Post Haste Part 36

"Bizness!" exclaimed Mrs Flint. "Weel, weel, they lay heavy burdens on 'ee at that Post-Office. Night an' day--night an' day. They've maist killed my Solomon. They've muckle to answer for."

In her indignation she clenched her fist and brought it down on her knee. Unfortunately the cat came between the fist and the knee. With its usual remonstrative mew it fled and found a place of rest and refuge in the coal-box.

"But it's not to the Post-Office we're goin', grannie," said Phil, laying his hand kindly on the old woman's shoulder.

"What o' that? what o' that?" she exclaimed somewhat testily at being corrected, "has that onything to dae wi' the argiment? If ye git yer feet wat, bairns, mind to chynge them--an' whatever ye dae--"

She stopped suddenly. One glance at her placid old countenance sufficed to show that she had retired to the previous century, from which nothing now could recall her except sausages. The youths therefore went out.

Meanwhile Mr Enoch Blurt sat in his brother's back shop entertaining a visitor. The shop itself had, for a considerable time past, been put under the care of an overgrown boy, who might--by courtesy and a powerful stretch of truth--have been styled a young man.

Jiggs--he appeared to have no other name--was simply what men style a born idiot: not sufficiently so to be eligible for an asylum, but far enough gone to be next to useless. Mr Blurt had picked him up somewhere, in a philanthropic way--no one ever knew how or where--during one of his many searches after George Aspel. Poor Mr Blurt was not happy in his selection of men or boys. Four of the latter whom he had engaged to attend the shop and learn the business had been dismissed for rough play with the specimens, or making free with the till when a few coppers chanced to be in it. They had failed, also, to learn the business; chiefly because there was no business to learn, and Mr Enoch Blurt did not know how to teach it. When he came in contact with Jiggs, Mr Blurt believed he had at last secured a prize, and confided that belief to Mrs Murridge. So he had, as regards honesty. Jiggs was honest to the core; but as to other matters he was defective--to say the least. He could, however, put up and take down the shutters, call Mr Blurt down-stairs if wanted--which he never was; and tell customers, when he was out, to call again--which he never did, as customers never darkened the door. Jiggs, however, formed a sufficient scarecrow to street boys and thieves.

The visitor in the back shop--to whom we now return--was no less a personage than Miss Gentle, whose acquaintance Mr Blurt had made on board the ill-fated mail steamer _Trident_. That lady had chanced, some weeks before, to pa.s.s the ornithological shop, and, looking in, was struck dumb by the sight of the never-forgotten fellow-pa.s.senger who had made her a confidant. Recovering speech, she entered the shop and introduced herself. The introduction was needless. Mr Blurt recognised her at once, dropped his paper, extended both hands, gave her a welcome that brought even Jiggs back to the verge of sanity, and had her into the back shop, whence he expelled Mrs Murridge to some other and little-known region of the interior.

The interview was so agreeable that Mr Blurt begged it might be repeated. It was repeated four times. The fifth time it was repeated by special arrangement in the evening, for the purpose of talking over a business matter.

"I fear, Miss Gentle," began Mr Blurt, when his visitor was seated in the back shop, and Mrs Murridge had been expelled to the rear as usual, and Jiggs had been left on guard in the front--"I fear that you may think it rude in me to make such a proposal, but I am driven to it by necessity, and--the fact is, I want you to become a nurse."

"A nurse, Mr Blurt!"

"There, now, don't take offence. It's below your position, I dare say, but I have gathered from you that your circ.u.mstances are not--are not-- not exactly luxurious, and,--in short, my poor brother Fred is a hopeless invalid. The doctors say he will never be able to leave his bed. Ah! if those diamonds I once spoke to you about had only been mine still, instead of adorning the caves of crabs and fishes, Miss Gentle, I would have had half-a-dozen of the best nurses in London for dear Fred.

But the diamonds are gone! I am a poor man, a very poor man, Miss Gentle, and I cannot afford a good nurse. At the same time, I cannot bear to think of Fred being, even for a brief period, at the mercy of cheap nurses, who, like other wares, are bad when cheap--although, of course, there may be a few good ones even among the cheap. What I cannot buy, therefore, I must beg; and I have come to you, as one with a gentle and pitiful spirit, who may, perhaps, take an interest in my poor brother's case, and agree to help us."

Having said all this very fast, and with an expression of eager anxiety, Mr Blurt blew his nose, wiped his bald forehead, and, laying both hands on his knees, looked earnestly into his visitor's face.

"You are wrong, Mr Blurt, in saying that the office of nurse is below my position. It is below the position of no one in the land. I may not be very competent to fill the office, but I am quite willing to try."

"My dear madam," exclaimed the delighted Mr Blurt, "your goodness is-- but I expected as much. I knew you would. Of course," he said, interrupting himself, "all the menial work will be done by Mrs Murridge. You will be only required to fill, as it were, the part of a daughter--or--or a sister--to my poor Fred. As to salary: it will be small, very small, I fear; but there are a couple of nice rooms in the house, which will be entirely at your--"

"I quite understand," interrupted Miss Gentle, with a smile. "We won't talk of these details, please, until you have had a trial of me, and see whether I am worthy of a salary at all!"

"Miss Gentle," returned Mr Blurt, with sudden gravity, "your extreme kindness emboldens me to put before you another matter of business, which I trust you will take into consideration in a purely business light.--I am getting old, madam."

Miss Gentle acknowledged the truth with a slight bow.

"And you are--excuse me--not young, Miss Gentle."

The lady acknowledged this truth with a slighter bow.

"You would not object to regard me in the light of a brother, would you?"

Mr Blurt took one of her hands in his, and looked at her earnestly.

Miss Gentle looked at Mr Blurt quite as earnestly, and replied that she had no objection whatever to that.

"Still further, Miss Gentle: if I were to presume to ask you to regard me in the light of a husband, would you object to that?"

Miss Gentle looked down and said nothing, from which Mr Blurt concluded that she did _not_ object. She withdrew her hand suddenly, however, and blushed. There was a slight noise at the door. It was Jiggs, who, with an idiotical stare, asked if it was not time to put up the shutters!

The plan thus vexatiously interrupted was, however, ultimately carried into effect. Miss Gentle, regardless of poverty, the absence of prospects, and the certainty of domestic anxiety, agreed to wed Mr Enoch Blurt and nurse his brother. In consideration of the paucity of funds, and the pressing nature of the case, she also agreed to dispense with a regular honeymoon, and to content herself with, as it were, a honey-star at home.

Of course, the event knocked poor Phil's little plans on the head for the time being, though it did not prevent his resolving to do his utmost to bring his mother to London.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

LIGHT s.h.i.+NING IN DARK PLACES.

Down by the river-side, in an out-of-the-way and unsavoury neighbourhood, George Aspel and Abel Bones went one evening into a small eating-house to have supper after a day of toil at the docks. It was a temperance establishment. They went to it, however, not because of its temperance but its cheapness. After dining they adjourned to a neighbouring public-house to drink.

Bones had not yet got rid of his remorse, nor had he entirely given up desiring to undo what he had done for Aspel. But he found the effort to do good more difficult than he had antic.i.p.ated. The edifice pulled down so ruthlessly was not, he found, to be rebuilt in a day. It is true, the work of demolition had not been all his own. If Aspel had not been previously addicted to careless living, such a man as Bones never could have had the smallest chance of influencing him. But Bones did not care to reason deeply. He knew that he had desired and plotted the youth's downfall, and that downfall had been accomplished. Having fallen from such a height, and being naturally so proud and self sufficient, Aspel was proportionally more difficult to move again in an upward direction.

Bones had tried once again to get him to go to the temperance public-house, and had succeeded. They had supped there once, and were more than pleased with the bright, cheerful aspect of the place, and its respectable and sober, yet jolly, frequenters. But the cup of coffee did not satisfy their depraved appet.i.tes. The struggle to overcome was too much for men of no principle. They were self-willed and reckless.

Both said, "What's the use of trying?" and returned to their old haunts.

On the night in question, after supping, as we have said, they entered a public-house to drink. It was filled with a noisy crew, as well as with tobacco-smoke and spirituous fumes. They sat down at a retired table and looked round.

"G.o.d help me," muttered Aspel, in a low husky voice, "I've fallen _very_ low!"

"Ay," responded Bones, almost savagely, "_very_ low."

Aspel was too much depressed to regard the tone. The waiter stood beside them, expectant. "Two pints of beer," said Bones,--"_ginger_- beer," he added, quickly.

"Yessir."

The waiter would have said "Yessir" to an order for two pints of prussic acid, if that had been an article in his line. It was all one to him, so long as it was paid for. Men and women might drink and die; they might come and go; they might go and not come--others would come if they didn't,--but _he_ would go on, like the brook, "for ever," supplying the terrible demand.

As the ginger-beer was being poured out the door opened, and a man with a pack on his back entered. Setting down the pack, he wiped his heated brow and looked round. He was a mild, benignant-looking man, with a thin face.

Opening his box, he said in a loud voice to the a.s.sembled company, "Who will buy a Bible for sixpence?"

There was an immediate hush in the room. After a few seconds a half-drunk man, with a black eye, said--"We don't want no Bibles 'ere.

We've got plenty of 'em at 'ome. Bibles is only for Sundays."

"Don't people die on Mondays and Sat.u.r.days?" said the colporteur, for such he was. "It would be a bad job if we could only have the Bible on Sundays. G.o.d's Word says, `To-day if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts.' `Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.' `_Now_ is the accepted time, _now_ is the day of salvation.' It says the same on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and every day of the week."

"That's all right enough, old fellow," said another man, "but a public is not the right place to bring a Bible into."

Turning to this man the colporteur said quietly, "Does not death come into public-houses? Don't people die in public-houses? Surely it is right to take the Word of G.o.d into any place where death comes, for `after death the judgment.' `The blood of Jesus Christ, G.o.d's Son, cleanseth us from all sin.'"

"Come, come, that'll do. We don't want none of that here," said the landlord of the house.

"Very well, sir," said the man respectfully, "but these gentlemen have not yet declined to hear me."

This was true, and one of the men now came forward to look at the contents of the box. Another joined him.