E. W. Hornung

It was the following morning that Harry Ringrose received a first return for the many letters he had written in answer to advertisements seen in the Public Library. The advertisement had been for an articled clerk. The clerk was to be articled on really "exceptional terms" (duly specified), and a "public-school boy" was "preferred." It was, in fact, the likeliest advertisement Harry had seen, and its possibilities were not altogether dissipated by the communication now received:—

"Dear Sir,—We beg to acknowledge your letter of the 19th instant, and to say that this is an increasing business, and that we require further assistance in it. You would have an opportunity of thoroughly learning the whole business under the supervision of Mr. Shuttleworth himself; would accompany him to the various courts, and eventually other arrangements might be made. You will notice that the premium is only fifty guineas, which will be returned in salary—a very unusual thing.

"Perhaps you will give me a call at your early convenience, of which we shall be glad to have notice, as we must take someone at once.

"Yours faithfully,

"Walter Shuttleworth & Co."

Like most of his correspondence, this letter was read by Harry to his mother, who looked up at him as though his fortune were already made. She had been in favour of the Law all along, and she was prepared to break into her capital for the fifty guineas' premium and for the eighty pounds for stamps. It would decrease their income by a few pounds, but if Harry were getting a good salary they would be the gainers by the difference. In any case he must telegraph to these people without a moment's loss of time—he must see Mr. Shuttleworth before starting for Guildford that afternoon. His bag should be ready immediately, and, as he also wanted to see Mr. Lowndes, he could leave it in Leadenhall Street and pop in for it afterwards on his way to Waterloo.

Such was his mother's advice, and Harry took it to the letter. The bag was his father's dressing-bag, which Mrs. Ringrose said would make a good appearance at Mr. Innes's. It was heavy with silver-mounted fittings, but there was just room for Harry's dress suit, which made it heavier still. Consequently the way from Aldgate to Leadenhall Street had never seemed so long before, and Harry was thankful when he and the bag were at last aloft in Lowndes's office. Here he instantly forgot his wet forehead and his aching arm. He had dropped in upon the queerest scene.

Gordon Lowndes was in the inner office. Harry saw him through the open door, and his first impression was that Lowndes had been up all night. He was still in evening dress. The very hat and Inverness, in which Harry had seen the last of him at eleven the night before, completed his attire at eleven this morning. There was one quaint difference: instead of a white bow he wore a blue scarf tied in an ordinary knot, which stultified the whole costume. Harry looked hard. Lowndes was looking even harder at him, with a kind of what-do-you-want glare. But he was palpably sober; he wore every sign of the man who had slept heartily and risen in his vigour, and in an instant his features had relaxed and his hands lay affectionately on Harry's shoulders.

"Well, Ringrose, my boy, what brought you along so early? And what have you got there?"

"It's my bag," said Harry. "I'm going down to Guildford for a day or two, but I've got to see a man this morning, and I thought I might leave it here in the meantime. May I?"

"Surely, Ringrose, surely. Come inside; I've got my daughter here. My dear, here's Harry Ringrose, and this is his bag. Gad! but it's heavy!"

Miss Lowndes blushed painfully as she shook hands with Harry. Her other arm was held behind her back with incriminating care.

"Now, my dear," said Lowndes, briskly, "since we are bowled out let's be bowled out. Ringrose is bound to know the truth sooner or later, so he may as well know it now." And with a rough laugh he snatched from behind his daughter's back the shiny old clothes in which he had called at the flat the previous morning.

Harry thought that the best thing he could do was to join in the laugh. Next moment his heart smote him, for Miss Lowndes had turned her back and stood looking at the window: not through it: it was opaque with grime.

"Fact is, Ringrose." continued Lowndes, "the noble Earl is trying to play me false. He won't keep it up, mind you; he's in too deep with me to dare; but he's trying it on. Yesterday was the day we were to fix things up for good and all. I wasn't sure of him, Ringrose; he's shown himself a slippery old cuss too often. However, I had raised a breath of wind since I saw you last, and I had a fiver left, so I thought we'd make sure of our little spree. Blue your last fiver—that's my rule. Never count the odds in the day of battle, and blue your last fiver for luck! If you don't blue that fiver you may never have another to blue, and I'm hanged if you deserve one! Well, that was my last fiver we blued last night. Don't look like that, man—I tell you I blued it for luck. The luck hasn't come yet, but you may bet your shirt it's on the way. You'll see the noble Earl trot back to heel when I threaten to expose him if he doesn't! Why, I've got letters from him that would make him the laughing-stock of the Lords; yet he leaves me one crying off in so many words, and has cleared for the Mediterranean in his yacht. Either he'll come back within a week, Ringrose, and go through with the Company, or by God he shall pay through the nose for breaking his word and wasting my time! But I see you looking at my toilet. It is a bit of an anachronism, I confess."

"I suppose you have been sitting up all night," said Harry. "I'm not surprised after what you tell me."

Lowndes guffawed.

"You'll never find me doing that!" he cried. "I leave the sitting up to my creditors! They'll sit up pretty slick before I've done with 'em—so will the noble Earl. Now let me enlighten you. You remember all those clothes I ordered from your trustful tailors, and how I told you never to neglect a good credit? Well, to give you a practical illustration of the merits of my advice, I've been living on those clothes ever since. I have so! Yesterday this time the whole boiling were up the spout. I just got out the dress-suit and this Inverness for one night only, and changed into them up here. Now I've got to put them in pop again, and that's why you find me with them on. Do you follow me, Ringrose? Those good old duds are the only garments I've got in the world—thanks to the so-called Right Honourable the Earl of Banff."

Harry could not smile. He was thinking of his tailors, and he shuddered to remember that Lowndes had also borrowed five pounds in hard cash from the accommodating firm. Harry had dazzling visions of eventual trouble and responsibility; then his eyes stole over to the forlorn figure by the window; and it was quivering in a way that cut him to the heart.

"You may like to blue your last fiver," he turned to Lowndes and cried; "but I wish to heaven you hadn't blued it on us! As for my mother, when she hears——"

"Don't tell her, Mr. Ringrose!" cried a breaking voice. "I shall die of shame if she ever knows."

Fanny Lowndes had turned about with her fine eyes drowned in tears, her strong hands clutched together in an agony of entreaty; and just then Harry felt that he could forgive her father much, but never for the grief and shame which he first heaped upon the girl, and then forced her to display.

"It's a queer thing, Ringrose," observed Lowndes, "that women never can be got to take a sensible view of these matters. Your mother—my daughter—they're every one of them alike."

He swung on his heel with a shrug, and went into the outer office to meet his friend Backhouse, who here returned from the usual errand. A trembling hand fell on Harry's arm.

"Do not think the worst of him!" whispered Fanny.

"It is only on your account," was his reply.

"But he is so good to me!"

"Yet yesterday he let you think that all was well."

"He wanted to give me a pleasure while he could."

Harry looked in the brave wet eyes, and his heart gave a sudden bound.

"How staunch you are!" he murmured. "He is a lucky man who has you at his back!"

Then he followed her father into the outer office, saying he must go, but that he would be back in an hour for his bag.

He was back in less.

His interview with Messrs. Walter Shuttleworth (one gentleman) had proved but little more satisfactory than any of his other interviews. Still, here was a man who had need of Harry, and that was something. He was the first. Harry rather took to him. He was a dashing young fellow, a public-school man; and it was a public-school man such as Harry that he wanted in his office. At present he appeared to keep but one juvenile clerk, a size larger than Lowndes's—and he had no partner. This was the opening which was dimly and dexterously held out to Harry as an ultimate probability. And for one dazzling moment Harry felt that here was his chance in life at last. But when he came to ask questions, the fabric fell to pieces like all the rest, and he knew that he was sitting in Mr. Shuttleworth's office for the last time as well as for the first. For, though the premium was to be returned "in salary," it would only be returned during the last twelvemonth of Harry's articles, and for four weary years he must work for nothing. He shook his head; he was bitterly disappointed. He was then told that the proposed arrangement was an offer in a thousand; but that he knew. He took his hat, simply saying he could never afford it. But he was asked to think it over and to write again, for he was just the sort of fellow for the place; and this he promised to do, because it seemed just the sort of place for him.

Mr. Backhouse had stumped into the office as Harry was leaving, and now Harry met him stumping out. It was this that showed him that he had been less than an hour away. But Lowndes had found time to array himself once more in his "good old duds," to put his dress-suit back into pawn, and to run through Leadenhall Market with Fanny before packing her back to Richmond. And now he was ready to listen to Harry, and very anxious to know how he had got on, and with whom, and where, and what it had all been about.

Harry told him everything. He was only too glad to do so, since however Lowndes might misuse his wits and talents in his own affairs, they were ever at the service of his friends, and it seemed but right that someone should have the benefit of those capital parts. The boy had felt differently an hour before, but now he needed advice, and here was Lowndes as eager as ever to advise. As usual, he saw to the heart of the matter long ere the whole had been laid before him. Ten to one, he said, the thing was past praying for now; it depended, however, on how strong a fancy this lawyer had taken to Ringrose, for he was by no means the only public-school boy to be had in London. His best policy now was to write a letter which should heighten that fancy, while it set forth his own circumstances and needs more explicitly than Harry appeared to have done in the interview. That would get at the man's heart, if he had one, and if not there was no further chance. Such a letter was eventually written at Lowndes's dictation; but Harry never felt comfortable about it; and it was only the sore necessity of employment that prevailed upon him to let Lowndes post it as they were both on their way out to luncheon.

They lunched at Crosby Hall. Harry took little because he meant to pay. Lowndes, however, would not hear of that, and Harry had to give way on the point, little as he liked doing so in the circumstances. They then left the place arm-in-arm, but in the street Lowndes withdrew his hand and held it out.

"I won't drag you out of your way again," said he, "especially as I have a lot of letters to write this afternoon. Good-day to you, Ringrose."

"You forget my bag," said Harry, smiling.

"What about it?"

"I left it in your office."

"In my office? To be sure, so you did. And now I think of it, I've got something to say to you about your bag."

Harry wondered what. Evidently it was something he preferred not to say in the street, for Lowndes strode along with a square jaw and a face frowning with thought. Backhouse was at the desk. Lowndes put down sixpence and told him to buy himself an irregular. Backhouse limped out, shutting the door, and they were alone. Harry could not see his bag.

"Ringrose," said Lowndes, "I've stood by you and yours in the day of battle, and now it's your turn to stand by me and mine. You can't conceive what a hole we've been in. Not a penny piece in the house down yonder—not a crust—not a bone. I came in this morning to raise a few shillings by hook or crook, and I brought in my daughter so as to send her back with enough to buy the bare necessary. I tried Bacchus, but he swears he's getting his drinks on tick. I tried the caretaker, but I've stuck her so often that she wouldn't be stuck again. I knew it was no use trying you, Ringrose, yet I knew you would want to help me, so I'll tell you what I've done. I've run in that bag of yours along with my dress-suit."

"You didn't pawn it?"

"Certainly I did."

"You mean to tell me——"

"Kindly lower your voice. If you want the office-boy to hear what you're saying, I don't. I mean to tell you that the situation was desperate, and your bag has saved it for the time being. I mean to tell you that I'd pawn the shirt off my back to get you out of half as bad a hole as I've been in this morning. Come, Ringrose, I thought you were sportsman enough to stand by the man who has stood by you?"

Harry's indignation knew no bounds, and yet the plausibility of the older man told upon him even in his heat.

"I am ready enough to stand by you," he cried, "but this is a different thing. I freely acknowledge your kindness to my mother and myself, but it doesn't give you the right to put my things in pawn, and you must get them out again at once."

"My good fellow," said Lowndes, "I fully intend to do so. I have sent an urgent letter to the noble Earl's solicitors this very morning, telling them of the straits to which the old villain has reduced me, and of the steps I intend to take failing a proper and immediate indemnification. I haven't the least doubt that they will send me a cheque on account before the day's out, and then I shall instantly send round for your bag."

Harry shook off the hand that had been laid upon his arm, and pulled out his watch.

"It's twenty to three," said he quietly. "I leave Waterloo by the five-forty, and my bag leaves with me. Let there be no misunderstanding about that, Mr. Lowndes. I must have it by five o'clock—not a minute later."

"Why must you? Surely they could fix you up for one night? I guarantee it won't be longer."

"They dress for dinner down at Guildford," said Harry; "it isn't the fixing up for the night."

"Well, why not lose your bag on the way? Nothing more natural in a young fellow of your age."

Harry lost his temper instead.

"Look here, Mr. Lowndes, you have been a good friend to us, as you say. You were a good friend to us last night. You've been a good friend to me this very day. But I simply can't conceive how you could go and do a thing like this; and I must have my bag by five o'clock, or we shall be friends no longer."

There was heat enough and fire enough in the young fellow's tone to bring blood to the cheek of an older man so spoken to. Lowndes looked delighted; he even clapped his hands.

"Well said, Ringrose; said like a sportsman!" he cried. "I like to hear a young chap talk out straight from the chest like that. I think all the more of you, my son, and you shall have your old bag by five o'clock if I bust for it. Only look here: don't you be angry with your grandfather!"

Harry burst out laughing in his own despite.

"It's impossible to be angry with you," he said. "Still, I must——"

"I see you must. So I'll jump into a hansom and I'll raise the fiver to redeem your bag if I have to drive all over the City of London for it!"

Harry laughed again, and sat down to wait as Lowndes went clattering down the stone stair-case. And as he sat there alone he suddenly grew pale. In his rage with Lowndes he had forgotten Lowndes's daughter, and now the thought of her turned his heart sick. He found it possible to forgive the father for an indictable offence. It should have been comparatively easy to forgive the daughter for receiving in her sore need the virtual proceeds of that crime. Yet the thought that she had done so was intolerable to him, and his heart began a sudden tattoo as a stiff step was heard ascending the stairs.

"Mr. Backhouse," said Harry, as that worthy reappeared, "I want a plain answer to a plain question."

"I shall be delighted to give you one," said Mr. Backhouse, "if it is in my power, sir."

"Do you know where my bag is?"

Mr. Backhouse said nothing.

"Then I see you do," cried Harry; "and so do I; and that was not my question at all. Did Miss Lowndes know about it?"

"No, sir."

"You are sure?"

"Certain! She never saw him take it out; he took jolly good care she shouldn't; and he came back with a yarn as long as your leg to account for the money."

Harry's feelings were a revelation to himself; they were the beginning of the greatest revelation of his life. But he cloaked them carefully and passed the better part of an hour reading the newspaper and exchanging an occasional remark with the lessee of the office. And no later than a quarter to four, which was long before Harry expected him, Lowndes was back. But he looked baffled, and there was no bag in his hand.

"Will either of you fellows lend me five bob for the cab?" he panted. "I've been all over the City of London."

Mr. Backhouse shook his head.

"And I can't," said Harry, "for I have barely enough to take me down to Guildford and back."

"Then we must keep him waiting too. Here, Jimmy"—to the office-child—"you stand by to take a telegram. Now, Ringrose, you're going to see me play trumps. Old Bacchus has seen 'em before." Indeed, that specimen's unwholesome face was already wreathed in dissipated grins.

Lowndes seized a telegram form, sat down with his hat on the back of his head, and began writing and talking at the same time.

"Like you, Ringrose, I have a near relative in the Church. An own brother, my boy, who cut me off with a text more years ago than I care to count, and hasn't spoken to me since. He's about as High as that uncle of yours is Low, but luckily there's one point on which even the parsons think alike. They funk a family scandal even more than other folks, and they funk it most when they have episcopal aspirations like my precious brother. What d'ye think of this for him, boys? 'Wire solicitors pay me fiver by five o'clock or I shall never see six.—Gordon Lowndes.' What price that for an ace of trumps? Not many parsons would care to go into the witness-box and read that out at their own brother's inquest—eh, Ringrose?"

Harry only stared.

"Too many fives," objected Mr. Backhouse, with an air of literary censorship. "Make it a tenner."

"Most noble Bacchus! For every reason, a tenner it is."

"And it's too obscure, that about never seeing six. Six what? I know what you mean, but trust a parson to miss the point. Your last was much better—that about the police in the outer office."

"We can't play the police twice. It's suicide or nothing this time—but hold on!" He seized another form and scribbled furiously. "How about this, then? 'Wire solicitors pay me ten pounds immediately or I am a dead man by 5.15.—Gordon.' That'll give you time to do it, Ringrose, with a good hansom."

"Oh, I daresay there's another train," said Harry. "And candidly, Mr. Lowndes, rather than drive you to this sort of thing, I should prefer to say I've lost my luggage and be done with it."

"Not a bit of it, my good fellow. I've got you into this mess, and I'll get you out again or know the reason why. I assure you, Ringrose, I'm quite enjoying it. Besides, there'll be a fiver over, thanks to old Bacchus here. Jimmy, run like sin with this telegram. Don't say you haven't a bob, Bacchus? Good man, you shall reap your reward when we've got this boy his blessed bag."

Lowndes waited until half-past four, talking boisterously the whole time. Harry had never heard him tell more engaging stories, nor come out with better phrases. At the half-hour, however, he drove off in his long-suffering hansom to his brother's solicitors. And by a quarter-past five he was back, in the same hansom, with the bag on top.

Harry met him down below.

"Here you are, my son!" cried Gordon Lowndes, jumping out with his face all flushed with triumph and twitching with glee. "That reverend brother of mine has never been known to fail when approached in a diplomatic manner—no more will your reverend uncle, if you try my tip on him! No, boy, it shall never happen again: jump in, and you've heaps of time. Cabby, take this gentleman on to Waterloo main line, and I'll pay for the lot. Will fifteen bob do you?"

"Thank'ee, sir, it'll do very well."

And Harry drove off with his hand aching from a pressure which he had, indeed, returned; almost forgetting the enormity of the other's offence in the zest, humour, and promptitude of the amend; and actually feeling, for the moment, under a fresh obligation to Gordon Lowndes.