George Manville Fenn (continued 8)

“Message? To me?”

“Yes, sir. Miss Carr wished me to ask you if you would come and dine with her to-morrow.”

“Me? Dine with Miss Carr—Carr—Carr? Why, that’s the girl Lister was to have married.”

“Yes—Miss Carr,” I said.

“But me dine with her! Why, she hasn’t fallen in love with me now, has she?”

“Oh no,” I said, laughing. “She wants to see you on business.”

“See me on business? why, Grace,” he said excitedly, “I was to be paid my five hundred out of her money, and wasn’t paid. Is she repenting, and going to give it to me?”

“No,” I said; “I don’t think it’s that.”

“No, of course not,” he said thoughtfully. “Couldn’t take it if were. What does she want, then? Do you know?”

I nodded.

“What is it, then?”

“I am in Miss Carr’s confidence,” I said; “and I do not feel at liberty to speak about the matter till after you have seen her.”

“Let me see,” said the old man; “she’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

“Beautiful?” I exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Humph! Then I don’t think I shall go, Grace.”

“Not go? Why not?”

“These handsome women can wheedle a man out of anything. I’ve lost five hundred over Lister, and I don’t want to be wheedled out of any more.”

“You needn’t be afraid, Mr Jabez,” I said, laughing.

“Think not?”

“I’m sure not. Miss Carr wants to advance some money to help some one.”

“Well, then, let her do it.”

“She cannot well do it herself, and she asked me if I knew anyone, and I named you.”

“Hang your impudence, then,” he said, taking snuff fiercely. “You know I was fool enough to advance money to Lister, so you recommend me as an easy one to do it again.”

“No, no, Mr Jabez; you don’t understand me,” I said, laughing. “Miss Carr wishes to find the money, but she wants it to seem as if it came through you.”

“Oh!”

Here he refreshed himself with his snuff, looking at me suspiciously the while.

“Look here, young Grace,” he said; “I’m not fond of doing things in the dark; so, as we are old friends, suppose you make a clean breast of what all this means. You know, I suppose?”

“Yes, I know everything,” I replied.

“Well, then, out with it.”

“That I cannot do without being guilty of a breach of confidence, Mr Rowle,” I replied. “If you will come up to Miss Carr’s to-morrow evening at half-past six, you may be sure of a warm welcome, and I shall be there to meet you.”

“Phee-ew!” he whistled, “how fine we have got to be, Grace. Do we dine late every day, sir?”

“No; nonsense,” I said, laughing. “Miss Carr is very kind to me, though: and she wished me to be there to meet you.”

“Well, but, Grace, you know,” said the old man, “I’m such a queer, rough sort of a fellow. I’m not used to that sort of thing. I’ve read about it often enough; but I suppose—oh, you know, I couldn’t come?”

“I shall tell Miss Carr you will,” I said, rising; and after a few more words, the old man promised, and I went away.

Chapter Forty Nine.

Mr Jabez Undertakes a Commission.

Mr Jabez was got up wonderfully for his visit to Miss Carr. His white waistcoat might have been carved in marble, and his white cravat was the stiffest ever made; but there was a good deal of the natural gentleman in the old man, and he took Miss Carr down to dinner with all the ceremony of the old school.

Everything was expressly arranged to be very simple, and in a very few minutes Mr Jabez was quite at his ease, while after a glass of sherry the old man became pleasantly chatty, and full of anecdote, but always treating his hostess with the most chivalrous respect, making a point of rising to open the door for her when she quitted the room, and we were supposed to be left to our wine.

“Hah, Grace,” he said, coming back to the table, and taking a long pinch of snuff; “now I feel a man again. I’ll just have three more pinches, and then we’ll go upstairs to that angel. Good heavens!”

“What is the matter?” I said, as, instead of sitting down, he began to walk up and down the dining-room, taking pinch after pinch of snuff.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed again.

“Is anything the matter, Mr Jabez?” I exclaimed.

“Good heavens! I say, Good heavens!” he repeated.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Good heavens! Only to think of it, Grace!”

Another pinch of snuff.

“Only to think, my lad, that he might have had that woman—that lady! A girl as beautiful in her mind as she is in her face. Why, Grace, my boy, I’m an old snuffy bachelor because my opportunity never came, but if I could have married such a woman as that—Hah! some men are born to be fools!”

“And you think Mr Lister was a fool?”

“Fool, sir? He was ten thousand times worse. But there! the sun don’t shine on me every day, my boy! We’ll go upstairs at once, and let it shine upon me again.”

I never liked Mr Jabez one-half so well before. It was delightful to me, who quite worshipped Miss Carr, to see the old man’s genuine admiration. He seemed quite transformed, and looked younger. In fact, no sooner were we upstairs, where Miss Carr was sitting with the urn singing on the tea-table, than he relieved me of a difficulty by opening the question of business himself.

“My dear young lady,” he said, as he sat down, and began rubbing one thin little leg, “I know you’ll excuse me for speaking so familiarly, but,”—he smiled—“I’m over sixty, and I should think you are not more than twenty-five.”

Miss Carr smiled, and he went on.

“Our young friend Grace here tells me that you would like me to perform a little commission for you. I only wish to say that you may command me in any way, and to the best of my ability the work shall be done.”

“Thank you, Mr Rowle,” said our hostess. “Antony Grace said he felt sure I could not have a more suitable and trustworthy agent.”

“I thank Antony Grace,” said the old man, bowing to me ceremoniously, and taking out his snuff-box, which he hastily replaced.

“The fact is,” said Miss Carr, hesitating, and her voice trembled and her face flushed slightly as she spoke, “I—oh, I will be plain,” she said, as if determined to cast off all false shame; “Mr Rowle, I trust to you not to put a false construction on this act of mine. I am rich—I am my own mistress, and I will do as I please, whatever the world may say.”

“You are rich, you are your own mistress, and you have a right to do as you please, my dear young lady, whatever the world may say,” assented Mr Jabez, tapping the lid of his snuff-box, which seemed as if it would not keep out of his hand.

“The fact is, Mr Rowle,” continued Miss Carr, “there is a gentleman—a friend of Antony Grace here, who is struggling to perfect a new invention—a great invention.”

Mr Jabez bowed, gazing at her animated countenance with open admiration the while.

“To perfect this invention, money is wanted.”

“Exactly,” said Mr Jabez, tapping his box softly. “Money is always useful.”

“I wish this gentleman to have that money—as much as is necessary.”

“You are rich; you are your own mistress; you have a right to do as you please, my dear young lady, whatever the world may say,” said Mr Jabez, harping upon her words once more. “It is easily settled. Give it him.”

“No,” said Miss Carr, speaking with animation, “it is not easy. You forget what I say. This inventor is a gentleman.”

“And would be too proud to take the money?” said Mr Jabez quickly.

“Yes,” said Miss Carr. “He would not stoop to be under such an obligation. He would feel insulted—that he was lowering himself. I wish to help him,” she said excitedly. “I would do anything to help him; but my hands are tied.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Mr Jabez softly; “and you want me to help you?”

“Yes, oh yes! And you will?” cried Miss Carr.

“Of course I will, my dear young lady,” said the old man; “but this requires thought. Would you excuse me if I took just one little pinch?”

“Oh, my dear Mr Rowle,” cried Miss Carr, “pray do not use ceremony here. I asked you to come to me as a friend. Pray consider that you are one.”

“Hah!” sighed Mr Jabez. “Now I can get on. Well, my dear young lady, surely we can find a way. In the first place, who is the gentleman?”

Miss Carr looked at me.

“Mr Hallett,” I said, coming to her help.

“What? Our Mr Hallett?” said Mr Jabez.

“Yes, Mr Rowle.”

“Hum! Well, I’m not surprised,” he said. “He certainly always did seem to be a gentleman, and I was very sorry that he left our place. So he is working on a great invention, eh? Well, he is just the man who would. Then, the first thing is, how is it to be done?”

“Antony Grace thinks, Mr Rowle, that as you have the reputation of being a wealthy man—”

“Wealthy! why I lost five hundred pounds slap the other day by—Dear me! Bless my soul! Oh, tut—tut—tut! What an ass I am!” he muttered, taking refuge in a tremendous pinch of snuff, half of which powdered his white waistcoat and cravat.

“I am very sorry to hear that,” said Miss Carr quietly.

“Oh, it was nothing. Pray go on, my dear young lady.”

“Antony Grace thought that you might seek him out, and get into his confidence a little, and at last, after a show of interest in his work, ask him to let you become a sharer in the affair, on condition of your finding the necessary funds.”

“Of your money?” said the old man, with a slight show of suspicion.

“Of course, Mr Rowle. Then, if he would consent, which he might do, thinking that he was favouring you, the matter would be settled.”

“To be sure. Of course,” said Mr Jabez thoughtfully. “And how far would you go, my dear young lady—forty or fifty pounds?”

“As far as was necessary, Mr Rowle. As many hundreds as he required.”

Mr Jabez tapped his box, and sat thinking, gazing wonderingly and full of admiration at the animated countenance before him, as he softly bowed his head up and down.

“And you will do this for me, Mr Rowle?” she said.

“If you will trust me, Miss Carr, I will be your steward in this matter,” he said quietly.

“And keep my secret? He must not know.”

“I will be as silent as the grave, my dear, and I thank you for placing so much confidence in me.”

A few preliminaries and the thing was settled. Then, after tea, Miss Carr sang to the old man a couple of old-fashioned ballads, and he left soon after, I walking home with him, after arranging that I was to take him to Great Ormond Street the following evening, as if after a casual meeting and a desire to see Hallett again. The rest was to be left to chance.

The old man was very quiet and thoughtful, but I noticed that our leave-taking was a great deal warmer than it had ever been before, and I went back to my lodgings hopeful and eager, feeling that the sun was about to shine at last upon poor Hallett’s venture, respecting which I, with him, would not own now that there could be such a thing as failure.

Chapter Fifty.

Mr Rowle Begins his Task.

Poor Mrs Hallett was, no doubt, a great sufferer; and as I grow older and knew her better, the annoyance I used to feel at her unreasonable ways dropped aside to make room for pity.

One thing always struck me, and that was, that though she was constantly murmuring about Stephen’s wasting time over his schemes, and the wretched way in which he was constantly plodding on, instead of ambitiously trying to rise to some profession, it was dangerous for anyone else to speak of such a thing.

At the appointed time I called upon Mr Jabez, and he accompanied me to Great Ormond Street, looking brighter and younger than I had ever seen him look before. His snuff-box was in constant use, and he on the way, after vainly trying to stand treat, as he called it, by stopping at the various grocers’ windows, and wanting to buy me a box of candied fruits or French plums, went on tatting about Miss Carr.

“Antony Grace,” he exclaimed; “that fellow will wake up some day.”

“What fellow?”

“Lister. The fool! the idiot! the ass! Why, an earthly heaven was open to him, and he turned his back upon it. There’s a life of repentance for him.”

“I can’t understand it,” I said.

“Humph! No,” he continued; and he kept glancing at me curiously, as if eager to say something—to ask me some question; but he refrained.

“I’m glad you liked Miss Carr,” I said at last.

“Liked her, boy?” he exclaimed enthusiastically; and he stopped in the centre of the pavement. “There, I suppose I’m growing into an old fool, but that’s no business of anybody. That young lady, sir, can command Jabez Rowle from this moment. Here, come along; the people are looking at you.”

I thought they were looking at Mr Jabez, but I said nothing, only kept step with him, as he thrust his arm through mine and hurried me on.

“Of course, what I say to you is in confidence, Antony Grace,” he continued.

“Of course,” I replied warmly; “and let me beg of you, Mr Rowle, to be very careful. Pray don’t let Hallett have any suspicion of how your interest has come about; and, above all, he must not think that I have talked to you about his model.”

“Hold your tongue, tomtit,” he exclaimed merrily, “trying to teach a croaking old raven, getting on towards a hundred. You leave it to me. But look here, boy, I’m not blind. This is all in confidence, of course. I can see as far into a mill-stone as most, people. Have Hallett and Miss—Bah, what am I saying?” he muttered, checking himself suddenly. “It’s all in confidence, and I shall be as close as an oyster. I’ve got my part by heart, and you shall see what you shall see.”

He gave my arm a tight nip, and soon after we reached the door, which I opened with my latchkey, and took him into my rooms, with which the old man seemed much pleased.

“Why, you reckless young hypocrite, this is the way you live, is it? Books, eh? And what are these wheels for?” he continued, picking up a couple from the chimney-piece.

“The model,” I said quietly. “Now, what shall we do? Ask Hallett to come down here, or go up?”

“Send up word that you have an old friend with you, and ask if you may bring him up.”

I took the hint, and Mary came back in a few minutes to say that Mr Hallett would be only too glad to see us.

We went up, and I saw at once that Hallett had come down from the attic. Mrs Hallett was asleep, and Linny, looking very pale and thin, but still restful and better, was in an easy-chair with a book.

“Ah, Hallett, how do?” said the old gentleman, in his abrupt way. “Your servant, ma’am,” he added, with a profound bow.

Hallett looked stern and displeased, and his greeting was cold.

“My sister, Mr Rowle,” he said. “She has been ill.”

“So I see,” he replied. “I hope you are getting better, my dear child. You must take plenty of fresh air. I came to see my young friend, Antony Grace here, and he suggested that as we were under the same roof, I should come and see you. Sorry you ever left us, Mr Hallett.”

Hallett bowed.

“Ah,” he continued, taking the chair coldly offered, “lots of changes since. I suppose you know the partnership’s dissolved?”

“Yes, I had heard so,” replied Hallett, glancing uneasily at Linny.

“I stick on with the senior branch,” the old man continued, as his eyes wandered about the room, for he was evidently at a loss, and I did not know how to help him, so crossed over to sit down by and talk to Linny.

But fate favoured us, for in his hurried descent Hallett had brought with him a portion of the mechanism of the model.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Mr Jabez sharply; “what have you got there? Have you, too, turned engineer?”

“Oh, no,” said Hallett, who was annoyed. “I—that is—it is a portion of a little contrivance of mine.”

“Oho!” exclaimed Mr Jabez, “I’ve found you out, have I, Master Hallett! Why, you were always making sketches of machinery at the office.”

“How do you know that?” said Hallett sharply, while my heart sank, for I felt that our attempt would be a failure.

“Old Grim told me. That young scoundrel, Jem Smith, used to carry him scraps of paper upon which you had been drawing.”

Hallett’s brow grew more cloudy, but he brightened up directly, saying frankly:

“Well, yes, Mr Rowle, I am engaged upon a little invention.”

“That’s right,” said the old man warmly; “that’s right; I wish I had begun something of the kind when I was young. It takes the mind away from the daily mill-horse work. But somehow, Hallett, I never could drag my mind away from it, but used to amuse myself reading proofs at home. Grace,” he continued, turning to me, “why don’t you take to something? You being an engineer, now, you ought to do something, say, in our line. There’s plenty of chances there. I know one man,” he said, taking up his thin leg and nursing it, “who has been trying for years to perfect a machine.”

“Oh, Mr Jabez,” I thought, “you have spoiled all!” for Hallett darted a quick glance at me.

“The idea occurred to him,” continued Mr Jabez, tapping his snuff-box thoughtfully, as if it contained the machine, “that he could make a contrivance that would do away with the necessity for setting type.”

“Indeed?” said Hallett, who drew a long breath of relief.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr Jabez; “his idea was to get the type set up in long pipes above a keyboard, like a piano, and every time a key was touched with the finger, it pushed out a letter, which ran down an inclined plane to an opening, where a tiny hammer gave it a tap and drove it along a channel in which the letters formed one long line, which was afterwards made into pages and justified.”

“And did it answer?” said Hallett eagerly.

“No,” said the old man, taking a pinch of snuff, as Linny and I now listened to him attentively. “The idea was clever, but it was too crude. He set up his stick full, Antony Grace, and neglected to read it afterwards. He failed at first.”

“But you said it was a good idea, Mr Jabez,” I exclaimed.

“A capital idea,” said the old man, “but it was full of faults.”

“Faults?” said Hallett dreamily.

“Yes, sir,” said the old man, growing animated. “For instance, he would only have been able to set one kind of type—one size. He couldn’t use italic. He wanted a clever, sensible woman or man to work the keys, another to make the type up into lines. And he was obliged to have a boy to work the little hammer, or beater, to drive the letters along. Then the type would get stuck if the letters were not sent down exactly to the time; for two would meet in a lane, and then there was no end of confusion, and, after all, the type had to be distributed, and afterwards set up in sticks to fill the machine.”

“Exactly,” said Hallett, with animation, for the ice was broken. “I had thought of something similar.”

“But you did not do it.”

“No; oh no! Composition always seemed to me to require the mind of man—the brain to guide it. It seemed to me that invention should be applied to something of a more mechanical nature.”

“Exactly,” said Mr Jabez. “You couldn’t make a machine to read and correct proofs, or revise a slip.”

“Of course not,” said Hallett.

“Of course not,” said Mr Jabez. “But, mind you, I’m not one of those idiots who rise up in arms against machinery, and I don’t say but what our friend might not have gone on and greatly improved his machine. For instance, he might have contrived another, to do away with the distribution and re-setting up of the type.”

“Yes,” said Hallett thoughtfully; “it might have been recast and replaced by mechanism.”

“And always have new type,” said Mr Jabez eagerly. “To be sure: a capital idea; but I don’t know, Hallett, I don’t know. They say you can buy gold too dearly. In the same way, you can make a time-saving process too expensive.”

“Certainly,” said Hallett thoughtfully; and I was glad to see now that he was pleased to meet the old man.

“It seems to me,” said Mr Jabez, passing his snuff-box, which Hallett received, and, to humour his visitor, partook of a pinch, “that an inventor ought to devote his attention to making machinery for doing away with a great deal more of our labouring mechanical work, and not the careful processes that require thought.”

“Printing, for instance?”

“Ye-es,” said Mr Jabez; “but that ground has been pretty well taken up. We have some good machines now, that do a lot of work by steam. Why, when I was a boy we used to have the clumsiest old presses possible to conceive. I don’t think they had been much improved since the days of Caxton.”

“And yet there is great room for improvement,” cried Hallett, with animation. “Mr Rowle, we saw very little of each other beyond business encounters, but I believe, sir, that I may place trust in your word?”

“Thank you, Mr Hallett, I hope so. I’m sure I always placed confidence in yours. I am proud to say, Miss Hallett, that if your brother promised me a slip by a certain time, my mind was always easy, for I knew it would be done.”

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense,” said Hallett, smiling. “Look here, Mr Rowle, I feel that you will not betray my confidence, and I ask you as a favour to keep private what you see here to-night.”

“What I see here?” said Mr Jabez, looking around with an assumed look of puzzle, while I felt the colour coming in my face as I thought of the part I was playing.

“I mean what I am about to show you, Mr Rowle,” said Hallett, smiling.

“Trust me? Oh yes, of course, yes—of course,” said the old man warmly; “here is my hand.”

“Thank you,” said Hallett, taking it. “Linny, my dear, you will not mind being left alone?”

“Oh no,” she said, smiling; and lighting another lamp, Hallett led the way up to the attic, Mr Jabez finding an opportunity to give me a solemn wink before we stood by Hallett’s bench.

“I have spent so much thought and labour over this model,” said Hallett, “that, you must not be surprised at the jealousy with which I watch it.”

“Oh no,” said Mr Jabez, who proceeded, snuff-box in hand, to examine carefully every point in the invention.

“Well,” said Hallett, at last, “do you think it will answer?”

In place of replying, Mr Jabez went all over it again, his interest growing fast, and being, I was glad to see, evidently sincere.

“I tell you what,” he exclaimed at last, taking a tremendous pinch of snuff, “that thing would be splendid if you got it right.”

“You like it, then?” said Hallett.

“Like it? I think it’s grand. Why, man, it would make quite a revolution in the news business. You must get on—get it perfect.”

Mr Hallett shook his head.

“It takes time and money,” he said sadly. “It is slow work.”

“Yes, but—hang it all, sir! you should get help. With such an important thing in hand you should work on.”

“I do not know yet that it would answer,” said Hallett sadly.

“But it must answer, sir,” said the old man sharply. “If that machine did not answer, it would not be the fault or the principle, but of some blunder in the mechanism.”

“Do you think so?” cried Hallett, whose eyes lighted up with pleasure.

“No, sir: I am sure so,” said the old man. “The principle is as grand as it is simple; and what I like in the invention is this—you have taken up a part of the trade where it is all hand-labour—all mechanical. You are not trying to do away with brainpower.”

“I am very glad you like my idea, Mr Rowle,” said Hallett, proceeding to cover his model, which, when set in motion, ran easily and well.

“I am delighted with it,” said Mr Jabez, poking him in the chest with his snuff-box. “Now, then, go ahead, and have the thing made on a workable scale.”

“But I have not perfected it yet,” replied Hallett.

“Never mind; perfect it as you go on. You are sure to find some weak spots. If I were you, sir, I should set a good firm of engineers to work on that at once.”

Hallett smiled sadly.

“You are proposing impossibilities, Mr Rowle. This has been one of my great troubles, sir: how I was to carry on my project when I had completed my model. During the past few days I have been thinking of trying to sell the idea for what it is worth.”

“What I and let some fellow without half an ounce of brains in his skull reap all the profit? Don’t you do anything of the kind. There’s a fortune in that contrivance, Mr Hallett. Sir, it is a great invention.”

“What would you do, then?” said Hallett, smiling.

“Do, sir? I’d—I’d—”

Mr Jabez paused, and took a pinch of snuff.

“Do, sir, I’d—I’d—I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d take a partner who had money.”

Hallett shook his head sadly.

“Who would advance money to such a dreamer as I am?” he said sadly.

“Lots of people, as soon as they saw money in it.”

Hallett shook his head.

“You take a very sanguine view of the matter, Mr Rowle.”

“Not half so sanguine as you, sir. Why, you must have spent years of labour, and a great deal of money, over that model.”

“I have,” said Hallett sadly.

“Then don’t call me sanguine,” cried Mr Jabez, flying to his snuff-box again. “I ask, here, Hallett, how much would it take to produce that thing, patent it, and the rest of it?”

“I cannot say,” replied Hallett quietly, and with the same sad smile upon his face. “It is one of those things which keen on crying, ‘More! more!’ I dare say it would require 300 pounds or 400 pounds to produce the first machine, and then I have no doubt more would have to be spent in perfecting it.”

“Yes, I dare say,” said Mr Jabez coolly, as he uncovered and once more began to examine the model; “I tell you what, Hallett, I think I know your man.”

“What, a capitalist?”

“No, sir; a man with a selfish desire to share in the child of your brains.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; he hasn’t much money, but I’ll be bound to say that he would find enough to carry out your plans for, say, one-third of the profits.”

“Mr Rowle, are you serious?” said Hallett earnestly.

“I never joke about business matters, Mr Hallett. As I said before, sir, that’s a great invention; and if you’ll let me, I’ll find the money for carrying it on, conditionally that I take one-third of the profits the invention makes.”

“You will! Mr Rowle!” cried Hallett incredulously.

“I will, sir; and there’s my hand upon it.”

“But do you understand the magnitude of the affair, sir?” cried Hallett, whose face flushed and eyes glittered with excitement.

“Quite so,” replied the old gentleman, diving again into his snuff-box. “The first thing is, sir, to draw out a proper document between us—we can do that without the lawyers. Then proper drawings must be made, with description, and the thing must be patented.”

“But that will take nearly a hundred pounds!” cried Hallett, panting; while I sat there hugging myself with delight.

“You can have my cheque for a hundred pounds, Mr Hallett, as soon as we have settled the preliminaries; and I bind myself to go on finding the necessary cash for construction as you go on. And now, sir, it’s pretty well my bed-time, and I want to be off. Do nothing rashly. This day week I’ll come here again for your answer, which I hope will be yes; for I think it will be a good stroke of business for both of us. Now good-night. Antony Grace, will you show me the way down to the door?”

They shook hands, and I saw the old gentleman to the street.

“There, my boy, wasn’t that done well?” he chuckled. “But look here, Antony Grace,” he added seriously; “I’d have done it without Miss Carr, that I would, for I believe in that machine. Good-night, boy, I’ll come on next week and—hang it, look at that fellow who just passed. He’s as like John Lister as two peas.”

The old man went off, and I returned to my room, where I found Hallett waiting for me in a state of intense excitement.

“Antony,” he exclaimed, “it is too good to be true. It is fortune at last—success. Good heavens! it makes me turn giddy. Mother—Linny,” he cried, in a low passionate wail, “at last there is sunshine breaking through the clouds.”

“I pray Heaven there may be, Hallett,” I exclaimed; “but I have something to say to you.”

“What is it?” he cried. “Has the old man repented?”

“Oh, no; you may be sure of him, Hallett. He is delighted at the opportunity, and thinks it will lead to fortune.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“John Lister is hanging about this street.”

“Why? How? what makes you say that?”

“I saw him pass the door, just now.”

His brow darkened, and involuntarily he uttered his sister’s name.

“No,” I said; “I don’t believe it of her. He is only trying to meet with her once more. I am sure Linny does not know it.”

“You are right, Antony; she cannot know it. We can trust her now. Let us go and sit upstairs.”

As we entered the room, Linny raised her eyes from the book which she was reading, and her calm ingenuous look was sufficient to disarm suspicion; but, all the same, Hallett and I both felt that the wolf was prowling about the fold, and that it behoved us to see that he had no further chance of carrying off our lamb.

Chapter Fifty One.

Mr Lister is Moved On.

We had good reason to know that John Lister was hovering about the place, for I saw him several times, and found that in Hallett’s absence and mine he had called and endeavoured to see Linny; but she had always refused, and on Mary being warned, he received such a rebuff that he did not call again. Still, however, he hung about, making the poor girl’s life wretched, for at last she dared not go to the window for fear of being seen.

Both Hallett and I wondered whether his pertinacity would make any impression. While we were in a state of doubt, it fell to my lot one evening to become Linny’s escort to a distant part of London, and we were on our way back, when suddenly I felt her hand tighten upon my arm.

“Quick, Antony,” she whispered, “he is there!”

“He is there?” I said wonderingly, for I did not comprehend her; but the next moment I caught sight of Lister coming towards us, and evidently fixing her with his eyes.

There was a meaning smile upon his lip, and, apparently intending to ignore me, he was about to speak, when, with a gesture of horror, she shrank from him, turned her head aside, and begged me to hurry home.

“We’ll go home,” I said; “but we will not hurry;” and I turned and met Lister’s contemptuous stare, as he followed us at a little distance till we had reached the house.

I was annoyed and distressed about this pertinacious pursuit, and I had just made up my mind to consult Hallett on the best way to put a stop to it, when an idea occurred to me.

“It is very evident,” I thought, “that Lister does not know who lives here;” and I laughed to myself as I quietly determined to put my plan in force.

That evening, while Hallett was busy in his attic, slaving away with redoubled energy at his model, giving it what he looked upon as the final touches before proceeding with the patent, I went down as soon as I heard Revitts come in, his broad face expanding with pleasure as I followed him below to his own particular sanctuary, where, while he was enjoying his after-tea pipe, I opened my business.

“Revitts,” I said, “I’m going to take you into my confidence, and ask you to keep faith.”

“Which you may be sure I shall do, Master Antony, if so be I can.”

“Well, you can, Bill,” I replied; and I proceeded to tell him how Linny was annoyed.

“That’s very unpleasant,” he said thoughtfully; “but is it by that same chap?”

“Yes.”

“That’ll do,” he said, drawing a long breath; “and lookye here, Antony, my young friend, I’m sergeant, and have to set an example now to them as is under—them, I mean—no, I don’t—I mean those as—who—are under me—that’s right! One’s obliged to be particler now. Use of the truncheon forbidden, except when obliged; but if I do meet, that fellow annoying Miss Linny, I shall be obliged to give him a topper—a hangel couldn’t help it.”

“No, no, Bill—no, Mr Sergeant,” I began.

“Stow that, Antony, no larks. Bill, please, as afore.”

“Well, then, Bill, that is one of the things you must not do. All I want is for you to let him see that you live here, and that Miss Hallett is under your protection. He won’t face you, and as soon as he finds that you are here he will keep away.”

“But he must be taken for his assault on the police, Antony.”

“No, no: let him go on in his own way. If you take him, there will be a great deal of inquiry and exposure that would be most painful to all my friends. We should have to go into the witness-box and be cross-examined, and it would be extremely painful to me, both on my own behalf and that of others.”

“You wouldn’t like it, Antony?” he said.

“No, indeed I should not,” I replied.

“That’s enough, dear lad,” he exclaimed, giving the table a rap with his fist. “That’s settled; but I may give him a word or two of a sort, eh? Just show him I know him, and move him on pretty sharp?”

“As much of that as you like,” I said; “I leave it in your hands. What I ask of you is, as an officer, to see that we are not pestered by that man.”

“It’s as good as done, Ant’ny,” he exclaimed, stuffing some more tobacco in his pipe.

“It’s better than done, my dear,” said Mary decisively. “When my William says a thing’s as good as done, you may make yourself comfortable about it.”

Revitts said no more about it in the future, only once when he met me at the door, chuckling to himself, and shaking his head.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked.

“Only about him,” he replied. “I just run again him at the corner, and said about six words to him.”

“Well?”

“That’s all,” said Revitts, chuckling. “He showed me the back seams of his coat directly; but I followed him up and moved him on. I don’t think he’ll show himself much more about here, my lad.”

Revitts was right. Lister did not hang about our neighbourhood so much after that interview; but it had the effect of sending him back to annoy Miss Carr; so that, day by day, his actions formed a problem that it became very difficult to solve, and we little knew then how malignantly he was fighting against Hallett, whose love he must have suspected.

Time glided on. Mr Jabez used to come regularly to Ormond Street. The model and its progress seemed to give a fresh interest to the old man’s life, and, in addition, he took a remarkable liking to Linny. Mrs Hallett, too, showed a fancy for him, after a few tearful words of opposition to the way in which he encouraged Hallett in his folly.

“Folly, ma’am? it’s no such thing. He’ll be a great man yet, and a benefactor to his kind. Spread of knowledge, you know.”

“I don’t understand you, Mr Rowle,” said the poor woman plaintively; “but you may be right. All I know is, that it takes up a great deal of his time.”

“Couldn’t be better spent, my dear madam. Do you know what it means?”

“No,” said Mrs Hallett, “only neglect of his poor suffering mother.”

“Patience, my dear madam, patience,” said Mr Jabez. “I’ll tell you what it means. Pleasant changes for you; seaside; a nice invalid-carriage; silk attire for little Miss Linny here, and servants to wait upon you. Bless my soul, ma’am!” he cried flourishing his snuff-box, and taking a liberal pinch, “you ought to be proud of your son.”

“I am, Mr Rowle,” she said, plaintively; “but if you would kindly oblige me by not taking so much snuff. It makes—makes me sneeze.”

“My dear madam,” exclaimed the little man, closing his box with a snap, “I beg your pardon. Bad habit—very bad habit, really.”

Linny burst out into a merry, bird-like laugh that made me start with pleasure. It was so fresh and bright, and it was so long since anything but a faint smile had been seen upon her face, that it was like a pleasant augury of happier days to come.

The old man turned round and smiled and nodded at her, evidently enjoying it too; and when, some ten minutes after, he was going up with me to Hallett’s attic, he stopped on the landing and tapped my arm with his snuff-box.

“Grace,” he said, “I am waking up more and more to the fact that I have been an old fool!”

“Indeed! Why?”

“Because I’ve shut myself up all my life, and grown selfish and crusted. I don’t think I’m such a very bad sort of fellow when you get through the bark.”

“I’m sure you are not, Mr Rowle,” I said.

“Humph! Thankye, Grace. Well, you always did seem to like me.”

“But what do you mean about being an—”

“Old fool? There, say it if you like. I mean about women—young girls—ladies, you know. They’re very nice.”

“Yes, that they are,” I cried eagerly.

“Yah! stuff! How do you know—a boy like you? No, no—I mean yes, of course, so they are. I’ve been thinking, you know, what might have been, if I’d met with such a lady as that Miss Carr, or our pretty little bird there, thirty or forty years ago. Hah! I should have been a different man. But I never did, my boy, I never did.”

He took a pinch of snuff very thoughtfully here.

“It’s too late now, Grace, too late now. You can’t make winter into summer; and it’s getting to the winter with me now. That’s a very nice little thing downstairs. Has she—has she any—any—”

“Lover, Mr Rowle?”

“Yes.”

“Not now,” I said. “There was one, but it ended unhappily. He was a blackguard,” I said warmly.

“Was he, though?” he said eagerly. “That’s right, Grace, I like to see you have some spirit. Poor little lassie! No father, either.”

“Mr Hallett is more like a father to her than a brother,” I replied, as I thought it would be better not to mention John Lister’s name.

“Father—father—” said the old man dreamily. “How curious it must be to feel that one is the father of anything; that it is your own, and that it loves you. Now, do you know, Grace, I never thought of that before.”

“You have always been such a business man, Mr Rowle,” I said.

“Yes—yes, grinding on every day, without a thought of anything but other people’s mistakes, and none about my own. You like little Miss Linny there—downstairs?”

“Oh yes,” I cried; “she always seems to have been like a sister ever since I knew her.”

“Hum! Hah! Yes! Like a sister,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, she’s a very nice little girl, Grace, and I like her; but you need not tell her so.”

“Oh no, of course not, Mr Rowle,” I said, laughing. “Shall we go upstairs?”

“Yes, my boy, directly.

“But look here, Grace,” he continued, fumbling in his pocket, and bringing out a newspaper slip. “Hum! hah! oh, here it is. Read that.”

He pointed to an advertisement of an elderly couple without children, wishing to adopt a young girl; and I read it, and then looked at him wonderingly.

“I suppose that sort of thing is done sometimes, eh?” he said.

“I don’t know, Mr Rowle,” I replied.

“Hum! No, of course you don’t,” he said thoughtfully, after another pinch. “Come along upstairs, my boy, and let’s look at the machine.”

Chapter Fifty Two.

Mr Jabez has a Spasm.

There had been some little dispute about the drawing up of the terms between Hallett and Mr Rowle. The former would not listen to the old gentleman’s proposition that it should be settled by a letter between them, saying that it ought to be a proper legal document, for both their sakes; and the knot was solved, as they did not wish to consult a solicitor, by my proposing to bring Tom Girtley home with me some evening, when the legal training he was undergoing might prove sufficient for the purpose.

It was settled to be so, and a few evenings later, I called in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, at the offices where Tom was now engaged, and he accompanied me to Great Ormond Street.

Mary had had her instructions to have a “high tea” ready for us, and her ideas of delicacies took the form of hot baked potatoes and cold lobsters; and upon these, with shouts of laughter, we made an attack, for it was wonderful in those days what the youthful digestive organs would conquer without fail. Tom Girtley had several times been to my apartments, but I had never introduced him to the Halletts, for there had been too much trouble in connection with Linny’s illness for their rooms to be attractive to a casual visitor.

But now times were altered; Hallett looked brighter, Linny was nearly her own merry pretty self again, and Mrs Hallett, perhaps, a little less weak and despondent, which is not saying much.

Tom Girtley had altered very much since we had become friends, having started ahead of me, and a year had changed him from a boy into quite a man, at whose hirsute appendages I used to look with perhaps just a trace of envy. There was something very frank and manly about him, and he had all a boy’s love of a bit of fun; but at the same time, he was full of shrewdness and common-sense, the former being rubbed daily by his profession into a keener edge.

All in good time Mr Jabez arrived, according to what was fast growing into a regular custom, and he favoured Tom Girtley with a short nod and a very searching look. Then together we went upstairs, where I saw Mr Jabez frown as our legal visitor was introduced to Mrs Hallett and Linny, the latter blushing slightly at Tom’s admiring gaze.

The old man uttered a sigh of relief then as Linny rose and helped Mrs Hallett to leave the room during the transaction of the business, and I noted that he was very snappish and abrupt while the arrangement went on.

It was very simple, and soon done, Tom Girtley drawing up first on foolscap a draft of the arrangement, which was agreed to on both sides, and then transferred to a couple of stamped papers, signed and witnessed, one being kept by each party to the transaction.

All this was done in so satisfactory a manner to Mr Jabez that he became somewhat less abrupt to my companion, and even went so far as to say that he had never seen a legal document which pleased him so well.

“Not so many heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, young gentleman,” he said gruffly. “You lawyers have made a lot of money out of those parties in your time. Now, don’t you think we might ask the ladies to step back?”

This was done, and we had a very pleasant evening, Tom Girtley winning golden opinions for his merry ways, even bringing a smile to Mrs Hallett’s pale face; and at last, when it was time to go, Hallett exclaimed:

“Of course, we shall see you again, Mr Girtley?”

“May I come?” he said eagerly.

“If you can find any pleasure in our rather dull home,” replied Hallett. “Good—”

He was going to say, “gracious,” but he refrained, and looked in a puzzled and amused way at Mr Jabez, who had kicked out one leg under the table, and his foot had come in contact with his host.

“Spasm!” said Mr Jabez abruptly; and when Tom Girtley went down with me the old man remained.

“Well, Tom, what do you think of my friends the Halletts?” I said, as we went down to the door.

“I’m delighted with them,” he cried. “I like Hallett; and as for his sister—I say, Tony, are you making play there?”

“Making play?”

“There, don’t be so innocent, man alive! Are you in love with her?”

“What nonsense! No.”

“Then I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t have poached on your preserves, but it’s all over with me now. Alas, poor me! so soon, and I am barely twenty. Good-night, old boy, and thanks for a pleasant evening.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” I exclaimed. “I’m going a little way with you.”

He was in high spirits, and we were just crossing the street, when we came suddenly upon John Lister—so suddenly, that Tom observed my start.

“Who’s that?” he said quickly.

“One of our black clouds,” I said bitterly.

“Black clouds?” he said, in a puzzled tone.

“And yours, too,” I said, “if you talk like you did just now.”

“I like solving knotty points,” he said; “but you must give me a clue.”

“Not to-night, Tom,” I said. “Say good-night now. Some other time.”

“All right, my mysterious youth,” he cried, laughing; and after shaking hands, I hurried back, to find Mr Jabez standing at the door.

“Oh, here you are,” he said. “I am just waiting to say good-night. I say, Grace, is that fellow square?”

“I believe him to be a thorough scoundrel,” I said angrily.

“He seems quite taken with little Linny there.”

“I know that,” I said bitterly.

“And yet you brought him here, sir.”

“I? Brought him here?” I exclaimed. “It was going on before I knew them.”

“What! that boy—that parchment slip?” he exclaimed.

“No, no,” I said hastily. “I meant John Lister.”

As the words were leaving my lips, he of whom I spoke passed by on the other side, and turned his face to look up at the second floor, the light from a gas-lamp making his countenance perfectly clear.

“Oh!” said Mr Jabez softly; and, after standing watching the retiring figure, he too went his way.

Chapter Fifty Three.

My Visitor.

Two years of hard work rapidly passed away, during which, I suppose, I made rapid progress in my profession, and also had the satisfaction of seeing Hallett’s machine grow towards perfection.

It had progressed slowly, in spite of the energy brought to bear, for Hallett toiled at it patiently and well; but the work was for the most part out of his hands now.

I had introduced him to Mr Girtley, who at once took a great deal of interest in the scheme, but who rather damped us at first by pointing out weaknesses, not of principle, but of construction, and at once proposed that before the great machine itself was attempted, a working model, four times the size of that laboriously constructed by Hallett, should be made.

“It means time and expense, Mr Hallett,” he said, “but over new things we must be slow and sure. For instance, there will be great stress upon certain parts—here—here—and here. I can say to you now that these parts must be greatly strengthened, and I could make certain calculations, but we can only learn by experience what is to be done.”

There was so much good sense in this, that Hallett at once agreed, and Mr Jabez of course nodded approval; and though it took a long time, the trial of the little machine fully bore out Mr Girtley’s prophecies; so that great modifications had to be made.

“Yes,” said Mr Girtley, after the trial, “it is discouraging, certainly; but is it not better than having a breakdown just when your hopes are highest?”

“Yes, but new moulds can be made, and you will go on at once,” said Hallett eagerly.

“Yes, the moulds shall be made, and we will go on at once.”

“Mr Girtley thought me very impatient, Antony,” said Hallett, as we walked steadily back from Great George Street, where the little machine had been set up; “but there are bounds to every one’s patience, and I feel sometimes as if the idol I have been trying to set up will not be finished in my time.”

“Nonsense?” I cried cheerily, “I guarantee it shall be. I’m to have a lot of superintending to do, Hallett, and I’ll leave no stone unturned to get it on.”

“Thank you, Antony,” he said, “do your best. I grieve for poor Mr Jabez more than for myself. Two hundred and fifty pounds of his money gone, and he has nothing yet before him in return but an unsubstantial shadow.”

Miss Carr had been a good deal away from England during this time, visiting her sister, who twice over returned with her to stay at Westmouth Street. I had, however, kept her fully informed about the progress made by Hallett. In fact, she knew my innermost life, and as much of the Halletts’ as I knew myself. Those were pleasant days, though, when she was at home, much of my time being spent with her; and though I found that Lister had made several attempts to see her, and had written continually, he had never been successful.

I learned, too, that Mr Ruddle had interfered in concert with some distant relatives of Miss Carr, and they had pretty well coerced Lister into more reasonable behaviour.

He evidently, however, lived in the hope of yet resuming his old relationship with Miss Carr, little dreaming how well acquainted she was with his character, for, in no tale-bearing spirit, but in accordance with her wish, that she should know everything in connection with my daily life, I had told her of Lister’s continued underhanded pursuit of Linny, news which I afterwards found had come to her almost in company with imploring letters, full of love, passion and repentance.

When I look back upon that portion of my life, it all seems now like a dream of pleasure, that glided away as if by magic. I had no troubles—no cares of my own, save such as I felt by a kind of reflex action. I was young, active, and full of eagerness. Hallett’s enterprise seemed to be almost my own, and I looked forward to its success as eagerly as he did himself.

The house at Great Ormond Street was a far less solemn place now than it used to be, and many and bright were the evenings we spent together. Hallett seemed less sad and self-contained, as he saw his mother take a little interest in the group that used to form about her chair. For Mr Jabez appeared to have become quite a new man, and there were not many evenings that he did not spend at the Halletts’.

“Business, you see, Grace,” he used to say, with a dry chuckle. “I must be on the spot to talk over the machine with Hallett;” but somehow very little used to be said about business: for very often after the first introduction by the old man, there used to be a snug rubber at whist, in which he and Mrs Hallett would be partners against Linny and Tom Girtley.

For Tom used to come a great, deal in those days to see me. He used to tell me, with a laughing light in his eye, that he was sure I must be very dull there of an evening, and that it was quite out of kindness to me. But, somehow or another, I suppose through my neglect, and the interest I took in Hallett’s work, he used to be driven upstairs, where his bright, hearty ways made him always welcome. For after what looked like dead opposition at first, Tom quite won Mr Jabez over to his side; and, save and excepting a few squabbles now and then, which Mrs Hallett took seriously, and which afforded Linny intense amusement, Mr Jabez and Tom became the best of friends.

“I don’t think he’s such a very bad sort of fellow, as boys go, Grace,” Mr Jabez said; “but look here, my boy, do you see how the land lies?”

“What do you mean, Mr Rowle?” I said laughing; “that Tom and Linny seem to be getting very fond of one another?”

“Yes,” he said, tapping me on the breast-bone with his snuff-box. “I spoke to Hallett about it last night, and he said he was not sorry.”

“Of course not. I am sure he likes Tom,” I said thoughtfully, as I saw how great an alteration had come about at the house, for Linny used to sing about the place now like a bird, and Mary watched over her like a dragon. In fact, Mary was a wonderful institution at Great Ormond Street, and even Mrs Hallett was afraid of her, in so much that Mary’s practical ways seemed quite to silence her murmurings, and make her take a more cheerful view of life.

“But look here, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, “don’t you be a young fool. You don’t want to grow into an old bachelor like I am.”

“I don’t know that I do,” I said.

“Then about Linny: does it suit your book for that big child to be coming here and cutting the ground from under your feet?”

“Cutting the ground from under my feet?” I said merrily. “Why, what do you mean, Mr Jabez?”

“I mean, don’t you be a young noodle, and play with your opportunities. Linny’s a very nice little girl, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if some day she had a few—perhaps a good many hundreds of her own. I tell you what it is, Grace, my boy, I shouldn’t be a bit displeased if you were to play your cards right, and make a match of it with that little girl.”

“And I hope, Mr Rowle, you would not be a bit displeased if I did not do anything of the sort?”

“H’m-m! No! I don’t know that I should, boy. But, hang it all, you are not. You have not any one else in your eye. You are not thinking about Miss Carr, are you, you puppy?”

I burst out into a hearty fit of laughter.

“No, Mr Rowle,” I said merrily. “I never think about such matters, and between ourselves,” I said with much severity, “I am surprised to find a quiet elderly gentleman like you taking to match-making.”

“Get out, you young dog!” he cried. “There, just as you like, only I thought I’d see how you felt about it, that’s all.”

Mr Rowle’s words set me thinking, and I could not help seeing that though there was no love-making, or anything out of the ordinary way in their every-day intercourse, Linny’s old sorrow had been completely swept away, and she evidently looked upon Tom as a very great friend.

I was in my own room one evening reporting progress to Hallett, who had just come in from the office where he still worked as an ordinary journeyman. Mr Jabez was upstairs with Tom Girtley, and a quiet rubber of whist was in progress, when Mary came up into the room to announce that there was some one downstairs who wanted to see me.

“Who is it, Mary?” I said.

Mary glanced at Hallett, who saw the look and rose to go.

“Don’t you run away, Hallett,” I cried. “I’ve no one to see me whom you need not know.”

I stopped there, for the thought flashed across my mind that it might be some one from Miss Carr, or perhaps it might be something to do with John Lister.

He saw my hesitation, and said quietly:

“I shall be upstairs if you want me, Antony. I think I will go now.”

He left the room.

“Well, Mary, who’s the mysterious stranger?” I said.

“Oh, Master Antony,” she cried excitedly, “whoever do you think it is? I hope it don’t mean trouble. Some one from the country.”

“Not Blakeford?” I exclaimed, with all my budding manhood seeming to be frozen down on the instant, and my boyish dread ready to return.

“No, my dear, not old Blakeford,” she said; “but that other old Mr Rowle.”

“Old Mr Rowle!” I cried excitedly, as, like a flash, all my former intercourse with him darted back—the day when he came and took possession of our dear home; our meals together; the bit of dinner in the summer-house; and his kindly help with money and advice when I was about to run away. Why, I felt that it was to him that I owed all my success in life, and my heart smote me as I thought of my ingratitude, and how I seemed to have forgotten him since I had become so prosperous and well-to-do.

“Yes,” said Mary, “old Mr Rowle. He’s standing at the door, my dear; he said he was so shabby he wouldn’t come in.”

Thank God, I was only a boy still, and full of youthful freshness and enthusiasm! I forgot all my dandyism and dress, everything, in the excitement of seeing the old man again; and almost before Mary had done speaking, I was bounding down the stairs to rush through the big hall and catch hold of the little old man standing on the steps.

He seemed to have shrunk; or was it that I had sprung up from the little boy into a young man? I could not tell then. I did not want to tell then; all I knew was that the childish tears were making my eyes dim, that there was a hot choking sensation in my throat, and that I dragged the old man in. We had a struggle over every mat, where he would stop to rub his shoes. I could not speak, only keep on shaking both his hands; and I seemed to keep on shaking them till I had him thrust down by the fire in the easy-chair.

“Why, young ’un,” he said at last, “how you have grown!”

“Why, Mr Rowle,” I said, as soon as I could speak, “I am—I am glad to see you.”

“Are you—are you, young ’un?” he said, getting up out of his chair, picking his hat off the floor, where he had set it down, and putting it on again, while in a dreamy way he ran his eye all over the room, making a mental inventory of the furniture, just as I remembered him to have done of old.

He seemed to be very little, and yellow, and withered, and he was very shabbily dressed, too; but I realised the fact that he was not much altered, as he fixed his eyes once more on me, and repeated:

“Why, young ’un, how you have grow’d!”

“Have I, Mr Rowle?” I said, laughing through my weak tears; for his coming seemed to have brought back so much of the past.

“Wonderful!” he said. “I shouldn’t have know’d you, that I shouldn’t. Why, you’ve grow’d into quite a fine gentleman, that you have, and you used to be about as high as sixpen’orth o’ ha’pence.”

“I was a little fellow,” I said, laughing.

“But you’d got a ’awful lot o’ stuff in you, young ’un,” he said. “But, I say, are you—are you really glad to see me, young ’un—I mean, Mr Grace?”

“Glad to see you?” I cried. “I can’t tell you how glad. But sit down. Here, give me your hat.”

“Gently, young ’un, there’s something in it. Pr’aps I’d better keep it on.”

“No, no,” I cried, catching it from his hands, and forcing him back into the easy-chair.

“Gently, young ’un,” he said, thrusting one hand up the cuff of his long brown coat, which, with its high collar, almost seemed to be the same as the one in which I saw him first—“gently, young ’un,” he said; “you’ve broke my pipe.”

I burst out laughing, and, weak as it may sound, the tears came to my eyes again, as I saw him draw from up his sleeve a long clay pipe broken in three, and once more the old scenes in the deserted rifled house came back.

“Never mind the pipe, Mr Rowle,” I cried. “You shall have a dozen if you like, twice as long as that. But you must be hungry and tired. I am glad to see you.”

“Thankye, young ’un,” he said, smiling; and the old man’s lip quivered a little as he shook my hand. “I didn’t expect it of you, but I thought I’d come and see if you’d forgotten me.”

I ran to the bell, and Mary came up directly, and smiled and nodded at my visitor.

“Mary,” I said, “let’s have some supper directly—a bit of something hot. And, I say, bring up that long pipe of Revitts’—the churchwarden, you know. I’ve got some tobacco.”

“I’ve got a bit of tobacco,” said Mr Rowle, “and—you’ve taken my hat away—there’s something in it. Thankye. I thought, maybe, they might come in useful. They’re quite fresh.”

As he spoke he took out a great yellow silk handkerchief, and from underneath that, fitting pretty tightly in the hat, a damp-looking paper parcel, that proved to contain a couple of pounds of pork sausages, which Mary bore away, and returned directly with a kettle of hot water and a long churchwarden clay pipe, which Mr Rowle proceeded to fill from my tobacco-jar, lit, sat bolt-upright in his chair, and began to smoke.

All the intervening years seemed to have slipped away as I saw the old man sitting there, a wonderfully exact counterpart of Mr Jabez in shabby clothes; and, as his eyes once more wandered round the place, I half expected to see him get up and go all over the house, smoking in each room, and mentally making his inventory of the goods under his charge.

I went to a little cellaret, got out the glasses, spirit-stand, and sugar, and mixed the old man a steaming tumbler, which he took, nodded, and sipped with great satisfaction. Then, puffing contentedly away at his pipe, he said:

“Not all your own, is it?” And his eyes swept over the furniture.

“Yes, to be sure,” I said, laughing at his question, for I took a good deal of pride in my rooms, which were really well furnished.

“You’ve grow’d quite a swell, young ’un,” he said at last; and then stopped smoking suddenly. “I ain’t no right here,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind the pipe.”

“I’m going to have a cigar with you presently,” I said, laughing, “only we’ll have some supper first.”

“Only fancy,” he said; “just a bit of a slip as you was when you made up your mind to cut, and now grow’d up. I should have liked to have seen what come between. You are glad to see me, then?”

“Glad? Of course,” I cried; and then Mary came bustling in to lay the cloth.

“She’s altered, too,” said the old man, who went on smoking away placidly. “Got crummier; and she don’t speak so sharp. Think o’ you two living in the same house.”

“Mary’s my landlady,” I said. “But this is a surprise.”

“Ah! Yes,” he said; “I’ve often thought I’d come up and see Jabez, and look you up same time. I had a bit of a job to find you, for Jabez wasn’t at home.”

“Mr Jabez is here,” I said.

“Yes; they said he’d come to see you, and they wouldn’t give me the address at first. I’d lost it, or forgotten it, but here I am.”

“I’ll go up and tell him you are here,” I cried; and before my visitor could say a word, I had run upstairs and completely upset all Mr Jabez Rowle’s calculations, which might or might not have ended in his gaining the odd trick, and was soon taking him downstairs on the plea or important business.

“Anything the matter, Grace?” he said—“anything wrong with Hallett?”

“No,” I said; “he’s in his bedroom. Come in here.”

If I had expected to startle or surprise Mr Jabez, I should have been disappointed, for, upon entering my room, where his brother was composedly smoking the long clay pipe, with his yellow silk handkerchief spread over his knees, he only said:

“Hallo, Peter, you here?” and went and sat down on the other side of the fire.

“How do, Jabez?” said my old friend, without taking his pipe out of his mouth; and then there was silence, which I did not care to break, but sat down, too, and looked on.

“Come up to-day, Peter?” said Mr Jabez.

“Yes.”

“When are you going back?”

“Don’t know.”

“Oh!”

Then there was a pause.

“Stick to your pipe still,” said Mr Jabez, taking a loud pinch of snuff.

“Yes; never could manage snuff.”

“Oh!”

Here there was another pause, broken once more by Mr Jabez.

“Where are you going to stay?”

“Long o’ you.”

“Oh!”

A great many puffs of smoke followed here, and several pinches of snuff, as the two old men sat on either side of the fire and stared hard at each other, their likeness being now wonderful, as far as their heads were concerned.

“Hard up?” said Mr Jabez at last.

“No. Want to borrow a sov?”

“No,” said Mr Jabez shortly; and there was again a silence.

“I’ll have a drop of gin and water, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, after a very long and awkward pause for me.

I mixed it for him with alacrity.

“You two friendly?” said Mr Peter at last, making a strenuous effort to thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe without removing the waxed end from his lips, but finding it impossible, without apparently swallowing a goodly portion, from the length of the stem.

“Friendly? of course we are. Can’t you see?” replied Mr Jabez snappishly.

“No! How should I know? Like him to know anything about your affairs?” said Mr Peter, turning to me.

“Oh yes,” I said. “Mr Jabez Rowle is a very great friend of mine.”

“Right!” said that individual, giving his head a nod.

“I didn’t come up on purpose to see you, Jabez,” said Mr Peter.

“Who said you did?” snapped Mr Jabez. “What did you come for? About what you said?”

“Yes.”

There was another awkward pause, fortunately broken by Mary, who entered with a tray odorous with hot rump-steak and onions: and as soon as he smelt it, Mr Peter stood his pipe up in the corner of the fireplace, and softly rubbed his hands.

His brother made no scruple about joining the meal, and as the brothers rose, Mr Jabez held out his hand with—

“Well, how are you, Peter?”

“Tidy,” said Mr Peter, and they shook hands as if they were cross with each other, and then they each made a hearty meal.

“Got a latchkey, Jabez?” said Mr Peter, as, after supper, we all drew up round the fire and the visitor from Rowford refilled and lit his pipe, causing Mr Jabez to draw off from him as far as was possible.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“That’s right,” said Mr Peter; “don’t want to go to bed, do you, young ’un?”

“Oh, no,” I said; “I’m too glad to see you again.”

The old man’s eyes twinkled, as he looked at me fixedly.

“Been a good boy, Jabez?” he said at last.

“Who?—me?”

“No, no; young ’un here.”

“Oh, yes. Can’t you see?”

“Thought he would be, or I shouldn’t have sent him.”

“Humph!”

I wanted to talk, but I found that it would be of no use now, so I contented myself with studying the brothers, and, just then, Tom Girtley came in.

“Won’t disturb you,” he said quickly; “just off. Good-night, Mr Rowle, good-night, Tony.”

“Who’s he?” said Mr Peter, as the door closed.

“A friend of mine—a young solicitor.”

“Any good?—Trust him?” said Mr Peter quickly.

“Yes, he is very clever in his profession,” I said wonderingly.

“Call him back, then,” said Mr Peter. “I’ve got something for him to hear.”

Chapter Fifty Four.

Peter Rowle’s Bargain.

I was just in time to call Tom Girtley back as he reached the corner of the street, and he came up into my room, wondering, for the hour was getting late; but he took a chair quietly, and waited for what Mr Peter had to say.

“Well, it ain’t much,” said the latter; “but it may mean a good deal. S’pose, sir, you just cast your eye over them there?” He took a packet of papers, tied with red tape, and docketed, out of his pocket, and passed them over to Tom Girtley, who immediately opened them in a very business-like way, and proceeded rapidly to mentally summarise their contents.

This took him some little time, during which we all sat very still, Mr Peter giving me a very knowing look or two in the interval.

“These are very important documents, sir,” said Tom Girtley quietly. “I must, of course, warn you that I am only a young member of my profession, and wanting in experience; but, as far as I can judge, these are the private memoranda and certain deeds and documents of Mr Edward Grace, of—”

“My father!” I exclaimed excitedly. “How did you get these papers, Mr Rowle?”

“Bought ’em,” said the old gentleman quietly.

“You bought them?”

“To be sure I did. Old Blakeford thought he’d taken possession of all your father’s papers, my boy, after his death, but he didn’t.”

“How did you get them, then?” said Mr Jabez sharply.

“Bought ’em, I tell you. It was like this: old Blakeford put me in possession at the house of a man who had borrowed money of him, and he was going to sell him up—you know his ways, young ’un—I mean Mr Grace. Well, I went there one night, and very wild the poor fellow was, and he went straight to a bureau, that I seemed to have seen before, and began to go over his papers, tying up some and burning others, and going on and calling old Blakeford names all the while. ‘Ah,’ he says, all at once, ‘I bought this writing-table and drawers at Grace’s sale, when Blakeford sold the furniture. Look here,’ he said, ‘this lot of papers was in one of the back drawers. They belonged to old Grace, I suppose,’ and he was about to pitch them into the fire with his own letters and things, of which there was quite a heap.

“‘Don’t do that,’ I says; ‘they may be of value.’

“‘Not they,’ he says; ‘if they’d been worth anything old Blakeford wouldn’t have left them. They aren’t worth tuppence!’

“‘I’ll give you tuppence for them,’ I says.

“‘Pay up,’ he says, and I handed him the twopence, and took the papers. I’ve read ’em, and think they’re worth the money.”

“Worth the money!” cried Tom Girtley; “why, they may be worth ten thousand pounds; but I can say nothing till I have gone into the case; and I daresay it would be necessary to make Mr Blakeford supply some of the connecting links.”

“Which he won’t do,” said Mr Peter quietly.

“Unless he’s obliged,” said Tom Girtley. “There are means of making even a solicitor speak, Mr Rowle,” he continued. “Will you take these papers?”

“No,” said Mr Peter; “give ’em to Mr Grace there. They were his father’s. Blakeford’s pitched me over, because I got old and useless, so I shan’t try to screen him in the least.”

Tom Girtley folded and tied up the papers, and handed them to me but I refused to take them.

“Keep them and study them,” I said; “perhaps they will not prove to be so valuable when you have given them a fresh perusal.”

He nodded and placed the packet in his breast-pocket, all three then rising to go, for it was past twelve, and as Tom Girtley and I stood at the door, we saw the two old men go down the street, arm-in-arm, till they passed by the lamp-post and disappeared. Then, after a hearty good-night, Tom Girtley took his departure, and I went up to bed, to lie for hours thinking about my life with Mr Blakeford, and wondering whether he had defrauded me over the question of my father’s property. I had always felt that I was in his debt, and meant some day to repay him all he said that my father owed; in fact, Miss Carr had been so liberal to me in the way of pocket-money, that I had forty pounds saved up for that purpose; but now this came like a revelation, and there was a delightful feeling of triumph in the idea that I might perhaps bring a thorough scoundrel to book. Then all at once I began to think about Hetty—pretty, gentle little Hetty, who had been so kind to me when I was a miserable unhappy boy, and the hours when I saw her seemed like gleams of light, amongst so much darkness.

What would Hetty be like after all these years, I wondered; and then I began to blame myself for not asking Mr Rowle more about her, and at last, with the memory of the bright affectionate child filling my thoughts, I dropped off to sleep, to dream once more about Mr Blakeford, and that I was on the road, with him in full chase.

It was quite a treat to get out of bed and away from the nightmare-like dreams of the past, and after a sharp walk and breakfast, I made my way round by Mr Jabez Rowle’s lodgings, to have a few words with Mr Peter, before going to Lambeth.

I found the old man alone, smoking a long pipe with his hat on, and his brother gone.

His face lit up as he saw me, and after a little conversation about the past—

“When are you going back to Rowford?” I said.

“Want to get rid of me?” he replied.

“No, no, of course not.”

“Don’t know that I’m going back at all,” he said. “Jabez and I haven’t seen much of each other lately. Think I shall stay.”

“Did—have—did you ever see much of Miss Blakeford?” I said, feeling conscious as I spoke that I was growing hot.

“Often,” said the old man, looking at me intently. “She often asked about you.”

“About me?” I said.

“Yes: how you got on, and whether you were coming back.”

“What is she like now?” I said. “Of course she is not a little girl now.”

“Little girl? No: I should think not. Grow’d into an angel, that’s what she is.”

I could not ask any more, but promising to go in and see him in the evening, I hurried off to the works, thinking that I should very much like to see Hetty Blakeford again, and wondering whether she would see much change in me.

In another hour Rowford was forgotten, and I was deep in the preparations for Hallett’s machine, which was rapidly approaching completion; while a fortnight later I was dining with Miss Carr, and bearing her the news of the successful point to which Hallett had climbed, making her flush with pleasure, as I told her that the machine was to be set up at Mr Ruddle’s place of business, and be tried there.

“Send me word the day and hour of the trial, Antony,” she said, in a low voice.

“Will you come?” I said eagerly.

“No, Antony, no,” she said softly. “I could not come, but I shall pray for a triumphant success.”

She spoke warmly, for she seemed off her guard, and then hurriedly changed the conversation.

Chapter Fifty Five.

The Day of Triumph.

The day of trial came at last; and after a sleepless night, I was trying to make a good breakfast before going down to Mr Ruddle’s with the inventor.

I believe I felt as nervous and excited as Hallett himself; for Mr Ruddle had spoken to me the night before about some unpleasant suspicions that he had.

“I don’t like to accuse any body, Grace,” he said; “but I’m afraid a certain person who shall be nameless has been setting some of the ignorant, drunken loafers of the trade against the machine.”

That was all then, but it was enough to make me uneasy, though I did not believe in the possibility of any trade outrage in the middle of London.

Hallett looked very pale, but I never saw him seem more manly, thoughtful, and handsome, as he stood there in his mother’s room, holding her hands.

“I shall come back, dear,” he said, kissing her tenderly, “telling you of my success. No, no, don’t shake your head. Good-bye, dear, wish me success. Good-bye, Linny, darling! Ah! Mr Girtley, you here?”

“To be sure,” cried Tom Girtley; “I’ve come to wish you success. Linny and I are going to throw old shoes after you. Mind! a champagne supper if you succeed. Tony and I will find the champagne. Hallo! here’s Papa Rowle.”

There was no mistaking that step, without the sound of the old man taking snuff, and he entered directly after; got up in grand style, and with a flower in his button-hole.

He had a bunch of flowers, too, for Mrs Hallett, and a kiss for Linny; and then, shaking hands all round, he began to rub his hands.

“It’s a winner, Hallett—a winner!” he exclaimed. “Come along, Girtley, you’ll make one. We want some big boys to cry ‘Hooray!’”

“I’ll come, then,” said Tom merrily; and directly after we went off, trying to look delighted, but all feeling exceedingly nervous and strange.

Hallett and Girtley went on in front, and Mr Jabez took my arm, holding me a little back.

“I’m glad Girtley’s coming, Grace,” he said; “he’s a big, strong fellow, and we may want him.”

“Why?” I said excitedly.

“I don’t know for certain, my boy, but I’m afraid there’s mischief brewing. I can’t swear to it, but I believe that devil, John Lister, has been stirring up the scoundreldom of the trade, with stuff about the machine taking the bread out of their mouths, and if the trial passes off without a hitch, I shall be surprised.”

“Mr Ruddle hinted something of the kind, last night,” I said.

“Yes, but don’t let Hallett know, poor fellow! He’s weak and ill enough already. He might break down. Ruddle had men watching the place all last night, so as to guard against any malicious attempts.”

“But do you think they would dare to injure the machine?” I exclaimed.

“Fools will do anything if they are set to do it,” said the old man, sententiously.

“If Lister is at the bottom of any such attempts he deserves to be shot,” I cried indignantly.

“And his carcase given to the crows,” said the old man. “But I say, Antony Grace, my boy, is Miss Carr likely to come to see the trial?”

“No,” I replied; “she asked me to let her know the time, but she said she could not come.”

“Humph! I should have liked her to see it,” he said. “But come along; don’t let’s lag behind; and mind this, my ideas may only be suspicions, and worth nothing at all.”

There was a group or two of men hanging about the rival office, bearing Lister’s name, at the end of the street, as we went up to the great building, and as I passed the timekeeper’s box I could not help thinking of the day when, a shivering, nervous boy, I had gone up only to meet with a rebuff; while now one of the first persons to come bustling up, looking very much older, but as pugnacious and important as ever, was Mr Grimstone, who was quite obsequious as he shook hands first with me, and then with Hallett.

“Very, very proud, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “very proud indeed. Great changes since you used to honour us with your assistance.”

“Yes, Mr Grimstone,” I said, laughing as I wondered how I could ever have trembled before him, “and time hasn’t stood still.”

“No, indeed, but we wear well, Mr Jabez Rowle and I, sir. Ha-ha-ha! Yes, old standards, sir, both of us, and we stand by the old establishment. We don’t want to go away inventing great machines.”

“Oh, Grimstone! the men are still there with the machine?” said Mr Ruddle, coming up.

“No, sir, not now. They went off when I came, but I’ve put the new watchman on.”

“Confound it all, Grimstone! You’ve never put a stranger there?” exclaimed Mr Ruddle furiously.

“But I have, sir,” said the overseer importantly. “Here he is, sir. Bramah lock,” and he held out a bright new key.

“Oh, I see,” said Mr Ruddle, laughing. “Here’s Mr Girtley, senior.”

The great engineer came up, nodded to his son and me, shook hands with Hallett, and then we all went to the room where the machine had been set up, glistening, bright, and new, with the shaft and bands of the regular engine gear passing through above it.

The first thing noticed was that the window was open; and annoyed that the mist of a damp morning should be admitted, I hurriedly closed it, thinking then no more of the matter.

It wanted quite an hour to the time appointed, and the interval was employed in superintending the alteration of a few bolts and nuts, which Mr Girtley wanted tightened, and as I watched the great engineer, a man whose name was now an authority throughout Europe, and who was constantly refusing contracts, pull off his coat, take a spanner, and help his men, I began to realise that it was his personal attention to small matters and his watchful supervision that had raised him to his present position.

“Nice hands!” he said, laughing, as he held them out all over blacklead and oil. “Wise lad, you were, Tom, to leave it, and take to your parchment and pounce.”

There was a covert sneer in his words, which Tom seemed to take, for he said quickly:

“Perhaps, father, I may help you as much with my brain as I used to help you with my hands.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my boy, and we must have lawyers. Well, Grace, how do you feel about it now?”

“I think I’d ease that nut a little, sir,” I said, pointing to one part of the machine.

“Why?” he said sharply.

“I fancy that there will be so much stress upon that wheel that it will be better to give it as much freedom as we can, and, perhaps I am wrong, sir, but it strikes me—” I glanced at Hallett, and felt the blood flush to my face, for I felt that what I was about to say must sound very cruel to him.

“Go on, Antony,” he said kindly; but I saw that he was very pale.

“It strikes you?” said Mr Girtley.

“That this is the weak part of the contrivance. Here falls the stress; and, when it is running at full speed, I feel sure that the slight structure of this portion will tell against the machine doing good work, and it may result in its breaking down.”

“Go on,” said Mr Girtley bluntly; for I had stopped, feeling uncomfortable at the dead silence that had fallen upon the group.

“It is not a question of efficiency,” I said, “but one of detail, of substantiality and durability. At first sight it seems as if it would make the machine cumbersome, but I feel sure that if we made that shaft and its wheel four times the thickness—that is to say, excessively massive, we should get a firm, solid regularity in the working, a fourth of the vibration, and be able to dispense with this awkward fly-wheel. My dear Hallett,” I exclaimed hurriedly, as I saw how his pallor had increased, “pray forgive me. I was quite led away by my thoughts. These are but suggestions. I daresay I was wrong.”

“Wrong!” exclaimed Mr Girtley, catching my hand in his, and giving it a grip that made me wince. “Every word you have said, my boy, is worth gold. Tom, I’d have given ten thousand pounds to have heard you speak like that.”

“But then, you see, I could not, father,” said his son good-humouredly. “Antony Grace here is a born engineer, and you’ll have to make him a partner one of these days.”

I hardly heard their words, for my anxiety about Hallett. I seemed to have been trampling upon his hopes, and as if I had been wanting in forethought after having the superintendence of the manufacture for so long.

“I ought to have suggested these alterations before,” I faltered.

“How could you?” said Mr Girtley gruffly. “You only saw the failing just now. I can see it, of course, when you point it out. We only climb by our falls, Grace. Locomotives were only got to their present perfection after no end of failures. Well, Mr Hallett, what do you say?”

“Antony Grace is quite right,” he replied. “That is undoubtedly a failing spot, and where, if driven at high speed, the machine would break down. I have had no training as an engineer, and have had to work blindfold, and in the midst of difficulties.”

“Mr Hallett,” said the great engineer, “I have had training as an engineer—a long and arduous training—and I tell you that if you had had twice as much experience as I, you would not have succeeded with your contrivance the very first time. I threw myself into this affair as soon as I saw it, for I felt that it was one of those machines that make their mark in history; and now that we are going to try it, even if it does not come up to our expectations, I say, don’t be discouraged, for I tell you it must and will succeed. I’m not a proud man, as a rule, but I am proud of my reputation, and if money is wanted to bring your great invention to perfection, the cash shall be forthcoming, even if we have to borrow.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Mr Jabez, and a slight flush appeared in Hallett’s pale face.

“I’m very sorry I spoke, Hallett,” I whispered to him, as I took his hand.

“What, for giving me such great help?” he said, smiling. “You foolish fellow, Antony, I am not a spoilt child, that I cannot bear to listen to my mistakes.”

Our conversation was broken off here; for just then a couple of gentlemen arrived, and these were followed by others, till the room was quite full. For invitations had been sent out to some of the principal printers and newspaper proprietors to come and see the testing of the new machine.

Hallett, as the patentee, had to throw off his reserve, and come, as it were, out of his shell to answer questions, and point out the various peculiarities and advantages of his machine, all of which I noticed were received with a good deal of reserve; and there was a shrug of the shoulders here, a raising of the eyebrows there, while one coarse-minded fellow said brutally:

“Plaything, gentlemen, plaything. Such a machine cannot possibly answer. The whole principle is wrong, and it must break own.”

I was so annoyed at this bitter judgment, delivered by one who had not even a superficial knowledge of its properties, that I said quickly, and foolishly, I grant:

“That is what brainless people said of the steam-engine.”

“O!” he said sharply, “is it, boy? Well, you must know: you are so old and wise. Well, come, gentlemen, I have no time to waste. When is your plaything to be set going, Mr Ruddle?”

“Now,” said Hallett quietly, as he silenced me with a look, just as, like the foolish enthusiastic boy I was, some hot passionate retort was about to escape my lips.

Mr Girtley nodded, and he gave a glance round the machine. Then he looked up at the shaft that was revolving above our heads, and took hold of the great leather band that was to connect it with our machine, and I noticed that everyone but Hallett and myself drew back.

I was so angry and excited that if I had known that the whole machine was about to fly to pieces, I don’t think I should have stirred. Then, biting my lips, as I heard a derisive laugh from the Solon who had annoyed me, I saw Mr Girtley give the band that peculiar twitch born of long custom, when an undulation ran up the stout leather, it fitted itself, as it were, over both wheels; there was a rapid whirring noise, and the next instant the great heavy mass of machinery seemed as it were to breathe as it throbbed and panted, and its great cylinders revolved.

There was the glistening of the polished iron and brass, the twinkling of the well-oiled portions, the huge roll of paper began to turn, and I saw its virgin whiteness stamped directly after with thousands of lines of language. My doubts of success died away, and a hearty cheer broke forth from the assembled party; and then, as I felt a fervent wish that Miss Carr had been present to see our triumph, there was a horrible grinding, sickening crash; broken wheels flew here and there; bar and crank were bent in horrible distortion; there was an instantaneous stoppage of everything but the great fly-wheel, which, as if in derision, went spinning on, and there lay poor Hallett stunned and bleeding upon the floor.

“Foul play—foul play!” roared Mr Girtley, in a voice of thunder, in the midst of the ominous silence. “I was too late to stop the machine. Some scoundrel had placed a great pin underneath, and I saw it fall. Here, look! Here!” he roared, as he stamped with rage; and he pointed to a round bent bar of iron, such as is used to screw down a paper press. “There it is. It was placed on that ledge, so that it might fall with the jar. Mr Ruddle, this is some of your men’s work, and, blast them! they deserve to be hanged.”

Chapter Fifty Six.

John Lister’s Triumph.

As Mr Girtley roared those words a sudden thought flashed through my mind, and I ran to the window, threw it open, and, as I did so, there beneath me, reaching down to the low roof of a building below, was a ladder, showing plainly enough the road by which the enemy had crept in.

From where I stood I looked out upon the backs of a score of buildings; printing-offices, warehouses, and the like, and at the window of one of these buildings I saw a couple of men, one of whom I felt certain was some one I had seen before, but where, I could not tell.

I was back and beside poor Hallett directly, giving both Mr Girtley and Tom a look which sent them to the window, to see that there was no doubt how the misfortune had occurred; but I was too much taken up with Hallett’s condition to say more then.

“Is he much hurt?” cried first one and then another.

“Looks like a judgment on him,” said the heavy, broad-faced man with whom I had had my short, verbal encounter.

“Why?” said Tom Girtley sharply.

“Inventing gimcrack things like that,” said the fellow in a tone of contempt, “to try and take the bread out of honest men’s mouths.”

“Good heavens! man, leave the room!” cried Mr Girtley in a rage. “Go and take off your clothes; they’ve been made by machinery! Go and grub up roots with your dirty fingers! don’t dig them with a spade—it’s a machine! Go and exist, and grovel like a toad or a slug, or any other noisome creature; you are not fit for the society of men!”

The brute was about to reply, but there was such a shout of laughter at Mr Girtley’s denunciation and its truthfulness, that he hurried out of the place, just as Hallett sat up and stared round.

“No,” he said, “not much hurt; I’m better now. A piece of iron struck me on the head. It is a mere nothing. Stunned me, I suppose.”

He rose as he spoke, and there was a silence no one cared to break, as he looked at the wreck of his machine.

“Another failure, Mr Rowle,” he said sadly; and he took the old man’s hand, as if he were the one who needed all the sympathy. “I am very, very sorry—for your sake. I cannot say more now.”

“One word, Mr Hallett,” said the great engineer. “Do you know that this is all through malice?”

“Malice? No.”

“Some scoundrel has been here and thrust in this bar of iron. Gentlemen,” he said, looking round, “this is an unfortunate affair; but I speak to you as leading members of the printing business, and I tell you that Mr Hallett’s invention here means success, and a revolution in the trade,—This is a case of wanton destruction, the act of some contemptible scoundrel. You have seen the ruin here of something built up by immense labour, but I pledge you my word—my reputation—that before six months are past another and a better machine shall be running before you—perfect.”