in a light and airy way, began to converse as if they had been the greatest intimates all along.

“Mr Thomas Fraser,” said John, in a loud voice. And, in a hasty, excited manner, Mrs Max Shingle’s elder son entered the room, to look angrily at his brother, as he saw him seated there.

“You here?” he cried sharply.

“Ya-as, I’m here, Tom,” was the cool reply.

“Aunt—Jessie!” exclaimed Tom, advancing. “I by chance heard that my step-father had come here; and, taking this as an augury that we were to be friends once more, I followed him; but I did not expect to find my brother here, and that I should be—”

“De trop,” said Fred, with an irritating smile; “but you are.”

Tom turned upon him sharply, but, mastering his passion, he crossed to where Jessie was seated, and held out his hand.

“Jessie,” he said, in a low, earnest voice, “you will shake hands with me? I forgive all the past now, and wish you every happiness.”

At his first words a glad light had leaped into the poor girl’s eyes, and she half raised her hand to take his; but, as he finished his sentence, a stony rigidity stole over her, and she shrank back, letting her hand fall upon her lap.

It was too hard to bear, and she would have given worlds to have been able to rush from the room—anywhere, so as to be alone—and sob and wail aloud, to relieve her bursting heart. But it was impossible. She could not stir—only look up at Tom, as with knitted brows he stood there, resenting her coldness.

Never once had her thoughts strayed from him; and yet he had misjudged her so cruelly, believing that she trifled with him, that she played with his heart, while she coquetted—behaved lightly—with his brother. And now, after these long, weary months—after what would soon be two years of misery—now that he had come, her heart had whispered, to tell her that he had been wrong, and misjudged her, while he asked her pardon for the past—a pardon that she would joy in according—she had to hear, first that he was engaged to another, and then read in his face that his doubts and misgivings were stronger than ever.

Jessie’s heart, that had been expanding fast, like the petals of a flower, to drink in the sunshine of hope and love and joy, seemed to contract and shrivel up, blighted and seared, as, cold and trembling, she sat there, while, with a look of contempt, Tom turned away.

“As you will, my fair cousin,” he said, in a low, bitter voice. “I suppose I am to call you sister some day. How the world changes? Better poverty and truth than this.” When a word would have set all right.

He turned abruptly, and began speaking to Mrs Shingle; while Fred, seizing the opportunity, took a seat beside Jessie on the couch, and began to talk to her rapidly about the various trifles of the day—chattering on, while she seemed to be listening to him, for she replied in monosyllables, though she was striving, with every nerve strained, to hear what was said by his brother.

Before many words had passed, though, voices were heard from without, increasing in loudness; and Mrs Shingle started up, for it was plain that her husband was in a towering rage.

In fact, as he came through the conservatory, he struck a handsome jardinière a heavy blow with his open hand, shivering it upon the tesselated tiles of the floor.

“Hallo!” cried Dick angrily, as he entered, followed by Max, “you are all here, are you! Why didn’t you bring the wife and the servants, and take possession? It’s all right—there’s plenty of room. Here, you sir, get off that sofa!” The young men rose as he entered—Fred very slowly, and evidently amused; while Tom’s face flushed with rage.

“Oh, father!” cried Jessie, whose face had become suffused from shame and annoyance.

“There, I know what I’m doing,” he said. “Hold your tongue. You and your mother had better be off. You’ll stop? Well, then, stay.”

“Is your husband subject to a little—er—er—? You know, Mrs Richard,” said Max, tapping his forehead.

“No,” said Dick sharply, “he isn’t. And now, may I ask, young fellows, how it is you condescend to be here? If it’s to order boots and chuck ’em on my hands for misfits, you’ve not come to the right shop.”

“They came unknown to me,” said Max hotly.

“I dessay they did,” cried Dick; “but whether they did or not, they’ve come to the wrong place, and, once for all, I forbid them my house.”

“Come, father,” said Tom sternly; while Fred took a step to Jessie’s side, and whispered—

“Dear Jessie, for heaven’s sake let this make no difference to us.”

She turned her eyes upon him for a moment, and Tom saw the glance; and then, as she gazed at him, directed a look upon her of withering contempt, beneath which she shivered.

“Don’t be in too great a hurry,” said Dick. “As you are here, we may as well have it out. We don’t often meet. Now, Max, my most affectionate brother, have the goodness to say that again, and let your wife’s sons hear what sort of a man you are.”

“No,” said Max, “I leave now. I shall take my own steps about it.”

“You will?” said Dick, looking startled.

“I shall, sir—I shall. I don’t consider you are fit to be trusted. There are such cases as inquiries in lunacy.”

“Bah!” said Dick, who looked startled all the same. “Well, if you don’t say what you said to me, here out loud before them all, I shall say it myself.”

“Then I will say it!” cried Max desperately. “What I said was this: As your uncle has hit upon some scheme for making a fortune, I have a right, as his own brother—”

“Very own, indeed,” said Dick quietly.

“To share with him in the secret.”

“And what I say to it is,” cried Dick—“and you can all hear me—that what I invented with my own brains is my own property, and I won’t be bullied out of it by all the brothers in Christendom.”

“Then I shall follow out my own course.”

“Follow it, then,” said Dick scornfully, “and let your boys come after you.”

Tom turned upon him resentfully, but merely ground his teeth; while Fred winked, and tapped his teeth with his cane.

“I have not been idle during my interview with my poor afflicted brother,” continued Max; “and I have seen enough from his wild behaviour and language to know that the mental disease that has been threatening for years has now obtained such a hold that he is no longer fit to manage his own affairs.”

“I say, hold hard there!” cried Dick, looking at him in a puzzled way.

“I shall, of course, make due arrangements for the proper carrying out of his business, and for protecting the interests of his wife and child.”

“Mr Shingle!” cried Tom, stepping forward, “this is atrocious: there are no grounds for what you say.”

“Silence, sir!” roared Max; while Dick’s countenance underwent a complete change.

“There!” cried Dick angrily, as he appealed in turn to all present; “what did I always say? Max, you always were, and always will be, a ’umbug!”

“What?” cried Max.

“A ’umbug, sir. U-m, um—b-u-double-g, bug, ’umbug! That for you!” cried Dick, snapping his fingers in his brother’s face.

“Ah!” said Max, with a heavy sigh—“all proof of what I say—the violence, the excitement, these strange outbursts. My poor brother!”

He took out his handkerchief, and applied it to his eyes.

Dick looked at him for a moment, then at his wife and child, and then his face grew longer and his hand played nervously about his face.

“But, I say, Max,” he cried, “you don’t mean this. I’m as right in the upper story as you are.”

Max shook his head.

“My dear Richard,” he said, “I’d give my right hand to know you were. This is dreadful.”

“Dreadful? It’s worse than dreadful,” cried Mrs Shingle, catching her husband’s arm. “Dick, make him leave the house.”

“My dear Mrs Shingle,” said Max deprecatingly, “this is folly. You only excite him terribly.”

“Excite him?”

“Yes, my dear,” said Dick, wiping the perspiration from his face, “it do excite me a deal. I don’t know that Max ain’t right; but he won’t be hard on me—Max won’t. I have felt a little—little confused and upset, you know, about my business sometimes.”

“Father, it is not true,” cried Jessie, running to his side, “your mind is perfectly clear.”

“I’m afraid it ain’t, my dear,” he said. “But your Uncle Max won’t be hard on me. No sending to asylums or that sort of thing. Just a friendly visit from a doctor or two, and I should be soon put right.”

“Whatever the cleverest medical man I could procure—a specialist on your particular ailment—said, I should go by,” replied Max sadly.

“There, mother—there, Jessie, what did I tell you?” cried Dick, brightening up. “Blood is thicker than water. I always said it was. He’ll do what’s right.”

“With Heaven’s help I will,” said Max solemnly; while, unable to contain his disgust, Tom walked to the window.

“Of course he will,” cried Dick; “it’ll be all made up now, and we shall be the best of friends—eh?”

“Yes, dear Richard—the best of friends,” said Max, glancing at Mrs Shingle, and then shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyes.

“But about my business,” said Dick uneasily. And he began to bite the bits of tough skin at the sides of his fingers.

“Richard, are you mad?” cried Mrs Shingle excitedly. “You shall not talk about it. You have kept it secret so long, even from your own wife and child, and you shall not talk about it to him.”

Dick smiled at her rather vacantly.

“Well, it do seem hard, mother, certainly; but it was sure to come out some day, and it’s best for one’s own brother to know of it—better than anybody else, because he’ll do what’s right and best for every one—you and Jessie too, of course; for if I get worse (as I may, you know) it would be sad, of course, for it all to go to ruin for want of a master-mind, and no one left to take care of you—and—you come to ruin, and not even your poor husband to make boots and shoes for you again.”

He laughed hysterically, and Mrs Shingle threw her arms round his neck.

“Oh, Dick! dear Dick! what has come to you?” she cried. Then, rousing herself, she turned angrily upon Max. “This is your doing,” she cried. “He was quite well till you came.”

Max shook his head sadly, and wiped his eyes, while Fred tried to take Jessie’s hand; but she motioned him away, and stood by her father, keenly watching all present.

“Don’t talk like that, my dear,” said Dick, patting his wife’s shoulder; “it hurts me, and makes me worse. Max means well, and he’ll see to things being carried out right for all of us, won’t you, Max?”

“Indeed I will,” said Max piously; and Tom still gazed from the window.

“But—but—but do you think, Max,” said Dick, drawing his hands from his wife and child, and speaking in a desultory, wandering way, as if trying to collect his thoughts, “do you think that if you came in with me as you proposed, and saw to the management of the business, so as to relieve me and let me rest, it would be necessary for me to go anywhere away from home?”

“We would take advice over that,” said Max; “the best to be had—medical.”

“N-no,” said Dick shrewdly, “I shouldn’t quite like that, Max; those very clever doctors are too clever sometimes, and they might want to lock me up. I should be better at home with mother here and Jessie. It would make me worse to go away.”

“Oh, that could be managed, perhaps,” said Max; “but you must have your business arrangements seen to—they are so important.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Dick, who shuddered and looked horrified at the thought of having to go away; “but you’d make time for that. You could go halves, Max, and manage for me; and the business is growing fast—and you’d see, even if I got worse, that Jessie and mother here always had enough.”

“I cannot bear this any longer!” cried Mrs Shingle; while Jessie stood aghast.

“It’s all right, mother—it’s all right, mother. Max is a good fellow. When he used to row me it was to do me good. And you’ll take all in hand, won’t you, Max?”

“Dick, you shall not make any such arrangements,” cried Mrs Shingle. “Will no one take our side?”

“I will, aunt,” cried Tom fiercely; “for I will never stand by and see such a blackguardly wrong committed. Jessie,” he cried, “you have treated me badly, and behaved with cruel treachery to the man who loved you very dearly; but that’s all past now—and while I’ve hand to lift or voice to raise, I’ll never see you or yours wronged by father—or brother,” he added, fiercely turning on Fred, while Jessie uttered a sigh of relief, and buried her face on her mother’s shoulder.

“Tom,” whispered Max, catching him by the shoulder, “if you are not silent, I’ll strike you down.”

“Look here, if you dare to touch me,” roared Tom, “I shall forget that you are my poor weak mother’s husband. I will not stand by and see my uncle wronged. If he is unfit to attend to his affairs, aunt, see some trustworthy lawyer; but you shall not be, imposed upon like this.”

“Fred, stop him,” cried Max furiously. “Turn him out of the room. He’s as mad as his uncle.”

Fred hesitated for a moment, and then, stepping forward, he caught Tom by the arm.

“Here, come out!” he cried.

“Stand back!” cried Tom huskily.

“No—out you go,” cried Fred, who gathered courage on finding his brother did not resent his attack.

“Stand back, I say!”

“Out you go,” repeated Fred—“you fool!”

Tom drew back for a moment; and, as Jessie looked up, roused by a movement on her father’s, part and a cry from her mother, she saw Tom’s fist dart out from his shoulder, and then there was a dull sound, and Fred staggered back, tripped over a mat by the open window, and fell with a crash amongst the plants in the conservatory, bringing down an avalanche in his fall.

As Tom turned, it was to see that a complete change had come over Dick, who had leaped at his brother’s throat, catching him by shirt front and white cravat, bringing him upon his knees, and shaking him with all his might.

“You cursed scoundrel—you sanctified, hypocritical cheat!” shouted Dick, as he shook Max till he began to turn purple, and something white fell on the floor between his knees. “Mad, am I? Send me to an asylum, would you? Let me off if I give you half my income?”

“Help, help!” moaned Max, whose dark, smooth hair glided from his head on to the floor as Dick shook away.

“Didn’t I—say—you were—a ’umbug?” cried Dick, panting, and throwing all his energies into a kick. “Yes, and a fool. This is my clever brother, who let himself be taken in by the weakest, transparentest do that ever a man tried to invent. Softening of the brain, have I! That was a pretty hard kick for a man with that complaint!” he roared, as he stood over his brother, threatening with his foot as if about to punish him again. “There! Get up, and out of my house, and never darken the doors again. You ain’t a brother to me, and never were. Being born of the same mother only half makes brothers. I’ll never own you as mine. Eh? Oh, I’ve done, Tom, now.”

Dick made no resistance as Tom dragged him away from his brother; and Max got up, looking very strange about the head, as he hastily picked up and dragged on his wig.

“You—you—shall smart for this,” he mumbled. “As for you, sir, never enter my house—”

“Be off!” roared Dick; and he made at his brother again. “Be off, you artificial sham!”

But Tom, with a look of bitter mortification in his face, restrained him; and Max, clinging to Fred, hurried out of the door, leaving Mrs Shingle trembling in a chair, where she had sunk; while Jessie knelt beside her, white as ashes, and holding her hand.

It was an ignoble plight, made more absurd by Dick, who suddenly ran to the fireplace and took the tongs, with which he picked up a handkerchief, and ran to the door.

“Here, Saint Maximilian!” he shouted, “you’ve left your weeper;” and he threw the tongs out with a crash into the hall.

“Take care!” cried a familiar voice; “I haven’t done anything.”

“What, Hopper, old man!” cried Dick, “you there?”

“Yes, I am, and heard it all—all I could,” he added, stumping into the room.

Dick threw himself laughing into an easy chair, as he heard the door bang; but started up directly, as he saw Tom standing silent and mortified in the middle of the room.

“Thankye, Tom,” he cried, as he held out his hand, which the young man took for a moment and then dropped. “Ah! you’re put out, of course; and I don’t wonder. It’s enough to rile any young fellow with stuff in him; and you’ve got that, and acted like a man.”

Tom gazed at him in silence, but did not try to speak.

“He’s ordered you out of his house, my lad,” continued Dick. “Not pleasant between father and son. There, I ain’t going to abuse him,” he hastened to add, as Tom made a deprecating gesture; “but don’t you mind that,—you acted like a man, and your conscience will set you right. Now, good-bye, my lad; and mind this: if you ever want a hundred pounds, or two hundred, or five hundred pounds, you’ve only got to say so to your uncle, Richard Shingle, and there it is.”

“I thank you, sir,” said Tom sadly; “but I shall not ask. Good-bye!”

“Good-bye?”

“Yes. I shall go abroad, and we may never meet again. I cannot stay here now. Good-bye, aunt. Good-bye, Jessie,” he cried passionately.

But she did not hear him; for, as Tom hurried to the door, she sank, fainting, at her mother’s knee, while he passed out, closely followed by the last-comer on the scene.

Volume Two—Chapter Eleven.

Hopper on Suicide.

“Here! hold hard, you sir—hold hard!” cried Hopper, hooking Tom at last by the arm with his great stick.

Tom turned upon him savagely; but the old man did not move a muscle.

“Where are you going?”

“To the devil!” said Tom bitterly. “To drown myself, I think.”

“Hey? Drown yourself? Well, don’t go to do it on an empty stomach. I knew a man once who tried it, and he did nothing but float. Come home with me, and have a bit of dinner first.”

Tom Fraser was just in the humour to be led, and he could not help smiling at the old man’s words. The next moment Hopper seized his arm, and began signalling wildly with his stick to a passing hansom cab, into which he thrust him.

“Get over farther,” he cried, poking at him with his stick; and then, following, he shouted to the man, “Clement’s Inn.”

Nothing was said during the journey; and, on reaching the gateway, Hopper got out first, and, literally taking Tom into custody, led him to a black-looking house, and up a dingy old staircase, to a door at the top covered with iron bands and clamps. This he unlocked, and pushed his companion into a very old-fashioned-looking room, cumbered with pictures, curiosities, and odds and ends piled up amongst the antique furniture.

“There!” said Hopper, stopping to caress a cat that came rubbing itself up against his left leg, and another that purred against his right, while a third and fourth leaped upon his back when he stooped, “this is my kennel—cat’s kennel, if you like: I’ve got eight. That’s their garden,” he continued, throwing open a sliding window that looked upon a parapet; “they can run far enough along the roofs of the houses here. Good view this, Tom Fraser. Ah! the very thing,” he added, catching the young man’s sleeve; “look down there—eighty feet, and good firm stones at the bottom. You say you want to go to the devil: jump down—I won’t stop you.”

Tom glanced below, and turned away with a shudder. “Well, it would make a nasty mess on the pavement, certainly,” said Hopper, looking at him curiously, while the cats rubbed and purred about them; “but they’d soon sweep that away; and the dead-house is close by, in the Strand. I’ll go as witness.”

“For God’s sake, hold your tongue!”

“Hey? Hold my tongue? Why? Better and quicker than jumping into the river, and struggling up and down, and wanting to get out; besides running the risk of floating to and fro with the tide, and looking like swollen bagpipes.”

“Be silent!” shouted Tom, gazing at him in horror.

“What for?” chuckled the old man. “You’d look so ugly, too, with your nose rubbed off. Tide always rubs their noses off against the barges, and ships, and piers of bridges. Lots of people wouldn’t drown themselves if they knew how nasty they’d look when they were dead. I’ve seen ’em—dozens of times.”

“Do you find any pleasure in tormenting me?” cried Tom furiously.

“Torment you, hey? Not I,” chuckled Hopper. “You said you were going to drown yourself—that takes nearly five minutes; and they may fish you out with a boat-hook and bring you to, which they say isn’t pleasant. I only, as the oldest friend of your family, suggested a quicker way.”

Tom turned from the window, and threw himself into a chair.

“Ah! you’re better,” said Hopper, poking the fire up to make it blaze.

“Better!” groaned Tom.

“Yes, ever so much. You’re not fretting about your step-father, but about Jessie: you’re in love.”

Tom was starting up, but the old man forced him back into his chair.

“Sit still, you young fool. You are in love, arn’t you?”

“I suppose so,” said Tom bitterly.

“I’ll give you a dose for the complaint,” chuckled the old fellow.

Then there was a knock at the door, which he opened, and a neat-looking servant bustled in and spread the table with the snowiest of cloths and brightest of old-fashioned glass and silver, ending by placing the first portion of a capitally cooked dinner on the table, and sending all the cats out of the window into the gutter, where they sat down patiently in a row, to gaze solemnly through the panes of glass till the repast was at an end.

“Why, I thought you were very poor!” said Tom, gazing curiously at his shabbily dressed host, as he opened a massive carved oak cellaret, and took out a wine bottle that looked as old as the receptacle.

“Hey? Thought I was poor? More fool you!—you’re always thinking stupid things. You’ve gone about nearly two years thinking Jessie don’t care for you.”

Tom started as if he had been stung; but he sank back in his chair, gazing wonderingly at the quaint old fellow, as he opened the bottle to pour out a couple of large glasses of generous fluid; and began wondering how much he knew.

“There, you handsome young long-eared donkey!” cried Hopper, placing one glass in the young man’s fingers—“that’s the finest Burgundy to be got for love or money. That’ll give you strength of mind, and blood to sustain, and make you take a less bilious view of things than you do now. Catch hold! I’m an old-fashioned one, I am. Here’s a toast. Are you ready?”

Tom took the glass, and nodded.

“Here’s my darling little Jessie. God bless her! and may she soon be happy with the man of her choice.”

He looked maliciously at the young man as he spoke; but Tom set down his glass untasted.

“I can’t drink that,” he said sternly.

“Hey? Not drink it! Why not?”

“Because, if she marries my brother, she will never be a happy woman.”

“Bah! Idiot! Young fool!” chuckled Hopper. “She won’t marry Fred. I’d sooner poison her. Drink! You care for her, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Tom fervently.

“Then drink to her happiness, and don’t be a selfish ass. If you can’t have her, don’t grudge the pretty little sweet bit of fruit to some one else. Drink.”

“Jessie!” said Tom, softly and reverently; and he drained his glass.

“You’re getting better,” chuckled Hopper; “and I shall make you well before I’ve done.”

Certainly a great change did come over Tom Fraser as he partook of the excellent dinner brought in nice and hot by the neat servant; the old fellow seeming to be far less hard of hearing than usual, and chuckling and laughing as he took his wine freely, opened a fresh bottle, and finally brought out pipes and cigars, as the dinner was replaced by dessert.

“Thought I was poor, did you, Tom, my boy?” he cried, slapping the other on the shoulder. “I’m not, you see; but that’s my secret. Your step-father’s got his; your Uncle Dick his; so I don’t see why I shouldn’t have mine. I never bring anybody here hardly. Your father has never been, nor your Uncle Dick neither. Lucky dog! He’s made lots of money, and goes on making it too, a fox—and hang me if I know how.”

“The same way as you, perhaps.”

“No, that he don’t I do a bit in the City, and speculate in a few bills occasionally. I’ve got paper with names on that would startle you, I’ll be bound.”

“I daresay,” said Tom sadly.

“There, there, man! take another glass of your medicine. You’re coming out bad with your old complaint again—lovesickness.”

“Ah!” cried Tom, who had, like his host, got into the confidential stage. “You don’t know what it means.”

“I don’t know what it means?” cried the old fellow, rising, and leaning his hands on the table as he laid down his pipe. “Look there, Tom Fraser—look there!” he cried, crossing to a drawer, unlocking it hastily, and taking out an old-fashioned miniature of a very beautiful woman.

“My grandmother!” said Tom, starting, as he held the portrait to the light.

“And my love,” said the old fellow, in a softened, changed voice. “Yes, Tom, I loved her very dearly—as dearly as I hated the man who took her from me. Not that she ever cared for me. Hah! she was an angel. Your grandfather was a scoundrel, and the blood of the two has run its different courses. Women somehow like scoundrels,” he said, as he reverently put away the miniature.

“They do,” groaned Tom.

“But not all, Tom—not all. There, man, fill up and drink. Here’s my little darling Jessie—your darling, if you’re the man I take you for.”

“If you talk like that, I must go,” said Tom.

“Hey? What! go? Stuff, man! Have a little faith. I don’t say Jessie’s perfect; but she’s a better girl than you believe her. Try her again, man.”

Tom shook his head.

“Fred is always there in my light.”

“Turn him out of it, then. Bah! You weak idiot! You imagine twice as much as you have any grounds for. Take my advice, or leave it—I don’t care which. I only give you the hint for your own sake. Puss, puss, puss!”

He got up, opened the window, and the cats came trooping in, to leap upon him and show their delight, while he petted first one and then another as they thrust their heads into his hands, Tom sitting back and watching him the while.

“Curious, isn’t it?” said Hopper, chuckling. “But a man must have friends. I’ve got very few, so I take to cats, and they are as faithful as truth. Capital things to keep, Tom, my lad. Only behave well to them, and it don’t matter how great a scoundrel you are, they never find you out, nor believe what the world says—they stick to you to the end.”

Tom took another glance round the quaint room, to see dozens of fresh objects at every look—old china, ancient weapons, curious watches, besides articles of vertu that must have been of great value; and the old fellow chuckled as he saw the direction of his glances.

“Queer place to live in, Tom, and queer things about Look at this, my lad: here’s my will. I keep it in this old canister, just where it can be found—ready for my executors. What! Hey? Going? Well, good-bye. Come again—often—I shall be glad to see you.”

“Do you mean this?” said Tom, returning the old man’s warm pressure of the hand.

“Hey?”

“I say, do you mean it?”

“Oh yes! I heard. Mean it? Of course I do, man, or I shouldn’t ask you. Only come in a sensible way, not in a ghostly form. None of your drowned ghosts, without their noses. I mean you in the flesh, not in the spirit.”

“You need have no fear,” said Tom sadly. “My mad fit is past. I should not be guilty of such folly.”

“I should think not!” said Hopper, laughing. “We make nearly all our own troubles, my boy; and then men are such cowards that they run away from them. Have another cigar? That’s right—light up. Good-bye, lad. I say, why don’t you go round by your uncle’s house, and have a peep at some one’s window? There, be off; you’re a poor coward of a lover, after all!”

Volume Two—Chapter Twelve.

Private Inquiry.

Several weeks passed. Jessie seemed to have received a serious shock from the encounter that had taken place at her father’s house; and for days together she would be depressed, silent, and stand at the window watching, as if in expectation of some one coming. Then an interval of feverish gaiety would set in, during which, with brightened eye, she would chat and play and sing, showing so much excitement that Dick would shake his head to his wife and declare it was a bad sign.

“It’s all fretting, mother,” he would say. “She’s thinking of that scamp Fred.”

Whereupon Mrs Shingle would shake her head in turn, and declare tartly that he knew nothing at all about it, for she was sure it was Tom.

“You are very clever, no doubt, Dick, at keeping secrets and hiding things away from your wife—”

“That’s right,” said Dick. “Go it! I wish I was poor again.”

“But you know no more about that poor girl’s feelings than you do of Chinese.”

“Well, I don’t know much about Chinese, mother, certainly, but I’m sure it ain’t Tom. How can it be?”

“I don’t know how it can be,” said Mrs Shingle tartly, “or how it can’t be; but fretting after Tom Shingle she is, and it’s my belief he’s very fond of her.”

“There you go,” said Dick, who was warming himself, with his back to the fire, waiting for the object of their solicitude to come down to dinner—for she had been lying down the greater part of the day—“there you go, mother, a-showing yourself up and contradicting common-sense. I say it’s after Fred she’s fretting.”

“I know you do,” said Mrs Shingle, tightening her lips and giving her head a shake, which plainly said—“I’ll die before I’ll give in.”

“Let me have one word in, mother, if it’s only edgewise,” cried Dick.

“There, go on—I know what you are about to say.”

“No, you don’t, mother; so don’t aggravate. I say it’s Fred.”

“I know you do.”

“For this reason. He’s forbid the house, and I won’t have it; for I hear nothing but what’s bad spoken of him. I won’t have him here. He ain’t worthy of her. So he can’t come, and she, poor girl, frets about it; and if she don’t get better I shall have to give in. Now, you say it’s Tom.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle, nodding her head.

“Well, then, why don’t he come? or why don’t she send for him and make it right? Can’t you see that if it were as you say, all would be right directly?”

Mrs Shingle shook her head.

“That’s right; be obstinate, mother, when you know there’s nothing to prevent his coming.”

Jessie came in directly, looking very pale and sweet in her sadness: her eyes were sunken with wakefulness, but she had a smile for both, and an affectionate kiss before taking her place at the table; where, after kicking himself in his misery, Dick set-to, pretending not to notice his child’s depression, though he felt a bitter pang at his heart as he was guilty of every bit of clowning in his efforts to bring a smile from the suffering girl’s eyes.

At times, though, he was very absent, and his tongue went on talking at random—of the last thing, perhaps, that he had seen—while his mind was far away. In fact, had his brother been present, with witnesses, he would have had strong grounds for saying that Dick’s brain was softening at the very least.

He began with grace, standing up, and very reverently said the customary formula, ending “truly thankful. Amen. Pure pickles, sauces, and jams,” he continued, for his eye had lighted upon the label of a bottle in the silver stand.

He started the next moment, and looked round, with one hand in his breast, to see if the string of his front was all right, for he occasionally put on one of those delusive articles of linen attire when he dressed for dinner, and always went in torture for the rest of the evening, on account of the treacherous nature of the garment—one which invariably seeks to betray the weakness of a man’s linen-closet by bursting off strings or creeping insidiously round under his arm. In fact, one of Richard Shingle’s, on a certain evening, deposited the bottom of the well-starched plaits in his soup, by making a dive out from within his vest as he leaned forward.

“Glass of wine, Jessie?” said Dick, as the dinner went on; and to oblige him the poor girl took a little, just as Mrs Shingle exclaimed—

“Bless me! I have no handkerchief. Did you take my handkerchief, Jessie?”

“Lor’! mother, don’t talk of your handkerchief as if it was a pill. You do roll ’em up pretty tight, but not quite so bad as that.”

The boy, who was waiting at table, exploded in a burst of laughter, which he tried to hide by rattling the glasses on the sideboard, and then turning uncomfortable as his master gave him a severe frown.

“What’s the pudden, my dear?” said Dick at last.

“It’s a new kind,” said Mrs Shingle. “You’ll have some? I told the cook how to make it.”

“That I will, and so will Jessie. I always like your puddens, mother, they make one feel so good while one’s eating them—they’re so innocent.”

“You’ve not seen any more of your brother, I suppose?” said Mrs Shingle just then, inadvertently.

“Well, I have seen him,” said Dick,—“twice. He’s up to some little game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, that he’s got a man always watching me. He follows me like my shadow. He wants to find out my business, or else he’s going to try on his little dodge again. But I’m not afraid. Jessie, my gal, what is it?”

“Nothing, father—nothing,” she said, trying to smile as she rose from the table. “The room is too hot. I think I’ll go upstairs.”

“I’ll go with you, my darling,” exclaimed Mrs Shingle; but Jessie insisted on her staying, and she had her own way, going up to sit at her window, as was her wont, to watch wistfully along the darkened road for the relief that seemed as if it would never come.

She had been there about an hour, when suddenly she started up, and gazed down excitedly into the garden, where she could plainly make out the figure of a man; and as she looked he raised his hands to her and sharply beckoned her to come down.

“At last!” she cried, with a look of joy flashing from her eyes; and, going to the door, she listened for a few moments, hesitated, and then went below to the breakfast-room, which opened with French casements on to the garden, unfastened one, and in the dim light a figure passed in rapidly and closed the window.

There were two men standing in the shadow of a gate on the other side, one of whom scribbled something quickly on a page of a note-book, and gave it to the other, with the words—

“Run—first cab! Don’t lose a moment.”

A quarter of an hour later, just as Dick and his wife were about to leave the dining-room, there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by the trampling of feet in the hall, and Union Jack’s voice heard in protestation—

“I tell you he’s at dinner, and won’t be disturbed. Master always gives strict orders that—”

“Tell your master that Mr Maximilian Shingle insists upon seeing him on business.”

“Does he?” said Dick sharply. And he stood at the door, looking at his brother, and flourishing a dinner napkin about, as his eyes lighted upon his two companions; while a nervous feeling akin to alarm came upon him, for he saw that they were two well-dressed, keen-looking men.

“They’re mad doctors—both of ’em,” thought Dick, “and they’re going to listen to what I say, sign certificates, and have me dragged away. They’ll have a tough job of it if they do, though,” he muttered. “Yes, and there’s the carriage just come up that’s to take me off,” he continued, as there was the noise of wheels stopping at the door. “Don’t open that door, John,” he cried aloud.

But he was too late; for the boy had opened the door on the instant, and before he could shut it, Hopper, closely followed by Tom, entered the hall.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Dick, nodding, and feeling relieved.

“Hey? Yes, it’s me,” said Hopper quietly. “We thought we’d just drop in.”

“Well, then, Mr Max Shingle, perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me what you want, disturbing me at my dinner?” said Dick sharply.

“Well, the fact is,” said Max, smiling maliciously, but rubbing his hands and trying to look smooth the while, “these gentlemen and I—”

“Let’s see,” said Dick coolly; for he felt now that he was well backed up. “But, stop a moment. John, my lad, fetch a policeman.”

“By all means,” said Max eagerly. “Get one, my boy.” The lad, who had been staring with open eyes, unfastened the door, to find one close at hand, beating his gloves together, probably attracted by the scent of something going on.

“Here’s one outside, sir,” cried the boy eagerly.

“That’s right,” said Dick. “Here, you Number something, come in. You’re to see fair over this, my man.”

He nodded to Tom and Hopper, who were both singularly silent, and then turned to Max, as the front door was closed; and Mrs Shingle stood half in the dining-room, a wondering spectator of the proceedings.

“Now, Mr Max, if you please,” said Dick quietly, “proceed. You say these gentlemen—who I know again: they’ve been watching me, I suppose, to make up a case, ever since that little brotherly quarrel of ours; and now, I suppose, they’ve found it all out.”

“You shall hear what they’ve found out directly,” said Max, rubbing his hands.

“My secret, I suppose,” said Dick, laughing. “Well, I don’t mind that.”

“It will be a lesson to a disobedient son, too,” said Max, turning and darting a withering look at Tom. “One who fortunately happens to be here.”

“Well, when you’ve got through the introductory matter, or described the symptoms,” said Dick, laughing, “perhaps you’ll administer the pill. Your friends are mad doctors, I suppose?”

Max laughed derisively; and the taller of the two men—a curious-looking fellow, whose ears stood out at either side of his head so that you could look into them—in a sharp, businesslike way took out his pocket-book, and presented a card.

“That is my name and address, sir,” he said—“E. Gilderoy, private inquiry agent. This is one of my assistants.”

“Thankye,” said Dick, smiling. “There now, let’s have an inquiry in private.”

Max hesitated for a moment, and then went on.

“The fact is, Mr Richard Shingle, I have employed these gentlemen to—”

“I know—watch me,” said Dick sharply. “There, you needn’t shrink, Max; I was quite satisfied with the thrashing I gave you before, and if I want you turned out I shall set X Number something to work.”

“I am accustomed to your insults,” said Max, “so say what you like. I say, I employed these gentlemen in the interest of your wife and child as much as in that of the family, since you are so imbecile that you cannot take care of yourself.”

“All right: go on,” said Dick, coolly picking his teeth.

“I don’t care; say what you like—I deserve something for that kicking I gave you.”

“And these gentlemen have reported to me that for many nights past your house has had a man lurking about it, evidently for no good purpose.”

“One of these two, I suppose?” said Dick contemptuously.

“Your interruptions are most uncalled for,” said Max.

“Besides us, sir,” said Mr Gilderoy, nodding at his assistant.

“Yes, sir, besides us,” said that worthy.

“This evening the matter culminated in the man gaining entrance to your house,” said Max, with a malignant look in his eyes.

“Nonsense!” cried Dick.

“Oh no,” said Max, with a sneer, “it’s truth.”

“I don’t believe it,” cried Dick. “I’ll question the servants.”

“There is no need,” said Max maliciously; “you had better search the house, for he is here still.”

“It’s a lie—an invention!” cried Dick indignantly.

“You’d better ask Miss Jessie if it is,” said Max, laughing. “Ask—ask Jessie?” cried Dick, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean? To—Oh, I won’t have it. Who dares to say anything of the kind?”

“Fact, sir,” said the private inquirer sharply. “Young lady, sitting at window on first-floor, sits there every evening watching along the road.”

“Yes,” said Dick, in a bewildered way; “she does—but—”

“To-night, at seven fifty-six, tall gent in dark coat came up, jumped the railing, crossed the flower-bed, and made signs.”

There was a pause, and Tom sighed.

“Dark gent, with big beard—something like this gent, sir,” said the private inquirer, pointing to Tom.

“Was it you, Tom?” said Dick, with his old puzzled look growing more distinct upon his lined brow.

“No, uncle,” said Tom hoarsely; and then to himself—“Would to God it had been!”

“Oh no, sir, not this gent,” said the private inquirer, referring to his note-book—“something like him, but not him. He signals to the lady at the window. Lady comes down. Lady opens breakfast-room window.”

“How the devil do you know which is the breakfast-room?” cried Dick savagely.

“My duty to know, sir,” said the man, in the most unruffled way. “That’s the breakfast-room door, sir. Gent goes in through window—shuts it after him; and he didn’t come out.”

“How do you know?” cried Dick.

“Men watching back and front, sir,” said the private inquirer imperturbably.

“Well, Max, and if some one did, what then?” said Dick. “Suppose a policeman or some one comes to see one of the maids?”