The Story of Antony Grace Part 40

She nodded.

"Don't tell Stephen," she whispered.

"I was not going to."

"He would want to know who I was writing to, and ask me such a lot of questions. You won't tell him, will you?"

"No," I said, "not unless he asks me, and then I must."

"Oh, he won't ask you," she said merrily; "no fear. Now I'll go and tell him."

I sat down, wondering why she should want to keep things from her brother, and then watched Mrs Hallett, and lastly began thinking about the room upstairs--Old Bluebeard's chamber, as Linny playfully called it--and tried to puzzle out what Stephen Hallett was making. That it was something to improve his position I was sure, and I had often thought of what hard work it must be, with so little time at his disposal, and Mrs Hallett so dead set against what she openly declared to be a folly, and miserable waste of money.

My musings were brought to an end by the reappearance of Linny, who came down holding her pretty little white hand to me.

"There, sir," she said, "you may kiss my hand; and mind, you and I have a secret between us, and you are not to tell."

I kissed her hand, and she nodded playfully.

"Now, sir, Bluebeard's chamber is open to you, and you may go up."

"Go? Upstairs?"

"Yes, sir," she said, stroking her pretty curls; "the ogre said you were to go up."

"Are you--sure?" I said.

"Sure? Of course. There, go along, or you'll wake mamma."

I went softly upstairs, with my heart beating with excitement, turning my head, though, as I closed the door, and seeing Linny drawing her letter hastily from under the blotting-paper.

It was before the shabby door of a sloping-roofed back attic that I paused for a moment to knock, Stephen Hallett's clear, calm voice uttering a loud "Come in," and I entered to find him seated before a large old deal kitchen table, upon which were strewed various tools, pieces of iron and bra.s.s, old clock-wheels, and spindles. At one end was fitted a vice, and at the other end what seemed to be the model of some machine--or rather, a long, flat set of clock-works, upon which Hallett was evidently engaged.

"Well, Antony," he said, looking up at me in a weary, disappointed way; "glad to see you, my boy."

"Why, you are busy," I exclaimed, looking with all a boy's curiosity at the model, or whatever it was before me.

"Yes," he said, "I generally am. Well," he added, after a pause, as he seemed to derive rest and amus.e.m.e.nt from my curiosity, "what do you think of my sweetheart?"

"Your sweetheart?"

"Yes, my sweetheart, of which poor mother is so jealous. There she is."

"I--I don't understand you," I said.

"Well, the object of my wors.h.i.+p--the thing on which I lavish so much time, thought, and money."

"Is--is that it?" I said.

"That's it," he replied, enjoying my puzzled looks. "What do you think of it?"

I was silent for a few moments, gazing intently at the piece of mechanism before I said: "I don't know."

"Look here, Antony," he said, rising and sweeping away some files and pieces of bra.s.s before seating himself upon the edge of the table: "do you know why we are friends?"

"No, but you have been very kind to me."

"Have I?" he said. "Well, I have enjoyed it if I have. Antony, you are a gentleman's son." I nodded.

"And you know the meaning of the word honour?"

"I hope so."

"You do, Antony; and it has given me great pleasure to find that, without a.s.suming any fine airs, you have settled down steadily to your work amongst rough boys and ignorant prejudiced men without losing any of the teachings of your early life." I looked at him, wondering what he was about to say. "Now look here, Antony, my boy," he continued; "I am going to put implicit faith in your honour, merely warning you that if you talk about what you have seen here you may do me a very serious injury. You understand?"

"Oh yes, Mr Hallett," I cried; "you may depend upon me."

"I do, Antony," he said; "so let's have no more of that formal 'Mr' Let it be plain 'yes' and 'no;' and now, mind this, I am going to open out before you my secret. Henceforth it will be our secret. Is it to be so?"

"Yes--oh yes!" I exclaimed, flus.h.i.+ng with pride that a man to whom I had looked up should have so much confidence in me.

"That's settled, then," he said, shaking hands with me. "And now, Antony, once more, what do you think of my model?"

I had a good look at the contrivance as it stood upon the table, while Hallett watched me curiously, and with no little interest. "It's a puzzle," I said at last. "Do you give it up?"

"No; not yet," I said, leaning my elbows on the table. "Wheels, a bra.s.s table, a roller. Why, it looks something like a mangle." I looked at him, and he nodded.

"But you wouldn't try to make a mangle," I said. "It might do to grind things in. May I move it?"

"No; it is out of gear. Well, do you give it up?" He rose as he spoke, and opened the attic window to let in the pleasant, cool night air, and then leaned against the sloping ceiling gazing back at me.

"I know what it would do for," I said eagerly, as the idea came to me like a flash. "What?"

"Why, it is--it is," I cried, clapping my hands, as he leaned towards me; "it's a printing machine."

"You're right, Antony," he said; "quite right. It is the model of a printing machine."

"Yes," I said, with all a boy's excitement; "and it's to do quickly what the men do now so slowly in the presses, sheet by sheet."

"Yes, and in the present machines," he said. "Have you noticed how the machines work?"

"Oh, yes!" I said; "often. The type runs backwards and forwards, and the paper is laid on by boys and is drawn round the big roller and comes out printed."

"Exactly," he said. "Well, Antony, you have seen the men working at the presses?"

"Yes."

"It is hard work, and they print about two hundred or two hundred and fifty sheets an hour, do they not?"