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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 L161 — O-1096
 
 READY-MONEY MORTIBOY. 
 
 31 jttatter-0f-fart gtor^,
 
 READY-MONEY MORTIBOY. 
 
 (REPRINTED FROM "ONCE A iVEEK.") 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WITH INITIAL DESIGNS BY F. JV. WADDY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLEY, BROTHERS, i8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1872. 
 
 (All rights reserved.)
 
 BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD, SURREY
 
 V.I 
 
 READY-MONEY MORTIBOY 
 
 A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 MARKET BASING, in 
 
 Holmshire, there are five 
 or six good houses that 
 were built, some of them 
 eighty, some of them a hun- 
 dred years ago — in a word, 
 before the town was what 
 it is. They stood there 
 when the hnendrapers, gro- 
 cers, and silversmiths lived 
 over their shops in the main 
 streets, and not in pretentious villas of unenduring 
 -, stucco scattered along the Hunslope road, as they 
 KG VOL. I. ^
 
 2 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 do now. For in those honest days, strange to say, 
 a shopkeeper kept his shop, and wasn't a bit ashamed 
 of it. And these old houses are tenanted now by 
 persons of the same class as those who occupied 
 them when their bricks were new and red. The 
 one by the church is Lawyer Battiscombe's. It 
 was his grandfather's before him. That house a 
 hundred yards nearer the middle of the town is 
 Mr. Francis Melliship's ; and a mile in Oxford 
 Street and twenty perches in Market Basing mean 
 about the same thing— for in these small towns, a 
 house five steps from your door is in an out-of-the- 
 way place it requires an effort to reach. Read the 
 legend in dingy, gilt relief letters over the door — 
 they were much stared at when first put up, being 
 a novelty from London— Melliship, Mortiboy, 
 & Co. Melliship's Bank, for there is no Mortiboy 
 in it now. Mortiboy 's Bank is at the other end of 
 the street, by the post-office. In many ways, the 
 two banks are wide as the poles apart. At the 
 other end of the town, in Derngate, is another of 
 these old houses. Here lives Mr. Richard Matthew 
 Mortiboy, by the courtesy of Market Basing — when 
 addressing him in writing — styled esquire, but com- 
 monly spoken of as Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 The reason why, I will tell you presently.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 3 
 
 The blinds of two of these houses, from garret 
 to kitchen, are drawn down, and the shutters 
 farthest from the door pushed to. 
 
 But at the house in Derngate, the shutters next 
 the door on either side are closed, and two mutes, 
 with vulgar faces and silk covered broomsticks, 
 stand on the steps. 
 
 Susan Mortiboy is dead, and is about to be 
 buried in St. Giles's Church ; and the mutes stand 
 at her brother's door — one on the right hand, and 
 one on the left, arrayed in funeral trappings, bear- 
 ing the insignia of their order. 
 
 Sentinels of honour, to tell us that the Com- 
 mander-in-Chief, Death, has himself entered the 
 house, and receives the homage of Respectability, 
 his humble servant in this wise. 
 
 Outside, it is cold January frost : inside, in the 
 parlour, are the mourners. They have a good fire, 
 and are as comfortable as decency on such oc- 
 casions will allow. Ready - money Mortiboy's 
 parlour is a gaunt, cold room, with long, narrow 
 windows, wire blinds, horsehair chairs, a horsehair 
 sofa, red moreen curtains, and a round table with 
 a red cover reaching to the floor. A decanter of 
 sherry and eight glasses are on it. 
 
 The company assembled have not had any of the 
 
 I — 2
 
 4 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 sherry, but sit looking at it. If one catches an- 
 other's eye, the one instantly pretends to be intensely 
 occupied with the ceiling, the pictures, the fire, the 
 street view, anything but the sherry. Till, as by a 
 spell, the one's eyes dwell again on the decanter, 
 are caught in the act, and revert with guilty speed 
 to the street view, pictures, fire, ceiling, anything 
 but the sherry. 
 
 Mr. Richard Matthew Mortiboy, the chief 
 mourner, stands with his back to the fireplace. 
 He sighs occasionally with creditable emphasis. 
 He intends his ejaculations to be taken for expres- 
 sions of grief : they really tell of weariness, and a 
 heartfelt wish that it was all over. 
 
 He is sixty-three years old, tall, bald-headed, and 
 of spare frame. His black clothes — he was married 
 in the coat — fit him so tightly that, until you were 
 very well used to his appearance your mind would 
 wander into useless speculations as to the ways and 
 means by which he can get into his suits ; and once 
 in, can ever get out again. 
 
 But those who know old Ready-money well, 
 have discovered that he is one of those human eels 
 who can wriggle out of anything they can wriggle 
 into. 
 
 Lydia Heathcote, his niece, sits with the Bible
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 5 
 
 open at the Book of Leviticus, looking at her 
 uncle. 
 
 She is his next-of-kin now Susan, his sister, is 
 dead, and old Mortiboy is a millionaire. 
 
 Honest John Heathcote, her husband, sits next 
 her. The farmer is the only personage in the com- 
 pany who does not take his eyes off the decanter of 
 wine when he is caught looking at it. He does not 
 think it exactly, but he feels that it is the only 
 pleasant object in the room, and stares straight at 
 it accordingly. 
 
 The family lawyer, Benjamin Battiscombe, fills 
 the easy chair. 
 
 The family doctor, Mr. Kerby, is expected 
 every minute. 
 
 Mr. Hopgood, mayor of Market Basing, and 
 linendraper, is present in person, out of respect for 
 the family, in his official capacity of undertaker. 
 His face wears an aspect of melancholy solemnity 
 only one shade less deep than that he puts on for a 
 county magnate, deceased — undertaken by Hop- 
 good, Son, & Pywell. 
 
 George Ghrimes, as Mr. Mortiboy 's confidential 
 and managing clerk, and the friend and adviser of 
 S«san Mortiboy, deceased, is present. 
 
 And in this goodly company there is one real
 
 6 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 mourner,- Mrs. Heathcote's daughter Lucy, whose 
 gentle hand smoothed the last pillow of Susan 
 Mortiboy, her aunt. 
 
 " Put out to be drunk, I suppose," grunted John 
 Heathcote, with his brown hand on the decanter, to 
 his wife in an undertone. Then aloud, " Shall I 
 give you a glass of sherry, Lydia V 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote objected, but took it. 
 
 The ice thus broken, a glass was filled for every- 
 body but the chief mourner. 
 
 Up to this time there was no conversation, but 
 its place was to some extent supplied by the tolling 
 of St. Giles's bass bell. 
 
 B-ong ! — B-ong ! — B-ong ! — at intervals of half a 
 minute. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy broke the silence. 
 
 " What are we waiting for i*" he asked, with the 
 impatience of weariness. 
 
 " We are waiting for Mr. Francis Melliship and 
 Mr. Kerby," said the Mayor. 
 
 " Oh-h-h !" sighed the chief mourner, with a look 
 of resignation. 
 
 " Francis Melliship all over — eh, Uncle Richard T' 
 said Mrs. Heathcote, feeling her way. " He always 
 is behind at everything. I have often heard my
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 7 
 
 poor mother say that, when you married his sister 
 Emily, he kept you all waiting a quarter of an hour 
 before he came to church to give her away. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha !" — quickly suppressed : it was a funeral. 
 
 But her uncle looked angry at this mention of 
 his marriage to Miss Melliship, and Lydia Keath- 
 cote saw her mistake before he growled out in 
 reply — 
 
 " Mr. Melliship's cavalier proceedings in private 
 life have not come under my notice for years." 
 
 " How long is it since he has been in your house .-'" 
 asked John Heathcote, bluntly. 
 
 " A dozen years, I suppose," said Lydia. 
 
 " I'll tell you," said Mr. Mortiboy. " He hasn't 
 been here since my poor wife was buried — sixteen 
 years ago last April." 
 
 Omnes : " Ah !" 
 
 Lucy Heathcote : " Poor dear aunt — I remember 
 her very well, though I was but a little child. She 
 always brought something over to Hunslope for 
 Grace and me whenever she came to see us. I 
 recollect her little boxes of sweets, and I have got 
 two of her dolls now. Poor Aunt Emily !" 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote : "Ah, poor thing!" 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy : *• She was like all the Melliships 
 since the days of Methuselah — always giving some-
 
 8 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 thing to somebody that was none the better for 
 being made a fool of, Lu, my girl." 
 
 In this particular way, Lucy's granduncle Morti- 
 boy had never made a fool of his niece. 
 
 "We are all older since then," said John Heath- 
 cote, who was a slow thinker. 
 
 "Mr. Melliship affronted me in a way I shall 
 never forget — though I hope I have forgiven him," 
 said Mr. Mortiboy. He was one of that numerous 
 class of homuncules that think ill, yet speak well, 
 
 " Why not be friends, then "> I like to see a 
 family all friendly, for my part." 
 
 "That is a worthy sentiment, sir," said the 
 lawyer. It was the first opportunity he had had 
 of creeping into the conversation. 
 
 "Nobody would ever quarrel with you, John," 
 said his wife, half reproachfully. 
 
 " And I quarrel with nobody." 
 
 " If they let you alone," said Mr. Mortiboy ; 
 "but I was slighted, John. Good — dear me, here 
 is the hearse I" He pulled out his watch. " Ah ! 
 I thought as much — we are due at the church 
 now." 
 
 " Shall we send round for Francis Melliship, 
 uncle ?" 
 
 " No, Lydia," said her uncle, with severe irony.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 9 
 
 " We all of us dance attendance on Mr. Francis 
 Melliship : everybody in Market Basing always has 
 done, since I've known it." 
 
 " Don't be hard on a man behind his back," began 
 the farmer. 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote shot a glance at him from her 
 dark eyes that meant — " How dare you oppose 
 Uncle Mortiboy T' — but her husband did not choose 
 to see it. He went on, regardless of consequences. 
 
 " I have always respected Mr. Melliship. I hope 
 I always shall. And I wish he came to Hunslope 
 oftener than he does." 
 
 His wife pinched him viciously. Hers was a 
 difficult part to play. She was very friendly, in 
 her way, with the family at the other bank ; but 
 she was Ready-money Mortiboy 's nearest of kin. 
 
 " My brother-in-law," said Mr. Mortiboy, in tones 
 of satire, " is dressing himself with more than his 
 usual care" — then, in one gruff blast — "and Francis 
 Melliship is the greatest Peacock in Market Basing ! 
 I — hate — Peacockery in man or woman !" 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote smoothed her crape demurely. 
 She loved it : I don't mean the crape — Dress. 
 
 " Farmer-like — eh, John .? — for you and me. We 
 are not going to begin Peacocking, I think." 
 
 The Mayor's chief assistant now entered with a
 
 lo Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 mournful bow, and proceeded to decorate the chief 
 mourner with a long crape scarf The chief mourner 
 resented this. 
 
 Holding up the scarf, he said, looking at the 
 man — 
 
 " What is the meaning of this gewgaw ?" 
 
 "A scarf, sir — quite usual — at all respectable 
 funerals." 
 
 '* Always worn, sir," said the Mayor. 
 
 "/ never wore one before," said Mr. Mortiboy, 
 testily. " I should have stopped the affair at hat- 
 bands and gloves, I think. Plain, but respectable. 
 I hate show. Poor Susan, too, never cared for 
 ostentation. Mr. Ghrimes — " 
 
 " I left the matter to Mr. Hopgood, sir. He 
 knows better than I do what to do." 
 
 "Always our practice, sir," said the Mayor. 
 
 " Well, well. Come, put it on then. As they're 
 made, we must have them, I suppose. Poor 
 Susan !" 
 
 The old man looked mournfully askant at the 
 great crape rosette at his hip, and at the ends of 
 the scarf dangling about his knees. 
 
 He shook his head, and, taking from his pocket 
 a sad-coloured silk handkerchief full of holes, he 
 wiped his eyes, but not of tears. There was only
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, ii 
 
 one loss Mr. Mortiboy would have shed tears over 
 — the loss of money. At sight of his grief, all the 
 company were affected likewise in different degrees. 
 Lucy Heathcote was by his side in an instant. 
 She kissed the old man. At this he wiped his eyes 
 again. 
 
 " I have lost all — all — that — were near to me — 
 now," he said. 
 
 "Not all. Uncle Richard," put in Mrs. Heath- 
 cote, meekly, and hiding her face in turn in her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 But the old man never noticed her interruption. 
 He went on — 
 
 " There was Emily — gone — taken from me just 
 — as — we knew each — other — well — " 
 
 " Oh !— oh !— oh !— oh !" sobbed Lydia Heath- 
 cote. She had despised poor Mrs. Mortiboy all her 
 life, .said every sharp thing she could think of about 
 her behind her back, and would not have called her 
 back again to Market Basing for worlds. 
 
 " And Dick — my son — my son ! I loved that 
 boy — if — ever — I loved anything — " 
 
 His father had turned him out of the house one 
 night — years ago, neck and crop. 
 
 " — Goes and runs away from me — and — I'm left 
 alone — now — Susan's — ^'
 
 12 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 He looked up towards the bed-room above. 
 
 *' Not alone, uncle, dear," said Lucy, in a sweet 
 voice. This young thing loved the old hunks him- 
 self, and not his money. 
 
 The others hung on his words, for he was the 
 greatest man in the town. 
 
 Market Basing, town and people, belonged to 
 him — almost. 
 
 '' Wife dead and gone from me." He wiped the 
 unsubstantial tears from his eyes again. " Son 
 dead — and — buried — who knows where } Susan — 
 Susan — gone ! I'm an old man. We spent three 
 hundred — at least, Susan did — trying to — find 
 Dick." 
 
 *' He was a great trouble to you, sir," said the 
 lawyer, who had got Dick Mortiboy out of some 
 nasty scrapes. 
 
 " The pocket-money that — boy — had" — here he 
 nearly cried in earnest — " that his aunt Susan gave 
 him. If it was not speaking ill of the dead," said 
 Mr. Mortiboy, " I should say — Susan — spoilt him. 
 She always sided with him against his father. Ah ! 
 I've said hundreds of times, * My boy, Lightly 
 come, lightly go.' He thought nothing of the 
 money he spent. I did not want him to be a spoilt 
 Peacock. She gave him a gold watch and chain
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 13 
 
 the day he was ten years old. I never had one till 
 my father died. I wanted him to be like Me. 
 But — it — wasn''t to be. People said, ' What you've 
 been all your life getting '11 soon be spent after 
 you're — gone, M-o-rtiboy — ' " 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote groaned at this picture, and 
 looked hard at her uncle. 
 
 " * — After you are — gone — M-o-o-rtiboy.' I 
 used to hope he'd grow up, and alter his ways, and 
 be fond of business, and — all that. But no ! Dick's 
 dead — my boy's dead — and — and — I never recollect 
 being separated from Susan before." 
 
 " Poor thing ! she was such an invalid," said Mrs. 
 Heathcote, soothingly. 
 
 The old man stared at his niece, but went on 
 without noticing her interruption. 
 
 " Ah-h, I — couldn't have said it then, I dare say 
 I couldn't, but I could say it now if I only had — 
 my— boy — Dick — again, ' Let him spend it if he 
 likes.^ I could say — when people said to me, * Mr. 
 Mortiboy, your money will all be spent ' — I could 
 say, * From — all — my — heart.' " 
 
 It was quite a physiological curiosity, this heart 
 of his, that he spoke of so feelingly. It was such 
 a very little one. 
 
 " — I could say from all my heart, 'Well, if
 
 14 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 \ those that have the spending of it have as much 
 I pleasure in spending it as I have had in getting it' " 
 — (here Mrs. Heathcote smoothed her dress, and 
 solemnly shock her head, as if there could be no 
 pleasure to her in spending old Ready-money's 
 hoards ; at the same time, she listened with all her 
 ears) — " ' I'm a satisfied man.' " 
 
 "You can't take yours out of the world with 
 you, any more than anybody else can, I suppose," 
 said Mr. Heathcote. 
 
 "John!!" whispered his wife, in a key of the 
 strongest remonstrance. 
 
 " No, Heathcote — no," said the old man ; " and 
 I don't know that I want. Money's a trouble and 
 an anxiety — and that's all." 
 
 A quick step outside ; a gentle knock at the hall 
 door. 
 
 One second after, Mr. Melliship was in the par- 
 lour, in the midst of them. 
 
 He took his stand close to the table : a fine, 
 handsome man of middle age, whose coat and 
 gloves fitted him perfectly. They bore in their cut 
 the indelible mark of a West-end tailor's skill. 
 
 Now, Mr. Melliship was a gentleman, and moved 
 in the best county circles. The others did not, and 
 were afraid of him accordingly. He bowed to them
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 15 
 
 all, but without looking at anybody. His eyes 
 looked straight before him at the wall. 
 
 They bowed in return. 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote addressed him. 
 
 " We began to fear something had kept you, Mr. 
 Melliship — on this melancholy — " 
 
 " Occasion" died away on her voluble tongue. 
 
 There was something very strange about the 
 fixed gaze of Mortiboy's brother-in-law. 
 
 They all stared where he stared, and found them- 
 selves looking at the picture of Susan Mortiboy, 
 painted when she was a comely young woman. 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote — irrepressible — recovered herself 
 at once, and translated in an audible whisper, for 
 the company, the thoughts that were passing in 
 Mr. Melliship's mind. 
 
 "It is a long time since he was here. He is 
 thinking of Susan, or of his sister Emily. It is a 
 melancholy occasion — " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Mortiboy," he began. 
 Then pressed his thumb-nail hard against his teeth, 
 and looked at the red cloth. 
 
 He gulped down some rising in his throat, made 
 an effort to recover his self-possession, and con- 
 tinued — thrusting his hand into his coat-pocket — 
 
 " I — I'm rather absent, I fear. To tell you all
 
 1 6 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 the truth, I hardly feel well this morning. I found 
 this to-day. It — it — rather shook me. You will 
 know the writing. I wish it were true." 
 
 He handed a yellow scrap of antique letter 
 paper to Mr. Mortiboy. 
 
 The old man took it. It was his wife's writing — 
 a voice from the dead — though that was nothing to 
 him. He opened the note ; then, bursting with 
 anger, turned purple in the face, for he read — 
 
 " THE LATE MR. GASH'S RECIPE FOR REMOVING 
 BALD PATCHES ON THE HEAD: — USE CAYENNE 
 PEPPER AND COD- LIVER OIL, WELL RUBBED IN, 
 NIGHT AND MORNING:' 
 
 Old Ready-money boiled with rage, and gasped 
 for breath. 
 
 The top of his own head was as bald as a billiard 
 ball. Trembling violently, he handed the paper in 
 silence to Mrs. Heathcote. She read it with 
 amazement, and stared in expectation, first at her 
 uncle, then at Mr. Melliship. 
 
 ^' Cod-liver oil and cayenne pepper ! Good God, 
 man! Years ago — your insult — tome! With my ^^ 
 dead sister lying up-stairs, have you come here to 
 insult me over her coffin T roared Mr. Mortiboy, 
 clutching his cravat with his lank fingers. 
 
 " I beg your pardon — there must be some mis-
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 17 
 
 take here. I am innocent of any intention to insult 
 you." 
 
 He took the paper from Mrs. Heathcote, folded 
 it mechanically, and replaced it in his pocket, and 
 stared again at the portrait. 
 
 On the others the late Mr. Gash's recipe had 
 fallen like a bombshell. 
 
 As a matter of course, for a moment there was a 
 slight titter. Old Ready-money was so angry — so 
 bald — and altogether it was so funny, they forgot 
 where they were. 
 
 A titter, instantly suppressed. 
 
 They looked at Mr. Melliship for an explanation. 
 
 And he looked so strange that morning, not one 
 of them dared ask him for it. 
 
 So they sat mute. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Heathcote and Lucy, with well- 
 meant but unsuccessful endeavours, tried to soothe 
 the old man. 
 
 " He's d-r-u-n-k, I firmly believe," her uncle 
 hissed in Mrs. Heathcote's ear ; and he cast an 
 angry glance at the man he had for twenty good 
 years treated as a foe. 
 
 But there was yet one more outrage on propriety 
 for them to bear. 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 Rcady-vioney Mortiboy. 
 
 Francis Melliship advanced — his head up, his 
 chest thrust forward. 
 
 Old Ready-money involuntarily shrank from 
 him. 
 
 He was a coward, and afraid. 
 
 Mr. Melliship took another step in advance. 
 
 Hitherto they had looked at his face, for the 
 table cover had hidden his legs. Now they looked 
 at them. 
 
 '' Good heavens ! Mr. Melliship. Sir " cried 
 
 the chief assistant, who had been about to endue 
 the banker with a scarf like the others. 
 
 " Mr. Melliship !" exclaimed the lawyer and the 
 Mayor in a breath, opening their eyes to their 
 widest. 
 
 The old man looked. Lucy looked. 
 
 " Merciful goodness !" her mother shrieked ; 
 " wh}^, you've got light — ahem ! — trousers on !" 
 
 The astonishment and confusion you can imagine. 
 If you doubt it, try the effect yourself on a like 
 occasion. 
 
 Another knock ; slightly louder than Mr. Melli- 
 ship's had been. 
 
 Dr. Kerby entered the room — suave, polite. 
 He began to stammer an apology for being a few
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 19 
 
 minutes late; in fact, he had been — a — attending 
 Lady -" 
 
 "Mr. Mortiboy — Mr. Battiscombe — what is the 
 matter ?" 
 
 A pause. He looked round, and met Francis 
 Melliship's eyes full. 
 
 And he read their meaning. 
 
 " Oh-h-h ! we are very old friends, and very good 
 friends," he said, linking his arm in Mr. Melliship's ; 
 " and, my dear sir, as one of the most amiable and 
 polite men I ever met — a man who never refused 
 me a request — " 
 
 " No ; my purse is always at the service of the 
 — poor. You mean — the cheque — for the Hospital 
 I said I would — " 
 
 " I must ask you for five minutes of your valuable 
 time ; and, as a great favour, now — at once." 
 
 They walked out arm-in-arm in the direction of 
 Mr. Melliship's house. 
 
 As the two left the room, the doctor had looked 
 behind him very significantly. 
 
 Then they forgot everything in the strange scene 
 they had just witnessed. The old man all angry — 
 Lucy sorry — the others curious, 
 
 " I say he's disgracefully tipsy, at one o'clock in 
 the day, and the doctor knew it. But, Mr. Francis 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 Melliship, I shall be even with you " — then. In a 
 lower tone, " some day — soon." 
 
 The politic lawyer was inclined to assent. True, 
 he did not number among his clients Francis Melli- 
 ship. 
 
 John Heathcote spoke out his mind. 
 
 "I think, Mr. Mortiboy, you do Melliship an 
 injustice. Before to-day I have heard of his drink- 
 ing more than is good for him ; but I never believed 
 it. I think he is ill !" 
 
 " John !" exclaimed his wife. 
 
 '' He never meant to insult you or anybody else. 
 He is too much the gentleman to do it." 
 
 The old man was getting purple again. 
 
 " John ! !" — and Lydia pinched him as hard as 
 she could. 
 
 Various suggestions were made as to the cause 
 and meaning of this strange conduct of Mr. Melli- 
 ship's. 
 
 All the while, the solution lay neatly folded on 
 the floor. 
 
 Lucy's eye caught it. She picked up a crumpled 
 letter in the same handwriting as the recipe for bald 
 spots. 
 
 She just glanced at the contents — lest, perchance, 
 she should add fuel to the fire — and handed her
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 21 
 
 uncle a letter in which his wife, Francis Melliship's 
 sister, had tried to heal a family dispute between 
 her husband and her brother with true woman's 
 tact ; and hoped and foretold, and prayed too, that 
 they might live in brotherly love for the future. 
 
 The old man read it, and frowned over it. 
 
 " This is what Mr. Melliship meant to give you, 
 Uncle Richard, I feel sure. He gave you the other 
 by mistake." 
 
 Old Ready-money shook 'his head slowly and 
 incredulously. 
 
 "Why did he give me the other, then t He is 
 not sober, that's why." 
 
 Everybody else believed Lucy's surmise was 
 true. But this did not explain Mr. Melliship's 
 extraordinary conduct in coming to a funeral with- 
 out being dressed for one. 
 
 The whole thing was a riddle, and they were 
 dying to solve it, but could not. 
 
 '* Will he come back } Are we to wait T they 
 whispered. 
 
 Now all this had wasted half an hour or more ; 
 and the men standing at the door were frozen. 
 
 No stress of weather must shake a mute's de- 
 corum. So their teeth chattered, and their hands 
 and feet were numbed dead.
 
 22 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 A decent servant maid came in, and whispered 
 something in the ear of Mrs. Heathcote. She 
 referred her to her uncle. 
 
 But the chief mourner was deaf, and the message 
 had to be repeated aloud. When he heard it, he 
 exclaimed, with much irritation — 
 
 " Hester ! Brandy ! Who for .^ The mutes .^ 
 Now, what do mutes want with brandy .''" 
 
 " They are starved, sir. with the cold," said the 
 chief assistant, " and I thought you might be 
 pleased to send them a little drop before we start. 
 Very sorry to trouble you, but the maid said you 
 had the key." 
 
 " Certainly not. They can't require it at such a 
 time. They're paid, I suppose." 
 
 " Their teeth, sir, they quite chatter ; and Mr. 
 Mopes, he's snivelling Avith the cold, and can't help 
 himself, poor man. I beg your pardon, sir ; but a 
 day like this, mutes will get chilled ; and when 
 one's teeth get chattering, it looks like a snivel, 
 hold your silk how you may." 
 
 " Then tell him not to snivel, from me. He w^as 
 before me the other day — he snivelled then. It's a 
 way he's got, I think. God bless my heart — can't 
 they jump about, and keep 'emselves warm .'' I do 
 it."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 23 
 
 The revolutionary boldness of Mr. Mortiboy's 
 proposition so utterly staggered the undertaker, 
 that he stood full thirty seconds before he spoke in 
 reply. 
 
 " Not well, sir. You see, it isn't usual, sir — 
 with the profession. But I'll tell them what you 
 say." 
 
 A grunt. 
 
 Enter Hester the maid again. 
 
 *' Dr. Kerby's compliments, sir, and he's very 
 sorry, and neither he nor Mr. Melliship will be able 
 to be present at the funeral Mr. Melliship's taken 
 ill." 
 
 The others wondered very much, and went with- 
 out them. 
 
 Mrs. Heathcote and Lucy spent the time that 
 they were away in settling the nature of Mr. Francis 
 Melliship's complaint. 
 
 But they were a long way out in their guesses. 

 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 FTER the coaches had set the mourners 
 
 down again at Mr. Mortiboy's house, 
 
 the funeral party had still two pieces of 
 
 business to perform. 
 
 They had to eat the luncheon provided for them, 
 
 and to hear the will read. 
 
 The question they silently debated was whether 
 Susan Mortiboy — who all her life had spent 
 half her income in works of charity, and the 
 other half on keeping up a house for her 
 brother to live in — had ventured to leave any of 
 her money to anything or anybody but Ready- 
 money Mortiboy by her will. She possessed a 
 sum of twenty- five thousand pounds, left her by 
 her father. This sum her brother at once took out
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 25 
 
 of the Three per Cent. Consols for her, and re- 
 invested it at two per cent. — grudgingly paid — with 
 himself. As her life was for years considered a bad 
 one — physically — her brother paid the interest over 
 to her for two very good reasons. First, because 
 he thought he should not have to pay it very long ; 
 secondly, because she had the absolute power of 
 disposing of the principal by her will. 
 
 This led him to regard charitable institutions of 
 all kinds as his natural enemies — though, for de- 
 cency's sake, he subscribed five guineas a-year to 
 the County Infirmary, and two to the Albert Dis- 
 pensary. For he felt sure that, if he did not inherit 
 his sister's money, the charities would get it among 
 them. 
 
 So, twelve years and two months before our story 
 opens, he availed himself of a fit of indisposition 
 more severe than usual to help his sister Susan to 
 make her will. Now, he had in his library a 
 mischievous octavo volume called "Every Man his 
 own Lawyer," published for one Grantham, in the 
 Strand, and several other worthies of the trade, in 
 the year of our Lord 1826. Out of this he took 
 a form of a testamentary instrument, in which 
 Richard Roe bequeathed to John Doe certain
 
 26 Ready -mojiey Mortiboy, 
 
 personal property, under certain conditions, set out 
 with all the old-fashioned piety and verbosity 
 common in the wills and testaments of half a cen- 
 tury ago. For this will in the book fitted his sister 
 Susan's intentions to a T. Mr. Mortiboy had 
 struggled hard to make her bequeath her property 
 to him absolutely, but she would not consent ; so 
 he gave in with a good grace, made her will him- 
 self, and saved three or four guineas Lawyer Battis- 
 combe ought to have pocketed. He read it over 
 to her, and she signed it in the presence of Hester 
 Noble, domestic servant, and George Smith, gar- 
 dener ; and Mr. Mortiboy locked it up in his safe 
 till it should be wanted : through having taken 
 eftect. And this was it : fairly written out, in old 
 Ready-money's clerkly autograph — 
 
 " In the name of God Amen I Susan Mortiboy 
 of Derngate in the town of Market Basing in the 
 county of Holm spinster being of sound and dis- 
 posing mind memory and understanding but mind- 
 ful of my mortality do this second day of December 
 in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and 
 forty-nine make and publish this my last Will and 
 testament in manner and form following that is to 
 say First I desire to be decently and privately
 
 A Mattei'-of-fact Story. 27 
 
 buried in the churchyard of the parish in which I 
 shall happen to die without any funeral pomp and 
 Avith as little expense as may be — " 
 
 " Now, that I perfectly agree with," her brother 
 had said, as he w^as making a rough draft of the 
 will. ''The author? Mr. Gifford. Well, Mr. 
 Gififord, you're a very sensible man. You're just 
 of my mind in the matter. No useless pomp and 
 expense." 
 
 At this point in the proceedings, however, the 
 old gentleman's feelings had been grossly outraged, 
 for his sister had put him to the pain of writing the 
 words that gave away four hundred pounds sterling, 
 and made certain little specific bequests of personal 
 effects. Reluctantly, too, he had added — 
 
 " And as to all the rest residue and remainder of 
 my estate whatsoever and wheresoever and of what 
 nature kind and quality soever the same may be 
 and not hereinbefore given and disposed of after 
 payment of my just debts legacies funeral expenses 
 and the expense of proving this my Will I do hereby 
 give and bequeath the same to and unto John 
 Heathcote of Hunslope in the county of Holm 
 gentleman and to and unto George Heathcote of 
 Launton Grange in the same county gentle-
 
 28 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 man nevertheless in trust for and to the use 
 of—" 
 
 And the trust was this. 
 
 The trustees were to hold the twenty-five thou- 
 sand pounds for twelve years, and then pay it, with 
 the interest accruing thereon, to Richard Matthew 
 Mortiboy, testatrix's brother — if her nephew, Rich- 
 ard Melliship Mortiboy, should not during that 
 time be heard of, or his death be satisfactorily 
 proved. In the event of his coming back, he was 
 to have the money absolutely. 
 
 The twelve years had gone. Dick had not turned 
 up, and it was two months over the limit put down 
 in the will. 
 
 The money was Mr. Mortiboy's. 
 
 So after a little preliminary humming and hawing, 
 he went to the safe, and fetched the will. 
 
 *' I did not draw that instrument," said Mr. 
 Battiscombe. 
 
 " I made it myself," said Mr. Mortiboy. 
 
 " The lawyer's best friend is the man that makes 
 his own will — or, for the matter of that, anybody 
 else's." 
 
 " Anybody who can read and write, and add two 
 and two together, can make a will, Mr. Ghrimes "^ 
 I've heard you say so, often enough."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 29 
 
 '' We shall see," said the lawyer, telegraphing 
 privately under the table to Ghrimes, by treading 
 on his only corn. 
 
 "You will see, Mr. Battiscombe," replied the 
 old gentleman, proudly. He loved law, and de- 
 lighted to dabble in high-sounding phraseology, of 
 the technical meaning of which he knew nothing 
 at all. 
 
 " I think you might have let me have a finger in 
 the pie, sin" 
 
 As he spoke the lawyer telegraphed again to 
 Ghrimes ; but the tender toe was gone this time. 
 Mr. Battiscombe's boot only crushed the carpet. 
 
 " The Court always carries out a man's clear and 
 obvious intentions. I've known this ever since I 
 could read about a probate case." 
 
 " Subject to certain rules, more or less clearly 
 defined, sir. No doubt Mr. Mortiboy has made no 
 mistake — " signalling to Ghrimes again. "At 
 least, I'm sure I hope so." 
 
 " The thing's as plain as a pikestaff. Your boy 
 — that sweeps your office — might have put down 
 my poor dear sister Susan's wishes in black and 
 white as well as you could, Mr. Battiscombe." 
 
 " Permit me to doubt it, Mr. Mortiboy : as I
 
 30 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 found out, one day last week, that he can read, but 
 can't write." 
 
 " Then it's a scandal to Market Basing ; for there 
 — are — no — less — than four charity schools !" 
 
 '* He came from Hunslope." 
 
 '' I asked Battiscombe to take him," said Mr. 
 Heathcote. '*' He's my wife's gardener's boy." 
 
 '•'We can't be expected to teach all Hunslope 
 the three Rs, Uncle Richard," said his niece, apolo- 
 geticall}\ 
 
 '' Certainly not, Lydia. Now, I think I may read 
 the — subject of discussion. It is very simple, and 
 ver-y clear — hem ! — to my mind." 
 
 Old Mortiboy took up his stand near the window. 
 The rest faced round. Ghrimes and Battiscombe 
 exchanged signals again. Having cleared his 
 throat several times, the old gentleman threw him- 
 self heart and soul into the business at hand. 
 
 He read the will through, from end to end, and 
 nobody made a remark. 
 
 '^ There," said he, looking triumphantly at the 
 lawyer. " I think that is clear enough, even for 
 you, Mr. Battiscombe ; and I will say, I have 
 always found you a clear-headed man. The effect 
 is plain, except • for those conf— ahem ! — legacies.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 31 
 
 She left her money to Dick — though she knew he 
 was dead when she did it : that Avas like a woman's 
 obstinacy. And Dick has not come within the 
 twelve years — it's two months over now. And the 
 money's mine — eh, John Heathcote } You see it t 
 You're a trustee .?" 
 
 Mr. Heathcote made a motion with his hand 
 towards Mr. Battiscombe. 
 
 They all looked at the lawyer. He said — 
 
 " So far as regards the effect you intended it to 
 produce, Mr. Mortiboy, the will is waste paper, 
 and — " 
 
 " Now, Battiscombe, you're a pleasant man, and 
 like your joke, and all that ; but I put it to you — 
 is this a time for fun T 
 
 "And I answer— no time for fun. Sir, I will 
 stake my reputation, as your legal adviser, on what 
 I say. The trust takes effect from the death of 
 Miss Mortiboy, not from the making of her will. 
 I should have told you that if you had honoured 
 me with your instructions." 
 
 The folios of blue paper dropped from Mr. 
 Mortiboy 's hand. He gasped for breath, turned 
 very yellow, and looked faint as a spent stag. 
 
 Lydia — quick-witted — recovered herself first : she 
 saw through the matter in a moment.
 
 S2 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " Well, uncle," she said, trying to put the best 
 face on the affair, ''you'll have the interest for 
 twelve years, and then have the money. It won't 
 matter to you much, I dare say." 
 
 She said this quite cheerfully to her uncle. 
 
 The old man pointed his trembling finger towards 
 Ghrimes, and shook his head. 
 
 The managing clerk had risen from his seat. 
 
 "Mr. Mortiboy," he said, "I feel it is time I 
 should speak. Perhaps you will think I have done 
 Avrong. My excuse must be that Miss Mortiboy — 
 to whose kindness I owed much all my life — made 
 
 me do what I did. I — I There is a codicil to 
 
 the will you have read." 
 
 And as he said this he pulled a folded sheet of 
 paper from his pocket. 
 
 Except the lawyer, everybody was alive with 
 interest. 
 
 "Go on, Ghrimes," said the old man, hoarsely. 
 *' You never deceived me before." 
 
 *' Miss Susan made us — Mr. Battiscombe and me 
 — promise sacredly we would never mention this 
 to—" 
 
 " You never deceived me before — that I know of 
 — young man. But no promise ought to have kept 
 you from coming straight to me. When did — my
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 33 
 
 sister — make a fool of herself, eh ? — eh ? Go 
 
 on 
 
 " The week before she died, Miss Susan called 
 in—" 
 
 " You and Battiscombe. Go on ! What has she 
 done ? For God's sake, out with it !" 
 
 Briefly told, she had done this. Revoked her 
 bequest to her nephew, Richard Melliship Morti- 
 boy ; given the twenty-five thousand pounds to her 
 brother ; made him sole executor and residuary 
 legatee, and directed him to put a stained window 
 to her memory in St. Giles's Church ; ratified and 
 confirmed the other legacies contained in her 
 will. 
 
 The executor's face brightened for one moment 
 when Ghrimes got to the important clause of the 
 codicil. 
 
 It clouded again when he heard of the window 
 he was to pay for out of his money. 
 
 This subject of complaint lasted him for the rest 
 of the short afternoon, as they sat gloomily over 
 the port and sherry, and the remnants of the funeral 
 collation. 
 
 But if he forgot his trouble about the window, it 
 was to recollect his grievance against his sister for 
 not trusting him, and against the lawyer and his 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 confidential clerk for not telling him what was being 
 done. 
 
 " She knew I never would have let her have any 
 window or nonsense : that was it," he said, over 
 and over again. 
 
 The truth was, his sister had loved her church, 
 had loved her work at the schools, and among the 
 poor, and she did want her memory to dwell among 
 them. 
 
 At last — and it seemed a long time in coming — 
 the old man was left alone. 
 
 Now, as we know that Mr. Richard Matthew 
 Mortiboy — commonly called Ready-money Morti- 
 boy — is the principal legatee under this codicil to 
 his sister's will ; and as he is a very rich man, and 
 gives the title to this matter-of-fact story, let us 
 here trace his pedigree, and say a word or two about 
 him. 
 
 The Mortiboy pedigree is not a long one. There 
 are four generations in it : old Ready-money, his 
 father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather. 
 Who his great -great -grandfather was, nobody 
 knows. 
 
 Of the four personages who constitute the trunk 
 and chief branches of the heraldic tree, three lived.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 35 
 
 thrived, and died at Market Basing ; and, at the 
 time our story opens, the last is alive and more 
 thriving than any of his ancestors were : for money 
 gets money. If you have but much, you must, in 
 spite of yourself, have more. 
 
 The town of Market Basing is on the high road 
 to the North, at such a distance between two more 
 important places that, in the old days, all the 
 coaches stopped there time enough for the pas- 
 sengers to get down, and eat a meal. So, before 
 railways upset everything on the coach roads, there 
 was no traveller between London and the Land o' 
 Cakes who did not know Market Basing a great 
 deal better than people nowadays know Rugby 
 Junction on the great iron road from London to 
 Liverpool. 
 
 The principal inn was the Horse and Jockey ; 
 and at this substantial hostelry, the gentleman we 
 will designate Mortiboy the First filled the im- 
 portant, though subordinate post of ostler. 
 
 Like many other ostlers on the road, Mat Morti- 
 boy had the right of supplying the beasts under 
 his care with his own hay and corn and his master's 
 v/ater. The profit arising from such sale was his 
 perquisite : and a very handsome one it was : and 
 close indeed Mat always was about the savings — 
 
 3—2
 
 36 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 which he kept in an old stocking in his hay-loft, 
 and in a leathern pocket-book under his coarse 
 shirt. 
 
 On the other hand, the proprietor of the Horse 
 and Jockey was proverbially easy as an old shoe : 
 while the servants got fat, the master starved. 
 
 In tavern businesses, this is not unfrequently the 
 case. 
 
 In 1746, times were bad at Market Basing ; and 
 when nobody else would lend mine host of the 
 Horse and Jockey the money he stood in sore 
 need of, his ostler, Mat Mortiboy, tumbled two 
 thousand guineas into his lap — at his lawyer's : and 
 took a mortgage deed and covenant for interest at 
 six per centum per annum in return. This -f- was 
 his signature to the parchment, for he could not 
 write. 
 
 Mat was master of the situation now. The inn- 
 keeper, old and ruined, died, and Mr. Mortiboy 
 and his fat wife became host and hostess of the 
 principal inn at Market Basing. This worthy 
 couple were sharp as needles, and saving as mag- 
 pies. They died rich — the widow two days after 
 her husband — leaving every sixpence of their for- 
 tune to their only child, Matthew. And here begins 
 the reign of Mortiboy the Second. He married,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. yj 
 
 started a brewery on a good scale, and brought up 
 the only child who lived out of a family of five, 
 what he called a " scholard." In his turn, he died, 
 and was buried ; and all he had inherited from his 
 father, with all he had gained and saved added to 
 it, he left to his son. Not one groat's worth to 
 church, charity, or his wife's poor relations. 
 
 Then begins the long reign of Mortiboy the 
 Third — " the scholard." This man was a genius — 
 of the lowest order : your pounds, shillings, and 
 pence, and two and two make four, genius. He 
 cut the Horse and Jockey — taking in his successor 
 smartly ; kept the brewery on ; sent out travellers 
 all over three or four adjacent counties with his 
 beer, and put half his fortune into Melliship's bank. 
 He became banker, alderman, oracle, and esquire. 
 His union with Miss Ann Ghrimes was blessed 
 with happiness and three children : 
 
 Ann, his first-born, who married her cousin, 
 Mr. Ghrimes, and became Lydia Heathcote's 
 mother. 
 
 Susan, d.s.p. 
 
 And Richard Matthew — the first of his race that 
 ever had a two-barrelled Christian name before the 
 patronymic Mortiboy. 
 
 The " scholard " smoked his pipe, and drank
 
 38 Ready -money Movtiboy. 
 
 fourpenny-worth of gin and water cold, at the 
 rival house — for he dared not face the poor man at 
 his old inn — and took the best company away with 
 him. One-third of a shilling's worth of liquor lasted 
 him a whole evening. If it did not, he smoked a 
 dry pipe, or helped himself from the blue jug that 
 was at everybody's service, pretended it was gin and 
 water, and was just as happy. But he learned a 
 great deal in the parlour of the Angel : who was 
 safe, and who was queer : Avhich were the warm 
 men, and which the poor devils out in the cold. 
 And he turned his information to good account — 
 letting Brown overdraw to his heart's content, but 
 pulling his neighbour Smith up short at half a 
 crown. 
 
 This man was wise in his generation. He saw 
 that Market Basing would spread itself: so bought 
 every acre of land close to the town that came into 
 the market, and lent money on the rest. 
 
 Living in a time that saw what are called 
 " manias," Mr. Mortiboy bought — good value — 
 when all the world about him were red-hot for 
 selling ; and sold — bad value — when all bought. 
 He carried out the great Tory statesman's maxim 
 — like many another trader — long before it was put 
 into epigrammatic form. All his life he bought in
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 39 
 
 the cheapest market, and sold in the dearest ; and 
 he never slept out of his native town a single night, 
 nor wasted a single farthing piece in his life. He 
 lived before tourists were born. 
 
 Ann, his daughter, got a thousand pounds down 
 on her wedding day, and all the world grasped 
 Alfred Ghrimes's hand and congratulated him. 
 But his wife died soon after Lydia, their daughter, 
 was born, and he never got another penny from his 
 father-in-law. Indeed, the banker hinted that, after 
 what had happened, he ought to refund the thou- 
 sand pounds. But Ghrimes was a farmer, and 
 farmers are a good deal " cuter " than the men of 
 cities give them credit for being. He did not hand 
 over the money, and thence arose a mortal feud. 
 He and his father-in-law never spoke again. 
 
 So, when the third Mortiboy died, he had two 
 children to leave his fortune to. 
 
 He left his daughter Susan twenty-five thousand 
 pounds in hard cash ; and the rest, residue, and re- 
 mainder of his estate, of whatsoever kind and where- 
 soever situate, to Richard Matthew, his only son. 
 
 Ready-money reigned in his father's stead. 
 
 The fourth Mortiboy had not a scrap of his 
 father's talent. But he was cautious as the 
 typical Scotchman — greedy as the typical Jew
 
 40 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 — and cunning as any old fox in a Holmshire 
 cover. 
 
 He carried on his bunch one at least of the keys 
 of wealth. 
 
 He never spent anything. 
 
 He came of three sires who had money, and 
 worshipped it as a god : as the only good thing : 
 father — grandfather — ^great-grandfather. He sucked 
 in the anri sacri fames with his mother's milk. He 
 never heard anything talked about in the old house 
 he was reared in, but money. How to get it. How 
 to keep it. How to put it out to use, and make it 
 breed like Jacob's ewes. 
 
 As a baby, his mother checked him when he 
 shook his silver and coral rattle, for fear he should 
 wear out the bells that jingled on it. 
 
 He wore calico drawers till his father's trousers 
 fitted him in everything but length. 
 
 At school, he was always the boy who regarded 
 a penn'orth of marbles as an investment to be 
 turned into three- halfpence — not played with. 
 
 And this, his father told him, if kept up the year 
 round (Sundays left out), was fifteen thousand six 
 hundred and fifty per cent, per annum. And the 
 boy entered into this great fact, and understood it : 
 worked it out on his slate, and kept it up in apples,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 41 
 
 pegtops, tennis balls, and other commodities, when 
 marbles were out and these things in. 
 
 So he grew up, and was initiated early in life into 
 the mysteries of keeping a country bank. And 
 when once you are on the inside of the counter, you 
 find there is no mystery in it at all. 
 
 It consists in getting hold of as much of other 
 people's money as ever they will leave with you — 
 and putting it out, by way of earning interest for 
 your own benefit. In lending an apple or two 
 where you know there is an orchard ; but not so 
 much as a seedHng pip where there isn't one. 
 
 In his father's time, Melliship, Mortiboy, and Co. 
 had split The Melliship of the day started a new 
 bank ; and Ready-money's father kept the old one 
 to himself, continuing to trade under the old style 
 and title. Then, besides the bank, he had the 
 brewery — a sound, prosperous concern, that only 
 troubled him twice a year : to take the profits. 
 
 The Holmshire iron is not bad stuff for working 
 up when mixed with Staffordshire pig. A clever 
 man, named Hardinge, found this out and mort- 
 gaged his estate for thirty thousand pounds to 
 work the ore in the stone that lay under nearly 
 every field. 
 
 But it was not enough. He applied to Mr»
 
 42 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 Mortlboy, and mortgaged his foundry and his plant, 
 and further encumbered his estate. More money 
 was wanted, and Mortiboy would lend no more. A 
 few thousands would have made the works a fortune 
 to him. But the banker pulled up short, and 
 nobody dared "stand against Mr. Mortiboy," 
 though a dozen would have formed a company and 
 found the money. Mr. Mortiboy foreclosed. Mr. 
 Hardinge died of a broken heart. And works, 
 plant, and estate were the mortgagee's. 
 
 Ghrimes, a man of hard head and sound judg- 
 ment, managed everything. He was Ready-money 
 Mortiboy's factotum, and was incorruptibly honest. 
 Even his master could trust George Ghrimes, and 
 he did. He would have let him dip his hands in 
 treacle, and put them into a bag of little Koh-i- 
 noors in the dark, and never felt a qualm. But for 
 this weakness, he conceived it his duty to distrust 
 everybody else. He made this vice — in his own 
 eyes — a virtue. He did not believe in any honesty 
 but the honesty of paying what perforce you must 
 pay. And by himself and his standard he gauged 
 all other men — and thus suspected everybody : 
 his sister, his niece, his clerks, his servants, his 
 customers.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 43 
 
 So in Market Basing the charitable called him 
 eccentric — the malicious a miser. Small towns 
 develop characters. 
 
 You can see in a tumbler what you fail to observe 
 in a vat. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy was usually called '' Old Ready- 
 money." There were half a dozen anecdotes about 
 the origin of the sobriquet. Who wouldn't like to 
 have it ? This was the commonly received version : 
 — There had come to Market Basing parish church 
 a new parson, and his wdfe had come with him. 
 Proverbially, new brooms sweep clean, and the 
 parish was in an awful state of heathenism ; so she, 
 poor thing, bent on all sorts of good works, called 
 first — subscription-book in hand — on Mr. Mortiboy, 
 their richest parishioner. She did not know he went 
 to chapel. She encountered a shabby man in the 
 bank — on the doorstep, indeed. 
 
 " Is Mr. Mortiboy in .?" 
 
 "My name, ma'am — at your service." 
 
 They stood on the pavement outside. 
 
 The rector's wife opened her eyes, and took him 
 in from top to toe in a glance — as a quick woman 
 can. 
 
 "Are you Mr. R. M. Mortiboy, sir .?— Mr. Rob—" 
 
 " Ready-money Mortiboy, ma'am."
 
 44 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 So the tale is told. I don't know if this is the 
 true version ; but the old man carried his nickname 
 to his grave, and never was called anything else — 
 behind his back. 
 
 He was the last man in the world to be asked for 
 alms. Polite enough, but hard as nails. He had a 
 formula of his own invention, applicable to all 
 occasions. 
 
 If anything was wanted for Market Basing — he 
 was the greatest victim of the poor rates. 
 
 If flannels and New Testaments were to be given 
 to the starved niggers of Quashiboo, he thought the 
 stream of charity should be turned on the hungry 
 and houseless ones at home. 
 
 But if anybody made a call on him for these, he 
 was instantly impressed with the importance of 
 foreign missions. 
 
 For both — he was a little deaf, and times were 
 bad, and his interest in changes of the weather 
 absorbing. 
 
 Now, when his guests were gone, and he was 
 alone, his sister's charge concerning the stained 
 glass window preyed on Mr. Mortiboy 's mind. It 
 was all very well for a bishop, in a cathedral — 
 where there are plenty of windows, and plenty of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 45 
 
 money — to have a memorial window put up to his 
 memory ; but, in his sister Susan, such an injunction 
 was an outrage of propriety. Old Ready-money 
 had very clear notions on his own station in life. 
 And, after all, a parish church had no business with 
 coloured windows. At chapel, they did without 
 them. And then, his sister's station was not high 
 enough for memorial windows. 
 
 "I'll take Battiscombe's advice about it if its 
 down in the bill, 'thirteen and fourpence — engaged a 
 long time.' If I can get out of such an absurd 
 direction, I will. What will people say t Very 
 likely, think / did it — and think I'm mad into the 
 bargain. It's just the sort of thing Francis Melliship 
 would go and do, now. Put up a stained glass 
 window ! She should have left it — poor thing ! — 
 to her Sunday school teachers and parsons, that 
 have had her money for years, to do that for her ! 
 They would have done it, no doubt !" 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy quite chuckled at this humorous 
 idea. His face suddenly changed, however, from 
 gay to very grave. 
 
 The four candles lighted for his guests were burn- 
 ing on the table ! 
 
 He quickly blew out three, quenching the last 
 spark of fire at the wick ends with a wet fore-
 
 46 Rcady-vioney Mortiboy. 
 
 finger and thumb — avoiding smell, and possible 
 waste. 
 
 Then he held up the decanters to the solitary 
 candle, and measured their cubic contents of port 
 and sherry with his greedy eye. 
 
 Next, he took the candle up in his shaky old 
 hand, walked slowly round the table, and collected 
 the glasses. 
 
 " Ghrimes has left half his last glass. Well, 
 George Ghrimes never did drink anything, so I'm 
 not surprised." 
 
 He poured the half glass of port back into the 
 bottle. 
 
 " Lydia, my girl, you'll " — holding the glass Mrs. 
 Heathcote had used upside down — " get — red — in 
 the — face — like your mother was, if you don't take 
 care." 
 
 At last he got to Lawyer Battiscombe's seat. 
 
 " Ah ! — I thought so. Trust a lawyer. Not a 
 drop, if you squeezed the glass for a week." 
 
 Then he sat down by the fire, took a lump or 
 two of coal ofT, and put his feet on the fender. He 
 sat in his easy chair, in thought. Wondering what 
 they would have thought if they had seen him 
 pouring the wine back into the decanters ; — thinking 
 he should not have cared a rush if they had.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 47 
 
 Wondering whether Lydia Heathcote counted on 
 his death ; — thinking she was not quite sure of his 
 money yet. Wondering why his sister Susan 
 could not have left him all her money ; — thinking 
 he would do his best to defeat her intentions, and 
 secure the odd hundreds he had neither a legal nor 
 moral right to. Wondering why he felt so drowsy ; 
 — thinking — 
 
 He was fast asleep. 
 
 He slept an hour, and the candle burnt down two 
 inches and a half before he was awakened. 
 
 His sister's maid had brought in the tea-tray 
 at the usual hour, and her entrance roused her 
 master. 
 
 He woke with a start : counted the biscuits on 
 the dish, and questioned the girl in a breath. 
 
 " Was I asleep '> Ah !— four— I didn't take- 
 six — my nap — eight — to-day : that's it. Never get 
 into — I'm sure, I thought I made nine of 'em before 
 —bad habits, Mary." 
 
 " No, sir," — and exit. 
 
 " The minx had had time to have one, I believe. 
 They thi-nk they'll take advantage of me ; but 
 they're mistaken. They won't." 
 
 He got up, fumbled for his keys, and put away
 
 .48 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 the wine and biscuits in the cupboard by the fire- 
 place. 
 
 Then he walked to the window, and looked out 
 into the night. It was dark — the moon had not 
 risen ; but the street lamp opposite his door threw 
 a good deal of light into the room. 
 
 He blew out his last candle. 
 
 "If I'm only thinking — and, goodness knows, 
 I've plenty to think of — I can think quite as well 
 without a candle. Besides, this room is always 
 
 light." 
 
 He never touched his tea, but sat musing till he 
 dozed off again. 
 
 When he woke, his fire was out, his legs were 
 cramped, and it was a quarter to nine by his watch. 
 He pulled the bell. 
 
 " What a thing habit is ! Because I don't happen 
 to have twenty minutes' sleep in the afternoon, I 
 waste the whole of a precious evening." 
 
 " Shall I lay the cloth here, sir .?" 
 
 " No. Certainly not. I shall take my supper 
 in the kitchen when you're gone to bed. Tell 
 Hester and the cook to come to me." 
 
 Dressed in black gowns, and with their aprons 
 ready for their eyes, the servants waited his com- 
 mands. They found him sitting with a little house-
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 49 
 
 keeping book of his sister's in his hands. They 
 thought Mr. Mortiboy was about to improve the 
 occasion. But they had misjudged him. He was 
 going to discharge them. 
 
 " Habit is a curious thing," he began, pouring 
 out a cup of the cold tea, and sipping it appreci- 
 atively. " I missed my usual little nap on the 
 stairs to-day, and I have wasted a precious evening 
 — a pr-e-ci-ous evening through it." 
 
 The corners of the white aprons dropped. The 
 three domestics waited for him while he took 
 another sip of his tea. 
 
 " I ought to have done this earlier ; but thoughts 
 of her who is gone " — he looked upwards — " kept 
 me from it." 
 
 The aprons up again, ready for use. Hester, a 
 very old retainer, in real tears. 
 
 " You've heard me called eccentric .-*" 
 
 " Oh ! no, sir !" — mumbled. 
 
 ** You've heard ^em call me old Ready-money .''" 
 
 " Oh ! no, sir !" — very loud. 
 
 " Yes, you have. You were — Susan's — servants, 
 not mine. You've heard me called rich, now T 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, I should not have been called rich if I 
 had spent all my money like my poor sister did. 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 One servant will be quite as many as I shall 
 want." Aprons dropped again. 
 
 *' Hester, you can do all I shall require. So, 
 cook, and Mary, my girl, I really must give you 
 notice, for I can^t keep you. But I can give you 
 excellent characters, both of you." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Mortiboy," said the cook — 
 facing him, with arms a-kimbo — "thank you, Mr. 
 Mortiboy ; but my mistress, as I lived with four 
 year and three-quarters — come Michaelmas was 
 five years — would do that for me any day. And 
 I've only been here four months, which — " 
 
 " I have given you notice," Mr. Mortiboy inter- 
 posed. " I shall not keep you your month. I 
 shall pay your wages instead." 
 
 He was getting angry. 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Which is the law, and rich and 
 pore must both abide by it " — dropping a most 
 irritating curtsey. 
 
 " I'll pay you now !" cried Mr. Mortiboy. 
 
 " If you please, sir ; and I'll pack up my boxes 
 this very night, and go. For I couldn't abear — " 
 
 Poor little Mary, frightened out of her wits, 
 tugged at cook's gown. 
 
 " Don't pull me, Mary. Mr. Mortiboy never was 
 • my n' aster — and never shall be."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 51 
 
 " I'll take your black dress away from you if you 
 say another word." 
 
 " No, sir — 'xcuse me, that'll go with me to my 
 next place ; and I shan't trouble you for a character. 
 And I have heard you called old Ready-money, 
 and called you so mysel — " 
 
 Before she could finish her sentence, the ruler of 
 the roast was dragged out of the room by Hester 
 and Mary. 
 
 An hour and a half later, Mr. Mortiboy had re- 
 covered from his discomfiture, paid the cook, and 
 seen her and her baggage off the premises, and sent 
 Mary and Hester to bed. 
 
 He sat before the kitchen fire, eating a slice of 
 cold boiled beef laid on a crust of bread. He dis- 
 pensed with a plate and fork, but had a very sharp 
 knife in his hand. 
 
 He cut his mouthfuls into equal parallelograms, 
 with mathematical precision, and slowly got through 
 his frugal supper. 
 
 He rose from his chair, unfastened the door, and 
 looked out into his garden. 
 
 The moon was up, but heavy clouds obscured it 
 every moment, drifting swiftly past 
 
 4—2 
 
 u- OF \\Ju ua
 
 52 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 An idea had for half an hour held possession of 
 his mind. He was going out. 
 
 To pay a visit to the churchyard. 
 
 To find out for himself which really was the 
 smallest window. The will said nothing about the 
 size. 
 
 He found his great-coat hanging in the passage, 
 without a light. 
 
 He fumbled at the latch and bolts of the front 
 door, and let himself out. 
 
 The moon shone brightly on it and him ; and he 
 saw, in chalk characters, 
 
 " OLD REDDY-MUNNY IS A MIZER" 
 
 scrawled on it. 
 
 *' Now, this is too bad — to-day," he exclaimed, 
 producing from his inner coat pocket the sad- 
 coloured handkerchief, full of holes. " I must wipe 
 it off. What is the good of a policeman } I'd give 
 — I'd give — a— a shilling to know who does it, 
 and hang the little devils for it too." 
 
 He rubbed the writing off his door, and went on 
 his way. His house opened on the street. Across 
 the street was a paddock. The field belonged to 
 him. He had the key, and let himself in.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 53 
 
 This close was a little gold mine to him. It was 
 the arena on which all flower shows, agricultural 
 and horse shows, wild beast shows, and riders' 
 circuses were held. 
 
 A few sheep started as he crossed the wet grass 
 at the side by the church. 
 
 In the churchyard, the clouds hid the moon — and 
 hid the ponderous figure that had dogged him 
 there : from his house door — over the paddock 
 wall — into the grave-yard. 
 
 The old man went on. 
 
 " The moon gone in t But I'm not superstitious. 
 I'd as soon sleep in a church as anywhere else," he 
 said to himself as he groped his way round the 
 south wall of the church. " Ha ! light again !" 
 
 The man behind him dropped three or four paces 
 back. 
 
 Not a sound was heard in the deep, wet grass. 
 
 " Now we shall see what we are at. There is a 
 smaller window than this though, I know — and this 
 is not a big one. I should have made a first-rate 
 window-peeper in the old tax days. 
 
 " Ha ! this is the window I had in my eye. Now 
 could it cost ten pounds to put in a beau — u — tiful 
 window there .?" 
 
 The moon was clouded again, and his attendant
 
 54 Ready-vioney Mortiboy, 
 
 gained on him. There was a corner between them. 
 That was all. 
 
 " Be whipped if I think it could cost ten pounds. 
 Eight ought to do it." 
 
 The man came nearer. His arm was raised. 
 
 " No mention of which window you meant to 
 liave, Susan, my poor dear sister. Ha ! ha ! 
 Ghrimes was taken into your confidence, not your 
 own flesh and blood." 
 
 Nearer still the arm came. It almost touched 
 him. 
 
 ** Well, now, I've been all round the church, I 
 think. I'll go back, or I shall go and catch cold^ 
 in this grass. It's like a little river. D — n ! What's 
 
 this r 
 
 He had stumbled over some hard substance in 
 his path. 
 
 The moon shone out brightly, and showed him 
 the footstone of his wife's grave. He had not been 
 near it for years. 
 
 He read the inscription on the headstone in the 
 bright moonlight. 
 
 " Want's doing up a bit," he muttered. 
 
 The man who was dogging him was close at his 
 back. 
 
 *' There's room for Dick's name now, if we had
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 
 
 heard about him. But no, poor fellow — no ! — I 
 think I'll go in again now. I feel chilly — I — " 
 
 As he spoke, a hand like a blacksmith's fell @n 
 his shoulder, and held him in a vice !
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 
 trembling. 
 
 MORTIBOY'S first impulse, 
 on feeling the hand upon his 
 shoulder, was to cry for help ; 
 his second — ^when a moment's 
 reflection had convinced him of 
 the entire folly of the first — to 
 shake off the hand, and turn 
 round. It must be confessed 
 that a third impulse tempted 
 him — to break from the stran- 
 ger's hold altogether, and flee 
 with what speed he might. His 
 assailant released him, how- 
 ever, at once; and Mr. Morti- 
 boy sharply turned upon him
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 57 
 
 " Who — who — are you ?" he stammered. 
 
 It was a figure he did not know : that of a tall 
 strong man, warmly wrapped in a thick pilot jacket, 
 with a stout stick in his hand, and a round felt hat 
 upon his head. As the moon came out by fits and 
 starts between the flying clouds, Mr. Mortiboy 
 made out, besides these details, a thick black beard, 
 which covered all the face from the eyes downwards, 
 and hid a foot or so of throat and chest. 
 
 " Old Mr. Mortiboy, I think you are .?" said the 
 stranger, in a rough, harsh voice. 
 
 " Mr. Mortiboy certainly — and perhaps old. Pray, 
 who are you, and what do you want .'*" 
 
 " I want to speak to you. Come out of this ♦ 
 mouldy old churchyard, and go home. I will walk 
 with you." 
 
 " You can come to-morrow to the bank. That is 
 where I receive strangers." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind. I shall go home 
 with you now. So as soon as you've done your 
 business — whatever that may be — in this con- 
 vivial gathering-place, we'll go on together to 
 Derngate." 
 
 " Is it business you want to see me about .^" 
 
 " I suppose you don't have many evening callers 
 for pleasure—do you, Mr. Mortiboy V
 
 58 Ready-money Morfiboy. 
 
 " I do not. I am not one who wastes his time in 
 gossiping with people." 
 
 " Not had many parties since your son went 
 away, I suppose .-*" 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy laid his hand upon the stranger's 
 arm. 
 
 " My son ! Did you know my son Dick } Can 
 you tell me anything about him .?" 
 
 " Go on home, and I will tell you all I know." 
 
 "It's twelve years and two months," growled Mr. 
 Mortiboy to himself — "twelve years and two 
 months, yesterday. I wonder if he'll tell me what 
 became of the boy." 
 
 He led the way home : not by the paddock : 
 through the streets — a way the stranger seemed to 
 know pretty well, as he swung along the street by 
 the side of him, great-shouldered and burly, looking 
 up at the names over the shops, as if he was trying 
 to read them ; nodding his head, too, with a certain 
 air of recognition, as they passed the public-houses. 
 
 But it does not take long to exhaust the streets 
 of Market Basing ; and the pair found themselves 
 in a very few minutes on the steps of Mr. Morti- 
 boy's house. 
 
 " Still live here, eh .?" asked the stranger. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy, not without a certain feeling of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 59 
 
 uneasiness, opened the door, and admitted his 
 guest. The hall was perfectly dark, and he bade 
 him wait while he struck a light. To his terror and 
 amazement, the stranger — who evidently knew 
 where things stood — deposited his hat on the hat- 
 stand, and his stick in the umbrella-stand. Now, 
 this familiarity with places in a perfect stranger, 
 and in the dark, savoured of the supernatural ; and 
 though Mr. Mortiboy was not a superstitious or a 
 nervous man, he trembled slightly, and looked over 
 his shoulder at his visitor, as he led the way to the 
 parlour. 
 
 As he peered curiously at him, he could not help 
 thinking of the Devil. 
 
 It was the room which had been the scene of the 
 will-reading. There was no fire ; and only the one 
 bed-room candle which Mr. Mortiboy carried in his 
 hand. 
 
 The stranger — he was visible now — was a man 
 who seemed about thirty-two or three years of age. 
 His black curling hair was crisp and short ; his 
 figure was tall and muscular ; his forehead was broad 
 and square ; and his eyes had a sort of fierce 
 light about them which might mean many things. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy raised the candle, and coolly held it 
 before his face while he scrutinized him. He put it
 
 6o Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 down after his inspection, which the stranger bore 
 without flinching. 
 
 *' I don't know you. What do you want with me t 
 And what have you got to tell me V 
 
 " You do not know me T asked the other. 
 
 " I do not, sir. And, to tell the truth, I hardly 
 want to know you : for I mistrust the look of you." 
 
 His visitor reached out his hand, and seized a 
 decanter with a glass of wine left in it. 
 
 " It's a cold night, and with your leave — " he 
 smelt it, and put it down with a shudder of disgust. 
 *' Sherry. No, thank you. But haven't you got a 
 fire anywhere } Isn't there one in the kitchen T 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy stared at him with amazement. 
 What had this familiar stranger to do with his 
 kitchen t It was a lonely house, and he began to 
 think of violence and midnight marauders. 
 
 " If we have business, it will be short, I suppose, 
 and you can transact it in this room, cold or not, 
 just as well as in the kitchen. Sit down, and say 
 what you have to say, and go." 
 
 " We have business ; but it is so long, that I 
 shall probably stay here all night. Take the candle, 
 Mr. Mortiboy, and we will go to the kitchen, where 
 you generally sit when Hester goes to bed. Follow 
 me. I know the way."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 6 1 
 
 He took the candle ; and, going into the hall, 
 turned to the left. 
 
 The old man went after him as he strode out of 
 the room, and clanked in his great boots along 
 the passages — which he seemed to know well 
 enough — in great wonderment and not a little 
 terror. But how was he to disobey a man so big 
 and so masterful — a man too, who knew the house 
 as well as he did himself t 
 
 There was a bright fire in the kitchen, and the 
 strange visitor sat down^ and warmed himself. 
 
 ** It is twelve years," said the stranger in a deep 
 bass voice, " since your son Dick ran away ; — since, 
 rather, you turned him out of the house." 
 
 " Twelve years and two months. Twelve years 
 and two months, yesterday." 
 
 " Hang your two months. You have never heard 
 from him since he left you .?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Would you like to hear from him again T 
 
 " If I knew he had been doing well. If it was to 
 hear that the promise of his youth had been broken, 
 I should like to hear of him." 
 
 " Would you like, then, to hear that your son 
 Dick, very early in his history after leaving you, 
 saw the many errors of his ways, and reformed :
 
 62 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 that he became steady, industrious and respectable : 
 that, in short, he got money ? And is, consequently, 
 much revered and respected by all good men ?" 
 
 " I should. Good heavens, man, if this is what 
 you have to tell me, be quick about it !" 
 
 " First, Mr. Mortiboy " — he had spoken through- 
 out in a rough, constrained voice — "I have had a 
 longish journey, and have caught a cold. Give me 
 a glass of brandy." 
 
 " Brandy — brandy ! It's what the confounded 
 undertakers asked for this morning. I am sorry 
 that I have no brandy at hand, sir. Would you 
 like some gin .''" 
 
 The stranger nodded. Mr. Mortiboy went to a 
 cupboard which he unlocked, and took out a bottle 
 and a wine glass. Before handing it to his guest, 
 he held it up to the light, and then measured the 
 contents by the length of his finger. It was two 
 joints over the length of the middle finger. He 
 shook his head ; and muttering, " I'm half afraid 
 she's found the way to the cupboard," poured out a 
 glass cautiously, as if it had been the finest Char- 
 treuse. His visitor tossed it off quickly ; and, taking 
 the bottle from his hands, filled a second glass, and 
 tossed that off. Then he sat down, and meditated 
 for a few moments : Mr. Mortiboy watching him
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 63 
 
 with his hands on his knees. The old man's nature 
 was stirred up by the mention of his son's name. 
 Old hopes, old affections, old memories rose again 
 in his heart, where they had been silent and buried 
 for more than half a score of years. 
 
 "Tell me about Dick," he said impatiently, 
 drumming his heels upon the floor. 
 
 The stranger stood up and half bent over him. 
 
 " I am Dick," he said, softly, and in his natural 
 voice. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy leapt up as if he had been shot. 
 He seized the candle again, and held it to his 
 face. He peered in his eyes. He looked again. 
 Then he put down the candle, and answered in a 
 quavering voice, almost in the words of Scripture — 
 
 " The eyes are the eyes of my son Dick, and the 
 voice is his voice. But I do not know him — I do 
 not know him. Dick was not so tall : Dick was 
 smooth-faced : Dick was afraid of me. You are 
 not Dick, sir. You are some impudent impostor, 
 trying to cheat me out of a few pounds because 
 you know that I want my son Dick to come back 
 again. That I want him," he repeated, piteously. 
 " I want him." 
 
 ** Dick was nineteen when you turned him out of 
 your house, and bade him darken your doors no
 
 64 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 more. It is no great wonder if his face was smooth ; 
 and I think you will remember, if you reflect, that 
 you gave him ample cause to be afraid of you." 
 
 " Prove to me — prove to me — that you are my 
 son : my own son !" 
 
 The old man's spare, thin form — almost as tall as 
 his son's — shook with emotion and excitement — 
 and he stretched out his arms in a sort of wild 
 yearning. 
 
 " Shake hands, father, and sit down, and I will 
 tell you everything." 
 
 He held out both hands frankly. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy took one hand timidly, and kept it 
 in his, patting it coaxingly. 
 
 " Tell me something," he said — " the smallest 
 thing — to prove that you are really Dick." 
 
 The stranger put his hand into his breast pocket, 
 and took out a little roll. 
 
 " When your son left your house, did you tell 
 any one the reason why you turned him out in dis- 
 grace i 
 
 " No one to this day knows the reason, but Dick 
 and myself Whisper it." 
 
 " Then — is no one listening .? — I will tell you. 
 He was not extravagant, but he wanted money 
 from time to time — as all young men will. His
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 65 
 
 aunt Susan gave him a little. You gave him none. 
 He forged a cheque : it was only for five pounds. 
 But — he forged it ! Have you got that cheque V 
 
 " It has never left my pocket-book." 
 
 " Take it out, then. I am going to have it back 
 again. You paid the money, and you told him that 
 you would never forgive him — that you would never 
 see his face again." 
 
 " I did — God forgive me ! — I did." 
 
 " You did. You wrote him a letter to London, 
 in answer to his. Here is the letter. I will read it. 
 You remember that it was very short .^ 
 
 " * Your father sends you the enclosed ten pound 
 note. Go, and retrieve your character.' 
 
 " Is not this the letter r 
 
 The old man took it with trembling hands. 
 
 " It is," he cried — " it is. And you are really Dick.^" 
 
 " Stay. Let me finish. The ten pounds and the 
 five pounds make fifteen. Suppose we say that this 
 sum had accumulated at compound interest for 
 twelve years : it would by this time have amounted 
 to twenty-six pounds, eighteen shillings, and per- 
 haps a penny or so over. Here are twenty-six 
 pounds, eighteen shillings, and sixpence, which 1 
 propose to give you in return for the cheque." 
 
 VOL. 1. 5
 
 66 Ready-money Mortlboy, 
 
 He took the money out of a small bag, into 
 which it had been counted, and poured it on the 
 table. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy counted it over again carefully : 
 but this was habit. Then he took out from a 
 pocket-book — one of those flat leather books, burst- 
 ing with papers, which suggest all sorts of things to 
 do with investments — an envelope. 
 
 It was labelled, grimly enough, "The Last of 
 Dick." In it was an old cheque, stamped and 
 initialled by the clerks of the bank. He handed it 
 across, and waited in silence. 
 
 His visitor read it, put it in the fire, and went on. 
 
 " So far we are quits. You have your money 
 back. But our quarrel has yet to be made up. By 
 the way, do you remember my falling into the fire 
 when I was a boy, and burning my arm } See 
 here !" He drew up his sleeve, and showed a small, 
 deep scar in the left arm. " One does not imitate 
 these things." 
 
 " Yon are Dick',' cried his father. " I know you 
 now. I knew you, really, directly you spoke in 
 your old voice. But everything else has changed 
 in you. And you are so big." 
 
 " Will you shake hands r 
 
 His father shook hands with him — but not, as
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 6j 
 
 yet, quite cordially. In his mind — the moment he 
 found it was his son, and no other who had come 
 back to him — arose a feeling which jarred upon and 
 was discordant with the natural joy of his heart : a 
 suspicion that perhaps he had only come to borrow 
 money — or, worse still, to live upon him. Parental 
 affection was nipped in the very bud by the pro- 
 spect of fresh expense, like the apple blossoms by 
 an East wind. 
 
 *' Go on Dick — tell me about yourself." 
 
 " No. Tell me first about yourself." 
 
 " I am well — I am well. Not much better off it's 
 true ; but bodily, well." 
 
 " And my aunt T 
 
 " Dead, Dick — dead. She died last week, and 
 was buried to-day. And oh, Dick, Dick — what a 
 pity you did not come home a week sooner !" 
 
 " Why r 
 
 " Because, if you had, you would have come in for 
 all her money. As it is, I have it — I have it. Not 
 much it is true ; and saddled with all sorts of vexa- 
 tious bequests. A hundred here, and a hundred 
 there, and a memorial window to put up. Dear, 
 dear ; what a waste — what a waste !" 
 
 "A memorial window } — ho, ho ! In the church } 
 — ha, ha ! But we'll have a cheap one, father — 
 
 5—2
 
 68 Rcady-moiiey Mortiboy. 
 
 we'll have a cheap one. I know the way to set 
 about getting painted glass at cost price." 
 
 "Do you V asked his father, eagerly. ''Tell me 
 how." 
 
 " Matter of business, my dear sir," answered the 
 son, with an air of importance. " We must see our 
 way in other things first. And so the poor old 
 lady's dead ! Well, I'm sorry." 
 
 "And what have you been doing with your- 
 self.?" 
 
 " Do you want me to give you the history of 
 twelve years 1 That will take more than one even- 
 ing's talk. As many evenings, perhaps, as I shall 
 be with you." 
 
 " Why, Dick — why } You are not going away 
 directly you come home, are you T' 
 
 " Business may take me. I've got my affairs to 
 look after." 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy brightened up ; and his fatherly 
 affection, relieved of the cold wind of doubt, glowed 
 and flamed in his heart, till he was fain to rise from 
 his chair, and seize his son's hand, which he shook 
 for several moments with every sign of lively emo- 
 tion. Then he poked the fire, and took up the gin 
 bottle. 
 
 " Dick, on such a night as this, we must drink
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 6g 
 
 our own healths. Shall it be port — they did not 
 drink it all — or shall it be brandy ?" 
 
 " Brandy, father, for me." 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy retired with the one candle, and 
 presently returned, bearing a bottle of brandy, 
 which he opened with great care and ceremony. 
 
 His son had lit a short wooden pipe, and was 
 smoking as q^uietly as if he had never left his native 
 land. 
 
 " I always have one pipe, and a glass of some- 
 thing," said his father. " And since poor Susan was 
 taken, I mean to get rid of everybody but old 
 Hester, and she goes to bed at eight. I send 'em 
 to bed early. So that we are quiet and to our- 
 selves down here. Now, talk to me, Dick." 
 
 Dick took a long pull at the brandy and water. 
 
 " Where am I to begin ? Let me see. Well, 
 when I left England, which was not very long after I 
 left you, I went first to the Cape, where I tried my 
 hand up country at sheep and sheep-farming. But 
 it was poor work. No money to be got, be as care- 
 ful as you please. Got tired of that. Went to 
 America. Went to the Californian diggings, and 
 did pretty well. Went prospecting to Mexico — " 
 
 "What's 'prospecting,' Dick .?" 
 
 " Looking for silver. Found plenty, of which I
 
 yo Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 will tell you another time. Then the American 
 war broke out, and then I had a grand stroke of 
 luck ; for I took up blockade-running." 
 
 " No — did you really, though, Dick ? — did you 
 really ?" The old man's eyes sparkled with satisfac- 
 tion. " There was money to be got there." 
 
 "There was, and we got it. But that came to 
 grief at last. We ran the good little craft ashore — 
 here's to her memory — and lost her. Then — to 
 make a long story short — we realized our invest- 
 ments, bought a cotton estate of three thousand 
 acres, and have been doing well enough ever since." 
 
 "And you're really worth money, my boy V 
 
 " Worth — well, I don^t know how many thou- 
 sands, that^s a fact ; because we haven't reckoned 
 up for the best part of two years. But we've got 
 money ; and here I am — ready to invest some of 
 it by your advice, if you like to help me in that 
 way." 
 
 " Then youVe welcome, Dick" — Mr. Mortiboy 
 held out his hand this time with real cordiality — 
 " you're welcome, my boy ; and I will help you to 
 invest it.''"' 
 
 " So you shall, sir." 
 
 "And — and — you haven't taken to drinking, 
 Dick, and are quiet, I hope } Because I have a
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. yi 
 
 very quiet house here — very quiet and retired — and 
 could not change my habits." 
 
 " As for my habits, a mouse couldn't be quieter. 
 You'll let me smoke, I suppose .'*" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '* And as for drink — let me have a glass or so of 
 grog, of an evening — gin and water — anything — 
 and, so long as I stay with you, I shall be con- 
 tented. Let us save money, at any rate." 
 
 "Well said — well said. Now, look here, Dick. 
 I allow myself a bottle of gin a-week. We 
 will have two bottles between us. Is it a bar- 
 gain r 
 
 " It is." 
 
 "And we could share the expense — extra ex- 
 pense, I mean — between us, Dick." 
 
 Richard Melliship Mortiboy — i.e., Mr. Mortiboy, 
 junior — looked at the author of his being with an 
 amused twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " We shall not quarrel about that. And so long 
 as I am here, I shall be able to help you about the 
 bank, and all the rest of it. Not for nothing, you 
 know." 
 
 " Assuredly, not for nothing. And you can tell 
 me about the blockade-running, and how the money 
 was got. Any of it come home with you, Dick ?"
 
 72 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " Some of it — a little — is in London. The rest 
 is in Mexico : safely invested." 
 
 " Oh ! in Mexico. But that's a long way off." 
 
 " Only four weeks. That's where the estate is. 
 You can't bring the land away, you know." 
 
 " Ah ! no. Dick, I am glad youVe come back. 
 Be a credit to me, and — and — there's no saying 
 what may not turn up. But, oh ! Dick, what a 
 pity you did not turn up seven days ago, in time to 
 get your poor aunt's money." 
 
 " And so you went to the churchyard to-night." 
 
 " I was passing, by the merest accident in the 
 world ; and it just occurred to me that I would turn 
 in, and see what would be the properest window — 
 the best, you know, for the memorial of your aunt." 
 
 " Not quite by accident, father. I followed you," 
 said his son. " I'd pick out the smallest." 
 
 " No ! Would you, though } Would you really, 
 Dick } Don't you think people would talk } I did 
 think of it, it's true." 
 
 " Let 'em talk ! And now, governor, that we're 
 all friends again, let us have one more go of brandy 
 and water, and I'll light another pipe ; and we'll 
 have a talk about old times." 
 
 They talked till a very late hour for Mr. Morti- 
 boy. And then Dick asked where he was to sleep.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 73 
 
 ** Lord !" replied his father. " I never thought of 
 that. There's only my bed and your poor aunt's. 
 The spare beds are not made up and ready." 
 
 " Well, she's gone, you know. So I suppose I can 
 have that .?" 
 
 "If you don't mind." 
 
 " Mind .? Not I, indeed. Put me anywhere. 
 I once slept in the bed of a man who had been 
 bowie-knifed in it the night before, and was none 
 the worse for it. Mind "i Not I. It's the old room, 
 I suppose .'*" 
 
 " His father led him to the room. Dick gave a 
 look of approval round it, and proceeded to undress. 
 Round his waist was a heavy belt, which he threw 
 on the table with a crash. 
 
 " What's that r 
 
 " Some of the ' ready,' " he said. " Some of the 
 stuff that we're all so fond of. Gold, father — 
 gold !" 
 
 "Dick," said Mr. Mortiboy, solemnly, " I'm very 
 glad you've come back. And more glad still, that 
 you've come back with so much right principle." 
 
 He went away, and his son went on with his 
 toilette. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy came back, and put his head in at 
 the door.
 
 74 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 "Don't waste the light, Dick, You're burning 
 one of your poor aunt^s waxes. I like to see all 
 the lights out before I get into bed myself." 
 
 "All right, governor," said his son, blowing it out, 
 " The old chap's the same as ever," he muttered. 
 *' Damn his bottle of gin a-week. I think the com- 
 pound interest showed true repentance, though." 
 
 In three minutes he was sleeping the sleep of the 
 virtuous. 
 
 And this is how Dick Mortiboy came home 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 
 R. MELLISHIP and Dr. Kerby, after 
 they left Mr. Mortiboy's house on the 
 morning of the funeral, walked to the 
 bank — the doctor leading the other gently by the 
 arm. They entered at the private door, and the 
 banker led the way to his study, where he sat down 
 and leaned his head on his hand. 
 
 " Still the same symptoms .''" asked the doctor. 
 
 "Still the same. I forget what I am doing. 
 You see how I have offended everybody this morn- 
 ing. My mind is dwelling perpetually on one 
 subject." 
 
 "What is that.?" 
 
 " Money, my friend, money. My brain seems 
 troubled at times, and I hardly know whether the 
 thing I am thinking of is real, or only the vision of
 
 ^6 Ready-money Moi^tiboy. 
 
 a disordered fancy. Can your medicine do nothing 
 to relieve me ?" 
 
 *' Have you been trying no medicine of your 
 own ?" 
 
 The banker sighed. 
 
 " I have not been able to keep my hands from 
 the brandy." 
 
 The doctor shook his head gravely, and said 
 nothing for a while. 
 
 " You must go away, you know. I told you so 
 months ago. You must have complete rest and 
 change for three months at least." 
 
 *' As well talk of rest and change for three years." 
 
 " My dear old friend — the human brain is not like 
 an iron machine. You can't work it for the whole 
 p jriod of your natural life without rest. You must 
 take a holiday." 
 
 *' I cannot — yet, doctor." 
 
 " If I speak as your doctor, I must say piofes- 
 sionally — then get some other advice than mine. 
 But let me speak as a friend, and say, for God's 
 sake take a holiday, or something evil will happen 
 to you." 
 
 "What, doctor— what .?" asked Mr. Melliship, 
 eagerly. 
 
 But his adviser put the question by.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. yy 
 
 " There are all sorts of mischief — to brain, to 
 stomach, to heart — wrought by long and continuous 
 work. Let us avoid them all by taking a holiday." 
 
 Mr. Melliship hesitated. Then he took up an 
 almanac, dotted with memoranda. 
 
 " If I cannot trust my memory, I can trust these," 
 he murmured. " I shall be comparatively free in a 
 fortnight, doctor. I promise you that, if I possibly 
 can, I will take a holiday then." 
 
 " And until then, no more stimulant than is abso- 
 lutely necessary .?" 
 
 " I promise that, too." 
 
 When this conversation was over, it was too late 
 to go to the funeral. 
 
 The doctor went his way. And the banker rang 
 the bell, and summoned his chief clerk, to whom 
 he explained that a sudden indisposition had pre- 
 vented him from attending the funeral, and would 
 keep him in his own study. And then he wheeled 
 up his sofa to the table, and fell into a long 
 reverie. 
 
 Half an hour before six he rose, and went up to 
 dress for dinner. 
 
 Dinner at Mr. Melliship's was a solemn and 
 sacred institution, hedged round by the triple 
 armour of an absolute punctuality, evening dress,
 
 78 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 and a certain stately courtesy, with which the 
 master of the house treated his guests. 
 
 To-night there were no visitors, and Mr. MeUi- 
 ship, descending to his drawing-room at five 
 minutes before six, found that the only occupants 
 were his wife and daughter. His son Frank had 
 still to come. But the banker, taking no notice of 
 his absence, sat thoughtfully in an easy chair, and, 
 resting his head on his hand, contemplated the 
 coals. His womankind, to whom all his moods 
 were sacred, abstained from interrupting him ; and, 
 to the astonishment of the servants, six o'clock 
 struck without the familiar accompaniment of the 
 bell by which Mr. Melliship was wont to intimate 
 to his famuli that he waited for no one. 
 
 It was a quarter-past six when Frank, who had 
 returned late and dressed hastily, came into the 
 room. Mr. Melliship looked at his watch ab- 
 stractedly, and rang the bell without saying a 
 word. 
 
 The banker was a man who loved to have finished 
 with the day before the dinner hour. The evening 
 was his time of enjoyment and recreation. Unlike 
 Mr. Mortiboy, he took little pleasure in work, and 
 none in the daily details over which he exercised a 
 compulsory rule. Naturally indolent, and findincr
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 79 
 
 his chief pleasure in literary and artistic pursuits, 
 he yet worked conscientiously every day in his 
 office behind the bank, where his clients found him 
 when they came to deposit their money with him 
 or to ask his advice. He had no confidential 
 manager, such as Mr. Ghrimes — probably because 
 he had not had the good fortune to find among his 
 clerks a man of ability and integrity enough to 
 gain his entire confidence. He was well served, 
 however — better than Mr. Mortiboy was — because 
 his people liked him ; but his staff were all of in- 
 ferior capacity, and there was not one among them 
 whom he could trust with aught beyond the routine 
 business of the bank. The work, consequently, 
 was sufficiently difficult at all times, and of late 
 had been — owing to the issue of certain transactions 
 — more arduous than ever. It was in the evening, 
 when the desks were locked and the papers put by, 
 that Mr. Melliship was able to breathe freely, and 
 might fairly be said to live. 
 
 For many years he had looked forward to the 
 time when his son Frank should be able to take his 
 place, and carry on the business of the bank. That 
 time had now come. Frank's education at Harrow 
 and Cambridge was finished, and young Melliship 
 had returned home — though with no great amount
 
 8o Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 of distinction — and was ready, as soon as his father 
 should propose it, to begin the preHminary course of 
 bank training which was to fit him for the work of 
 his hfe. But, strangely enough, his father as yet 
 had made no sign ; and though all the world knew 
 that Frank was to become a partner, his days were 
 idle, and — against his will — spent chiefly in shoot- 
 ing and hunting. 
 
 Nor was this all. Of late, a singular change had 
 come over his father. Mr. Melliship, once the most 
 genial and even-tempered of men, was now uncer- 
 tain in his moods, fitful and capricious. The old 
 expansiveness of his character seemed to be gone ; 
 and he had ceased to take his old interest in those 
 things which had been formerly his chief topic of 
 conversation. 
 
 Frank felt — what both he and his sister were 
 somehow afraid of saying openly — that his father's 
 character had undergone some sort of deterioration. 
 How and why, he was unable to guess. Only Dr. 
 Kerby knew, what we know, that in his overworked 
 head were the seeds of that most subtle and dan- 
 gerous disease — paralysis of the brain. 
 
 The change showed itself in many ways. Mr. 
 Melliship had been a great giver of dinners. To 
 sit at the head of his own table, feeling himself in
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 8i 
 
 culture, intellect, and — it must not be forgotten — 
 in personal appearance, the superior of his usual 
 guests, was an infinite pleasure to this handsome 
 and stately man. He had some acquaintance — 
 such acquaintance as men in the country reckon no 
 small distinction — among literary men, and could 
 invite a lion of lesser repute to stay with him. The 
 lion would roar at his dinners. And he had friends 
 on the Continent who sent him visitors. So that 
 Mr. Melliship had opportunities of calling together 
 his friends to meet distinguished foreigners, and to 
 hear him converse with them — which he could do 
 fluently — in French and Italian. And he used to 
 patronize artists, and invite them to stay with him. 
 Moreover, it was whispered that he had written 
 papers for what were vaguely called " the Quarter- 
 lies" — though to this he never confessed. He was a 
 special friend of the rector's, by reason chiefly of 
 this culture he had acquired, which sat so gracefully 
 upon him. The squirearchy of the neighbourhood 
 regarded him as an ornament to their society ; and 
 by all men, in all classes, Mr. Melliship was spoken 
 well of : by all men but one — his brother-in-law^, 
 the man who had married his sister. Ready-money 
 Mortiboy had called him hard names for twenty 
 years. 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 But now the hospitalities at the bank were con- 
 tracted ; fewer visitors came from town, and no 
 dinners were given. To all Frank's inquiries of his 
 sister, he could get no satisfactory answer, save that 
 things were really changed, and that his father's old 
 serenity was gone, to give way to fits of taciturnity 
 and a habit of retreating to the study, sacred to his 
 own privacy since the birth of his children. 
 
 This night, at dinner, he was more silent than 
 ever. The talk, however, such as it was, was chiefly 
 carried on by Mr. Melliship himself, in a jerky 
 manner, and with an evident effort. 
 
 He sent away his plate almost untouched, but 
 swallowed bumper after bumper of Madeira — a new 
 thing for him to do. Frank and Kate observed it 
 with silent consternation. Then he broke upon the 
 little chatter of his wife with a sudden and disagree- 
 able laugh. 
 
 "The most absurd thing," he said, " really the 
 most laughable thing — I actually went to the 
 funeral to-day in coloured trousers !" 
 
 " Why, my dear," exclaimed the wife, " it will be 
 town tall?: !" 
 
 " I can't help it. I forgot entirely that I was not 
 dressed. It was certainly the most absurd mistake 
 I ever made."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. %i 
 
 Then he lapsed again into silence ; while Frank 
 — on whom a very uneasy feeling had fallen — 
 hastened to relate stories of absent-minded men, 
 and how they put themselves into ridiculous posi- 
 tions. But his father took no notice. 
 
 Frank noticed, with relief, that he drank very 
 little wine after dinner ; and he proposed, almost 
 immediately after his mother and sister had retired, 
 that they should go upstairs for tea. 
 
 Mr. Melliship rose at once, and led the way ; but 
 turning back, as if he recollected something, he sat 
 down again, 
 
 " There was something I wanted to say, Frank — 
 what was it } Yes — yes ; I have not been alto- 
 gether well for some little time." 
 
 " So I have observed, sir. Can I not do some- 
 thing to help you at the bank — assist you in some 
 way .'' 
 
 " No, my dear boy — no — not just yet. But in a 
 few days I hope to get everything settled — every- 
 thing arranged for your joining me. And my own 
 — Yes, if things turn out so. But suppose they do 
 not r 
 
 Then he relapsed into silence again. 
 
 '' Come, father, we will hope they will turn out 
 
 6—2
 
 84 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 all right. Why should they not ? Let us go and 
 have some tea, and a little music." 
 
 Mr. Melliship laughed. 
 
 " Yes — tea, and a little music. So we wind up 
 the day, and ease our cares. Gratior it dies. Which 
 of them was it — I think there was one — who had 
 soft music played while his veins were opened in a 
 
 bath r 
 
 " Good heavens ! I don't know," said Frank, 
 looking at his father anxiously. " But come up- 
 stairs." 
 
 Mr. Melliship took his tea-cup, and sat in his 
 chair, and began to talk — for the first time for many 
 weeks — of the little ordinary matters of the day to 
 his wife. 
 
 " Play me my sonata, Kate," he said to his 
 daughter, " while I tell you all the particulars of to- 
 day's gloomy business." 
 
 • Frank watched him through the evening with a 
 growing intensity of anxiety. These singular tran- 
 sitions from a gloomy taciturnity to an almost inco- 
 herent utterance, and from this back to the old 
 easy, pleasant manner, alarmed him. And then his 
 reference to affairs of business. What affairs. He 
 had never inquired into them ; he knew nothing 
 about his father's pecuniary position. He had
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 85 
 
 always been accustomed to the appearance of wealth 
 in the domestic arrangements, to an ample allow- 
 ance, to the gratification of all reasonable wishes, 
 and he had asked no more. It occurred to him 
 now, for the first time, that these gloomy fits of his 
 father's might have some solid cause in the affairs 
 of the bank ; and a shudder passed through him 
 when he reflected — also for the first time — that 
 banks in other places got into difficulties, and why 
 not the bank of Melliship and Co. 
 
 But Kate played on, and her mother, with her 
 work in her hands, chattered, while the two men 
 trembled. Are not women happy in this, that they 
 seldom feel the blow before it falls } To men 
 belong the long agony of anticipation, the despair- 
 ing efforts at warding off" the stroke of fate, the 
 piquancy of remorse, the bitterness of regret, and the 
 dull, dead pain of foreshadowing — that irpoahoKia 
 of which Paul speaks. These they bear in silence 
 mostly ; while their women wonder what has come 
 over them, or are only vaguely distressed in mind 
 with the fear that something has disagreed with the 
 stomachs of those they love. For women have this 
 very odd and inexplicable feeling about men, that 
 their first thought of how to please them takes the 
 form of something to eat, and their first thought of
 
 S6 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 uneasiness flies back to something eaten. And on 
 them, so unprepared, comes the blow — heavy and 
 cruel it may be, but not so heavy, not so cruel, not 
 so destitute of comfort and compensation as it has 
 appeared to the men who have suffered from it for 
 so many months already. 
 
 About ten Mr. Melliship got up. 
 
 " Good night, children," he said. " I am going 
 to my study. Where did I put the book I was 
 reading V 
 
 " What was it, papa .?" asked Kate. 
 
 *' ' The Memoirs of Lord Castlereagh.' Thank 
 you, my dear, here it is. Have you read it, Frank ? 
 You shall have it, if you like, to-morrow. There is 
 a very singular story about him. One night, as he 
 was lying awake in a long, rambling room in an old 
 house in Ireland, a fire burning at the other end of 
 the room, he saw a child step out from the embers. 
 The child, advancing towards him, grew larger 
 and larger, and at last stood by his bedside, a giant 
 in stature, glaring at him with the wild look of 
 despair, wounded and bloody. He rose, seized his 
 sword, and advanced upon the phantom. As he 
 drew near, the shape retreated, growing smaller and 
 smaller, till it became a child again, and vanished 
 in the fire. You know he afterwards fell by his own
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. Sy 
 
 hand. Do you think the figure appeared to him 
 again ? I have sometimes thought so." 
 
 He looked round the room in a strange, wistful 
 way, and went away without saying another word. 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," said Mrs. MeUiship, as 
 her husband left the room, " why your father should 
 tell us such a dreadful story ; and to-day, too, after 
 the funeral, when we wanted cheering up.'* 
 
 "I suppose," said Kate, "that his own thoughts 
 have been turned all day in the direction of death, 
 and that he cannot shake off the impression of the 
 morning. Besides, you know how fond he was of 
 poor Miss Mortiboy." 
 
 They did not know he had been closeted with 
 Dr. Kerby while the service was being said at the 
 church. 
 
 A ray of hope struck Frank. His father was 
 not well. The funeral of his old friend had, as 
 Kate put it, turned his thoughts in the direction of 
 death. 
 
 " I will go," he said, " and see whether I can be 
 of any use to my father. He is certainly not well 
 to-night." 
 
 " He ate no dinner at all," said his mother. " See 
 if he will have something sent up." 
 
 The study at the bank was a room at the back
 
 88 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 of the house, approached from the main stairs by a 
 long, dark passage. It was not the custom of any 
 one in the house, save the master, ever to enter the 
 room, except in the morning, when Kate herself 
 superintended the dusting operations, and made it 
 her care that none of the papers should be dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Mr. Melliship entered his room, and turned up 
 his lamp. Sitting down before the fire, he opened 
 the book he had been reading, and read over again 
 the story of Lord Castlereagh's suicide. As he 
 read, his face grew haggard, and his cheeks 
 pinched. 
 
 Then he pushed the book from him with a sigh, 
 and opened a cellaret at his elbow, whence he 
 drew, with a little hesitation of manner, a bottle of 
 brandy and a glass. As he was taking out the 
 cork, he heard Frank's footstep in the passage. He 
 had just time to put back the bottle, and to resume 
 his seat, when Frank's knock at the door was fol- 
 lowed by his entrance. 
 
 '* Come in, my boy," said Mr. Melliship, " come 
 in. You find me very busy." 
 
 '' I am come to be of use, sir." 
 
 " That, Frank, you cannot be to-night. And so.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 89 
 
 if that is all, and I cannot help you, leave me to 
 silence and work." 
 
 " But you are not well, my dear father." 
 
 " I am not, Frank," he said, sadly. 
 
 " Will you see a doctor to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I have seen Dr. Kerby to-day ; and he pre- 
 scribes what I hope you will help me very soon to 
 take — a long holiday. But I cannot begin it just 
 yet. And so, good-night, my dear son." 
 
 With that explanation — something, at least — 
 Frank retired. As soon as his footsteps had reached 
 the end of the passage, Mr. Melliship drew out the 
 brandy bottle again, and filled his glass. As he 
 held it to the light, a look of weariness came across 
 his face. He put it down untasted. 
 
 "What is the good.?" he muttered. " It brings 
 stupefaction ; but what is the use of stupefaction ? 
 It brings hope ; but what is the use of hope ? It 
 paints the future bright, when the future is all 
 black and gloomy. Good God ! can I not find 
 strength enough to meet my fate 1 At least, let 
 me do what I can, and write to the accursed man 
 who pulls these strings that are strangling me." 
 
 He sat down to the table, and took his pen. 
 
 " My Dear Mortiboy. — It is in your power to 
 relieve me of all my embarrassments, or to — "
 
 90 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 And here he stopped — because between his eyes 
 and the paper on which he was writing there seemed 
 to fall a cloud, and his brain was turned. His face 
 dropped into his hands, and he groaned aloud. 
 The clock ticked on, but he sat there motionless. 
 Presently, he lifted his head, with a heavy sigh, 
 and looked round furtively. What was it he saw, 
 that on his brow there stood beads of perspiration, 
 that his cheeks were blanched with terror, that his 
 eyes were starting from his head. 
 
 The table at which he wrote was in the centre of 
 the room : his back to the fire. He sat on one of 
 those wooden chairs which revolve without the 
 trouble of lifting them. As he turned, and looked 
 straight forwards, there was the fire burning brightly 
 and cheerily ; there was the mantelshelf, with all 
 its dainty decorations, and above it the large oil 
 painting of his children at four years and six — of 
 Kate and Frank. 
 
 Was there nothing else t To us, had we been 
 there, there was nothing. Thus, as the harmless 
 rustic passed the pool where Diana and her nymphs 
 were bathing, he saw nothing, because nothing was 
 to be seen. Presently, Actseon comes along, and 
 with the glimpse of that other world he loses his 
 perception of the present. So, too, when the
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 91 
 
 Arcadian shepherd piped upon the mountain-side, the 
 gods, Pan and the Dryads and the Fauns sported 
 and revelled about him, and he neither heard nor 
 saw. But to some luckless one — some dweller 
 among cities, some poet whose brain is drunk 
 already with the wine that he finds in the chambers 
 of imagery — great Pan himself appears in all his 
 terrors ; and then the brain reels and totters, and 
 the poor poet speaks never more coherent language. 
 
 So the banker, leaning forward, was face to face 
 with an apparition from the other world. 
 
 " Woman," he cried, stretching out his hands in 
 helpless agony — '* dead woman — why do you haunt 
 me r 
 
 It was the woman he had gone to bury that very 
 morning : Susan Mortiboy — his old playmate, his 
 first love. She stood — or seemed to stand — before 
 the portrait of his children, and held out her hands 
 before the canvas, as if to protect them. A tall, 
 thin figure, with a worn and sad face, full of the 
 sweet and passionless tenderness which comes of a 
 life spent wholly for others, and ignorant of that 
 human love which makes, at one time in their lives, 
 all women selfish who are loved. 
 
 " Why .?" cried Mr. Melliship. " Why .?" 
 
 Her lips, as he thought, moved ; and, though no
 
 92 Ready-mo7iey Mortiboy. 
 
 sound came forth, to him she seemed to speak, but 
 only echoed back the terror of his heart. 
 
 " The time of success is past — the time of ruin 
 is at hand. Be strong to meet your fate." 
 
 " Strong !" he cried. " But how — but how V 
 
 And then the bloodless lips parted again, and 
 the words which were not uttered floated across his 
 brain — 
 
 " Be strong to meet your fate !" 
 
 " Oh ! Susan," he murmured, " do not mock me. 
 This is now the second time. The first time was 
 on the night you died, and then you told me what 
 you tell me now. Great God of Heaven ! have you 
 nothing more to say 1 To be strong — to let the 
 ruin come — to be able to do nothing — to smile and 
 pretend to resignation ! Yes — but what is that of 
 avail to help my children } And to save my 
 own honour } Show me a way ! show me a 
 way !" 
 
 The time for the help of saints has gone. Susan 
 Mortiboy, a sainted and holy w^oman, had, it 
 seemed to him, no advice to give ; for the figure 
 before his eyes was silent, still, and motionless. It 
 spoke not ; but it looked steadily in his face, while< 
 he gazed fixedly forwards, as one in a mesmeric 
 trance.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 93 
 
 And presently, as it seemed, the figure moved 
 from the front of the fireplace to the side, and 
 turned to the picture of the children, whither fol- 
 lowed the eyes of their father. All the deep 
 affection of his nature, all the keenness of his 
 anxiety, all the bitterness of his terror, were con- 
 centrated in that gaze. 
 
 The features of the children faded away, and Mr. 
 Melliship looked through the portrait again to see 
 his own drawing-room. By the fire sat his wife, 
 asleep over her work ; at the other end of the room 
 his son and his daughter, talking in whispers. Oh> 
 death ! — oh, life ! — oh, joy ! — oh, sorrow ! — so far 
 apart, and yet together! The father, with his 
 spectral guest, with his breast racked, and tortured, 
 and torn : the son with his sister, but two rooms 
 away, talking lightly of love, and hope and plea- 
 sure. 
 
 " Oh, Kate," whispered Frank, so that his 
 mother should not hear, " if you knew how I love 
 her." 
 
 " So do I," said Kate. " Not as you do, silly 
 boy; because I know she is not an angel at all — 
 not a bit more than I am." 
 
 " And do you really think she loves me V
 
 94 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 "Why, of course she does. I have seen it for 
 months." 
 
 " But how — oh, Kate ! — how could you have seen 
 what I have hoped to tell you so long ?" 
 
 "By ever so many little things — by signs and 
 tokens — by things that men are too stupid to see. 
 It must be a great misfortune to be a man," said 
 Kate, sententiously. 
 
 "Not at all," replied her brother; "because if I 
 were not a man I should not have fallen in love 
 with Grace Heathcote, and you would not have 
 had the pleasure of helping me in my difficulties." 
 
 " I don't believe you will have any difficulties, 
 only you imagine obstacles that do not really exist. 
 But I am not going to talk this nonsense any 
 longer. Come, let us sing our duet, and then we 
 will go to bed." 
 
 Stories are told of men who have heard conversa- 
 tions hundreds of miles away. They may be true 
 or false ; but here was Mr. Melliship hearing a 
 whispered talk that took place under his own roof, 
 only two rooms distant from him. 
 
 But as he listened and looked, a cloud floated 
 over the picture, and it became once more the 
 picture of two children playing.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 95 
 
 The figure that turned its face towards him 
 seemed to be weeping. 
 
 "Why," said the banker, "does all that I do or 
 hope for turn to disappointment ? You told me 
 years ago, Susan, of my indolence, my vacillation, 
 my love for making things pleasant, and smoothing 
 over difficulties. You alone knew my nature, 
 because you loved me, unworthy as I am. Yes, 
 you loved me ; and once I loved you. Would to 
 God that you had been with me always — a pro- 
 tector from my evil genius, the best mother to my 
 children that they or I could have had. And now 
 you come, when the game of life is played, and I 
 have lost, to mock me with words that mean 
 nothing. Susan, is this well done V 
 
 She pointed again at the picture. 
 
 He looked, and saw a very shabby, ill-furnished 
 room. It was in a great city, for there was a never- 
 ending rumbling of wheels outside ; it was in a 
 crowded part, because you could hear them passing 
 and repassing beneath the window ; it was in a 
 poor part, because you could hear the cries of those 
 who vended their wares and hawked their goods 
 about the streets. 
 
 In the room, lying on an old horsehair sofa, was 
 his wife. By her sat Kate — his golden-haired Kate,
 
 96 Ready-money Mortihoy. 
 
 the darling of his heart, his softly nurtured and 
 tenderly cherished daughter, in a worn black dress, 
 in mourning — God of Heaven ! for whom ? — bathing 
 her mother's temples with water. And in the 
 window, catching the last light of a winter day, 
 Frank, bending over some work. 
 
 " Be strong ? But how ? O, merciful Lord ! 
 must it come to this ?" 
 
 The gray dawn of the February day breaks 
 through the blind of Mr. Melliship's study, where 
 the lamp has long since spent itself, and gone out. 
 The light prowls round the room furtively. There 
 is nothing in the room. It gets stronger, and looks 
 again. There is a sitting figure in a chair. There 
 is a painting over the mantelshelf, wherein two 
 innocent children are laughing upon the white face 
 that looks up on them : and there is nothing else. 
 No figure of a dead woman, moving clay-cold lips, 
 and parting the folds of a shroud to tell of coming 
 danger ; no voice from the grave ; no phantom of a 
 disordered brain ; for the brain has passed through 
 the troubled stage of disorder, and has settled down 
 again into brightness. The brightness of insanity. 
 Mr. Melliship is mad at last ; and is waking again,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 97 
 
 with all this night forgotten, and only one idea left 
 to act upon. On the brink of ruin, which yet might 
 have been averted if his brain were only clear, he 
 has the delusion that he is rich— immeasurably 
 rich! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 
 THURSDAY morning, 
 Dick Mortiboy went up 
 to town to see the " part- 
 ner" of whom he had 
 told his father. "Meet 
 me," he wrote to him, 
 " at Euston, in time for 
 the two o'clock train." At 
 ten minutes before two 
 there arrived on the plat- 
 form of the terminus a thin, slightly built man, who 
 began pacing up and down, and irritably glancing 
 every moment at his watch. 
 
 He was about forty years of age. His closely 
 shaven cheeks were sallow and pale, save in the 
 part where a beard should have been, and this was
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 99 
 
 of a blue-black. His hair— worn close and short — 
 was black and straight. His features, at first sight, 
 appeared to be delicately and clearly cut : looked 
 at more closely, it seemed as if the lines, skilfully 
 designed, had been roughly executed — much as an 
 engraver spoils a drawing on the block. His eyes 
 were small, bright, and set well back in the head. 
 His lips were thin and mobile ; and his chin was 
 long, nearly straight, and very sharp. Now, persons 
 with long straight chins are not unfrequently re- 
 markable for tenacity and obstinacy. What con- 
 stitutes a look of cruelty } I cannot define it. But 
 Mr. Richard Mortiboy's partner and friend had it, 
 distinctly and unmistakably. 
 
 Looking at him for the first time, a sort of 
 shudder ran through you ; and though after- 
 acquaintance might remove the dislike of first 
 thoughts, a secret suspicion was always awakened 
 in men's minds whenever the name of Alcide Lafleur 
 was mentioned. Not in Dick's, it is true, because 
 Dick had not a sensitive nature. He was one of 
 that numerous tribe of mankind who are physically 
 strong, and intellectually self-reliant and clear- 
 sighted. It belongs to a timid nature to take fright 
 at the sight of a stranger— to see intuitively a cer- 
 tain friend in one man, and a certain enemy in 
 
 7—2
 
 lOo Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 another : to open out, like a sensitive plant, in 
 presence of the first ; to shut up and shrink, as the 
 plant folds up its leaves and bends back its fibres 
 recoiling, at the contact of the other. 
 
 M. Alcide Lafleur was irreproachably dressed, in 
 a dark gray suit and black coat. His appearance 
 proclaimed him a foreigner ; but when he addressed 
 one of the guards, his accent was perfectly pure, 
 and his English that of a well-educated gentleman 
 — English, say, a little better than that we hear in 
 the drawing-rooms of London : such as an American 
 of the highest class talks. 
 
 The train came in true to time, and among 
 the first to step out was Dick Mortiboy. The 
 partners shook hands, and walked out of the 
 station, taking a Hansom which passed along the 
 road. 
 
 " Never take a cab from a station," said Dick, 
 with the air of a man who propounds a new maxim 
 in philosophy, " unless you want all the world to 
 know where you are going." 
 
 " Where are we going T' asked his companion. 
 
 " Anywhere you like, my dear Lafleur, provided 
 we have a quiet place to ourselves, and a talk. I've 
 got a devil of a lot to say." 
 
 Lafleur shouted to the cabman through the trap,
 
 A Matter -of -fact Story. loi 
 
 and in a few minutes they were deposited on the 
 pavement of Greek Street, Soho. 
 
 " A quiet house," said Lafleur, leading Richard 
 into it — •* a house where donkeys of conspirators 
 meet and devise schemes which never come to any- 
 thing, for the upsetting of the world. I use it 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Are you turned politician and Republican V' 
 
 "Yes, to get their secrets, such as they are: 
 poor things, when you know them all. But come 
 in." 
 
 The house was externally the modest establish- 
 ment of a blanchisseuse. Two or three Frenchwomen 
 in clean, white caps, and faces which looked almost 
 as clean and white, were ironing and folding before 
 the window. One looked up as they entered. 
 
 ** Tiens ! — it is you, M. Lafleur. And monsieur 
 is your friend V 
 
 " It is I, madame," returned Lafleur, taking off 
 his hat. " And monsieur is my friend." 
 
 " And charmed," said Dick, in French, " to make 
 the acquaintance of madame." 
 
 " Let us have a room, madame, and a fire, and a 
 bottle of brandy, and — and — " 
 
 " And a beefsteak and a pot of stout, and a pack 
 of cards," said Dick.
 
 102 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 *' You shall have them all, messieurs. Follow me, 
 if you please." 
 
 She took them upstairs to a back room on the 
 first floor, which looked out cheerfully on an old 
 churchyard : a very pauper among churchyards — 
 so green and grimy were the tombstones that 
 should have been white, so black and bare the 
 ground that should have been grass. Dick looked 
 out and laughed. 
 
 '* Here," he said, " is a lively and desirable 
 locality to choose for one's own bed-room." 
 
 " Eh } What does it matter 1 I would as soon 
 sleep in a churchyard as in an hotel." 
 
 " We have slept in one, my dear friend, not 
 so very long ago, without experiencing any 
 harm." 
 
 Lafleur laughed — an uneasy, unpleasant laugh. 
 It was this coarse-minded Englishman's chief fault 
 that he was always making some reference to 
 former unpleasantness. 
 
 Madame brought them, with a beaming face, a 
 huge beefsteak from an adjoining eating-house, 
 with the other luxuries they had called for ; and, 
 after putting them on the round table in the middle 
 of the room, added, quite as a matter of course, and 
 as if it were as much an accessory to the table as a
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 103 
 
 saltcellar, an inkstand, pens, and a few sheets of 
 paper. 
 
 Then she lingered for a moment, gazing admir- 
 ingly at the stalwart Dick — the handsomest con- 
 spirator she had ever entertained in her hotbed of 
 treason. 
 
 " Monsieur brings good news ?" she asked. 
 
 Dick looked at her, somewhat puzzled. But 
 Lafleur answered for him — 
 
 " Good, madame, but secret." 
 
 " I understand," she said. " I wish you success." 
 
 Then she retired, shutting the door carefully, 
 and making as much noise as possible in going 
 downstairs, in order to show that she was not 
 listening outside. 
 
 " She thinks you are a messenger from the Inter- 
 national somewhere or other," said Lafleur, care- 
 lessly. " Let us get to business." 
 
 " Let us get to dinner," said Dick. " Good Lord, 
 how hungry I am ! Do you remember — " 
 
 " No, I do not. I remember nothing of the past. 
 I wish you did not." 
 
 Dick laughed, and sat down to the table. 
 
 " Have some steak, Lafleur. No place like Eng- 
 land for beefsteaks. Eat, my friend — eat : that 
 will refresh your memory of many things."
 
 104 Ready -money Mortihoy. 
 
 "Tell me how you are getting on," said his 
 friend, taking a small piece. 
 
 •" In the first place, I'm nearly starved." 
 
 " That I see," returned Lafleur. 
 
 " The old man is the same as ever, but shakier 
 than he was. And now, attend carefully, because 
 this will change all our plans. He has not only 
 forgiven and forgotten, as he says, but he believes 
 everything I tell him. And he is going to be 
 guided by all I advise, if only I play the cards 
 well." 
 
 " Did you say anything about the mines ?" 
 
 " He won't listen to the mines." 
 
 " Did you tell him about the sunken treasure T 
 
 " I tried it on last night ; but he didn't rise as I 
 could have wished. The fact is, Lafleur — Do have 
 some more steak. No t Then I'll finish it." 
 
 He finished the steak before he finished his 
 sentence. Then he pushed back his plate, drained 
 the pewter too ; and turning his chair to the fire, 
 pulled out a pipe, filled it, and lighted it. 
 
 " My father always has his meals in the kitchen," 
 he observed. " It is a delightful custom. So do I. 
 We sit opposite to each other ; and the old woman 
 cuts the meat. The governor only eats a plateful, 
 if it's hot ; or a slice on a piece of bread, if it's cold,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 105 
 
 I do the same. I tell him it reminds me of my 
 camp life, and that I like it. Queer, isn't it } And 
 he believes me !" 
 
 Then he began to smoke his pipe. 
 
 " You forget my impatience, my dear Richard," 
 said Lafleur, softly. 
 
 " No, I don't. At night we sit opposite to each 
 other, and I smoke my pipe, and tell him of my 
 partner's skill and prudence ; how we managed 
 to get money ; and how we've been hoarding it, 
 and saving it, and grinding and screwing, to get 
 more." 
 
 " Aha !" said Lafleur with a smile. 
 
 *' Very well, sir. All this is to lay a foundation, 
 and was exactly what we agreed upon. But, you 
 see, the old man believes the tales to such an in- 
 credible extent, that we can do better ; or, at all 
 events, I can do better." 
 
 " What are you going to do } Dick, you're not 
 going to throw me over, are you .<*" asked Lafleur, 
 leaning forward eagerly. 
 
 "I think I am," returned the other, coolly. 
 " Look here. I come home with you. We've got 
 our little pot. It is agreed that we shall make it 
 out to be a great deal bigger than it his. I am to 
 go down, like the Prodigal Son, to the old man : I
 
 ic6 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 am to say to him, ' Father, I'm truly penitent for 
 what I did' " 
 
 " WTiat did you do ?" asked Lafleur. 
 " That's nothing to do with you, my Alcide. I 
 am to repent and weep, and tell him that nothing but 
 filial love brings me home again ; that, and a desire 
 to show him with my own hands what I have done. 
 Very welL I am then to put into his hands the 
 documents of partnership, and tell him all about 
 the cotton. Eh ? And then I am to propose to 
 him a mortgage of our valuable estates, or a loan, 
 or some means by which we can raise five thousand 
 pounds, of which you are to have half. Is all that 
 correct ?" 
 
 " It is. Five thousand will do it." 
 
 " You are quite sure of your system V 
 
 " Sure, Dick ! Am I sure .' What made our last 
 
 pot r 
 
 " Your system." 
 
 " WTiat kept us afloat at San Francisco ?" 
 
 " Your system, still." 
 
 " Then you ask if I am sure I" said Lafleur, flush- 
 ing to the eyes. " Dick, if I only had a dollar in 
 the world, and was certain that I should never 
 make another, I'd lump it all on my system. Give 
 me only five thousand pounds, I'll break any bank
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 107 
 
 in Europe ; and then go to America, and break any 
 bank there. And then we'll share the spoil I" 
 
 "Very well," said Dick, coolly. "Now, I tell you 
 what I'm going to do. I'll buy, and take to ^Market 
 Basing to-morrow, all the things we agreed upon, 
 and show them to the governor. But after that, I'm 
 going on another tack. I'm going to see if I can't 
 stay there, and get more than a paltry five thousand. 
 I'm going — don't you perceive ^ — to be a supf>ort 
 to my father's failing age, my friend." 
 
 " Ah !" said Lafleur, in a tone which might mean 
 a great deal. 
 
 " Yes. And I may possibly make him see that 
 things will be carried on better with me than with- 
 out me. But give me three months." 
 
 " And meantime V 
 
 " I am quite certain, Lafleur — quite certain : you 
 know me .^ — that I can get you the money, one way 
 or the other." 
 
 " One way or the other V 
 
 Lafleur looked meaningly in his friend's face. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, with a firm setting of his eye- 
 brows. " It can be done, and I can do it. In three 
 months' time you shall have your five thousand and 
 I shall either be a rich man, or else — " 
 
 " Else what r
 
 io8 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " Still a member of the firm of Lafleur, Roaring 
 Dick, and Co., formerly respectable traders in San 
 Francisco, New Orleans, the city of Cairo, and 
 other places in the United States, and elsewhere in 
 this populous and little-witted globe." 
 
 " I can live very well for three months," said 
 Lafleur meditatively. "There is not much to be done, 
 it is true. But there is something. I know a place 
 or two already. And I still have a thousand left." 
 
 " You mean we have a thousand." 
 
 " Of course — of course." 
 
 " It is just as well, my partner, to be accurate. 
 In this particular juncture it makes a little differ- 
 ence, because I want half of it to take back to 
 Market Basing." 
 
 " What are you going to do with it there V* 
 
 " Don't you understand } I have seen my 
 partner. He hands me a cheque on account. It is 
 my share of the profits of one venture. Eh ? And 
 my partner is going to sail directly, to look after 
 this year's crops." 
 
 I.afleur nodded. 
 
 " Where's the money .^" asked Dick. 
 
 " In the bank. You must wait till to-morrow. 
 Very respectable thing to have a banker's account, 
 you know."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 109 
 
 ^ " Then, let us go and buy the things we want ; 
 and, after that, we'll have a pleasant evening. 
 Where am I to sleep ?" 
 
 " Here, if you like. Madame often makes up 
 beds for her conspirators. You are not suspicious ?" 
 
 *' My dear Lafleur, when was I ever suspicious } 
 Besides, look here." 
 
 He half opened his waistcoat. In a pocket on 
 either side, were two handles : one straight — that 
 appertained to a bowie-knife ; the other rounded — 
 that belonged to a six-shooter. 
 
 " You stick to old friends, then T 
 
 "All old friends. My knife, and my pistol, and 
 my Lafleur. But come, while we have daylight." 
 
 It was a singular collection of things that they 
 brought home that night ; and Dick spread them 
 out on the table with an air of great triumph. 
 
 " Here's the cotton : the raw material out of 
 which we make our great profits. Here's a photo- 
 graph of the plantation. Looks devilish like, 
 doesn't it. Here is the dark-skinned but impres- 
 sionable and intelligent African ; free, contented, 
 and happy : hoeing with all the zeal and energy of 
 a British pauper, all for love of Lafleur, Roaring 
 Dick, and Company. Here are the feathers presented 
 me by the Queen of Madagascar, and a map of the
 
 no Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 estate — wants a little touching up with a pen and 
 ink — which her Majesty gave me. Here is my 
 nugget, which I picked up in California — that's no 
 lie, at any rate ! — and was so virtuous as to resist 
 the temptation of staying to pick up more : because 
 I preferred a life of steady industry and religion to 
 one of unsettled aims, uncertain prospects, in some 
 wild spot, perhaps far away from any place of 
 worship." 
 
 " Is the old man religious V 
 
 " No," said Dick. " I forgot that. But somebody 
 else is sure to be religious. Only I must be careful 
 not to draw the long bow too much. Well, have I 
 got everything I want .? The bowie-knife used by 
 the wicked Yankee." 
 
 " Have you got the rough plan showing where 
 the sunken treasure is V 
 
 " Here it is. The same that the honest old 
 bo's'n gave me, the day I relieved his wants out of 
 my slender stock." 
 
 " I say, Dick. Be mild. Yours is a very lively 
 imagination." 
 
 "And here is a bit of silver ore from that mine 
 which you and I know of, up in the Mexican moun- 
 tains, which no one else knows of, and which we can 
 get for a mere song. I've got them all. And now,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 1 1 1 
 
 Lafleur, here's the brandy, and here are the cards, 
 and let us have a game. Upon my word, I don't 
 think there's a single soul in all Market Basing 
 that knows the game of euchre. The usual stake, 
 I suppose V 
 
 Each friend laid a small handful of gold on the 
 table, and began. It was a curious feature about 
 their play, that each kept an eye on his own, and 
 one on the other's hand. Moreover, there was a 
 sort of ostentation of integrity about them, as they 
 sat with their hands well forward upon the table, 
 and their cuffs pulled back, and shuffled, dealt, and 
 cut in a manner which seemed to say, " You see how 
 honest and simple I am .?" 
 
 After playing till twelve, Lafleur rose — he had 
 been winning slightly — and put on his hat. It was 
 characteristic of the man that, though he had drunk 
 nearly half the bottle of brandy to his own share 
 his face was as pale and his manner as quiet as 
 before. 
 
 " Must you go } Then I will meet you at the 
 bank to-morrow, and draw the money. Send up 
 that Frenchwoman, will you .?" 
 
 Madame came up. M. Lafleur had spoken about 
 the room. It was in readiness. Would monsieur 
 step upbtairs?
 
 1 1 2 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 Madame was a bright little body of about five 
 and twenty, not uncomely in features, and clean of 
 appearance. So Dick — who had an eye for beauty 
 — invited her to sit down, compounded her a glass 
 of brandy and water, and entertained her by a few 
 descriptions — drawn from that boundless store- 
 house, his own imagination — of Eastern scenes, and 
 the places he had seen. And after an hour's relaxa- 
 tion, he went to his bed-room. 
 
 There was neither lock nor bolt on it, and Dick 
 noticed, with a little suspicion, that it opened out- 
 wards. This gave him no means of protection at 
 all, and he carried about with him a largish sum in 
 valuables and money. But he was a man of bound- 
 less resource. He drew a piece of string from his 
 pocket, undressed, tied one end to his great toe, 
 and the other to the handle of the door. Then he 
 placed his pistol and knife under the pillow, and 
 got into bed. 
 
 "Ho! ho!" he laughed. "If they open the 
 door—"
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 jjT Is the duty of the historian, painful 
 though it sometimes be, to preserve 
 impartiaHty in the description of his 
 characters ; neither, on the one hand, 
 to be so far blinded by admiration of a hero's 
 virtues as to forget his faults ; nor, on the other, to 
 visit his errors with so heavy a displeasure that any 
 gleams of virtue may be quite overlooked and for- 
 gotten. In obedience to this rule, it is incumbent 
 upon me to state plainly, what has already been 
 intimated, that Richard Mortiboy the younger was 
 by no means the manner of man that he wished to 
 appear in the eyes of his confiding father. There 
 was no cotton estate ; there were no mines ; there 
 was no sunken treasure ; there was nothing but a 
 pocketful of money, gotten together by various 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 1 14 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 shifts and devices more than questionable. And 
 right in the unsuspecting heart of Market Basing — 
 as innocent a town as any in the guileless realm of 
 England — there had dropped, though not from 
 Heaven, one of the most unscrupulous, crafty, and 
 thorough-going rascals that might be found in a 
 long day's march : even by Ariel the rapid. 
 
 We, who write history, would fain have all our 
 characters virtuous. How sweet and easy-flowing 
 would be the years ; how quiet and gentle the 
 conversations ; how empty of pity and terror the 
 lives ; and, oh ! how bereft of interest would be 
 our books ! For when the villain ceases out of 
 the land, and the voice of the tyrant is heard no 
 more, history will cease too ; because there will be 
 nothing left to chronicle but the wooing of turtles. 
 *' The purpose for which snakes was built," writes 
 an American natural philosopher, " is not yet ex- 
 plored." But here is doubtless one reason why 
 rogues and rascals were constructed, and why 
 villainy and roguery are allowed to prosper : to 
 lurnish material wherewith the historian is enabled 
 to point his moral and adorn his tale. 
 
 It v/as now twelve years since a certain cold,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 115 
 
 wild night in November, when, about nine o'clock, 
 Mr. Mortiboy, senior, followed by his son — then a 
 tall stripling of eighteen — walked down that dark 
 passage in the house which we know, and opened 
 the door. The wind blew in, and the rain was 
 pouring down. The father was trembling with 
 passion : the son cold and stolid. Mr. Mortiboy 
 pointed to the darkness, and said, in constrained, 
 hard tones — 
 
 " Go. Darken my doors no more. You are no 
 longer my son." 
 
 The son said nothing ; but looked up and down 
 the street, as if inspecting the state of the weather 
 before taking a walk. 
 
 " Go," repeated his father. 
 
 " One may as well first put on a great coat, on a 
 night like this," returned the boy, coolly. '* Had 
 you not better shut the door, father, for fear of 
 catching cold, while I delay you for one minute .^ ' 
 
 His father took no notice, but stood steadfastly 
 gazing at him. The young man, taking his time 
 to get comfortably into the great coat, selected his 
 umbrella from the stand, and put on his hat. Then 
 he took out his purse, and looked at it. 
 
 " You must give me some money," he said. 
 
 " Write to me from London, and I will tell you 
 
 8—2
 
 Ii6 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 what I will do for you. Now, go. Your aunt shall 
 not know why." 
 
 Two days later, a letter came from London, con- 
 taining nothing but young Mortiboy's address. To 
 this the father replied by a ten pound note, without 
 a word of forgiveness or of blame ; and from this 
 time all correspondence had ceased, and Dick 
 Mortiboy's name was no more mentioned in his 
 father's house. 
 
 It was understood vaguely that he had " done 
 something." 
 
 The young man, with his ten pound note, and 
 five or six pounds besides, which he got by selling 
 his watch and chain, went to the docks, and looked 
 for a ship about to sail— whither he cared not. 
 What he wanted — for very special and cogent 
 reasons of his own — was to get away at once, and 
 never to come back again at all. 
 
 He found one clearing out, with her cargo on 
 board, her papers ready, bound for Palmiste Island, 
 and going to sail the very next day. He took a 
 second-class passage for ten pounds ; getting a half- 
 promise from the purser that, if he made himself 
 useful on the voyage, he might have some of the 
 ten pounds returned on their arrival. And a few 
 days afterwards, young Mortiboy was sailing merrily
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. ^ 117 
 
 across the Bay of Biscay, his cares all thrown to 
 the winds, delighted at the prospect of seeing the 
 world, and getting away from the difficulties and 
 debts which had driven him to — convey, the wise 
 call it — imitate his father's signature so carefully, 
 with all its dots and flourishes, that not even the 
 bank clerks could tell that it was not the genuine 
 autograph of Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 He did more than make himself useful to the 
 purser — he did all his work for him ; and that so 
 easily, lightly, and well, that the ship's books were 
 never better kept. The purser showed his grati- 
 tude. He not only bestowed a daily ration of grog 
 upon him — which was really a delicate attention — 
 but he persuaded the skipper to enter him on the 
 books as purser^s clerk ; to give him back his 
 passage money ; and when the ship, after her three 
 months' voyage, was tugged into the harbour of 
 Port Dauphin, in the Island of Palmiste, to present 
 him with a trifle besides, by way of acknowledg- 
 ment. And then, when Dick had refused an offer 
 to be taken back again in the same ship, still as 
 clerk, his patron sent him to a business house in 
 the town, with a recommendation to the effect that 
 Mr. Mellon — as Dick called himself — was a young 
 man of excellent business habits, and respectable
 
 1 1 8 Ready-7no7iey Mortiboy. 
 
 connexions. The latter clause, being put in as 
 likely to help, was certainly not a greater untruth — 
 although the purser knew nothing whatever about 
 his relatives — than is told a thousand times a-day 
 by people who write testimonials ahke for the 
 deserving and the undeserving poor. 
 
 The recommendation was accepted as sufficient ; 
 and Dick found himself on what seemed to him — 
 he had never before drawn more than a pound a 
 week— a princely salary of one hundred and fifty 
 pounds a year, in one of the best business houses of 
 Port Dauphin. His hours were not long ; and he 
 had his day, after four o'clock, entirely to himself 
 Now, this was the unfortunate part of it. From 
 four o'clock to six — that is to say, in the cool of 
 the evening — one might stroll under the trees ; one 
 might climb the hills— though this was hot work — 
 or one might sit and do nothing. At six, just as 
 the sun went down, came the table d'hote, which 
 brought you well on to seven. And here, Dick — 
 whose income was not much more than enough to 
 find his breakfast and dinner, and pay the rent of 
 the little wooden box he slept in, for which he paid 
 a pound a month — ought to have ended his day, 
 and gone home to bed. Unfortunately, there was 
 a billiard-room in the hotel, and he found it plea-
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 119 
 
 santer to smoke his cigar — cigars, even at a half- 
 penny a-piece, the current price in Palmiste, mount 
 up — than to go home to his dreary room, and go 
 to bed. Added to which, the younger Mortiboy 
 had the eye of a Roberts for billiards. So he used 
 to play, and to make his little pot every night. 
 Then the descent of Avernus, which had been 
 checked by the voyage out, began over again. 
 For to billiards was speedily added brandy and 
 soda ; and not unfrequently, as the weeks passed 
 on, a httle game at ecarte, where his winnings at 
 billiards were generally transferred to his oppo- 
 nents' pockets. Presently, these proceedings coming 
 to the ears of his employers — respectable and, con- 
 sidering all things, even God-fearing merchants — 
 it was not astonishing that Mr. Mellon received 
 one morning a polite, but firm, intimation that his 
 services would not be required after the end of the 
 current month. But Dick again fell on his feet. 
 In Palmiste are coffee and sugar estates. And 
 among the planters who sold their sugar to Dick's 
 employers was an old Englishman, who had been 
 struck by Dick's handsome face and his frank 
 manner. Learning that he was without employ- 
 ment, he offered him a place on his own estate, 
 where his sole business would be to pay the coolies
 
 120 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 engaged for the canes, look after their rations, and 
 keep the accounts. And he bargained to give him, 
 over and above a house and allowances, fifteen 
 pounds a month in hard cash. Dick accepted the 
 offer with joy, and went down to the Hautbois 
 estate with the delight of a schoolboy. For it was 
 characteristic of this young man, that no sooner 
 was he out of a scrape than all his good spirits 
 returned to him. 
 
 For some months all went well. Hautbois was 
 at the other side of the island, some forty miles 
 from the town of Port Dauphin. There were no 
 billiards, no ecarte, and no loafers about hotel 
 verandahs ready to propose or to accept a brandy 
 and soda, on the slightest possible pretext. It is 
 true that there was no society ; but he had work 
 during the day, and was suf^ciently tired at night 
 to go to bed with pleasure at nine o'clock. Haut- 
 bois stood ten miles away from any other house : 
 an estate cut out of the virgin forest, which here 
 sloped down to the very sea shore, until it merged 
 into the mangroves, where they grew standing 
 thickly together, with their unwholesome leaves, 
 and their long, slimy roots — the nursing places and 
 cradles of the young sharks, who disported them- 
 selves about the tendrils in the shallow water in all
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 121 
 
 the innocence of childhood. Round the estate lay 
 the deep, silent woods, where there were no birds, 
 because the monkeys ate the eggs, or the hurri- 
 canes blew the nests away out to sea. Away in 
 the glades, you came upon deer that were only 
 frightened at the sight of man for twelve weeks in 
 the year, during the shooting season — a periodical 
 time of misery, whose approach they yearly 
 expected with terror, and saw themselves safely 
 passed through with a lively gratitude. Wild and 
 fearful beasts there are none in Palmiste. Unlike 
 most of the other West Indian Islands, it has no 
 snakes ; and, with the exception of a centipede or 
 so, a big spider of ferocious and bloodthirsty build, 
 and a few scorpions, there is nothing in all Palmiste 
 to scare a girl. To the north rose the mountains, 
 tall and wooded. And over all these lay the bright, 
 soft blue, never hidden by fog, seldom by cloud, 
 with a warmth which got into the bones, and made 
 one lazy and thoughtful, and inclined for rest : an 
 air which makes men good, because it is too much 
 trouble to be anything else. Here for a while 
 Dick was happy. Mr. Oswald, his employer, asked 
 him to dinner ; talked about England, and the old 
 days when he was a young man, and George the 
 Third was King ; told old stories of his Oxford
 
 122 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 life, and of the princes, and their wild doings ; and 
 surrounded the young man with a pure and peace- 
 ful atmosphere, which made him for awhile look 
 back on his past with shame and regret. And then 
 old Mrs. Oswald took a fancy to him ; made him 
 come and talk to her when her husband was up in 
 town : inquired into the condition of his wardrobe. 
 This was scanty : Mr. Oswald made it plentiful ; 
 saw that his little house was properly furnished, 
 and made comfortable for him : and instructed him 
 in the best way of dealing with his Indians. 
 
 His duties took up about three hours in the day. 
 Then he would go over to the mill, and watch the 
 sugar-making. By degrees he grew expert at this, 
 as in anything which he took up ; and Mr. Oswald 
 added another five pounds a month to his salary, 
 and made him one of the mill superintendents. On 
 Saturday he had to overlook the distribution of 
 rations to the men. On these days, there was a 
 great scene round the storehouse over which he 
 presided — as the Indians came, accompanied by 
 their wives and children, to receive the weekly dole 
 of rice, and grain, and salt fish. It was then that 
 Dick — who loved nothing so well as to command 
 and administer — was in all his pride. He learned 
 to talk Hindustani, and achieved a reputation!
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 123 
 
 — easy enough, but not entirely without its merits 
 — of being able to swear as hard as any coolie of 
 them all in his own tongue. 
 
 Dick ruled them with a rod of iron. 
 
 Standing over his stores and his accounts, with 
 his long, thin figure, his flashing eye, his ready 
 hand — which many an Indian remembered as being 
 heavier than most of those he had encountered — 
 and — above all, his ready tongue, he was at once 
 the terror and the admiration of the shrinking crowd 
 which gathered round him, and received, in such 
 silence as was compatible with their stage of civili- 
 zation, the weekly allowances. 
 
 So Dick's days passed pleasantly away, and the 
 memory of the past troubled him little. Came pre- 
 sently the hunting season, when Mr. Oswald gave 
 his great parties. To these the young accountant 
 was asked, and discovered other talents. For the 
 eye which had been chiefly trained at a billiard- 
 table was found the truest of any with a rifle, and 
 most of the honours of the hunt fell to young 
 Mellon, of Hautbois estate. He could ride, too, 
 because he belonged to a riding country, and many 
 were the mounts he had got as a boy from his 
 cousin Heathcote or his uncle, Mr. Melliship. So 
 it came about that, in spite of his inferior position
 
 1 24 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 — one generally held by mulattoes of the island — 
 young Mellon began to be known as a gentleman 
 of a station not contemptible, and manners which 
 belonged to a higher grade. And since no one is 
 satisfied to recognise a man as a friend till a cohe- 
 rent and intelligible story of at least ten years of 
 antecedents has been made out about him, it was 
 whispered abroad that young Mellon was one who 
 had quarrelled with his father, a man of colossal 
 fortune, and had run away. This was spread 
 abroad so industriously that it ended by being re- 
 ceived as gospel, and Dick found all doors open to 
 him. 
 
 No harm was done so long as he remained at 
 Hautbois, or only went about to the neighbouring 
 estates. In these visits, he made the acquaintance 
 of the young ladies, who led lives as dull as ditch- 
 water in their secluded homes, and were delighted 
 to get some one, if only an employe on an estate, to 
 talk to. And such an employe ! — a mysterious 
 stranger with the manners of a nobleman ; a tall 
 and graceful youth of t\yenty, with all the beauty 
 of a hero of romance, all the possible passion 
 which lay undoubtedly hidden under black curls 
 and splendid eyes, and a little dark moustache, 
 and a cheek which had hardly yet forgotten how to
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 125 
 
 blush. And so the fame of him went up even to 
 the great and important city of Port Dauphin ; and 
 when the races came, and the Governor gave his 
 ball, and the garrison theirs, and the bachelors 
 theirs, and there were dinners every day, and dances 
 when there were no balls, interest was used to get 
 Mr. Mellon cards of invitation ; and he, too, with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Oswald, went up to town to enjoy 
 himself. 
 
 We cannot, historians though we are, linger over 
 this most fatal week. Dick had been six months 
 with Mr. Oswald. It is easy, therefore, to calculate 
 how much money he had saved, at the rate of 
 about ten pounds a month. With this in his pocket, 
 he took a chamber at the hotel for the week of the 
 races, and prepared to be happy. Everybody liked 
 him : the young ladies because he was young and 
 handsome, and danced well, and looked like a 
 chevalier ; the men because he was never ill-natured, 
 never in the way, never in the least snobbish — 
 a thing which could not always be said of the 
 Palmiste bachelors — and because he would sit u;) 
 all night, sing a good song, and play a game at 
 cards when the dancing was over. This little game 
 of cards it was that brought him to grief; for Dick 
 went back at the end of his week with a sorrowful
 
 1 26 Ready-mo7iey Mortiboy. 
 
 heart, and fifty pounds to pay in the course of the 
 next month — a debt of honour. He was pro- 
 foundly miserable. Among all his acquaintances, 
 he had not one friend ; there was not a soul in all 
 Palmiste to whom he could have gone for the loan 
 of a ten pound note, except old Mrs. Oswald. If only 
 the young man had poured out his troubles to her, 
 all would have been well with him. For the heart of 
 the childless old lady yearned to the bright and 
 handsome lad, who might have been her own son, 
 and who looked so innocent and happy. 
 
 But Dick had already plucked the fatal apple 
 which brings man to grief. That is, he had passed 
 the portal which leads from innocence to guilt ; and 
 having passed through it once, found little diffi- 
 culty in going through again. Ce n'est que le pre- 
 mier pas qui coute : the bravo who can number his 
 hundred murders has almost forgotten the terrible 
 heart-sickness that came upon him when he com- 
 mitted the first. 
 
 In the month the debts were paid, and Dick 
 freed from all his difficulties. He went on with his 
 duties, but he looked pale and harassed. Mrs. 
 Oswald used to ask him if he were ill, and made him 
 dine at the house oftener — thinking, in her kind- 
 ness, that he wanted society. And her husband
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 1 27 
 
 offered him a holiday at Port Dauphin for a fort- 
 night, if that would do him good. But Dick shook 
 his head, tried to look pleased, and declined. 
 
 Thus two or three months passed away. One 
 day Mr. Oswald received a letter, which he read 
 with perplexity. He had his horses put in at once, 
 and drove away to town. Mr. Oswald did not come 
 back that night. That was nothing unusual. But 
 he came the next day accompanied by two men 
 whom Dick knew, when he saw them, to be inspec- 
 tors of police. As the carriage drove up, he was 
 crossing the open space between the mill and his 
 own cottage. Why did he stop, and turn as if for 
 flight ; and then, trembling in all his limbs, seem to 
 lose in a moment all his pride and manliness, and 
 crouch together as he continued his walk } 
 
 Mr. Oswald called him. The old gentleman was 
 perfectly haggard with anxiety and terror. To 
 look at him, you would have thought that he was 
 himself the criminal whom the of^cers came to look 
 for. 
 
 Dick tried to pull himself together. He suc- 
 ceeded to a small extent, and advanced with a con- 
 scious swagger to the verandah where his employer 
 was standing. 
 
 " Mr. Mellon," said Mr. Oswald, "a very painful
 
 128 Ready-money M or tiboy. 
 
 thing has happened. Some person has forged an 
 order to a cheque for fifty pounds, and the money- 
 has been paid. The forged cheque has been placed 
 by the bank in the hands of the Crown SoHcitor, and 
 they — they — say it is you." He cleared his throat. 
 
 " Of course, I am quite certain it is a mistake." 
 
 " Quite, sir," said Dick, with a nervous twitching 
 at the mouth. *' These gentlemen — " 
 
 He looked at the inspectors. 
 
 " We have to arrest you, Mr. Mellon." 
 
 " Oh ! May I have a word with you, Mr. 
 Oswald r 
 
 The inspectors, in reply to a look of interrogation 
 from the old planter, nodded ; and Mr. Oswald led 
 his clerk into the dining-room. As they came in at 
 one door, Mrs. Oswald entered at another. Dick 
 did not see her. 
 
 " I do not want to waste your time, sir," he said. 
 " You have been very kind to me — more than kind ; 
 but the thing is true." 
 
 " What thing .?" asked Mrs. Oswald. 
 
 " I am arrested for forging a cheque. It is quite 
 true. I did it. You will not tell them in the court 
 what I have told you, I am certain, Mr. Oswald. 
 I gambled during the race week, and lost all I had, 
 and fifty pounds besides. How was I to pay it .-*"
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. ii2c\ 
 
 " Why did you not ask me ?" cried Mrs. Oswald. 
 " Oh ! my boy, why did you not ask me .^" 
 
 " I wish I had," said Dick, ruefully. 
 
 " If you must forge some one's name," said Mr. 
 Oswald, almost weeping, " why, in Heaven's name, 
 why not have forged mine .'*" 
 
 " I wish I had," said Dick, looking at him with 
 real emotion. " I wish to God I had !" 
 
 And while Mrs. Oswald cried and lamented, and 
 the worthy old man, her husband, sat mournfully 
 with his head in his hands, the young fellow went 
 off with his captors, to be locked up in the gaol of 
 Port Dauphin. One touch of compunction — the 
 only one for many years — visited his heart when he 
 saw the grief of the good old couple. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 
 
 NOT a pleasant thing, 
 apart from the shame 
 which every one feels, 
 except the true philoso- 
 pher, to be clapped into 
 prison in any climate ; 
 but it must be most un- 
 pleasant of all under a 
 tropical sun. The ab- 
 sence of fresh and free 
 air, and the deprivation of those small comforts 
 v/hich alone make life in Palmiste tolerable, are of 
 themselves enough to make a weak man commit 
 suicide, and a strong man go mad. Poor Dick sat, 
 the first night of his confinement, on the stone couch
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 131 
 
 which did duty for a bed in his cell, mournfully 
 thinking over his chances ; and speculating — for 
 the case was far too clear to admit of any hope of 
 acquittal — how long a term of imprisonment he 
 would be likely to have. Then, with the elasticity 
 of youth, he went on to speculate, further, what he 
 should do when he got out. And presently, wearied 
 with so much thinking, he lay back upon his grass 
 mat and went to sleep till the sun rose, and shining 
 in at his barred window, awakened him. He 
 started up, and instead of his little room at Haut- 
 bois, made neat and comfortable by the care of 
 Mrs. Oswald, he found himself in a white-washed 
 cell, with a stone floor, and iron bars instead of green 
 jalousies. The window looked into the courtyard 
 of the prison, where some miserable Indians, prison- 
 ers, were huddled' together, waiting for the guards 
 who were to take them to work. Presently his 
 door opened, and a mulatto turnkey appeared — a 
 fat, merry-looking rascal — who gave him the usual 
 instructions as to the rules of the cell, and let him 
 know that he was to be brought before the magis- 
 trate that morning. 
 
 Perhaps, in Dick Mortiboy's whole life — which 
 was chequered enough, and had its banyan days — 
 there was but one recollection to which he turned 
 
 9—2
 
 132 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 as seldom as he could, only one which caused him 
 bitter shame and pain even to think of. It was the 
 recollection of the dismal and degraded procession 
 — of which he formed one — that filed out from the 
 prison doors, and was marched solemnly down the 
 street, coram populo, to the magistrate's court. It 
 was headed by a brace of weeping Indians, charged 
 with burglary and attempt to murder — they shed 
 tears as they went, and howled their innocence ; 
 then three or four men who had been drunk and 
 disorderly — these were the most shamefaced of the 
 lot ; then a negro, who pretended to laugh at the 
 absurdity of the charge against him — he had been 
 stealing ducks ; then Dick — the bright, handsome 
 young Englishman — walking along, red with shame 
 and misery, with this crew; then a Chinaman, 
 against whom something unlawful connected with 
 other people's pork was alleged — He wore a sur- 
 prised countenance, as one who should say, " Dear 
 me ! this is very singular — very singular, indeed ! 
 What can be the motive of this .?" Then half a 
 dozen more Indians ; and then the procession was 
 closed by two policemen. A long string passed 
 down the file, which every man had to hold with 
 one hand. The Indian is quite contented so long 
 as he keeps his fingers closed on the string, and
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 133 
 
 considers himself laden with fetters. If he is 
 driven along loose, he runs away, multivious. 
 
 That dreary day ! Many of his acquaintances — 
 including the man for whom he had forged the 
 cheque, who was the principal witness — were in the 
 court ; and not one — not one of all the men with 
 whom he had lived and drunk and sung — seemed 
 to have a kind or pitying look. Dick tried to steel 
 his heart, ineffectually against the shame. It was 
 bruised and seared by this day's misery, and it 
 was long before it became again as it had been 
 once — soft, relenting, charitable. Have you not 
 noticed that criminals appear to have no sense 
 at all of moral culpability ? It is because circum- 
 stances, as well as repetition, deaden the feeling of 
 remorse. Thus, when Dick forged his fathers 
 name, in the first place, the consequences were 
 sharp and decisive ; secondly, they were not accom- 
 panied by any public shame ; thirdly, he was in 
 dire straits in the town, and only too glad to get 
 out of Market Basing ; and lastly, his father had 
 always restricted his pleasures, and cut down his 
 allowances to the merest pittance ; so that he hated 
 his home, and left it with delight. Now it was 
 different : he had a chance in life, and he threw 
 it away. He made friends, and he lost them. He
 
 134 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 got a certain sort of position, and he put himself 
 out of it by his own act and deed. It is the pubHc 
 consequence of a crime that causes the remorse and 
 agony of the sinner ; not those hidden consequences 
 which are unseen, yet, perhaps, more retributive, 
 because they sear the heart, and paralyse the 
 will. 
 
 The day came to an end at last, and the proces- 
 sion was re-formed to return — Dick being fully 
 committed for trial at the next sessions, now some 
 two months off. They pushed him into his cell, 
 gave him his dinner, and left him to his medita- 
 tions. 
 
 There are only occasionally in Palmiste prisoners 
 of any social grade or rank above that of merchant- 
 sailor, or Indian coolie ; but at this moment there 
 was another prisoner also awaiting his trial — a 
 young Frenchman, some few years older than 
 Dick. At stated hours the prisoners were allowed 
 to walk in the courtyard, between which and the 
 main entrance was a strongly locked gate, opening 
 into a sort of barrack-room, where policemen and 
 guards were always about. There was also another 
 entrance, by an iron door, never opened, which led 
 into the chief gaoler's private house, and was 
 designed as a means of getting into the prison
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 135 
 
 without going through the guard-room, in case of a 
 disturbance ; and at the back of a court lay a large 
 bare room open to it, which had been built for the 
 prisoners as a place where they might work out of 
 the sun when in-door work had to be done. 
 
 In this room, on the second day of his confine- 
 ment, Dick, being released for his walk, saw a man 
 sitting on the stone bench which ran round the four 
 walls, and formed the only furniture. He started, 
 for a moment changed colour, and half turned to 
 escape ; only there was nowhere to go to, and he 
 stopped. For the man he saw there was one of his 
 old friends — a man who used to dine at the same 
 table d'hote with him in Port Dauphin. He was a 
 young Frenchman of the colony — like himself, a 
 merchant's clerk — and, like himself, a gambler : 
 but Lafleur had already a reputation beyond his 
 years. He was slightly built, and pale, with close 
 black hair and a thick massive beard, like the 
 Frenchmen of the South. Dick knew him chiefly 
 as connected with a card story in which he figured 
 as the principal actor. The quarrel had been made 
 up by a duel, in which Lafleur's opponent gave 
 information to the police, and the combat was 
 stopped on the ground. But men looked shy on 
 him after this affair, and even in Port Dauphin,
 
 136 Ready-money Moriiboy. 
 
 where public morality runs low, were chary of being 
 seen much in his company. 
 
 The man started at the sound of Dick's step, and 
 turned a haggard and careworn face to see who 
 was coming. He rose, with a strange, constrained 
 air, quite unusual to him, and half held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " You are come to see me, Mellon .'* This is kind 
 of you." 
 
 " I } No, by gad ! You have come to see me. 
 I am " — Dick turned red for a moment — " I am a 
 prisoner." 
 
 " So am I," returned the other. 
 
 " You, too } What have you been doing V 
 
 "They pretend that I murdered young Des- 
 champs." 
 
 Dick involuntarily recoiled. Then he laughed, 
 defiantly. 
 
 " They pretend I forged a cheque. Damn it ! — 
 they will pretend anything. Only, I say, Lafleur, 
 you're in a worse scrape than I am." 
 
 ''Bah!" said the Frenchman; "it is nothing. 
 In the first place, it was a duel. I am innocent. 
 And in the second — " 
 
 "Nonsense," said Dick. "What a fool you 
 must have been."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. i^y 
 
 "Well, there's no evidence." 
 
 Dick shrugged his shoulders, and sat down — glad 
 enough to have a talk even with a murderer. It 
 will be understood that prison discipline in Port 
 Dauphin is lax. 
 
 The days passed on. Lafleur grew more anxious. 
 Only his lawyer came to see him ; none of his own 
 relations entering the prison. Mr. Oswald, got a 
 lawyer, too, who came to see Dick from time to 
 time. But his visits did not tend to make the 
 young man more cheerful : his spirits sank every 
 hour. 
 
 One day Lafleur looked, for the first time, bright 
 and even hopeful. 
 
 " What is it .?" asked Dick. He felt particularly 
 low that morning. " Hang it, man, if you were 
 acquitted you couldn't look jollier." 
 
 " I see hope, my friend. I have a plan. We 
 may escape yet." 
 
 " Don't see how." 
 
 " Listen." 
 
 He took Dick's arm, curiously, before he began 
 to speak, and felt the biceps. Now, Dick was 
 strong-limbed and muscular, besides being tall. 
 
 " My faith, my friend, if I had your strength — " 
 
 " Go on, man — go on."
 
 138 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 Lafleur looked round. No one was in the court- 
 yard except a couple of policemen, whose backs 
 were turned. He drew a key from his pocket, and 
 furtively showed it to Dick. 
 
 " It is the governor's own key — the key of the 
 iron door." 
 
 Dick nodded, and said nothing. 
 
 " The mulatto gaoler got it for me. He is my 
 father's son." 
 
 "Your brother.?" 
 
 "Pardon me — I said my father's son. Now, 
 listen. It depends on you. At six, we have to go 
 up to our cells. Who always conducts us ?" 
 
 " Pierre, your — your friend, and Smith." 
 
 " Just so. You will have to floor Smith. Pierre 
 will be managed by me, without any trouble. It is 
 all squared with him." 
 
 Dick looked thoughtful. 
 
 " Smith's a big man ; but I think I can tackle 
 him. Are we to wait till six t Oh ! Lafleur — why 
 did you tell me so soon V^ 
 
 The day was interminable. 
 
 Slowly the leaden-footed hours crept away. 
 
 From two to five they were locked up. 
 
 At five they were let out for another breath of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 139 
 
 fresh air; and Dick's heart beat fast as the hour 
 approached. 
 
 The clock struck a quarter to six. The sun was 
 already setting behind the mountains, and in a few 
 minutes it would be dark. 
 
 Presently, making a great jingle with his keys, 
 Smith, a ponderous Englishman of sixteen stone, 
 followed by Pierre, came through the large gate. 
 According to custom, he stopped to lock the door 
 behind him, and leisurely crossed the yard to the 
 work-room. Dick held himself at the inside of the 
 door. 
 
 " Come," said Smith, standing at the door, 
 " time's up. Where's Mr. Mellon .?" 
 
 He was looking straight into the room, where 
 Lafleur was standing, motionless and trembling. 
 
 " Here," cried Dick, striking him full in the 
 temple with his fist. Smith reeled, and would have 
 cried for help ; but another blow, from the left, 
 knocked him with his head against the corner of 
 the stone bench, and he fell, senseless and bleeding. 
 
 He was stunned. 
 
 Lafleur rushed out, followed by Dick. They had 
 forgotten to knock down poor Pierre, who waited 
 stupidly : standing still, to be despached with such
 
 140 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 a blow as had felled the gigantic Smith. To his as- 
 tonishment, they had opened the little door, and were 
 gone without giving him so much as a tap. Now, 
 he had specially signified a strong desire to receive 
 from his affectionate half-brother exactly the same 
 treatment as that designed for Smith. They had 
 disappointed him. 
 
 A single passage led through the governor's 
 house to his garden in the front. There was no one 
 there. They passed across, and stood without — for 
 the moment, free. 
 
 Outside the door, in the road, but to the left of 
 them, was a small knot of policemen and gaolers, 
 idly talking and enjoying the cool breeze of the 
 evening. Lafleur touched his companion lightly on 
 the arm, and they stepped to the right. Another 
 turn brought them to a bye-street. It was now 
 quite dark — for there is no twilight in latitude 8° ; 
 and fortunately there was no moon. 
 
 " Where now T asked Dick, breathlessly, wonder- 
 ing what was the use of liberty in a place where 
 there was nowhere to hide. 
 
 " Follow me. It is all arranged. If only we can 
 find the boat." 
 
 Dick began to understand a little ; and they 
 walked quickly along the narrow streets of the
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 141 
 
 Indian quarter, where they were little likely to 
 meet Europeans who might know them. 
 
 They passed no one, a stray Indian or two ex- 
 cepted ; and in ten minutes were out of the town 
 and on the high road. 
 
 Here it ran across a bare and rocky plain, which 
 stretched for a mile or so from the sea-shore. 
 Lafleur led the way still, and now began to run. No 
 one was ever on the plain, by day or night. They 
 reached the shore. The sea was calm and smooth, 
 save where, a quarter of a mile out, the breakers 
 of the coral reef shone clear and bright as they rolled 
 in, and formed their long, white crests like a fringe 
 round the shore, or like a bulwark to protect the 
 island they loved so well. But the two were in 
 no mood for similes or sentiment. 
 
 " What the devil are we to do next .?" said Dick. 
 
 " See this white post } It is a landmark. We 
 are to keep in a line with this and the fort — " 
 
 " But I can't see the fort." 
 
 " I know the direction : it is exactly over there — 
 and they will be off the reef It is all arranged, I 
 tell you. Can you swim V 
 
 '' Can I walk .?" 
 
 " Then follow me." 
 
 It was low tide — the sea, as well as everything
 
 142 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 else, seeming to favour them. They stepped into 
 the water, keeping as well as they could in the line 
 along which they had started. This was not easy, 
 for it was quite dark. They slipped and fell. Now 
 their feet would catch in a branch of coral. Now 
 they would step upon a large sea slug — a bloated 
 worm, two feet long — into whose miry body their 
 heels would crush and sink, conveying a horrible 
 sense of danger and misery ; now a hole in the 
 coral, and they would be up to their armpits. But 
 they struggled on in silence, and at last stood close 
 to the very edge of the reef, and peered eagerly 
 into the darkness. The crash of the waves was all 
 that they could hear. The white breakers rose higher 
 than their heads, and they could see nothing beyond 
 them. Worse, they could hear no sound of oars or 
 oarsmen. 
 
 " Where are they V' cried Dick, almost breaking 
 down at last. " Good God ! have you brought me 
 to this horrible place to look for a boat in darkness 
 like this V 
 
 " Better to die here than to be hanged. Remem- 
 ber it was you who killed Smith." 
 
 Dick said nothing : standing shivering in the 
 water up to his middle. 
 
 For nearly half an hour — they thought it half
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 143 
 
 the night — they stood so : silent, washed by the 
 waves. The tide was rising, and they would shortly 
 have to choose between wading back or being 
 drowned. But neither dared speak to the other. 
 
 Suddenly Dick caught Lafleur's arm. 
 
 " I hear voices !" he cried. " Shout, man, shout!" 
 
 Lafleur listened with a sort of sob. Suppose it 
 should not be his boat ! But, no — it was impossible 
 that another boat should be off the reef in so 
 desolate a place, and at such a time. 
 
 He shouted. There was no reply. 
 
 He shouted again ; but in vain. Then Dick put 
 his two hands to his mouth, and gave a cry that 
 might have been — and I dare say was — heard on 
 shore. 
 
 A hoarse sailor's call was the answer, followed by 
 a shrill whistle. It sounded close at hand ; but 
 they could see nothing. 
 
 " All right," cried Lafleur. " Let us keep close 
 together. Now !" 
 
 He plunged through the breakers and disappeared. 
 
 " Lord keep the sharks off !" thought Dick, and 
 followed him. 
 
 Outside, a boat lay tossing in the roll of the 
 Atlantic, the crew resting on their oars ; all with their 
 faces turned anxiously towards the shore. There
 
 144 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 was a cry near them, and they turned a light in its 
 direction. In two minutes they were alongside the 
 escaped prisoners. Dick, who was the first, clam- 
 bered in over the stern, and sat in the bottom 
 shaking and trembling. Lafleur was more ex- 
 hausted. He seized an oar, but had not strength 
 enough to climb into the boat. They drew him 
 over the side ; and the next momenty-for the 
 lantern had been used to facilitate the business — a 
 huge black fin showed for an instant above the 
 water, and then disappeared. 
 
 " It's a shark," said the man at the elm. 
 
 " I touched him with my foot," said Dick, his 
 voice soft and shaking. " Good God ! — give me 
 some brandy." 
 
 They gave him brandy, and he revived a little. 
 Then they performed the same kind office for 
 Lafleur. 
 
 The Frenchman pointed to Dick. 
 
 *'He did it all," he gasped. "Without him I 
 should never have succeeded. You must put him 
 on board too. 
 
 The men murmured ; but the helmsman stopped 
 them. 
 
 " One man makes little difierence. I will settle 
 it with the captain."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 145 
 
 Two miles from the reef, in the roadstead, lay a 
 small schooner. The night was so dark that she 
 could only be reached by her lights, and the men 
 pulled unskilfully. But they got alongside at 
 last ; and the moment they touched, a rope was 
 lowered. 
 
 " Captain," said the man at the helm, who seemed 
 to be one holding authority, " there are two. You 
 will hear from me at your port." 
 
 " Right, sir, right. Now then, gentlemen, quick's 
 the word." 
 
 Dick clambered up. He touched the deck, and 
 looked wildly round ; for he almost thought it 
 was all a dream. 
 
 The captain clapped him on the back. 
 
 " Come," said he, " this was bravely done. 
 Where's the other .?" 
 
 As Lafleur climbed the rope, the men in the boat 
 shouted " Adieu," and pushed off. 
 
 The captain whistled, the sails of the schooner 
 fell, and Dick felt her move. In half an hour 
 they were in open sea, bound for the port of Ha- 
 vana. 
 
 The captain took them below, and showed them 
 a small cabin, with a pair of bunks. He had, too, 
 changes of clothing ; and, though it was difficult to 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 fit a man of Dick's height, it was something to be 
 dry, even with six inches of leg between boot and 
 trouser. 
 
 " No one of the sailors," said the captain, " knows 
 anything. We've only been in port two days, 
 and none of them have been ashore except the 
 cook, and he's deaf. Mr. Lafleur, you're welcome, 
 for your father's sake. And you, young sir, for any 
 sake you like, whatever you have done." 
 
 Dick shuddered. " What had he done V The 
 thought of the big turnkey, whose black blood he 
 had seen oozing out upon the stones, struck cold at 
 his heart. 
 
 He held out his hand to Lafleur, and said, with 
 an emotion that had nothing simulated about 
 it— 
 
 " You've rescued me from that infernal place, and 
 you stood by me in the boat. I swear to you, Lafleur, 
 by all that I can swear by, that I will stand by you 
 till the last. If I can help you, I will help you. If 
 I can defend you, I will defend you. If I can save 
 you in any trouble, I will save you. If I have any 
 money, you shall have half, and more. If I have 
 any luck, you shall have half, and more. So help 
 me God !" 
 
 Lafleur took his hand in his, and pressed it, and
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 147 
 
 said nothing. So was plighted between them the 
 troth that made them partners for life. 
 
 Next day they were in the trade winds, bowling 
 merrily along ; for the schooner was as fast a vessel 
 as any in those waters. 
 
 " Who were the men in the boats .?" asked 
 Dick, as they leaned ovqr the taffrail, after 
 breakfast, watching the flying fish and the por- 
 poises. 
 
 " The man who held the rudder strings was my 
 father ; one of the others was my brother ; the rest 
 were my cousins. The whole thing was arranged 
 by the lawyer, my cousin. Pierre got an impression 
 of the key in wax, and made it himself. He's a 
 clever locksmith. You see, it would hardly do to 
 have a man in my position tried for murder — though 
 it was a fair duel — and I knew they would do 
 something for me, sooner or later." 
 
 " By Jove," said Dick, " you must be a devilish 
 clever family. And suppose the shark had spoiled 
 our little game ! I wish I hadn't hit Smith so 
 hard. He was a good fellow, after all. But it is 
 deuced hard to regulate your stroke so as just to 
 stun, and not to kill. It wants a lighter wrist than 
 mine." 
 
 Smith, however, was not dead — he was only 
 
 10 — 2
 
 148 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 stunned ; and directly he came to himself, which 
 was three minutes after the birds were flown, he 
 staggered to his feet, and instantly collared Pierre, 
 making a great roaring, because he felt too groggy 
 on his feet to hold on long. Pierre lost his situa- 
 tion ; and notwithstanding he made great protesta- 
 tion of his innocence, he was not observed to care 
 very much about his demission, and applied his 
 talents subsequently, with great success, to the 
 trade of a locksmith. The last time I heard of 
 Pierre, I was told that he had sent his two sons to 
 England — one to be made a barrister, and the other 
 a doctor. They were smart young fellows ; and 
 when they went back to Palmiste, refused to speak 
 to their father because the poor man was coloured. 
 Now this was ungrateful. 
 
 It would take me too long to follow the fortunes 
 of Dick for the ten years which intervened between 
 his escape from Palmiste and his return to England. 
 He did, always with Lafleur and the captain, a 
 little trade in black humanity, running in the fast- 
 sailing schooner between Congo and some quiet 
 creek in Cuba. And they never got caught. It 
 was during this period that he grew his beard, and 
 developed his former meagre proportions. Pre- 
 sently came the American war, and the game of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 149 
 
 blockade-running began. By this time the captain* 
 to whom the schooner belonged, was dead ; and 
 Dick and Lafleur, like the pirates of old, took quiet 
 command of the craft, no questions being asked as 
 to the approval of the skipper's heirs. And then, 
 for a couple of years, a merry time. There is a 
 port, little frequented by English ships, some few 
 hundred miles east of New Orleans. There the 
 adventurers found their market ; and many a 
 glorious run they had from Nassau, laden with 
 contraband of war. But the pitcher oft times taken 
 to the well, gets smashed at last ; and one fine 
 morning, when the day broke, after a thick black 
 night, a Federal cruiser was discovered only a mile 
 away ; and the tight little schooner, driven on 
 shore, was broken up and destroyed. 
 
 But they had made by this time a pretty little 
 sum between them, which was lying to their credit 
 in Havana ; and the catastrophe afflicted them but 
 little. Meanwhile, in these long days and nights at 
 sea, Dick had imbibed from his companion a large 
 share of his gambling spirit. He was now heart 
 and soul a gambler. How far Lafleur played fair 
 or false, no one knows ; but I think he never 
 cheated Dick, in his worst moments. Their part- 
 nership was true; and though there was neither
 
 150 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 friendship, respect, nor affection between them, 
 there was the mutual bond of self-interest, and it 
 may have been, a sentiment, an unseen fetter — 
 forged on that day when they braved the terrors of 
 the reef — which both felt, and both were either 
 unwilling or unable to break. 
 
 Between '65 and '6Z — the year of their home- 
 coming — had been an alternation of reverses and 
 victories, chiefly carried on at the gambling-tables 
 of the Southern ^States and Mexico. They won, 
 they fought ; they lost, they fought. And it was 
 Dick who — after a lucky night or two at New 
 Orleans had pulled them out of the mire, and set 
 them up with a handful of money — proposed to go 
 over to England, and see whether anything could 
 be made out of the old man. There was no risk to 
 speak of. Long since, the escape of Mellon and 
 Lafleur had been forgotten, or only remembered as 
 a mysterious disappearance, in Palmiste. It had 
 never been understood. The only ship which sailed 
 from the port that day was a small schooner which 
 had passed out of port at three in the afternoon, 
 and was said to have sailed before nightfall. The 
 woods were searched, but in vain ; and the police 
 had finally given up the hopeless task of trying to
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 151 
 
 find them. Moreover, who would now have recog- 
 nized either of them ? 
 
 And so they came to England, like the wild 
 beasts of the forest, seeking whom they might 
 devour.
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 
 [ARKSIDE, where the Heathcotes lived, 
 was seated on a sunny slope, just out- 
 side the straggling village of Hunslope. 
 From the windows you had a view of 
 scattered cottages, a farmhouse or two standing 
 sheltered by their rickyards, the church tower 
 peeping over Lord Hunslope's elms, and, in the 
 distance, the white turnpike road to Market Basing. 
 John Heathcote's house was well named : the 
 gravelled drive up to the door skirted one of the 
 parks that surround Hunslope Towers. The far- 
 mer's garden was six feet lower than the park ; so 
 there was a natural fence. The only disadvantage 
 attending this was that, once a year or so, a South- 
 down of his lordship's tumbled over into Mrs. Heath- 
 cote's flower-beds. About which catastrophes,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 153 
 
 when they occurred, Mrs. Heathcote made more 
 fuss than the sheep did. She was a born grumbler. 
 She grumbled for self and husband : when it was 
 wet, because it was not fine ; when the sun shone, 
 because the turnips wanted rain ; when beef was 
 dear, because corn was low ; when the markets 
 rose, because John had sold too soon : when they 
 fell, because he had held on to his corn or his 
 bullocks. 
 
 And she was infallible. 
 
 John Heathcote — as honest and sensible a man 
 as ever sowed one grain in the hope of reaping 
 twenty — farmed five hundred and thirty acres of 
 land, good, bad, and indifferent. Three hundred 
 and eighty acres were his own good freehold. The 
 remaining hundred and fifty he rented of his neigh- 
 bour. Lord Hunslope. Of the lot, but twenty 
 acres came under the category of bad and indif- 
 ferent. They served their useful purpose, if they 
 did not pay their way ; they gave Mrs. Heathcote 
 good cause of complaint. 
 
 " What in the world your father wants to go and 
 pay forty-two shillings an acre for Church Marsh 
 for, nobody but John Heathcote knows," she had 
 said to her daughters and at her husband a thou- 
 sand times.
 
 154 Ready -7noney Mortiboy. 
 
 But her husband puffed his pipe in peace. She 
 had pecked at him so long, he could not have 
 digested his dinner without his usual dessert. 
 
 At Parkside, they dined at half-past two in the 
 afternoon. Dinner was over, and they were sitting 
 in their pleasant dining-room. The winter's sun 
 was shining brightly in at the windows. 
 
 At one, Lucy sat with some tatting on her lap. 
 Mrs. Heathcote, in her violet silk, at the other, 
 lazily peeling a pear. The farmer was smoking his 
 clean clay pipe by the fire-side. 
 
 " What did he say, John .?" asked Mrs. Heath- 
 cote. 
 
 She referred to Dick Mortiboy. 
 
 " I didn't see him." 
 
 " Didn't see him ! I thought you said he was 
 coming over to-day .?" 
 
 " I saw your Uncle Richard." 
 
 " You said Dick was coming over this afternoon." 
 
 " I know I did. Your uncle said he was." 
 
 ** Why didn't you ask him to dinner .?" 
 
 *' I did." 
 
 " It's a wonder you thought of it, I'm sure." 
 
 John Heathcote gave a grunt in acknowledgment. 
 
 " The last time that boy was here, he was brought 
 in with a broken collar-bone."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 155 
 
 ** Broke it at Codgebroke Brook, on my old black 
 mare. How that boy did ride !" 
 
 " When you mounted him. Riding your horses 
 to death ! I always said he'd come back like a bad 
 shilling, if he only had t;ime to do it." 
 
 "Your mother used to say she knew he was dead 
 —didn't she, Lu .?" 
 
 *■ Sometimes she said she thought so, papa," said 
 Lucy, softly. 
 
 " I never had a lucky legacy in my life," sighed 
 Mrs. Heathcote. 
 
 Her cousin Dick's return was a very bitter pill 
 for her to swallow, but she had got it down. 
 
 " What did you want the boy dead for } You've 
 got enough, haven't you, Lydia V said her husband, 
 rather angrily. 
 
 " He never was any good to himself or anybody 
 else. I never counted on Uncle Richard's money 
 though, for I felt sure he'd come back. Such scape- 
 graces always do. What did they say about it, 
 John } I suppose all the world and Market Basing 
 know about it by this time !" 
 
 " Market Basing people know all about it,'* said 
 Mr. Heathcote. " They were all talking about it 
 this morning." 
 
 " What did they say .?"
 
 156 Ready-money M or tiboy. 
 
 " Wait till the boy comes, and see him for your- 
 self. Where's Grace gone ?" 
 
 "She has gone with Frank Melliship down to 
 the church, to practise something or another on the 
 organ for Sunday. They'll catch their deaths of 
 cold in that church a day like this T' 
 
 " Who's gone with 'em to blow .''" asked Mr. 
 Heathcote. 
 
 " Silly Billy, father," replied Lucy. 
 
 She said this quite gravely. Silly Billy had been 
 blower ever since she had known the church. 
 
 "Then I'll beta new hat the greenhouse fire's 
 never been lighted. I told him to light it." 
 
 Mr. Heathcote put on his hat, and went out to 
 light it himself. 
 
 "I'm quite anxious to see Cousin Dick, mamma," 
 said Lucy. " I wonder what he's like. Of course 
 I don't recollect him a bit." 
 
 " You need not want, child." 
 
 " What a number of strange places he must have 
 seen, and after living in a quiet little town like 
 Market Basing ! What a change for him ! I 
 should love to see foreign places, and — " 
 
 " Foreign fiddlesticks !" said her mother. " You 
 shall go to Scarborough with us in the summer, if I
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 157 
 
 can only make Dr. Kerby say you must. Then 
 your father must take us." 
 
 " I wonder if Cousin Dick is married." 
 
 Her mother started. 
 
 " Married ! of course not. In those outlandish 
 places, who could there be to marry } Cannibal 
 queens .'*" 
 
 " I don't know, mamma. I only wondered if he 
 was married." 
 
 "Pare me another pear, Lucy, and don't be ridi- 
 culous. They keep very well ; and I like a pear 
 better than grapes, I think." 
 
 This accomplished general had been surprised by 
 Dick's return. But she had formed her plans. He 
 should be Grace's husband. 
 
 That was why he was not married. 
 
 "There is somebody on horseback coming across 
 the park, mamma," said Lucy, looking towards 
 Hunslope Towers. 
 
 There was an undisputed right of way across the 
 earl's park. 
 
 " Where, girl .?" cried her mother, hastily, joining 
 her daughter at her window. 
 
 In the distance, there was a figure on a horse to 
 be seen. 
 
 " It's your Cousin Dick — and Grace is stopping
 
 1 5 8 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 down at that church all this time. I wanted her to 
 be back." 
 
 " Is it Cousin Dick, mamma .-* Whoever it is, he 
 comes very slowly, I think." 
 
 " Yes, it's Dick Mortiboy. I know by the horse. 
 It's that chestnut your poor aunt Susan used to 
 drive. I know it by the blaze face." 
 
 " I can't see any white, mamma." 
 
 " My eyes are better than yours, Lucy.^ Put 
 another glass on the table, as if we expected him. 
 He's sure to drink some wine. And Lucy — " 
 
 "Yes, mamma," 
 
 " See if Mary is dressed. She went upstairs an 
 hour ago. Pull the bell." 
 
 Lucy Heathcote carried out her mother's instruc- 
 tions, and returned to the window, 
 
 " Look at my hair behind, Lucy. It feels as if 
 the braid was loose." 
 
 " It's all right, mamma. Mamma, it is not a 
 chestnut horse," said the daughter. " Look. It is 
 Lord Launton, I'm sure V 
 
 " So it is. What's he coming sawneying over 
 here about I wonder } I thought he was at college. 
 He was not at church on Sunday." 
 
 " Perhaps he's going into the village, mamma." 
 
 "Let's hope he is," said her mother.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 159 
 
 But a minute or two afterwards, the heir of 
 Hunslope Towers and Mr. Heathcote were seen 
 going towards the stables together. 
 
 "If Grace and Frank don't come back before 
 your cousin comes, I shall be very angry with her. 
 I suppose your father will bring Lord Launton in." 
 
 " I dare say he will, mamma. Lord Launton 
 never comes to ask papa a question without coming 
 in." Then she added, " I think Grace took the 
 cough stuff for Granny Worley in her pocket, and I 
 believe she meant to take it round to her cottage." 
 
 " She never will go fooling all up the lane instead 
 of coming straight home." 
 
 " Poor old granny's cough is dreadfully bad." 
 
 " Dreadfully fiddlestick ! Let Silly Billy take it 
 when he goes home. Fve no patience with such 
 nonsense !" 
 
 They heard steps in the passage. The matron 
 smoothed her ruffled plumage. Her face beamed 
 with smiles as the door opened, and in came Mr. 
 Heathcote with Lord Launton. 
 
 He was a lad about twenty-one, light-haired, 
 short-sighted, tall, and thin ; shy, and hesitating in 
 his manner, with a little stammer. Mr. Heathcote 
 was a tenant of the earl's ; and this young lord, as 
 a boy had been accustomed to run in and out of
 
 i6o Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 Parkside, so that a visit from him had not by any 
 means the social significance which Mrs. Heath- 
 cote would have wished to see in it. 
 
 " It's nothing, Mrs. Heathcote— really nothing at 
 all," he stammered as he dropped his hat in his 
 effort to find a chair. '' How do you do, Miss 
 Heathcote } — I was passing, and I — I thought I 
 should like to ask Mr. Heathcote's opinion about — 
 but it is really a trifle — the horse Mr. Heathcote 
 bought for me turns out to have a corn. I was 
 afraid he might prove lame through it." 
 
 He was at Oxford, where he had the reputation 
 of being a scholar and a poet ; but he had not yet 
 learned to hide those signals of confusion and dis- 
 tress which modesty and shamefacedness hung out 
 continually upon his cheeks. A lad, for the rest, of 
 high-born, and generous tendencies, who read the 
 tales of his ancestors' valour to profit, seeing that 
 the virtues of self-sacrifice and duty are the modern 
 substitutes for those old ones of bravery and 
 strength ; and knowing that with these the nine- 
 teenth century may be made as fair a battle-field 
 as any chronicled by Villehardouin and Froissart. 
 
 A poetic youth, too, and a dweller in that cloud- 
 land of rosy mist and shapeless castles where the 
 future shines before the eyes of dreaming youth
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. i6i 
 
 like a landscape by Turner — vague, glorious, and 
 golden. In his own home, with a commonplace and 
 rather stupid father, and a mother always occupied 
 with her projects and pet societies, there was no 
 one with whom he could exchange ideas ; and so 
 he peopled the solitude with creations of his own 
 brain, and wandered about the glorious old park 
 which surrounds Hunslope Towers until every 
 avenue of it was filled with the fanciful beings of 
 his own imagination, and every glade was a scene of 
 romance, exploit, and endurance. A foolish, fond, 
 and silly way of passing the hours : an unproductive, 
 unpractical, and wasted time, quite useless in these 
 days of competitive examinations — detrimental to 
 honour lists — and only useful in after-life if, haply, 
 when the fallow years are spent, the soil is found 
 richer and stronger ; if, haply, strength of will 
 grows out of vague aspiration, and purpose out of 
 hope. 
 
 Ronald, Viscount Launton, was twenty-one : the 
 only son of an impoverished peer. He knew well 
 — it was the bitterness of his life — that he was ex- 
 pected to raise the fortunes of the house by a good 
 marriage. He had always understood this, from 
 the day when he began to understand anything. 
 And at first it did not seem to matter. But there 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 1 62 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 came a time — and it comes to all alike — when he 
 found himself a man ; when he felt his sex ; when 
 his thoughts turned naturally, and by that noble 
 instinct which it is the business of our civilization to 
 divert or repress, to the love of woman. Chateau- 
 briand, during his years of adolescence, constructed 
 for himself an imaginary woman. One lent him her 
 hair, one her eyes, one her figure, one her hands, and 
 one her mind. This was fatal, because the woman 
 of his dreams never came to him, and he spent his 
 life in looking for her. Ronald was wiser. He 
 found one woman lovely enough, graceful enough, 
 refined enough for a poet's idol, and set her up to 
 be worshipped in that Holy of Holies — the heart 
 of a pure man. He seldom spoke to her : he never 
 told her that he loved her. She never guessed it. 
 Their stations in life were different : for the idol of 
 Lord Launton was Grace Heathcote, Farmer John's 
 eldest daughter. 
 
 As the mother, so the boys : as the father, so the 
 girls. A fanciful rule, and often enough proving 
 itself by its exceptions. But in the Heathcote 
 family, there was a refinement and delicacy of feel- 
 ing about the farmer, in spite of his rough down- 
 rightness, which you might look for in vain in his 
 wife. Mrs, Heathcote was essentially common-
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 163 
 
 place — vulgar sometimes, ambitious always. Her 
 daughters, who had been educated in London with 
 their cousins — other Heathcotes, of a higher social 
 position than themselves, with whom we have little 
 to do — owed, doubtless, some of their refinement to 
 culture and training. But training is only skin deep, 
 and wears off like veneer. It was the hereditary 
 quality that showed itself in them : the gentle 
 blood of the Heathcotes, come down to them 
 through long centuries of varied and chequered for- 
 tunes. 
 
 Lucy, the younger, now about nineteen, who had 
 been the especial favourite of Miss Susan Mortiboy, 
 seemed to have imbibed something of her cousin's 
 deeply religious character. She was weakly, and 
 often suffering : her face one of those thin, pale 
 faces whose beauty is chiefly that of expression — 
 but yet not without a beauty of its own, with its 
 abundant wealth of rich brown hair, and large and 
 deep brown eyes. A girl who seemed to have 
 fixed her thoughts on things above this world : yet 
 one who found none of its duties beneath her. John 
 Heathcote loved his daughter Grace with a sort of 
 passionate tenderness ; but when he thought of 
 Lucy, it seemed to him as if his heart melted within 
 him. Grace was the sun of his life ; Lucy, like the 
 
 II — 2
 
 164 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 moanshine, not so bright or so beautiful, but softer, 
 sweeter, more holy. If Farmer John were to read 
 what I have written, he would declare that it was 
 all nonsense and romance. But it is true, neverthe- 
 less. Was Grace, then, beautiful really, or only 
 beautiful in the eyes of her silent lover ? Wait a 
 moment. 
 
 Lord Launton has been sitting all this time, 
 answering yes and no to Mrs. Heathcote's questions, 
 and nervously wishing that he had not called. He 
 stays about a quarter of an hour, and then, grasping 
 his hat, he asks with a tremendous blush — 
 
 " How is Miss Grace .?" 
 
 And then he retires, stumbling over the door- 
 mat, and walking off with one of Mr. Heathcote's 
 whips instead of his own. 
 
 " I like Lord Launton so much, mamma," said 
 Lucy. " What a pity he is so shy !" 
 
 " If he asked my girl to have him, I don't know 
 that she should," thought Mrs. Heathcote. " They're 
 so poor." 
 
 Lord Launton turned off along the lane which led 
 to his father's park. A pretty, tree-shaded lane in 
 summer, where blackberry bushes across the ditch 
 sent trailing branches over the abyss, pitfalls into 
 which the children fell in the autumn, and scratched
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 165 
 
 themselves ; where honeysuckles, too, twined, about 
 among sweet wild roses, and long foxgloves shot up 
 in July ^ but now, in February, a dismal place 
 enough, with its two frozen ruts, each a foot and a 
 half deep, and the unrelieved brown of its hedge- 
 rows. 
 
 Two persons found, even on this cold afternoon, 
 some pleasure in the scenery. They were walking 
 slowly down the lane, side by side ; and one of 
 them, a girl, had her face bent downwards. 
 
 Lord Launton's cheeks flushed a deep crimson 
 when he saw them. He half stopped, as if he would 
 turn back — but changed his mind ; and, making an 
 effort, rode on with head tossed back, and a curious 
 flash in his blue eyes. At the sound of his horse's 
 hoofs, both looked up. He took off his hat, and 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " I have just been to the farm, Miss Heathcote." 
 
 " Indeed, Lord Launton." Do you not recognise 
 Mr. Melliship .?" 
 
 His lordship began to stammer again. 
 
 " I — I — I — think we were at Eton together, Mr. 
 Melliship, but you were in a higher form, and you 
 can hardly remember me, I suppose." 
 
 Frank Melliship laughed. 
 
 " In any case, after five years, we can hardly be
 
 1 66 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 expected to remember each other. You are spend- 
 ing the vacation at the Towers ?" 
 
 " Yes — yes — until I go back to Oxford." 
 
 Then Lord Launton left them, riding on fast to 
 conceal his own agitation. 
 
 " Heavens !" he thought. " He is a man ; and 
 what am I, who cannot for five minutes preserve my 
 presence of mind ?" 
 
 And then was miserable the whole evening, with 
 the feeling that he had made a visible fool of him- 
 self Of course, he had done nothing of the kind. 
 
 Of the pair whom he left behind, the girl was 
 taller than the average stature of ^her sex. Her 
 warm winter dress, with its sealskin jacket and furs, 
 was not so thick as to hide altogether the graceful 
 lines of her admirable figure ; nor could her thick 
 veil altogether conceal the roses of her cheek and 
 the brightness of her eyes — eyes with the clear 
 brown tinge, the colour of truth and loyalty. Nor 
 could the dank and misty atmosphere of the 
 winter's day take its gloss from the glorious brown 
 hair, as profuse and as abundant as her sister's, 
 which wanted no artificial helps to set forth its 
 wealth. Grace Heathcote is so lovely, that Lord 
 Launton's boyish infatuation is easily understood : 
 so Ipvely, that we seem. to know what is passing in
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 167 
 
 the breast of the young man who walks beside her. 
 For a beautiful girl is a treasure — more priceless 
 than any work of art — which makes every man long 
 to call it his own ; to envy him who has the 
 happiness to dwell for ever in the magic of her 
 eyes, to revel in the sunshine of her love. We love 
 them at random, and all for the sake of their 
 beauty : we know not what may be the soul that 
 lies beneath : we stake our life and its happiness 
 upon the chance that, under so fair a form, God has 
 given the world as fair a heart. We have an instinct 
 — whether true or false. Heaven knows — that good- 
 ness and truth, and fidelity and honour, accompany 
 beauty ; that where the loveliness which moves our 
 heedless natures is found, there also those things 
 which make life happy when passion is spent, are 
 found also. If ,they are not there, we believe them 
 to be ; and so life goes on, and our love becomes 
 our wife, and remains an angel still. Socrates 
 treated Xantippe kindly, forgetful of the high 
 spirits which had once carried her so far as to pour 
 the basin of water over his head ; the judicious 
 Hooker rocked the cradle, doing his wife's work, 
 while he was writing his "Ecclesiastical Polity," 
 without a murmur ; and the illustrious Dr. Johnson 
 never ceased to mourn the loss of the painted old
 
 1 68 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 woman whom his fancy had endowed with the 
 virtues of the celestials. 
 
 Grace Heathcote being a woman, was, of course, 
 not an angel. But there were more than one who 
 thought her so. Lord Launton, as we have seen ; 
 Frank Melliship, as we have to see ; and, at a dis- 
 tance, George Ghrimes — the sturdy bachelor of 
 five-and-thirty, who had her in his heart, laid by 
 like a pleasure to be enjoyed stealthily and in 
 secret, and to be worshipped with the hopeless 
 devotion of one who battles for a hopeless cause — 
 like a Communalist of Paris. 
 
 "You were at school with Lord Launton, and 
 yet you have forgotten him, Frank .? " asked 
 Grace. 
 
 "He has been away whenever I was at home, and 
 I have not seen him for five years. Do you often 
 meet him V' 
 
 This with the faintest tinge of jealousy. 
 
 " Oh, yes — very often. And I like him ex- 
 tremely. He used to come to Parkside when he 
 was quite a little boy.'* 
 
 "So did L" 
 
 " Yes ; and you used to break my dolls, and 
 make me cry." 
 
 " But we always kissed and made it up again."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 169 
 
 " Oh, of course. Children always do." 
 
 " Well, then, I wish we were children again." 
 
 Grace laughed. 
 
 " That you might destroy my dolls again ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Frank Melliship was silent again. It is not 
 always easy to approach a difficult subject. 
 
 Grace took up the talk. 
 
 " And now you have really left Cambridge, and 
 come to Market Basing for good ; do you think you 
 will be happy in such a dull place .<*" 
 
 " That depends on one or two things." 
 
 Grace did not ask what they were. 
 
 " There is something wrong about my father," 
 said the young man. " Something seems to be 
 worrying him. That will have to disappear first. 
 He seems very well ; but he is sometimes distrait, 
 and returns answers showing that he has not been 
 attending to the questions, And — well, we shall 
 see r 
 
 " And what is the next thing to make you 
 happy .?" 
 
 " A hope, Grace." 
 
 " But any man may have a hope. Then what is 
 yours V 
 
 " I hope to realize the dream I was telling you
 
 170 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 when Lord Launton passed us, and interrupted me. 
 May I tell it you again ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Grace, softly. 
 
 " Then stand still, for we are close to home, and 
 listen again. I dreamed that a childish fancy was 
 to be the settled purpose of a man, and that what I 
 had thought of as a boy was to be the only thing 
 which could give me happiness when I grew up. I 
 dreamed that what might make me happy might 
 make another too. Grace, tell me if my dream 
 was presumptuous. Tell me — my darling — for I 
 love you !" 
 
 She put her hand in his, and looked him frankly 
 in the face. 
 
 "You may hope, Frank, if it will make you 
 happy." 
 
 " And you, Grace — can my love make you happy.? 
 My words have not offended you T 
 
 This time she looked him full, without blushing, 
 for she saw no reason for shame. 
 
 " Frank, nothing that you could say is able to 
 offend me. Nothing will ever make me happy but 
 your love." 
 
 For an answer, he lifted the veil from her face, 
 and kissed her lips, and cheeks, and eyes, and white 
 brow. No one saw them ; and the last ray of the
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 171 
 
 early setting sun, as it shone out from the clouds 
 for a moment before it sank, lay upon the pair, as 
 if with the blessing of God. 
 
 Then Grace broke from her lover, and laying 
 both her hands in his for a moment, she turned 
 the corner by the great yew hedge, and fled into 
 the house.
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 
 E left Dick Mortiboy fast 
 asleep at madame's the 
 blanchisseuse, in Greek- 
 street, Soho, at a few 
 minutes past twelve a.m. 
 on Thursday morning — 
 alone with his purse, his 
 pistol, his bowie-knife ; 
 with the great toe of his 
 right foot communicat- 
 ing with the handle of 
 the door. But his ingenious device was thrown 
 away. He was as safe in the second floor chamber 
 of madame's house as he would have been in the 
 strong-room of the Bank of England. The people
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 173 
 
 were honest ; conspirators, not burglars, frequented 
 the place. 
 
 Dick got up at half-past ten : breakfasted with 
 Lafleur at eleven, at the Sabloniere, on oysters, 
 galantine, watercresses, black coffee, and the little 
 glass of white brandy. Then came the time of 
 business. He completed his cabinet of specimens, 
 and touched up the map of his Madagascar estate. 
 Dinner at seven, at the Cafe Quartre Freres, just 
 out of Leicester Square, Euchre till bed-time — ■' 
 winning instead of losing. On Friday, having com- 
 pleted his business in town, he took the afternoon 
 train to Market Basing. 
 
 Saturday he walked abroad, and found himself 
 famous. 
 
 His father had parted reluctantly from his long- 
 lost son, even for a couple of days. Nothing but 
 the urgency of Dick's London business, reconciled 
 the old man to his going. 
 
 When he came back after his short visit, old 
 Ready-money showed more delight than he had 
 done when his son came back, and first introduced 
 himself after a twelve years' absence. 
 
 Then, Richard Melliship Mortiboy was as a 
 shadow. 
 
 Now, " My son Richard " was a reality.
 
 1/4 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 The old man showed his pleasure in many odd 
 ways. He believed in Dick : he swallowed as 
 gospel all he told him : his name was for ever on 
 his father's lips — 
 
 ^' Richard come back again to his old father. A 
 credit to me. What things he's seen ! Nobody 
 here like him." 
 
 These were the things he said. And he would 
 press his lean hands on Dick's stout sides a dozen 
 times an hour. 
 
 The sense of touch assured him of his reality. 
 
 He walked from Derngate to the bank that 
 morning with his father. It was market day, and 
 the little town showed its wonted busy aspect — an 
 appearance it put on only once a week. Everybody 
 stared at him as a wonder. People they passed on 
 their way turned to look after old Ready-money 
 and his newly found son. 
 
 Dick's return was likely to be a wonder in Market 
 Basing for more than nine days. 
 
 At the bank, Ghrimes and the old clerks wel- 
 comed him as the prince come back to his father's 
 kingdom. 
 
 They bowed down their necks before the heir. 
 
 And Dick had a pleasure in their friendly recog- 
 nitions, and greeted all whom he remembered in
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 175 
 
 his most kindly way, graciously acknowledging the 
 homage they paid him. 
 
 After an hour's talk with his father, he said — 
 
 "It would be just as well if I looked up a few 
 people to-day ; and in the afternoon I shall go over 
 to Hunslope, and spend the evening with the Park- 
 side people, I think." 
 
 " Very well, Dick — very well. It's Grace's birth- 
 day to-morrow. Richard, I'm afraid Cousin Lyddy 
 isn't very glad you're come back. She'd booked 
 my money, and she might have had it, perhaps : 
 for blood is blood, my boy. Where else are you 
 going, Richard V 
 
 "Well, father, I shall look up Uncle Melli- 
 ship as well. I never had any grudge against 
 him." 
 
 " Well — no, no. He is your uncle. But pride's 
 going to have a fall, Dick — pride's going to have a 
 fall ; and peacocks' tails are going to lose their 
 feathers." 
 
 " What do you mean, father V 
 
 " Patience, Richard — patience. Not that I could 
 help it if I would." 
 
 Dick did not question his father further. 
 
 The old man went off to the foundry, and his son 
 spent an hour with Ghrimes. He showed himself so
 
 176 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 quick-witted, so ready and apt to comprehend, that 
 Mr. Mortiboy's manager was startled. 
 
 "What a pity, Mr. Richard — what a pity you 
 did not stay at home, and be your father's right- 
 hand man." 
 
 " Perhaps I've done better by going abroad." 
 
 " Perhaps you have. You know best. Anyhow, 
 stay now you have come back. Your father's 
 not so strong as he was. At sixty-five, hard work 
 begins to tell upon a man. And I will say this for 
 Mr. Mortiboy — he has worked harder than any 
 man I ever knew. As for pleasure, he doesn't know 
 the meaning of it." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mr. Ghrimes — he does 
 know the meaning of it. Every man must have 
 pleasures of some kind, or he dies or goes mad. 
 You will do well to remember that when you have 
 to deal with your clerks. My father's pleasure is to . 
 watch the money growing. It isn't a bad sort of 
 pleasure, perhaps ; though it isn't mine/' 
 
 Old Ready-money had had his pleasure — had 
 driven to the foundry and the brewery in Susan's 
 carriage ; hunted up his tenants, harried his mort- 
 gagors, and enjoyed himself every day after his own 
 fashion. 
 
 " My own life," Dick went on, with a sort of sigh.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 177 
 
 " has been one chiefly of hard work. But it has 
 had some of the pleasure of success. There are 
 vicissitudes — vicissitudes in business, Mr. Ghrimes. 
 And over there " — he jerked his finger over his left 
 shoulder, in the direction of the Arctic Pole, but Mr. 
 Ghrimes understood him to mean Mexico — " over 
 there the vicissitudes are very frequent.^' 
 
 " So I suppose." 
 
 **Yes. Fancy having your estate confiscated 
 once a year by a new Government, which only lasts 
 till the old one picks up strength enough to over- 
 turn it. Fancy riding down to the port with a cara- 
 van of silver, and seeing yourself stripped in a day 
 of six months' work — eh ? And fancy having the 
 pleasure of winning it back again at a single coup, 
 and hanging all the rascals .you haven't shot — eh .? 
 There's life, Ghrimes, there's pleasure, there's excite- 
 ment in that." 
 
 Dick slapped him on the back, and laughed, 
 showing all his white teeth, like a jolly, good-tem- 
 pered lion who slaughters the other beasts for mere 
 pleasure and love of sport. 
 
 " You must tell me more about your life in the 
 West," said Mr. Ghrimes. 
 
 " So I will. You shall come in one evening. We 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 are devilish lively in the evening, the governor and 
 I. You drink gin ?" 
 
 Mr. Ghrimes smiled. Everybody in Market 
 Basing knew of Mr. Mortiboy's weekly bottle of 
 gin. 
 
 "Come and see me," he said, "and I'll get 
 Frank Melliship. By Jove ! I have quite forgotten 
 that boy. What sort of fellow is he T 
 
 " A capital fellow," said Ghrimes, with enthu- 
 siasm. " Full of life and energy : full of cleverness 
 too — though not bookish like his father. One that 
 will revive the old bank, and double its work as 
 soon as he gets into it." 
 
 " They haven't been doing well lately T 
 
 " Not so well " — Ghrimes spoke cautiously. 
 *' But they will pull through. Oh, yes, they must 
 pull through." 
 
 " Do you know anything, Mr. Ghrimes, that goes 
 on ?" 
 
 " I know everything that has been done. I don't 
 know everything that is going to be done." 
 
 Richard talked to Mr. Ghrimes for some time. 
 Then he put on his hat and strolled out. Not 
 many minutes' walking brought him to the old 
 bank. He stopped, read the faded old letters, 
 " Melliship, Mortiboy, and Co.," and went in.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 179 
 
 " Mr. Melliship in ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Engaged at present. What name r 
 
 " Tell him his nephew, Mr. Richard Mortiboy." 
 
 The clerk stared. Was this great bearded giant 
 the son of old Ready-money .^ The news of his 
 home-coming had been noised abroad, but no re- 
 port was yet about of the manner of man. 
 
 Mr. Melliship was in his private room. With him 
 a clergyman. The banker, looking portly, and 
 handsome and well, was standing with his back to 
 the fire, laying down the law. 
 
 " In a case of this nature, it is incumbent on the 
 rich to do all they can. It is especially the work of 
 the rich. All rich men ought to contribute." 
 
 " I wish all rich men would," said the clergyman, 
 who was the representative of the Society for Send- 
 ing Additional Missionaries to Cannibal Parts. 
 
 " I shall myself." — Here a clerk whispered in his 
 ear. " Show my nephew in. I shall myself," he 
 continued, as Richard entered the room, "have 
 great pleasure in putting down my name for a hun- 
 dred pounds." 
 
 " My dear sir," began the parson in a delighted 
 tone. 
 
 "Not a word — not a word, I beg. My dear 
 nephew, I am indeed rejoiced to see you." 
 
 12 — 2
 
 I So Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 He shook hands with his clerical friend ; and 
 then, shutting the door, shook hands again with 
 Dick. 
 
 " And so you have come home, and are come to 
 see me. I am glad of it — I am glad of it. Do not 
 let any little ill-feeling which may exist on your 
 father's part towards myself be the cause of coolness 
 between us. And where have you been all this 
 time V Then he said to himself, " I see Emily 
 again in you." 
 
 " Looking for fortune," 
 
 "Aha ! We all look for fortune. How comes it, 
 as Horace asks, that no one is content with the lot 
 which the gods have assigned him r 
 
 "The gods assigned me a pound a week," said 
 Dick, " so I naturally revolted, and made my way 
 without further help from them." 
 
 Which was true — his path and that laid down for 
 mortals by the Olympians having been widely 
 different. 
 
 " Have the Fates, then - — you know we are all 
 under the will of the Fates — been kinder than 
 they promised at first T* 
 
 " Yes — that is, I have forced my way." 
 "Like the old myth of the Titans' war. You 
 know they defeated the gods."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, i8i 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I know nothing of the sort." 
 
 " Well — I suppose your reading has been neg- 
 lected in your travels. You really have done well t 
 You are immensely improved — if you will permit 
 an impertinence — more like your poor mother. 
 You will dine with us this evening T 
 
 " Not to-night, sir. I have another engagement. 
 Next week, I shall be very happy. How is Frank T 
 
 " Well — he is over at Hunslope. And can I do 
 nothing for you, Dick } Do you want any money T' 
 
 " None, sir — none, thank you." 
 
 " Your father and I are not, unfortunately, on the 
 best terms possible. Between ourselves, the bitter 
 feeling is all on his part. It arises, Dick" — here 
 Mr. Melliship stooped and whispered — " from 
 jealousy at my superior good luck." 
 
 Dick stared. What could this mean } He had 
 heard from his father of his uncle's strange conduct 
 on the day of the funeral. 
 
 " The years roll on, and bring only successes to 
 me, Richard. I am oppressed — I am encumbered 
 with my wealth. See here " — he opened a drawer 
 in a safe, and showed it full of sovereigns. " But 
 that is nothing — nothing. This is but a trifle. But, 
 my dear nephew, you must not let me waste my 
 time. I have to negotiate with my agents in Lon-
 
 1 82 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 don about a loan which demands all my energies, 
 and really nearly all my resources. Good-bye, my 
 dear nephew — good-bye. And remember, you are 
 to dine with us next week." 
 
 Dick went away in a sort of amazement. What 
 did his father mean by those mysterious hints about 
 impending misfortune } Here was a man sub- 
 scribing ;^ioo to a missionary society offering him 
 money, talking of his wonderful success, and mix- 
 ing himself up with foreign loans. 
 
 In the afternoon he walked over to Hunslope, 
 along the well-remembered road. Not a tree 
 seemed changed in all the years he had been 
 away. 
 
 For a mile Lord Hunslope's park wall skirted 
 the road. 
 
 At a little door Dick had often ridden under in 
 his hunting days, a young man was trying in vain 
 to reach the latch with his whip handle. His horse 
 was shy and fresh, and would not go within a yard 
 of it. The rider persevered without success. Dick 
 politely opened the door for him. 
 
 "You are Lord Hunslope's son, I know," said 
 Dick to himself. 
 
 But he was a stranger to Lord Launton, who
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 183 
 
 thanked him, apologized for his horse's shyness, and 
 rode through the gate into the park. 
 
 In twenty minutes more, Dick was at Parkside. 
 He arrived there as the short winter's day was 
 closing in. The door was opened by a tall, comely 
 woman of about six and thirty. The lamp was 
 lighted in the hall, and as Dick came into the light 
 — for it was now about four o'clock — it fell full on 
 his face. The woman gave a little cry, and laid 
 her hand on his arm. Then he looked her full in 
 the face, and started back, muttering in his 
 teeth— 
 
 " Damnation ! It's Polly T 
 
 " You, Dick — is it you t I heard you were back 
 again, and I knew it would not be long before you 
 would be coming to look after your poor — " 
 
 " Shut the door, Mary," cried a voice from within. 
 "The wind is blowing right through the house. 
 Who is it } Is it Mr. Richard r 
 
 " Meet me on Sunday," Polly had time to whisper, 
 " in the lane behind your father's house. I'm going 
 to Market Basing to see my mother." 
 
 " The old place .?" 
 
 "Ay, the old place. There will be nobody 
 there. Meet me at church time." She gave his 
 hand a wet, slobbering kiss, and opened the door
 
 184 Ready-moftey Mortiboy. 
 
 of Mrs. Heathcote's parlour. " Master Dick Morti- 
 boy, ma'am." 
 
 " Cousin Dick !" cried Mrs. Heathcote, springing 
 from her chair. " Master Dick, indeed, Mary, to a 
 big man like this !" 
 
 Dick bestowed a cousinly kiss alike on mother 
 and daughters, and shook hands with John Heath- 
 cote and Frank Melliship ; then he sat down 
 by the fire, and they began to make much of 
 him. 
 
 Years before, when Dick was a bright young lad 
 of ten, after his mother died, Hunslope Farm was 
 the place where alone he seemed to be able to escape 
 from the harshness of a father with whom every- 
 thing that he said or did was said or done wrong. 
 At all times of the year it was a happy place. For 
 in the winter there was a meet of the hounds which 
 cousin John always attended, mounted on a service- 
 able animal that carried him as well as any scarlet 
 coat's hunter ; or he borrowed a gun, and went out 
 with the farmer ; or there were parties in the even- 
 ing, when they danced and played games ; or there 
 were the children, Grace and Lucy, and Frank and 
 Kate Melliship, to all of whom he was the senior 
 and the hero. And at other times of the year 
 there would be the woods, full of all manner of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 185 
 
 delight to boys ; with animals put there on purpose 
 to be unsuccessfully hunted, nests only built to be 
 plundered, wild fruit to be gathered. Most of his 
 holidays, therefore, had been spent at Hunslope 
 Farm, till he arrived at the age of sixteen, when his 
 father declared he had had enough schooling, and 
 he put him in the bank at no salary at all, no 
 allowance for pocket-money, and no more holidays. 
 Then his life became very dreary. In that dull 
 old house of his aunt's few visitors ever came. 
 There were no parties ; there was no pleasure. She 
 herself, a good woman, whose heart was wholly 
 given up to religion, gave no thought to the wants 
 — other than the spiritual and bodily wants — of the 
 lad who was growing up longing for society, for 
 some variation of the monotonous life he led. 
 Presently, he began to creep out at nights — letting 
 himself down from the bed-room on the first floor 
 when he was supposed, after nine o'clock, to be 
 asleep ; and young Dick Mortiboy became familiar 
 with whatever form of dissipation Market Basing 
 had to offer long before he was tempted, from want 
 of money, to commit the offence which led to his 
 expulsion from home. But of his dissipation and his 
 nocturnal vigils with the choice spirits of the market- 
 town good Aunt Susan never knew. And she had
 
 l86 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 mourned for her runaway nephew all the days of 
 her life. 
 
 It must be confessed that this return was a fatal 
 blow to Mrs. Heathcote's schemes and projects. 
 Dick returned, not like the Prodigal Son, empty, 
 starving, and repentant — in which case there would 
 have been hopes for her, because his father would 
 infallibly have sent him empty away — but rich, fat, 
 well-looking, and independent. Now, in Mr. Morti- 
 boy*s judgment, no proverb could be better than 
 that which the Frenchman invented — " Nothing 
 succeeds like success." Success dazzled him. His 
 son, a successful man — as he said himself, and it 
 was most unlikely he should lie on so important a 
 point — was an object of admiration to him. Had 
 he come home like the young fellow in the parable, 
 Mr. Mortiboy might have shown him the forged 
 cheque, given him another ten-pound note, and 
 bidden him go away again, to show his face no 
 more : but left him his money when he died. 
 
 However, Mrs. Heathcote was not the woman to 
 show, even to her own daughters, her regret at an 
 accident so unforeseen. She extended to Dick the 
 hand of friendship and the cheek of affection. She 
 made his visit an occasion of rejoicing ; ordered 
 an addition of a brace of birds to the supper ;
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 187 
 
 and openly thanked Heaven for his safe re- 
 turn. 
 
 Farmer John was unfelgnedly glad to see him, 
 and they became at once the best of friends — par- 
 ticularly when, after supper, and over a pipe and 
 brandy and water, Dick reeled off a few of his 
 colonial experiences, of which he had a large stock 
 always ready in his inventive brain. It cost him 
 something not to be able to tell more of the truth 
 to the farmer ; but it would not do. It was too 
 important for his own interest to maintain the 
 fiction of the cotton estate. 
 
 They had music. Lucy played. Grace sang a 
 duet with Frank. Dick had not spent an evening 
 in the society of ladies for ten long years. He sat 
 mute and softened in their presence — not because 
 he felt any sense of moral degradation, but because 
 there is in youth and purity something of the power, 
 signified in that old legend of " Una and the Lion," 
 of taming for the time every wild beast that is not 
 maddened with pursuit and terror. Dick was a 
 wild beast which had not been hunted for many a 
 long day. 
 
 " You used to sing and play, Cousin Dick," said 
 Lydia. " Sing one of your old songs." 
 
 She touched the chords of a simple old air that
 
 1 88 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 he used to sing when he wanted to please her, years 
 before. 
 
 Dick shook his head. 
 
 " I've forgotten the words — and the tune, too, for 
 that matter. But I'll sing you something else, if 
 you like." 
 
 He sat down to the piano, letting his fingers run 
 carelessly over the keys for a few minutes ; and 
 then, playing that sort of simple accompaniment 
 which a man with a musical ear picks up for him- 
 self, he sang a Mexican love song. As he sang it 
 — beating a sort of time now and then with his 
 knuckles on the piano, as a Spaniard beats his 
 guitar at intervals — his rich, flexible voice vibrating 
 in the low room, and his fierce eyes turned full upon 
 the girls — for it was indeed a love song, only they 
 did not know its meaning — Lucy shuddered, and 
 grasped tightly the arm of her chair, while Grace 
 stared at him like some poor bird entranced by a 
 rattlesnake. 
 
 They both felt relieved when he finished. 
 
 " Come," said farmer John, '' that's what I call 
 something like a song. You must learn a few Eng- 
 lish ones, and then we shall do famously. 
 
 " All the Melliships have fine voices," said Mrs. 
 Heathcote. " Yours is a bass : but has not Frank
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 189 
 
 a splendid tenor ? You will hear him in church on 
 Sunday." 
 
 " You can hear him here better, Dick," said Mr. 
 Heathcote. " Come up often and see us. It must 
 be precious dull work with the old man. Now, say 
 good-night to the girls, and we will have a quiet pipe 
 together before you and Frank go. To-morrow's 
 Sunday, He'll drive you back with him."
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 
 IICK MORTIBOY'S drive home from 
 Parkside with his cousin, Frank MeUi- 
 ship, had not the effect of making him 
 sleep more soundly than usual. Indeed, 
 he spent a wakeful night — up to three or four 
 o'clock in the morning, at all events. Two things 
 were in his mind. First, he was wondering what in 
 the world had kept Polly in the service of the 
 Heathcotes all the years he had been away, and 
 how in the world he should get her out of the 
 neighbourhood of Market Basing. Secondly, he 
 was struck with the notion that the finest girl he 
 had ever seen in his life was his cousin, Grace 
 Heathcote. And the two together, mistress and 
 maid, crossing each other's paths in the tangled
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 191 
 
 web of Dick Mortiboy's mind, sensed to keep him 
 awake. 
 
 It was half an hour later than the usual breakfast 
 hour when he walked into the parlour. Old Ready- 
 money had finished his meal, and was carefully 
 trimming his nails at the fireplace. 
 
 The old gentleman was dressed in the same 
 ancient suit he had worn at the funeral. 
 
 " Good morning, father," said Dick, cheerfully. 
 " I have overslept myself by half an hour this 
 morning — a thing I don't do once a-year." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so, my boy. In a 
 man of business, I love to see punctual habits. 
 Take Time by the forelock, Dick. Look at me : up 
 at daylight — up at daylight — winter and sum- 
 mer. ' Awake my soul,' the poet says, * and 
 with the sun, thy daily stage of business run !' 
 I began that as a boy, Dick, and I've always 
 consistently acted up to it, Nobody can say I 
 haven't." 
 
 " All very well in England, father, but wouldn't 
 do in countries I've been living in. Some nights 
 you wouldn't have half an hour's sleep." 
 
 ''The poet meant England, Dick. It is the 
 country of the business man." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; though it must be admitted that a
 
 192 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 fine stroke of business is done by Englishmen 
 abroad." 
 
 The old man's lips were moving, though there 
 came from them no audible sound. 
 
 Dick's impression was that his father was repeat- 
 ing to himself the couplet he had made his rule of 
 life. 
 
 There was a silence of a few moments, which Mr. 
 Mortiboy was the first to break. 
 
 " Dick." 
 
 "Well, father?" 
 
 " We've got to %o to church. John and Lydia 
 will be here soon. We're going to sit in your poor 
 aunt's pew together. Shall you come with us .?" 
 
 " Well, father, I have thought it over, and I 
 think not. I shall go to chapel with you next 
 Sunday, I hope." 
 
 "Very well, my boy. Very well. It's thirty 
 years, I know, since I ever went to church. I've 
 always paid for my pew at chapel, though, and I've 
 often gone." 
 
 " Well, you've got a fair return for it, I hope T 
 
 Dick alluded not so much to the spiritual benefit 
 his father might have derived from his Ebenezer, as 
 to the Dissenting connection, which was rich in the 
 town.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 193 
 
 "I must go to church to-day, Dick, with the Heath- 
 cotes — it's expected of me after the funeral. The 
 Rector's going to preach. I hate a fuss and trouble, 
 though. What is in that box, Dick ?" said the old 
 gentleman suddenly, pointing to a case his son had 
 brought back from London with him. 
 
 " Only a few specimens and things from the 
 estate, which I got from my partner. Would you 
 like to see them V asked his son, carelessly. 
 
 "Ay — ay — plenty of time before church. The 
 bells don't begin till half-past ten. Open it now, 
 Dick — open it now." 
 
 Dick lifted his box on to the table, and opened it. 
 
 It was a long deal case, inscribed in large ink 
 characters with the names of divers ports and 
 stations situate in different parts of the habitable 
 globe, and in it was packed a variety of things 
 which might have gladdened the heart of a collec- 
 tor. Dick turned them all out upon the table. 
 Some were loose, some in small boxes, some 
 wrapped up in brown paper, one or two in many 
 folds of tissue paper. 
 
 He threw a pair of curiously worked objects — 
 apparently all beads and feathers — across the table, 
 and began to lie like the proverbial trooper. 
 
 *' That's a pair of leggings which I took from an 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 Indian in Nicaragua. They were got by the Indian 
 from the King of Mosquito Coast. The small 
 yellow feathers that you see are taken from a very 
 rare bird. They catch him in a trap, pull out the 
 feathers, and let him go agaIn,|economically, to grow 
 more. Of course these leggings are extremely 
 valuable all along that coast." 
 
 ''Dear me !" said Mr. Mortiboy, handling them 
 with curiosity. 
 
 "Yes," Dick continued, "We were prospecting 
 for silver. I had to shoot the Indian before I took 
 the leggings, of course. You will observe the mark 
 of his blood on the left leg." 
 
 "You didn't kill him, Dick .?" 
 
 " Dead as a door-nail. But he would have killed 
 me if I had not. That's the arrow which he was 
 fitting into his bow as I brought him down. Take 
 care of the point, because it's poisoned ; and if you 
 pricked yourself with it, no doctor in Market Basing 
 could cure you." 
 
 The old man took it by the feathered end, and 
 held it gingerly at arm's length. 
 
 " What did you shoot him with, Diek T he asked 
 curiously. 
 
 " With this," replied his son, taking a revolver 
 from his breast pocket.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 195 
 
 " Give them all to me," said Mr. Mortiboy, reach- 
 ing out his hands. "Give them all to me. I will 
 hang them up in my bed-room, over my bed, and 
 look at them every night." 
 
 " You may have the leggings, and welcome, and 
 the arrow ; but I can't let you have the pistol, be- 
 cause it was given to me by my friend Senhor de 
 Las Casas, of Cuba, who made me promise never to 
 part with it as long as I lived. See, it's silver- 
 mounted. Ah ! take care — it's loaded." 
 
 His father gave it back in haste. A loaded 
 revolver was a fearful and inexplicable weapon, not 
 to be handled. 
 
 " But take care yourself, Dick. Good heavens ! 
 — if it was to go off in your pocket !" 
 
 Dick laughed, and proceeded with his budget. 
 
 " This ivory-handled dagger I got from the King 
 of Dahomey for killing a gorilla which we met in 
 the woods. His Majesty perhaps overrated my ex- 
 ploit. This " — he went on quickly, for he saw that 
 his father was about to inquire into the nature and 
 habits of the gorilla — " this is some of the silver ore 
 from the Mexican mine I told you of" 
 
 " Let me see that — let me see that. Is it real 
 silver .?" 
 
 " Silver ore, you know. You have to smelt it. 
 
 13—2
 
 196 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 There, you see the dark stuff among the mica. 
 That is silver. Put it on your mantelshelf." 
 " What !— and have it stolen .?" 
 " A beautiful mine that came from. But I told 
 you about it. It's the mine that only my partner 
 and I know of. And it only wants a capital of 
 ;^ 10,000 to work it." 
 
 " That's a lot of money, Dick." 
 " It is — it is — I know it. I suppose we shall 
 have to make a company of it," looking curiously 
 at his father. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy said nothing, and Dick went on to 
 describe his collection. 
 
 " This," he said, taking a small roll of parchment 
 " is one of the most interesting things that I ever got 
 hold of Now, you will never guess what this is V 
 " It's a chart, I suppose." 
 
 " You're quite right. You never heard of Turks' 
 Islands, did you } I thought not. Between Turks' 
 Islands and the Bahamas are a lot of small islets — 
 little heaps of sand, many of them — where no ships 
 can go. I went among them, however, with the aid 
 of this map, which my old friend Captain — never 
 mind his name — gave me. I went among them, 
 father, and I found what he had told me on his 
 death-bed to be all true."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 197 
 
 " True ! what was true ?" 
 
 " The position of the wreck indicated in the map. 
 She lies in six to ten fathom water. I went there 
 alone in the ship's yawl, because I would have no 
 eye-witness. She lay to outside the reefs the while. 
 There lies the old wreck, sir, and on board of her 
 is—" 
 
 Here Dick stopped, and heaved a mighty sigh. 
 
 " What is there, Dick .?" 
 
 " A hundred thousand pounds, in hard ingots of 
 sterling gold and silver — that's all. And it wants 
 five or six thousand to get it up." 
 
 " My de-ar boy, my de-ar son, do you tell me 
 that you can lay you hands on a hundred thou — a 
 hundred thou — sand pounds T Mr. Mortiboy gasped 
 with emotion. 
 
 " I } Am I a professional diver } Can I navi- 
 gate a ship all by myself } No, sir ; but I can pay 
 men to dive, and sailors to man a craft ; and I can 
 command her myself, and bring home a hundred 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " It's a deal of money, Dick. Six thousand 
 pounds ! It takes a long time to get it." 
 
 " So it does, so it does. Never mind. I don't 
 ask you to advance a farthing. But it's right to
 
 198 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 tell you of these things. I'll start another com- 
 pany." 
 
 Dick gazed fixedly at the map, which he folded 
 up, and replaced in the box. 
 
 " All the rest are only things from our estate. 
 Here's some of the cotton. Did you ever see finer } 
 See, it grows in its pod, just so. We've got a thou- 
 sand acres already under cultivation, and shall have 
 another thousand next year. Profits are enormous 
 I shall be able to buy up Market Basing, father, in 
 ten years' time." 
 
 " Don't be too sure. You might find me in the 
 way," said the old man, in great good humour. 
 " What's this, Dick .?" 
 
 " This } — oh, only a little Californian nugget. I 
 picked it up myself in another man's washing, and he 
 gave it me. Pure gold. Now, that is something worth 
 having. You take it, and have a ring made of it, 
 and wear it. I have got a little bracelet, made of 
 nuggets of the same stuff, I'm going to give Grace 
 to-day, for a birthday present." 
 
 " Ah ! — well, well, my son, if you had not happily 
 come back to your old father, all would have been 
 very different. Give it her. She's a good girl. 
 I've — I've got something for her myself that will 
 make 'em all stare."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 199 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy clutched the nugget greedily. Pure 
 gold ! — the thing he had spent his life in scraping 
 together. And here was his son picking it up in the 
 open field, without any trouble or exertion, and 
 thinking nothing of it. It seemed strange to him. 
 This, by the way, was the only genuine thing in all 
 Dick's collection. 
 
 The old money-grubber leaned back, and looked 
 at all his new-made treasures, and folded them, so to 
 speak in his arms, and devoured them with his eyes. 
 They represented to his imagination — for he had 
 an imagination — boundless possibilities of gain. 
 Sunken treasure, silver mines, cent, per cent, profit 
 on cotton — why should not he have a share in these 
 things } Why should not he, indeed, be the direc- 
 tor, manager, owner, and king of all these .? But 
 the risk — the risk : and then he would lose his son 
 again. 
 
 Already, Dick had acquired an influence over his 
 father's mind which no one else had ever had. It 
 was his strength, his vigour, his keen intellect, his 
 audacity, his success, which captivated the old man. 
 He was indeed his son — but how changed from the 
 lad of his memories ! Mr. Mortiboy 's life had been 
 lonely, and without affection. Between his sister 
 and himself there were few topics of interest in
 
 200 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 common. He had lived almost entirely in his own 
 room — sitting, night after night, bending over those 
 books of which some men never tire : morning, 
 noon, and night : books ruled with blue lines hori- 
 zontally, and red lines vertically. Living this 
 lonely life, he had ceased for years to look for 
 friendship and kindliness. Those who are them- 
 selves brooders over fancied injuries are never cap- 
 able of even receiving affection without suspicion 
 and distrust. He knew people loved his brother-in- 
 law. They did not love him. But they came to do 
 business with him — first, because he did it better 
 than Mr. Melliship ; and, secondly — ha ! ha ! — be- 
 cause they must ; because there was no help for 
 them ; because they were wrapped in the coils 
 which he had wound round them ; because, if they 
 did not come to him, it only depended on his will 
 whether the cord should be tightened, and their 
 miserable necks wrung. It was something to be 
 powerful : something to be feared. But, meantime, 
 there were gleams of light across his darkened and 
 selfish brain which told him that the love of men 
 was, after all, a good thing to have. 
 
 Then suddenly on his monotonous and dismal 
 days had burst the sunshine of vigorous life and 
 strength. In that lonely house there was again a
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 201 
 
 creature that made a noise in it, striding about the 
 place, singing, laughing, having a great voice. 
 Within the circle of Mr. Mortiboy's power had 
 chanced a capture, as he thought, more important 
 than any of the rest — the capture of his errant son. 
 And, good heavens ! thought the proud father, what 
 a man he was ! — decided in action, quick to com- 
 prehend, ready to suggest. Strong, too, and comely 
 in face and figure : a man to be proud of : a man 
 before whom Market Basing ought to bow down 
 and do homage. And then, so quiet with all his 
 superiority : always deferring to his father, yet 
 always independent in his judgment. As Mr. 
 Mortiboy went to his bed as this period, he used to 
 murmur to himself a species of thanks for his splen- 
 did son — which was addressed to no Deity in parti- 
 cular, but had its own form quite as much as if it 
 were a Collect, and intimated the gratitude of the 
 parent that in his son's breast no Peacockery could 
 be found. And he did now what, when he was ten 
 years' younger, he would have been incapable of. 
 He believed firmly, absolutely, all that Dick thought 
 fit to tell him : that he was prosperous — not yet 
 rich, but in the way to wealth : that his life had 
 been a long struggle with fortune, and that he had 
 conquered fate. That was to Mr. Mortiboy's mind
 
 202 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 mere matter of faith, established by an internal 
 conviction not to be shaken. He was, therefore, 
 already inordinately proud of his son ; and it 
 wanted but little for the pear which Dick longed to 
 pluck to drop ripe into his hands. 
 
 The sound of church bells beginning to chime 
 fell on their ears ; and Mr. Mortiboy, with a groan 
 of disgust, rose to put on his overcoat. 
 
 " They'll be all here directly," he said. " Let us 
 put these things away before they come, else they'll 
 very likely want to be presented with some. Help 
 me to carry them to my bedroom." 
 
 Dick had not been in that room since his mother 
 died. It was unchanged : the same red canopy to 
 the bed ; the same hangings, only somewhat faded ; 
 the same carpet, but worn into holes ; and the same 
 chintz-covered chair by the bedside. The only 
 piece of furniture which had been added was a 
 long oaken press, occupying half one side of the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy opened it. Within were sundry 
 boxes, drawers, and shelves, together with an iron 
 safe. 
 
 '' Let us put the things here," he said. " It's the 
 only place where they will be safe. Here are all 
 your poor mother's things, Dick. See " — he opened
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 203 
 
 a drawer in which lay packages in tissue paper — 
 " her jewels : they were all good, poor thing. This 
 is her watch. Ah ! dear me. And here are Susan's 
 trinkets : I put 'em in here. I want to give some- 
 thing to Lucy Heathcote — I promised Susan — but 
 ot to-day, not to-day. There's that present for 
 Grace. — I'll promise it — from Susan's things. Susan 
 was very fond of Lucy." 
 
 The old man had contracted a habit of talking 
 to himself, and sometimes forgot that a listener was 
 present. Dick noted with curiosity the collection 
 of odds and ends — old plate, old watches, rings, 
 forks and spoons — which lay in the strong press, 
 whose thick doors — iron lined — were able to turn 
 the burglar's tools for many an hour. He looked 
 and coveted. Then he deposited his [Mexican and 
 Californian spoils with the rest, and saw his father 
 safely lock all up. Ten minutes after, Mr. Mortiboy 
 was on his way to church ; and at the last sound of 
 the parson's bell, Dick lit his pipe, and strolled into 
 the garden which lay at the back of the house." 
 
 " It's awkward " — strongly qualified — " that girl 
 turning up again. I must get her out of the way. 
 Anyhow, the governor must not hear anything — 
 not just as we are getting on comfortably, too. It 
 only wants a week or two to make him open his
 
 204 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 mouth like an oyster, and take up the silver mine, 
 and the sunken ship, and the cotton estates and 
 all." 
 
 The long, old-fashioned garden was bounded by 
 a high brick wall. There was a door in one corner, 
 always kept locked — not even Mr. Mortiboy knew 
 where the key was. Dick had forgotten this, and 
 tried to open it. Then he suddenly remembered, 
 and burst into a laugh. 
 
 '' By Jove ! nothing is changed in the old place. 
 And here's the pump on which I used to step ; and 
 here's the vine by which I got to the pump. Let 
 us climb over, as I used to do when I crept out at 
 night to meet Polly. It's exactly like the old times, 
 only Polly's gone off: and I wish she was dead — 
 by gad !" 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, by the help of 
 the vine and the pump, he gained the top of the 
 wall, and threw his legs over it. Beneath him, in 
 the lane, stood Polly — the first at the trysting- 
 place, as she always had been. 
 
 " Aha !" cried Dick, with his careless laugh — 
 " there you are, old girl. Isn't it like twelve 
 years ago T 
 
 He leapt down, and stood at her side. 
 
 A narrow path ran along by the side of a deep,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 205 
 
 sluggish river, between twenty and thirty feet wide. 
 The path came from nowhere, and led nowhere, 
 consequently no one ever walked along it; and, 
 particularly on Sunday morning, it was as lonely as 
 a track in the prairie. Across the river stood, quite 
 alone, a small, newly built villa, run up by an enter- 
 prising builder. He had failed, as the result of his 
 enterprise, and the villa was now the property of 
 Mr. Mortiboy. But no one had yet taken it. 
 
 Polly was dressed gaudily, in her Sunday best. 
 A tall, finely shaped woman, with a face whose 
 beauty was now on the wane: a well-developed, 
 healthy creature, with those commonplace features 
 ■ — good enough in their way — which you often see 
 in country women. Her expression was bad, how- 
 ever : low, cunning, and animal. She held out her 
 red, strong hand to Dick, who took it without any 
 great show of affection, and returned it to its owner 
 immediately. 
 
 " Well, Poll r 
 
 " Well, Poll .? Is that all you've got to say to 
 your true and faithful wife T 
 
 " Don't you think, Poll, you had better stow 
 that r 
 
 " Don't you think you had better do something 
 for me ? A pretty thing, indeed, for the wife of old
 
 2o6 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 Ready-money's son to be cleaning knives in the 
 kitchen while her husband is singing songs in the 
 parlour ! I heard you last night, and I had half a 
 mind to spoil the sport." 
 
 " Did you though ? Had you really ?" Dick 
 laid his heavy hand on her shoulder. "Do you 
 know, Polly, it's devilish lucky for you that you 
 stopped at half a mind ?" 
 
 "Now, look here, Dick. Don't let's have no 
 chaff. What are you going to do .?" 
 
 " I tell you one thing I'm going to do, my girL 
 If you let out even by a whisper, or if I find you 
 have let out, I'll tell the governor everything, go 
 abroad at once, and never come back again. Now, 
 you know if the governor's the kind of old boy to 
 tip up handsomely to his son's wife — especially if she 
 should turn out to be Polly Tresler. So be sensible, 
 and let us talk things over." 
 
 " I'm sure I only want to be friendly" — beginning 
 to whimper. "But it's hard, when one sees her 
 man after twelve years, not to get so much as a 
 kind word." 
 
 If that's all you want," said Dick, " I've got lots 
 of them put by in a box on purpose. I'll give you 
 as many kind words as you like — and kisses, too, 
 when no one's looking."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 207 
 
 " No one's looking now, Dick. And oh, how 
 handsome you've got !" 
 
 Dick gave a look north, and another south — that 
 is, up and down the lane. After this concession to 
 nuptial modesty, he bestowed a brace of kisses, one 
 on each of his wife's buxom cheeks. She returned 
 them with a warmth that rather embarrassed him. 
 
 " And you've never asked about the boy, Dick," 
 she said, reproachfully. 
 
 " Oh, damn it ! Is there a boy .?" 
 
 "A beautiful boy, Dick — the picture of his 
 father." 
 
 " And the boy's at Hunslope Farm, I sup- 
 pose i*" 
 
 " Then you suppose wrong, because he isn't. I 
 went up to London again directly after you went 
 away and deserted me." 
 
 " Hang it ! I had to go." 
 
 " And never a letter, or a message, or a word, or 
 a single sovereign." 
 
 " Hadn't got any sovereigns." 
 
 " Well, I went up to London, and the boy was 
 born there, and nobody ever knew anything about 
 it, Dick. And there he is now at school, bless his 
 heart! and nobody would ever believe he was twelve 
 years old."
 
 2o8 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 Certainly there were more persons than one in 
 the world who were ready to swear that the boy 
 was no more than ten ; but then, Dick could not 
 be expected to know that. 
 
 " And I lived in London for eight years in ser- 
 vice. Oh ! good, Dick — I was always good. You 
 believe that, don't you, my handsome husband V 
 
 " Humph \ Don't see any reason for saying ' no' 
 at present." 
 
 "And then I came back here, and I've been at 
 Hunslope ever since. And oh ! Dick, it's many 
 a time I've been tempted to go to old Ready- 
 money — " 
 
 " Wouldn't you have a better chance with him if 
 you called him Mr. Mortiboy .?" 
 
 " And say to him, ' I'm your lawful daughter, 
 and little Dick ' — only his name is Bill — ' is your 
 true and lawful grandson, and if you're a Christian 
 you'll do something for him.' He'd have ought to 
 have had every farden of the old man's money if 
 you hadn't a come back. I've asked questions. 
 Oh, Dick, I'm glad you're come." 
 
 " My father is a Dissenter, Polly. Perhaps his 
 views of the duties of religion are different from 
 ours. You and I are simple Church folk, you know. 
 But I'm glad you didn't."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Stojy. 209 
 
 " No, I didn't. But what are we to do now, 
 Dick ? Am I to come and live with you, as in duty 
 bound ?" 
 
 Here she smiled affectionately at him. 
 
 Dick looked at her blankly. 
 
 " Things are as they are," he said, repressing a 
 violent inclination to use profane words. " We 
 can't undo what's done. You know, Polly, what an 
 unlicked cub I was when I married you." 
 
 " You won't deny that, I hope .''" 
 
 " That I was a fool i* — oh ! that I was married ! 
 No. I would if I could ; but I can't, because 
 there's a register at the church of St. Pancras ; and 
 though I was married — " 
 
 " That makes no difference, Dick. I found it out 
 from a lawyer." 
 
 " Did you .-* Then you might have spared your- 
 self the pains. No, Pm not going to deny it. And 
 if you hold your tongue, and say nothing to 
 anybody, now I am back — we can meet of an 
 evening, you know, sometimes — PU do something 
 handsome for you ; but if you talk, Pm off again. 
 So there we are, and make no mistake." 
 
 Polly said nothing. All her hopes were knocked 
 on the head. She stood twisting a riband in her 
 red, ungloved hands, and looking at the big man, 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 her husband, who enjoined his laws upon her. But 
 she was constrained to obey. There was something 
 in Dick Mortiboy which made most people feel 
 that it would be better for them to do what he told 
 them. And all the time she had been planning a 
 little design to make him pay for silence, or threaten 
 to acknowledge him openly. It did seem hard, too. 
 
 " How are you off for money .^" 
 
 " I've got none ; and Bill wants new clothes." 
 
 " I'll go and see Bill some day — not yet. Here's 
 a ten pound note. Get the little devil — " 
 
 " What, Dick, your own son .?" 
 
 " What's the matter with the girl t Get the young 
 cuss a new pair of breeches, and don't bother me 
 about him." 
 
 He sat on a rail by the side of the lane — for they 
 had been walking up and down — and put his hands 
 in his pockets. 
 
 " Upon my word, Polly, I had almost forgotten 
 you — I had indeed. And when I saw you at Hun- 
 slope, you might have knocked me down yourself, 
 big as I am." 
 
 "And weren't you glad to see me, Dick V 
 
 " No — devilish sorry," said her husband, truth- 
 fully. " I expected to find you married again, of 
 course."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 2 1 1 
 
 *' Well, I am your wife." 
 
 " You said that before." 
 
 " And I mean to be, too." 
 
 " If you don't mean to do what I tell you, it'll be 
 a poor look-out for you. So you'd better make no 
 mistake on that point." 
 
 " Don't be cruel, Dick — the very first day and 
 all," said Polly, the tears of vexation rising to her 
 eyes. 
 
 The last hardening of a man's heart is the in- 
 crustation of that place where a woman's tears take 
 effect. Dick relented a little, and re-stated his case 
 — as a woman's lord and master should ; but this 
 time more kindly. 
 
 "Now, this is the first and the last of it. If I'm 
 to do anything for you, don't interfere. Don't come 
 between me and the old man. I'm not going to be 
 a brute. I married you, and we can't get rid of 
 that fact. So shake hands, Polly, and go home. I'll 
 write you a letter to meet me again as soon as I 
 see an opportunity. We're all going to Hunslope 
 Farm to dinner when they come home from church. 
 But you must take no notice of me." 
 
 " No, I won't — no manner of notice," said Polly. 
 ** Fm going to wait at table, and Mrs. Heathcote 
 says I'm to look after you especial." 
 
 14—2
 
 212 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " I knew a man down away in Frisco, Polly, who 
 was married twenty years to a girl, without a soul 
 knowing anything about it except the parson, and 
 he got shot in a difficulty." 
 
 " Did you, Dick ? It wasn't yourself, was it ?" 
 
 " Now, how the devil could it be, when I've only 
 been away twelve years ? Well, they had sixteen 
 children, two pairs of 'em twins. And nobody 
 knew it, mind you. And then the man made his 
 pot ; and now she rides about in her carriage. And 
 the last time I saw her she had on a blue satin 
 dress, and a red cachemire shawl, and gold chains 
 as thick as rigging ropes. A pretty woman she is 
 still, Polly, and able to enjoy it all. That was the 
 reward of being silent, you see." 
 
 " Lor !" said Polly. " Dick, Old Ready-money 
 — I mean, Mr. Mortiboy — is as rich as rich. And 
 they say he can't live long, because he's sold him- 
 self to the devil for all his money. Would you give 
 me a carriage and a gold chain .?" 
 
 " Half a dozen gold chains and a carriage and 
 four. And all Market Basing shall know that you're 
 my wife. Poll. Give me a kiss, old gal." 
 
 They parted friends ! The man went off in the 
 direction of his father's house : the woman to visit 
 her mother at her little cottage in the town.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Stay. 
 
 213 
 
 Once they turned back to stare after one ano- 
 ther. 
 
 Their eyes met ! Could each have read the 
 other's mind !
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 
 
 R. MORTIBOY'S son was 
 
 spending half an hour, 
 
 for the first time in twelve 
 
 years, with the wife he 
 
 had married, whilst old 
 
 Ready - money himself 
 
 was seated in his late 
 
 sister's pew in St. Giles's 
 
 Church. Helooked round 
 
 him with some curiosity. 
 
 The church of St. Giles at Market Basing is the 
 
 parish church, and is situate in the middle of the 
 
 town, where the cross formed by the four principal 
 
 streets — Bridge-street, Gold-street, Sheep-street,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 215 
 
 and High-street — starts from. Within a stone's 
 throw of it are all the pubhc buildings. 
 
 Originally, the church was a Gothic edifice, the 
 work of some architect whose name has not come 
 down to posterity. The tower looking west bears 
 witness to his skill. The rest of the building was 
 destroyed by fire in the reign of Charles the 
 Second. That Christian prince thought proper to 
 give a thousand tons of timber from a neighbouring 
 royal forest towards the rebuilding of the church. 
 In return, a grotesque statue and a legend detailing 
 the royal munificence were placed over the portico 
 by the corporation of Market Basing. Sir Chris- 
 topher Wren rebuilt St. Giles's. He drew a square, 
 with a smaller square running out of it — this was 
 the chancel — for his ground plan, and added it on 
 to the old gothic tower. He built four great walls, 
 and pierced them with four ugly oblong windows, 
 and then three small walls, and three small oblong 
 windows to match, for his chancel. He roofed it 
 over with a dwarfed dome and lantern — reminding 
 you of St. Paul's in a toy box — and left it to the 
 people of Market Basing to worship in, in the stead 
 of their old Gothic church. 
 
 So everything remained for a century and a half. 
 Then came a change.
 
 2i6 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 We live now in the age of church restoration ; 
 but the fever struck the rector of St. Giles's when 
 the nineteenth century was young. 
 
 The dome I have mentioned was supported by 
 four great pillars of white stone ; up to these, on 
 each side of the church, came the front railing of a 
 gallery. In 1806, the rector laid his plans for 
 pulling down these galleries, slicing a few rows of 
 pews off, and putting them up again clear of the 
 pillars. This was only part of his scheme, though 
 what else he wanted to do does not matter now. 
 Of course he called on his richest parishioner — the 
 third of the Mortiboy race — for a subscription. 
 And " the scholard " promised him a hundred 
 pounds on his assurance that a London architect 
 had pronounced the galleries unsafe. To this pro- 
 mise Mr. Mortiboy added a condition. It was that 
 he should not be asked for any more. Unluckily 
 for the parson, Mr. Mortiboy's own seat was in the 
 front row of one of the galleries, and he had for- 
 gotten to mention that the new erections would not 
 be precisely similar to the old ones. And the 
 banker owned what was called a faculty pew : a 
 quasi freehold, to be bought and sold with his house, 
 and for which no pew rent was to be paid. 
 
 The very day he heard of the arrangement to
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 217 
 
 sacrifice his seat, he was asked by the rector for a 
 second subscription, on the ground that there was 
 so much more being done than was at first intended. 
 This was more than Mr. Mortiboy could stand. 
 His gallery gone, his hundred pounds gone — this 
 was much ; but to be asked to give more for further 
 desecration of vested rights and spoliation of pro- 
 perty was more than he could bear. 
 
 So, followed by a good many of the parishioners, 
 he seceded to the modest Little Bethel which had 
 hitherto sufficed for the Nonconformist interest. 
 They pensioned off, economically, the wheezy 
 old man who had preached in it for thirty years 
 — ever since he had given up cobbling on having 
 a call — and sent for an eloquent preacher : an 
 awakener. Then came the tug of war ; and Market 
 Basing was divided pretty equally, and vvith more 
 than the usual bitterness, between Church and 
 Dissent. 
 
 Such is the history of the celebrated Market 
 Basing schism, as notable in its way as many a 
 better-known division in the Church. 
 
 With a display of that old dog in the manger 
 spirit to gratify which a Shropshire nobleman spent 
 untold sums in building round his great park a 
 wall high enough to keep out the hunting-field, Mr.
 
 2 r 8 Ready-money Moriihoy. 
 
 Mortiboy never went to the church again, nor did 
 he suffer any of his family to go there. But the 
 bitterness wore off gradually. And when he died, 
 his son, our Ready-money — though he never went 
 to church — was not seen so often at chapel ; while 
 Susan Mortiboy, his sister, went to every church 
 service that was held, and to every meeting, and in 
 all parish affairs was as good as ten deaconesses to 
 the parson. Mr. Mortiboy revolved all these things 
 as he sat in the church that morning. 
 
 During the service — which was an unfamiliar 
 thing to him, and touched him not — his mind ran 
 back to old times, and he sawhimself again playing 
 with Francis Melliship, making love to his sister 
 Emily as he grew older, marrying at that very altar. 
 For a moment the bitter feelino; against Mr. Melli- 
 ship died away — to revive again the moment after, 
 when the thought occurred to him that in a few 
 days his enemy would be at his feet, craving his 
 forbearance and assistance. 
 
 The hymns affected him little, because Mr. Morti- 
 boy had no ear for music ; and, besides, he was 
 thinking how he should behave when Mr. Melliship 
 came for help. Should he remind him of slights 
 offered five and twenty years ago } Or should he 
 be content to take that moment as an acquittance
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. " 219 
 
 in full, and be friends again as of old ? He inclined 
 ever so little to the* latter course. 
 
 In that place he was such an unusual sight, that 
 the people all stared at him over their prayer books. 
 They thought him very much affected by the loss 
 of his sister, because he looked neither to the right 
 nor to the left, but gazed straight before him. 
 Presently, looking forward in this way, his eye 
 caught the face of the preacher, and he was con- 
 strained, in spite of himself, to hear the text. 
 
 Market Basing is one of those places where 
 funeral sermons are still preached. The text chosen 
 by the friend of Susan Mortiboy, as the theme for 
 his tribute to her memory, was the thirty-eighth 
 and thirty-ninth verses of the eighth chapter of 
 Romans. 
 
 The preacher spoke out the words in a clear and 
 penetrating voice : — 
 
 " For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, 
 nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 
 present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, 
 nor any other creature^ shall be able to separate us 
 from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our 
 Lord." 
 
 I have given the text. I will not attempt to re- 
 produce the sermon. I should only do injustice to
 
 220 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 it. But it seemed to Old Ready-money that it was 
 directed personally at him. 
 
 It told of the sin of self-seeking, in its various 
 forms. It showed how the good woman whose 
 death had made a gap in their midst lived wholly 
 for others ; and though she could not take her 
 wealth with her — here a warmth crept over the 
 brother^s heart, because he knew it was all his — she 
 had made it a blessing to the poor, and used it as 
 if it were a trust. Here Mr. Mortiboy felt ag- 
 grieved. And the preacher, waxing eloquent with 
 his theme, showed that the worship of self is shown 
 in more ways than in the hoarding up and misuse 
 of money — here Mr. Mortiboy felt uncomfortable, 
 because the clergyman was really looking at him : 
 why could he not look at Heathcote t — how by 
 disregarding the interests of others, by ignoring 
 their wishes, by pursuing a line Avhich brings mis- 
 fortune on them, by failing to anticipate their desires, 
 and by countless other ways, the selfish man makes 
 the paths of others hard for them. Mr. Mortiboy 
 thought of his rival, Mr. Melliship, whose path he 
 was about to make very hard, and almost wished, 
 for a moment, that it was not so. And then he 
 drew two pictures — one of him who had no money, 
 but yet had in his heart charity, and sympathy,
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 221 
 
 and thoughtfulness for his neighbour ; and one of 
 the rich man who had these virtues in addition to 
 his wealth ; and he showed how each in his way- 
 was a kind of Providence to the place — preventing 
 more than healing : making men continue in good- 
 ness, rather than repent of evil. And then Mr. 
 Mortiboy turned pale, and a chill fell on his heart, 
 because he knew that he had done no good to any- 
 body else — not so much as to one neighbour, and 
 that the only good he had done to himself was to 
 amass money and increase his wealth. Then the 
 preacher generalized ; and such is the power of a 
 contented mind, that Mr. Mortiboy forgot a few 
 moments after where he was, and lost himself 
 
 in thought about what he should do with Dick. 
 
 It was Sacrament Sunday. The plate came 
 round, and caught him unprepared : at another mo- 
 ment, Mr. Mortiboy would have taken no notice of 
 the intrusion. Now he was softened a little, and 
 recollected he meant to give something when he 
 came; so he dropped a coin into it, with a conscious 
 glow of one who does a good action. Mr. Heath- 
 cote, who had been asleep, as was his wont during 
 sermon— not from any disinclination to listen, but 
 from sheer force of long habit — woke up, put a 
 crown piece in the plate, and church was over.
 
 222 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 Dinner at Parkside. It had a threefold aim. 
 First, as Mrs. Heathcote observed, it would help to 
 divert that melancholy with which she was per- 
 suaded her cousin Mr. Mortiboy was afflicted at the 
 loss of his sister ; secondly, to welcome Dick back to 
 England ; and thirdly, because it was Grace's birth 
 day, and Grace was twenty-one. There was another 
 reason, which she kept to herself, that on Sunday 
 Mr. Melliship always remained at home and dined 
 en famille ; so that there was no chance of 
 Franlc calling in the evening, and a reasonable 
 excuse for not asking him. Mr. Mortiboy 's dis- 
 like to his brother-in-law extended to his nephew 
 as well. 
 
 Dick was the quietest of the guests, partly be- 
 cause he was still unused to the society of ladies, 
 and felt it was desirable to keep a curb upon his 
 tongue — which had a habit, indeed, of dropping 
 pearls of conversation, but roughly set. The girls, 
 too, were quiet : Lucy because she was still full of 
 grief for her friend, Aunt Susan, as she was always 
 called ; and Grace out of sympathy. But Mr. 
 Mortiboy was in high spirits — perhaps from the in- 
 fluence of that glow of virtue of which we have 
 spoken before, and perhaps from the revulsion of 
 feeling which comes after a time of gloom and
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 223 
 
 trouble. He sat with his chair a foot from the table, 
 leaned forward at an unpleasant angle, and said 
 " Beautiful, beautiful !" to everything eatable pre- 
 sented to his notice. When the pudding was 
 brought in by Polly, he remarked that it shook, and 
 he liked to see a pudding shake — it was a good 
 sign : and as he drank half a glass of port, with a 
 bit of blue Stilton, he was pleased to notice that 
 the cheese was the only bad thing about the dinner. 
 His chief topic of conversation was his son, of whom 
 he spoke as admiringly as if he had not been pre- 
 sent at the table, and frequently patted his broad 
 back. Mrs. Heathcote encouraged him, put in little 
 ejaculations of " La ! now, uncle !'' " Is it possible .''" 
 and so on ; while the old man garrulously prated of 
 the good days he was going to have now Dick was 
 come back. Mr. Mortiboy, in spite of his penurious 
 ways at home, was by no means averse to the good 
 things of life. He had schooled himself to believe 
 that it was waste of money to have a decent dinner 
 cooked for himself every day ; but it would have 
 been a waste of opportunity to refuse whatever 
 good things were offered by others. So the dinntr 
 passed off very cheerfully. It was not exactly 
 pleasant for Dick to have his own wife waiting on 
 him — she had ridden back on the box of John
 
 224 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 Heathcote's sociable — nor was he altogether free 
 from alarm when his cousin asked him if he had 
 left his heart behind him, knowing that Polly had a 
 fine high temper of her own, which could not at all 
 times be trusted. Nothing, however, happened to 
 disturb the peace between them. When the table 
 was cleared, Mr. Heathcote, in a tone of much so- 
 lemnity, called upon all to fill their glasses. Health 
 drinking was a ceremony which he would not have 
 omitted for worlds on such an occasion. He began 
 a little speech. 
 
 " Bygones," he said, " should be bygones. There 
 is no occasion for crying over what can't be helped. 
 We've had to grieve, and we may now rejoice. Let 
 us drink the health of — " 
 
 "My — good — gracious ! what a dreadful thing !' 
 cried Old Ready-money, falling back in his chair, 
 his face as pale as ashes. 
 
 Mr. Heathcote stopped suddenly. They all 
 started. 
 
 " What is it. Uncle Richard .?" cried Mrs. Heath- 
 cote. 
 
 " Well, I shan't forget this !" He was looking at 
 something in his hand. 
 
 " What is it, uncle ?" 
 
 " I have done it !"he repHed, solemnly. " I've put
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 225 
 
 a sovereign into that plate at the church instead of 
 a shilling." 
 
 It was true. In the confusion of the moment, 
 his thoughts distracted from what he was doing, he 
 had put his fingers into the right waistcoat-pocket, 
 where were five sovereigns, instead of the left where 
 were as many shillings. 
 
 Mr. Heathcote repressed an inclination to roar, 
 as at one of the best jokes he had ever heard — be- 
 cause he caught, just in time, a look of admonition 
 from his wife. 
 
 " What is to be done } I never made such a 
 mistake in my life before," cried Mr. Mortiboy. 
 
 "What can be done V cried Mrs. Heathcote. 
 
 " You have done more good than you intended, 
 Uncle Richard," said Lucy. " Some poor persons 
 will have a better dinner next Sunday." 
 
 " Better stuff and rubbish !" said Mr. Mortiboy. 
 
 " Well then," said Dick, whose ignorance of 
 church customs must be pleaded in excuse for the 
 hardihood of the suggestion, " write to the parson, 
 and make him give back your change." 
 
 " Well — why not.^^ It's only right," said his father. 
 
 " Oh ! — uncle !" Lucy expostulated. 
 
 "I'll send John," said Mr. Heathcote, "if you 
 like." 
 
 VOL. I. IS
 
 226 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 He saw here the materials for as good a thing as 
 had ever come under his notice, and was determined 
 to make the most of it. 
 
 They got paper, and Mr. Mortiboy was going to 
 write, explaining that, in the hurry of the moment, 
 he had made a mistake of some importance — viz., 
 the substitution of a sovereign for a shilling — and 
 begging the rector to return to him the balance due. 
 
 But Mrs. Heathcote contrived to make her uncle 
 postpone this till he got home. She did not want 
 the letter dated from Parkside. 
 
 Then Mr. Heathcote went on with his speech. 
 
 " I have forgotten, now, what I intended to say 
 specially. But I was going to propose Dick's health. 
 Dick, my boy, we're glad to see you, and proud of 
 you ; and you're always welcome, as you always 
 were, at Parkside." 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy 's voice shook a little as he raised 
 his glass and said — 
 
 " We'll drink, Dick !— we'll drink, Dick !— your 
 health, my son." 
 
 The big prodigal had found his way to his heart ; 
 and he loved him better now, far better, than he 
 had ever loved him as a boy. 
 
 Dick said a few words ; and then Mr. Heathcote 
 filled his glass with an air of business, and looked
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 227 
 
 at his wife, who pulled out her handkerchief. They 
 knew what was coming. But Mr. Mortiboy aston- 
 ished them all. 
 
 " Let me," he said, " say a few words." He 
 turned to Grace. ** Grace, my dear, we are going 
 to drink your health, and many happy returns of 
 the day. For twenty-one years, I think, I've dined 
 here on every birthday of yours, and drunk a glass 
 of port to you every year. Lydia, your children 
 are good girls. Had things been different with me 
 — had Dick not, happily, come back to us — I should 
 — But there is no telling what might or would 
 have been done." 
 
 Here Mrs, Heathcote buried her face in her hand- 
 kerchief 
 
 ''And now, my dear, I wish you a long and 
 happy life, and a careful husband, and " — here he 
 hesitated a little, and pulled out his pocket book — 
 ** here, my dear," — he took out a crisp and new 
 bank note, and looked at it admiringly for a mo- 
 ment ; then he put it from him as if the action cost 
 him something — " here, my dear, is a present for 
 you." 
 
 It was a hundred pound bank note. Grace read the 
 amount with a sort of stupefaction, and passed it to 
 her father. Mr. Heathcote took it gravely, and gave 
 
 15—2
 
 228 Ready-7noney Mortiboy. 
 
 it back to his daughter. And then it went round, 
 and there was a simultaneous cry of gratitude and 
 surprise. They were shocked at the old man's un- 
 likeness to himself. 
 
 " But what in the world will you do with it 
 Grace .''" said her mother. ** You will have to put 
 it into Uncle Mortiboy's bank." 
 
 " Yes — do, Grace," said the donor ; " and I'll see 
 if I can't give you interest for it." 
 
 Five minutes after she had received her present, 
 Grace handed it back to her uncle to " take care 
 of" for her; and he received it with a gasp, and 
 returned it to his pocket-book hastily. 
 
 It was at once the cheapest and the handsomest 
 present he could give ; and he knew he should get 
 it back again "to take care of," when he decided 
 upon what form his present should take. 
 
 Poor Grace ! It did seem rather hard to her to 
 be tantalized by the sight of such a splendid sum 
 of money, and then to have it suddenly ravished 
 from her sight, and consigned to the. dark dungeons 
 of the bank — a prisoner not to be released. 
 
 In the evening, Mr. Mortiboy sat in the easiest 
 chair by the fire, and next him Mrs. Heathcote. 
 And he conversed with her about his son Dick, 
 telling her over and over again how great a comfort
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 229 
 
 to him the boy already was : laying out his schemes 
 for an easier life, and planning the happiness that 
 was to be his, now Dick was come home again. 
 Dick, for his part, was listening to the girls as they 
 sang hymns. 
 
 " Your nose, my lady," said Mr. Heathcote that 
 night, laying his manly head upon the pillow, 
 " appears to me to be put out of joint." 
 
 " Don't be coarse, John," returned his partner. 
 
 " Anyhow, old Ready-money has broken out in 
 a new place. That hundred pounds of his is all 
 our girls will get. But the old man is improved by 
 it, and I'm glad Dick has turned up again." 
 
 " Poor boy !" said his wife, with feeling. ^' So am 
 I. John, mark my words — though you must have 
 seen it — Dick's setting his cap at Grace already." 
 
 John was coarse enough to laugh at this remark, 
 and to continue silently shaking till slumber 
 smoothed out his limbs, and composed them for 
 rest. 
 
 As for Mr. Mortiboy, he went home well satisfied, 
 and not the less pleased because the morrow would 
 bring his brother-in-law, for the first time in his life, 
 for assistance and forbearance. For he knew well 
 enough that it was quite beyond the power of 
 Francis Melliship to meet his liabilities. It would
 
 230 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 be something like a new pleasure to see his proud 
 brother-in-law open his case, and admit that he 
 wanted time. It would be a real new pleasure to 
 have him, like all the rest of Market Basing, 
 secretly under his own thumb. Mr. Mortiboy 
 rubbed his hands when he thought of it. He would 
 not ruin Melliship : he would even help him. But 
 he would help him at a price, and that price should 
 be his own aggrandizement. To have both the 
 banks at his command would be almost to rule the 
 county as well as the town. To make of Mr. 
 Melliship a superior Ghrimes would be an ample 
 return for those slights he had endured at his hands 
 so long ago. And it fell out so well for Dick, too. 
 He could go back, arrange his affairs abroad, and 
 return in a year or two to leave Market Basing no 
 more, and to succeed him in all his wealth — and 
 even Mr. Mortiboy himself did not know how much 
 that wealth amounted to by this time. 
 
 So he, too, went to sleep ; and all Market Basing 
 slumbered — except one man.
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 
 HAT man was Francis Melliship ! 
 
 Old Ready-money's brother-in-law — 
 rival, as he considered him ; enemy, 
 that he had tried to make hinv — spent the Sunday 
 in his usual fashion. In the morning, he went to 
 church with his household, filled his accustomed 
 seat in the family pew, and heard the funeral 
 sermon ; dined early, and in the evening went to 
 church again. 
 
 Dr. Kerby walked with the Melliships as far as 
 their own door, after the morning service. He 
 begged his old friend, the banker, to take a rest 
 from his work. He took Mrs. Melliship aside, and 
 whispered to her in terms imperative and strong.
 
 232 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 He told her she must take her husband for a 
 change of air that very week, on some pretext or 
 another. 
 
 " If Mr. Melllship won't take you, my dear lady, 
 you must take him." 
 
 "Doctor, you alarm us. What — what is the 
 matter with my dear husband ?" she asked, unable 
 to conceal the nervous feeling the doctor's words 
 produced, yet unwilling to tell him of the signs of 
 unnatural change in her husband she saw herself. 
 
 These were clear enough : but neither the wife, 
 nor the son, nor the daughter could read their 
 meaning. 
 
 They saw the change that cast its shadow over 
 their house. Their anxiety for husband and father 
 was intense. 
 
 What could they do } Nothing. And this in- 
 action was terrible to them. 
 
 Mr. MeUiship was in high spirits all day : he had 
 been in high spirits all the week. His face was 
 flushed, his movements quick and nervous. He 
 was very excitable, and talked in a wild, exagge- 
 rated way. 
 
 His present was the very opposite of his natural 
 state.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 233 
 
 His talk all the week had been perpetually of 
 one kind : about money, about his own wealth. 
 For the first time in her life, his daughter Kate 
 began to think her father ostentatious. The thought 
 but suggested itself, to be stifled as unworthy : the 
 fault was in her, she thought, not in her father. 
 
 Now, on this day, he was even more demonstra- 
 tive of his newly-born pride of purse. He spoke of 
 his intention of removing from the old bank where 
 they had lived so many years, of buying an estate, 
 of having a town house, of getting new plate, of 
 spending money on a hundred things which he had 
 hitherto been quite content to do without. 
 
 " But, my dear," expostulated his wife, half in 
 doubt, half in earnest, " all these will cost us a 
 great deal of money." 
 
 " And if we have the money to spend on them, 
 my dear T replied her husband. " What says the 
 Latin poet, Frank t 
 
 ' Vitam quae faciunt beatiorem, 
 Jucundissime Martialis hasc sunt, 
 Res non parta labore, sed relicta — ' 
 
 Eh t Now, I would wager that you cannot finish 
 it." 
 
 " I cannot indeed, father. I don't suppose I can 
 read it."
 
 234 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " This degenerate age !" sighed his father. " And 
 here is a man who has only just taken his degree, 
 and cannot cap a quotation from Martial. It was 
 very different in my time, I can tell you, sir. We 
 read Latin, at any rate. But the 
 
 ' Res non parta labore ' 
 will be yours, my boy, and that is the great thing, 
 after all. Frank," he suddenly added, " I have 
 often thought how enormously rich a family, start- 
 ing from absolutely nothing, might become by dint 
 of sheer economy, and allowing themselves no 
 luxuries, so that the money might all accumulate. 
 Thus, the Fuggers in the fourteenth century went 
 on splendidly, till there came a fool who threw the 
 family wealth away. My idea is, that the family 
 is to have no fool at all in it." 
 
 " If money is everything," said Frank, " it might 
 be worth the. while of a man to found a rich family 
 in this way." 
 
 " He would inculcate, as a kind of religion," Mr. 
 Melliship went on, " the laws of frugality and in- 
 dustry. He who failed or came short of his duties, 
 should be solemnly cut off from the rest. In six 
 generations, provided the sons were of average 
 brain power, the family would be as rich as the 
 Rothschilds."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 235 
 
 Mr. Melliship grew quite excited as he spoke. 
 
 " But is it worth while to take all the trouble T 
 
 " Surely yes, Frank. Money, in all ages, means 
 — if you please to use it for that purpose — comfort 
 and luxury ; or it means power and authority : or it 
 means ability to advance the world in any way that 
 seems best to you. Surely, therefore, whether you 
 are an Epicurean or a Christian, you must desire 
 money. Whatever your character, you must wish 
 that you had it. And if it were not for the selfish- 
 ness of men, they would deny themselves in order 
 that their children might have it." 
 
 "At all events. Uncle Richard is not a selfish 
 man, then." 
 
 Mr. Melliship laughed. 
 
 " He has saved money, I believe — only thousands, 
 though ; and his son Dick will have them. My 
 dear, let us have Dick to dinner one day this week. 
 Any day ; ask the rector — a very capital fellow, full 
 of energy : a man that you must cultivate, Frank, 
 and learn from him all that he can teach you." 
 
 This was how he talked all dinner time. After 
 his wife and daughter left them, he stayed behind 
 with Frank, and finished his bottle of wine. They 
 had some sacred music ; and at nine o'clock Mr. 
 Melliship read prayers, as was his wont on Sunday
 
 236 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 evening, and shortly after retired to his own study. 
 This was not unusual, and did not excite any com- 
 ment. 
 
 He sat down before the fire, with the bottle of 
 brandy by his side. And, turning his lamp down 
 so as to have little but the firelight, sat with crossed 
 legs, and a pleased, happy expression of counte- 
 nance. He was thinking of his revenues, of his vast 
 property, and making schemes for the happiness of 
 his children. Hour after hour passed thus, and he 
 had more than once drained the glass. The clock 
 struck eleven, twelve, and one, without his moving 
 from the chair. And the fire, burning lower and 
 lower, at last went out altogether. The cinders 
 were black. All that remained to tell there had 
 been a fire in the grate was the crackling noise the 
 cooling embers made. Still he moved not. The 
 curtains were not drawn ; and the moon, bursting 
 suddenly from behind a cloud, shone through the 
 windows, and fell full upon the portrait of his chil- 
 dren above the mantelshelf. 
 
 The bright light caught his eye, and in a moment 
 Francis Melliship awakened from his reveries. He 
 started up, passed his hand across his brow, and 
 looked wildly round.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 237 
 
 Is there anything in all dramatic literature more 
 dramatic than the awakening of Ajax after his night 
 of madness ? The goddess calls him : the proud 
 king and warrior comes at Athene's call, blood- 
 stained, breathing fury and revenge ; — telling how 
 in the dead of night he has gone secretly forth, and 
 captured his enemies : how they are within, the 
 two sons of Atreus, bound and tied, waiting to 
 receive the stroke of his sword ; and the crafty son 
 of Laertes, Ulysses the fox, for whom is torture 
 before death. So raging, but contented, he returns 
 to his tent. Presently comes the day, and with it 
 a return of his senses. He wakes from his frenzy, 
 and finds himself sitting surrounded by the carcases 
 of the beasts he had slain in place of the Grecian 
 princes. Then his fortitude gives way. "At, A if" 
 he mourns. " Alas ! alas ! there is but this one 
 thing left, nobly to die." And so he bids farewell 
 to his wife and his son, and the dear light of the 
 sun, and falls upon his sword, and goes away to 
 those regions of shade where the souls of departed 
 heroes ever wander sadly, lamenting the days of 
 life. 
 
 So in a moment, the whole horror of his situation 
 burst upon the unfortunate Francis Melliship. The
 
 238 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 moonlight, pale and bright, fell on his book of 
 memoranda. His eyes caught the words — ^'Febru- 
 ary loth, Monday, Mr. Mortiboy!' These five 
 words spoke volumes. The riches he had boasted 
 of did not exist : there were no investments, or only, 
 investments that had lost him money : there were 
 no means of meeting the liabilities that fell due on 
 the morrow. For the last three or four weeks, he 
 had been suffering from delusion and madness. 
 But he was not mad now, and he saw his position 
 in all its miserable conditions. How could he 
 explain } How make people understand that what 
 they would mistake for the dishonest boasting of a 
 broken swindler was only the natural expression of 
 an overpowering delusion } He could not : no one 
 could : there would be but one opinion possible. 
 And then to walk for the rest of his days ruined in 
 purse and reputation ! The broken banker : the 
 rash speculator : the dishonest bankrupt : mad 
 Melliship ! He who had been the first in the town: 
 the proudest, the most prominent, the best bred, 
 and the most highly considered. 
 
 He rose with a gesture of despair, stepped into 
 a dressing-room adjoining his study, and came out 
 with a case in his hand, which he held for a few 
 moments, as if dreading to open it.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 239 
 
 He held it in his hands hesitating. 
 
 The moon shone out, and between his eyes and 
 the moonshine there stood once more the fip-ure of 
 the dead woman which he had seen a week before. 
 Again she appeared to him : and this time not 
 pointing to the picture of his children ; not stern, 
 reproachful, and threatening : but smiling, pleased, 
 and happy. Her age seemed to have fallen from 
 her, and she appeared as she had been thirty years 
 before, when they were young together. 
 
 " Susan !" cried the unhappy man, stretching out 
 his hands, " speak to me. Susan, my first love, 
 why do you come back in the semblance of those 
 old times } Susan, forgive my broken troth, and 
 the promise that you and I alone know of Speak 
 to me, Susan !" 
 
 She did not speak, but beckoned ; and when he 
 looked again, she had disappeared. 
 
 He sat awhile with troubled brow, trying to think. 
 He could think of two things only : the horror and 
 disgrace of the future, which his disturbed state of 
 imagination augmented ; and the image of his old 
 friend — young again — radiant, smiling, beckoning 
 to him. Beckoning ! — but where } Surely to some
 
 240 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 land far off, where there would be no more trouble, 
 but only youth, and love, and pleasant fancies. 
 
 ^ 'k "k 'k ^ "k 
 
 As the moon shifted round to the west, the light 
 left the portrait of the children, and, moving slowly 
 round the room, came upon the form of Mr. Melli- 
 ship lying prone upon the hearthrug. He was not 
 sleeping, but dead ; and the black pool that shone 
 in the light of the moon was blood that came from 
 his self-inflicted wound. Like Ajax, he could not 
 bear the disgrace. Without a word of farewell to 
 his children, or of explanation or motive, he had 
 left all his troubles and burdens to be borne by 
 shoulders weaker than his own. Selfish .? Perhaps. 
 It is the custom to say that suicides are cowards, 
 and selfish. But there is a point of physical or 
 moral suffering at which every man will give way, 
 and prefer immediate death. We cannot endure 
 beyond that point. Heaven keep us from suffering 
 that even comes near it !
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 T was Monday morning, 
 February the tenth. The 
 time, three o'clock. The 
 moon had gone down, 
 and the wind, blowing 
 in gusts, soughed and 
 sighed as it played round 
 the house, making win- 
 dows and doors rattle. 
 Within, all was quiet. 
 No one in that house heard it. 
 
 On the hearth-rug of the study lay the corpse of 
 the ill-fated gentleman, Francis Melliship. 
 
 Overhead, his son Frank slept dreamlessly. 
 
 VOL. I. i6
 
 242 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 In their several chambers, wife, daughter, servants 
 were asleep. 
 
 And he^ husband, father, master, lay dead ! 
 
 O giant Death, door of life, what lies not within 
 the compass of thy power ! 
 
 Over the waking horror of those to whom the 
 dead man was dearest, I draw a veil. Let me pass 
 by the misery of that awakening : the first great 
 shock ; the widow's cry of anguish ; the wail of the 
 orphans. 
 
 It was at five minutes past seven that the news 
 left the door of the bank : whispered in the startled 
 ears of the milk boy. At eight, Market Basing 
 breakfasts : by that time, everybody was in posses- 
 sion of the news. 
 
 " Mr. Melliship at the bank's dead." 
 
 They killed him in twenty different ways. But 
 they gave only one reason for it — the true one : 
 that he was a ruined man. 
 
 The bank opened its doors every day at ten. 
 
 Long before nine, knots of people were gathered 
 about the street : and every minute they increased 
 in numbers. 
 
 People in the town sent sons or servants post
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 243 
 
 haste to tell the news to relatives in the country 
 who banked at the old house, and might be sup- 
 posed to have money lying there. 
 
 " Melliship, the banker, has cut his throat !" 
 
 The truth was out, and the town was wild with 
 excitement. 
 
 It was assize time. The judges were to come 
 in by the first train, and the town was filling with 
 country people. 
 
 The street that the old bank stood in was soon 
 like Gaol-lane on the day of an execution. There 
 was a great crowd, a stifled buzz of voices, and one 
 object of attention : the great stone house, with all 
 the blinds drawn down, and iron shutters that might 
 or might not be raised at ten o'clock. 
 
 This was the scene outside. But what was the 
 picture within } 
 
 The terrified clerks, who had hurried down to 
 the bank as soon as they heard what had happened, 
 were behind the shutters in the half-dark room, 
 discussing in whispers what was to be done. Of 
 course they suspected that there was something 
 wrong, though not one of them had any knowledge 
 of the real state of afi'airs. Mr. Sanderson, the 
 cashier, who had been in the bank forty years, only 
 knew that Mr. Melliship had recently made very 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 large payments, on what account he was unable to 
 say. 
 
 Frank came down pale as death, his dress in 
 disorder : more ignorant and more distracted than 
 any of them. 
 
 " Mr. Sanderson," he said, " the people are col- 
 lecting in the street. Can we open the bank before 
 ten } Is it possible they suspect that my unhappy 
 father put an end to his life because he was not 
 solvent } They can hardly think that — they must 
 know he did it when he was deranged. Oh father 
 — father !" and the young man sobbed in his agony 
 of grief 
 
 " All will be well, sir, I hope," the old retainer 
 said, in a voice choked with emotion. 
 
 " We must have the books and money. Where 
 are the keys .^" 
 
 *' The keys were always in your father's posses- 
 sion," said the old clerk, solemnly. 
 
 Frank shuddered, and buried his face in his 
 hands. His father's body had been laid on his bed. 
 Who was to take them from it t 
 
 The clerk saw his hesitation. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Frank," he said, the tears 
 running down his cheeks as he spoke, "but some 
 one must get the keys. Let me get them."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 245 
 
 Frank assented, and the old servant went alone 
 into the room where the body of his master lay, 
 and presently came back with a blanched cheek, 
 and the bunches of keys in his trembling hands. 
 
 They opened the iron door in his presence — for 
 it was evident there would be a run on the bank — 
 and went in. 
 
 It was the honour of his father's name Frank 
 wished to protect. No other feeling could have 
 roused him from the shock his father's awful end 
 had given him. 
 
 The force of circumstances compelled him to act 
 at once. 
 
 The strong room — the place where books, secu- 
 rities, and "safe custodies" of all sorts were kept — 
 was fire and thief proof ; but for still greater safety, 
 in its farthest side was a money safe, built into the 
 wall. 
 
 In this the cash was kept ; and they unlocked it 
 without delay, for time pressed — people were 
 already drumming the street door with their 
 heels. 
 
 The next question was, what did it contain .? 
 This was soon settled. 
 
 The black leather note-case was examined first. 
 
 " Open it," said Frank.
 
 246 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 More than half the compartments had their own 
 notes in them— some ready for issue, the bulk of 
 them undated and unsigned. 
 
 Sanderson gave a ghastly smile. 
 
 Frank understood it. 
 
 Paper bearing the signature of Melliship, Morti- 
 boy, and Company was at a discount that morn- 
 ing ; though a few hours before people would have 
 bought the five pound notes at four pounds nineteen 
 shillings and eleven pence halfpenny apiece as long 
 as you liked to sell them. 
 
 The old cashier turned to the Bank of England 
 notes. Their value was ^^2,550. 
 
 Frank wrote it down on a piece of paper. 
 
 Next they counted the gold — i^ 1,100, in yellow 
 canvas bags of a hundred pounds each ; fifty-three 
 odd sovereigns. 
 
 Then they reckoned up their stock of silver. 
 
 Two sacks, with one hundred pounds in each. 
 Nineteen pounds ten and sixpence loose. 
 
 " The copper we need not consider, sir," said Mr. 
 Sanderson. " What is the total } Three, nine, two, 
 two, ten, six," he added as he read the amount over 
 Frank's shoulder. 
 
 ** It seems a large sum, but I have no idea of 
 how far it will go."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 247 
 
 " It is enough, sir, and more than enough for any 
 ordinary day ; but there will be what I never saw- 
 before, and, please God, shall never see again — a 
 run on Melliship's. At any rate. Master Frank, 
 we must go on paying as long as we can." 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 *' The bank is all right, sir, never fear. With a 
 head like your poor father's was — till these last 
 weeks — we're not likely to be far wrong when 
 things are looked into." 
 
 The clerk's confidence in the master he had 
 always served was so strong, it would not have 
 been shaken if there had been only twopence found 
 in the locker. 
 
 "And if," said Frank, rousing himself with an 
 effort from the fearful thoughts that filled his mind 
 — " if the people's confidence is not established 
 when our stock of ready cash is run out T 
 
 " Then," replied Mr. Sanderson, with trembling 
 lip, "we must put the shutters up — unless Morti- 
 boy's will advance us money." Then, slapping 
 Frank's shoulder, he cried, with energy — "Go 
 quickly, sir — go yourself to Mr. Ghrimes, and tell 
 him what a state we are in ; and Mr. Mortiboy, 
 your uncle, too. Go, Master Frank, go. Save our 
 credit. We must have more than we've got, or be-
 
 248 Rcady-uioney Mortiboy. 
 
 fore twelve o'clock the shutters must go up — which 
 God forbid !" 
 
 In town or country, a banker's stock of cash is 
 always lowest on Monday. Saturday is the great 
 day for paying out. On Monday morning cus- 
 tomers begin to pay money in. On this day the 
 cash at the old bank was lower than usual by at 
 least a third ; for two customers had on Saturday 
 drawn ^2,000 in notes between them. One had a 
 mortgage to settle, another had bought a house ; 
 and as lawyers don't take cheques for such purposes, 
 they had drawn their money out of the bank, and 
 made their payments in notes. 
 
 The persons interested in the solvency of Melli- 
 ship's were the depositors. Clearly, debtors would 
 not care. It was the creditors that were going to 
 make the run. 
 
 They were small shopkeepers, who kept balances 
 of fifty pounds and under at the bank. These men 
 were the most afraid. Larger traders had from one 
 hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds lying to 
 their credit. 
 
 The largest balance was kept by Hopgood, 
 Pywell, & Co., linendrapers ; but their bills had 
 been met on the 4th. On the lOth of the month
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 249 
 
 they had not above a couple of hundred pounds in 
 the bank. 
 
 None of these classes could be hurt much. 
 
 Trade is a very elastic thing. 
 
 But the doctor, with all his little savings there ; 
 the retired shopkeeper ; poor gentlemen and gentle- 
 women in town and country, who had placed nearly 
 all they possessed in Mr. Melliship's custody — for 
 them, his failure meant their ruin. 
 
 Here I will show briefly how this failure had been 
 brought about. 
 
 Mr. Melliship was by nature a gentleman : he 
 never conceived a mean thought, nor did a mean 
 action. When his father died, instead of carrying 
 on the banking business, he ought to have disposed 
 of it to old Mortiboy, and gone into the country to 
 live the life of a village squire. 
 
 Unhappily for himself and his family, he carried 
 the ' business on, though he was wholly unfit for 
 it. 
 
 Sanguine : he invested largely in Foreign Stocks, 
 promising a high rate of interest ; in Land and 
 Credit Companies ; in South American mining 
 speculations. This was gambling ; but he learnt 
 the truth too late. 
 
 Then, in conducting the legitimate business of a
 
 250 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 country bank, he behaved in a way exactly opposite 
 to Ready-money Mortiboy's notions of trading, 
 
 And Mortiboy was right, and MelHship wrong. 
 
 In agricultural districts, bankers make advances 
 to the farmers. The security is their stock and 
 their crops. Mr. Melliship advanced his customers 
 money at five per cent. Old Mortiboy at six or 
 seven per cent., according to his customer. 
 
 Mr. Melliship never pressed a man, never turned 
 a deaf ear to a tale of distress. 
 
 A sorrowful tale told to a banker by his debtor 
 always has for its end time or money. 
 
 Mr. Melliship belonged to the old-fashioned 
 school of country bankers : he never threw a man 
 over; he gave him time, gave him more money, 
 bolstered him up. He went on throwing good 
 money after bad, making new advances to keep his 
 debtor afloat, till the man became involved beyond 
 the power of extrication. Then came the final 
 crash, and the money of the bank was lost. Buried 
 under a mountain of difficulties. 
 
 After harvest is the time at which the farmer 
 repays the banker in corn-producing counties. 
 
 Stock sells all the year round ; and so a little 
 dribbles back. In the Southern counties the 
 lambs pay the rent. In April and May, the
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 25 1 
 
 banker gets his money back through Biggerstaffs 
 or Lacy's, who do the banking of the London 
 salesmen. 
 
 In Holmshire there is a little of everything ; 
 the land is described by agriculturists as " useful." 
 Stock, corn, and lambs are produced, and on these 
 securities the bankers at Market Basing make 
 advances. 
 
 Mr. Melliship took the bad business ; old Morti- 
 boy the good — or none. 
 
 There had been four bad years, and the farmers 
 had for once good reasons to complain of their bad 
 luck. There were bad harvests and bad lambing 
 seasons ; and disease broke out among the cattle, 
 to finish matters. 
 
 A bad year means this : the bank must go on 
 advancing till next harvest. This had been re- 
 peated three times, and it ruined the old bank ; 
 for Mr. Melliship had long before dissipated his 
 father's wealth. 
 
 He had been compelled to borrow money in large 
 sums on his promissory notes. He had had no 
 difficulty in doing this : his connection was large 
 and rich. And very few people knew of his em- 
 barrassments until four months before his death, 
 when a client of old Mortiboy's died. His son
 
 252 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 deposited promissory notes of Mr. Melliship's to the 
 amount of ^i 1,575 i^^ the old gentleman's hands 
 for safe keeping and presentation at maturity. They 
 fell due on Monday, February loth. 
 
 Mr. Melliship's difficulties had driven him mad, 
 and Mr. Mortiboy was robbed of the pleasure of 
 seeing his brother-in-law at his feet. 
 
 Let us follow Frank. He ran off to see Ghrimes. 
 
 It was a quarter to ten, and there was no time to 
 be lost. He walked quickly into the street, and 
 through the knots of excited talkers, who made 
 way for him, with no words of salutation, for his 
 hat was drawn over his eyes. 
 
 Mr. Ghrimes lived at the other end of Market 
 Basing. When Frank got there it wanted five 
 minutes to ten, and he was gone — ^just gone — to the 
 other bank. Frank hastened after him. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Mr. Frank — what's this T cried 
 the manager, when he saw him. 
 
 " You know it, Mr. Ghrimes. It is all true. 
 Come round, for God's sake, and help us !" Frank 
 gasped, breathless with excitement and haste. 
 '' There is going to be a run upon the bank. Hark ! 
 there is ten striking. Come, quick, Mr. Ghrimes. 
 I must get back."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 253 
 
 It was scarcely etiquette, but Mr. Mortiboy's 
 manager threw formality to the winds, and went. 
 
 Mr. Sanderson would not allow the bank to be 
 o{)ened till Frank returned. 
 
 " Open the doors at once," said Frank ; " Ghrimes 
 will be here immediately.'* 
 
 As the doors opened, a crowd of men surged ir. 
 The younger clerks shrank back frightened ; but 
 Mr, Sanderson advanced to the counter with bland 
 and reassuring smile. They all opened at once, 
 like so many hounds at scenting a fox. Mr. San- 
 derson held up his hand. They were silent di- 
 rectly. 
 
 " Hush ! gentlemen, hush ! Have you not heard 
 the dreadful news } Mr. Frank is in there. Do 
 not let us disturb him." 
 
 "I warnt to dra' moy money," roared a bluff old 
 publican — who had about fifty pounds in the bank 
 — from the neighbourhood of the door. 
 
 " Pray, gentlemen, let that person come and 
 take his money," said Mr. Sanderson. " Oh ! it's 
 you, is it, Mr. Stubbs } You are to be served 
 before anybody else, because you haven't got the 
 manners to wait." 
 
 This created a little laugh. The panic was only 
 just beginning. The man received his fifty pounds
 
 254 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 and went off, grumbling. When he got outside, he 
 hesitated. Had he turned back, and given his 
 money again to the bank — as was his first impulse, 
 on finding it so promptly paid — all might have been 
 well. For men possess largely themselves the sheep- 
 like propensity of following where one leads. But 
 a moment of indecision was succeeded by the cold 
 breath of doubt ; and Stubbs buttoned up his gold, 
 and walked away. 
 
 Stubbs was met outside by his friends. 
 
 " Got it — is it arl right } Can they pay T 
 
 " Aye, aye — I'm got moin all square. Moin 
 warn't much. I dra'ad it out, though — all goold." 
 And he tapped his pocket. 
 
 " Goold, mun — arl goold } That looks 'nation 
 bad, that do !" 
 
 " Whoy, Bill T demanded Stubbs. " They cain't 
 pay'ee in nothint better nor goold, can 'em .?" 
 
 " Looks 'nation bad, though, neighbour — tell'ee 
 whoy. It's arl over with 'em — now, taak my word 
 furrit. Bank of England won't troost 'em wi' no 
 more notes — that's whoy they pays arl in goold, 
 mun." 
 
 And this version was believed in, and helped to 
 smash Melliship's. 
 
 Then Mr. Sanderson, telling his assistant to be as
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 255 
 
 slow as possible in paying cheques, but to preserve 
 the appearance of alacrity, and readiness, began to 
 converse with the crowd — every one of whom he 
 knew personally — who were waiting their turn to 
 be paid. To his dismay, it grew thicker ; and those 
 who pressed at the door were more impatient than 
 those who first entered. But as very few of those 
 who got to the front knew the amount of their 
 balances, and as this had in every instance to be 
 ascertained, payment took place slowly. 
 
 '• What a dreadful thing it is !" said Mr. Sander- 
 son, in a stage whisper. " They say he was affected 
 by the success of his own enterprises." 
 
 People inside heard this, and began to wish they 
 had not been so hasty. But the pressure went on 
 increasing from without. 
 
 " Yes ; and to look at the crowd here, one would 
 think there was reason to doubt Melliship's bank. 
 Really, gentlemen at the door, you must have 
 patience. Every one in his turn. We shall attend 
 to your business as soon as we possibly can. Jones, 
 here is old Mrs. Clarke. Ladies first. Now, do 
 not let Mrs. Clarke wait." 
 
 Mrs. Clarke was deaf, extremely stupid, and 
 always disputed the accuracy of every account. 
 She had come to draw out all her money, including
 
 256 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 the odd halfpence, and was likely to keep the clerk, 
 Jones, occupied for a good quarter of an hour. 
 First, her passbook had to be compared with their 
 ledger. Next, she had to be heard in support of 
 her belief that she had more money than their books 
 showed. 
 
 Mr. Sanderson stepped into the manager's room. 
 Frank was standing before the fire, anxious and 
 dejected. 
 
 "■ Mr. Frank, we can't go on — we can't, indeed, 
 unless help comes from the other bank. In half an 
 hour we shall be at the end of our resources, unless 
 the tide turns. God grant it may !" 
 
 " Ghrimes promised to be here as soon as he 
 could. We can do nothing but hope. Send round 
 a clerk for him." 
 
 But as they spoke Mr. Ghrimes appeared in the 
 bank, having entered from the back. A murmur of 
 relief ran through the expectant crowd as they saw 
 him — for " Mortiboy's Ghrimes " was trusted im- 
 plicitly in Market Basing. And then people began 
 to look at each other, and to feel as if they were 
 doing a very foolish thing. 
 
 " What is all this crowd about r asked Ghrimes 
 of one of the clerks, running his fingers through his 
 stubbly, iron-grey hair, and looking right through
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 257 
 
 the people, as if he had never seen one of them 
 before in his life. 
 
 " We want our money, sir," said one of them, less 
 sheepish than the rest. 
 
 " Oh, do you V growled Mortiboy's manager. 
 " Then you had better take it ; and don't come to 
 our place with it, if that's the way you intend to 
 inconvenience your bankers at a time of domestic 
 calamity. Pay them all their money as quick as 
 you can, Mr. Jones, and let them go." 
 
 The applicants — who, as yet, were chiefly the 
 tradespeople of the place — were moved by this 
 rebuke, and two or three declared their intention of 
 letting the money " be." But these were few, and 
 the rest only pressed on to the counter. Ghrimes 
 might be right ; but, after all, money was money, 
 and if that wasn't safe, there was no knowing what 
 would happen next. For the popular notion of 
 banking in the Market Basing mind was that the 
 banker kept all the money in gold, in cellars or 
 strong boxes ; that to use it, or take it out for any 
 purpose save that of returning it to its rightful 
 owner, would be akin to embezzlement. How 
 bankers lived they never inquired. 
 
 Mr. Ghrimes pushed into the back room. Frank 
 gave a sigh of relief. 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " It is all right, my dear boy," he said. " Go on 
 paying them, Mr. Sanderson. They are putting up 
 the gold at our place for you. As fast as you pay 
 it out, the people bring it over to us ; so that it is 
 all right, and you can meet any number of their de- 
 mands." 
 
 " But not any number of bills," said Mr. Sander- 
 son. 
 
 " Do not let us meet trouble half-way," said Mr. 
 Mortiboy's manager. " Our first business is to stop 
 the mouths of those fools outside. Let one of your 
 clerks be ready to receive and weigh when our men 
 come over." 
 
 Mr. Sanderson went back to his counter with a 
 lighter heart. 
 
 " I've had a terrible time with the old man," said 
 Mr. Ghrimes. '' He seems knocked off his head 
 w^ith this dreadful news. I could not get him to 
 consent to anything. At last his son Dick made 
 him give way. He hardly understood, I think." 
 
 It was quite true. The shock of Mr. Melliship's 
 death had been almost more than Mr. Mortiboy 
 could bear. He had gone to bed light-hearted and 
 happy. He had got up in the morning still happier: 
 for the day was come at last when his rival — the 
 man he had hated — would be in his power. He
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 259 
 
 desired no more. In his power! The man who 
 had never been as rich as he, but of so much 
 greater weight and influence. The man whom 
 people respected and courted, when he could get no 
 one to do more than fear him. 
 
 Remember, he did not seek to ruin Mr. Melli- 
 ship : it was not his intention to shut up his bank, 
 even if he had the power. But it was his intention 
 to sit alone in that grimy kitchen in the evening, 
 and reflect that the proud man was humble before 
 him. Now the day was come, and the proud man 
 — too proud for humiliation — had escaped by the 
 only gate open to him. So that when Mr. Morti- 
 boy heard the news, his heart felt like lead within 
 him, and a cloud that never lifted again fell upon 
 his brain. 
 
 He was sitting pale and speechless when Ghrlmes 
 came for authority to stop the run. But he could 
 at first only be got to ansvv^er incoherently. 
 
 " Eleven thousand five hundred and seventy-five 
 pounds ! The bills are due this morning at twelve 
 o'clock. I knew he could not meet it. I told you 
 so, Ghrimes. You can't say I did not tell you so ? 
 Well, then — nobody can blame me. Francis Melli- 
 ship was mad — mad at your Aunt Susan's funeral 
 — was not even dressed like a man in his sensefi^ — I 
 
 17—2
 
 26o Ready-money Mortihoy, 
 
 see it now, too late ! Eleven thousand pounds, 
 Dick. They were lodged with us for safe custody. 
 Eleven thousand pounds ! Poor Francis Melliship ! 
 We were boys together, Dick ; and I married his 
 sister — your mother, poor thing! And Susan always 
 had a kind word for him, though we were not the 
 best of friends. And now it's come to this. He's 
 quite dead, you said, Dick .?" 
 
 '' Dead as a ninepin," said his son. 
 
 " Yes, They're all gone — they're all gone." 
 
 *' Mr. Mortiboy, time presses. There's a run on 
 Melliship's, I tell you. Can't we make him under- 
 stand, Mr. Richard .?" 
 
 " Look here, sir," said Dick, shaking him gently 
 by the shoulder, "there's a run upon their bank, 
 and if you don't stop it, the bank will stop ; and 
 then there'll be a run upon yours ; and if that stops 
 too, there will be the devil to pay, and no mistake. 
 So you had better say ' Yes ' to Mr. Ghrimes. I'm 
 witness enough." 
 
 The old man muttered a feeble " Yes," and then 
 went on maundering. 
 
 So Ghrimes went away. 
 
 Before, however, any help was actually needed at 
 Melliship's, a singular thing happened. For at first 
 those who drew their money from Melliship's took
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 261 
 
 it across the road — it was only beyond the church 
 on the other side — to Mortiboy's, in order to de.- 
 posit it there. There were thus two rivulets of 
 people — the larger going to Melliship's, the smaller 
 to Mortiboy's. But presently, Mortiboy's deposi- 
 tors, seeing the double stream, began to imagine 
 that there was a run upon both banks ; and a panic 
 set in in both directions. 
 
 This was about half-past eleven, when the town 
 was filled with people — for it was the first day of 
 the assizes, and the news of Mr. Melliship's death 
 was spreading in all directions. People in gigs 
 quietly jogging into Market Basing from north, 
 south, east, and west, were overtaken by others 
 driving wildly for dear life. 
 
 " Haven't you heard t Melliship's bank has 
 smashed, they say." 
 
 The main street was blocked with vehicles. My 
 lord judge, riding with the high sheriff and his 
 chaplain in Sir Harbury Nobottle's grand carriage, 
 was nearly upset ; and, for the first time within the 
 memory of living men, the twelve javelin men, 
 walking in martial array by the sides of the carriage, 
 were of use. They pointed their antiquated wea- 
 pons at the crowd, and protected his lordship from 
 the indignity of being jostled by the farmers' 
 chaises.
 
 262 Ready-money Mo7'tiboy. 
 
 At the judges' lodgings, by the Court House, 
 only three or four ragged urchins were present to 
 hear the imposing fanfare of the liveried trumpeters, 
 and see his lordship get out. 
 
 The ceremonious pageant of the Law was ne- 
 glected. Every man rushed to the bank, whether 
 he had anything there or not. 
 
 The consternation was universal. It came home 
 to all. The panic spread like wildfire. Country 
 people swelled the crowd of residents in the town, 
 surging round the doors of the old bank. The 
 game was every man for himself: sauve qui peut. 
 So they pushed and shoved one another like mad 
 people. 
 
 Let money be at stake to see human nature with 
 the paint off! 
 
 As the clock of St. Giles's struck twelve, there 
 were as many people besieging Mortiboy's, at the 
 new bank, as there were trying to gain an entrance 
 at Melliship's. 
 
 It was some little time before Mr. Ghrimes could 
 clearly understand that the panic was going to 
 affect their house as well as the other : the thing 
 seemed too absurd. 
 
 It was so, however ; and, with a heavy heart, he 
 stopped the transfer of the gold to Melliship's, and
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 263 
 
 sent a hasty messenger to Derngate, whither Dick 
 Mortiboy had gone, to beg him to bring his father 
 to the bank without a moment's delay. 
 
 At five minutes after twelve, Frank received a 
 note from Mr. Ghrimes. It said — 
 
 " We cannot help you : the panic has attacked us. 
 There is a run on tis now : we shall want every 
 sovereign we have got!' 
 
 Frank handed the note over, with a look of 
 despair, to Mr. Sanderson, who read it ; then sat 
 down and pulled out his pocket-handkerchief, and 
 wiped his brow. 
 
 "It will be over, Mr. Frank," he said, "in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 " You mean that we shall have paid out all our 
 money." 
 
 " Every farthing. We have just cashed some 
 heavy cheques. After that we must put the shutters 
 up, and then we must examine the books, and find 
 out our liabilities, and — and — please God — go on 
 again." 
 
 Then a loud voice was heard from the street, 
 which Frank knew well. It was his cousin's, John 
 Heathcote.
 
 264 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 *' Now, then, let me pass, please — let me pass. I 
 am going to pay my money in." 
 
 " It's no good, Mr. Frank," whispered Sanderson. 
 " What he can bring can do nothing for us. We 
 must stop." 
 
 "Stay," said Frank, " I must say a word first." 
 
 He went out. At the sight of his tall figure, 
 and his pale and suffering face, a stillness fell upon 
 all who saw him. 
 
 " My friends," said Frank, " you must go away. 
 We cannot pay you to-day, because we have no 
 more money in the house ; nor can I tell you when 
 you will be paid. But you will be paid, be sure of 
 that." 
 
 "You will be paid," echoed Mr. Sanderson. 
 
 " I promise you, in the name of my poor father, 
 who lies dead upstairs, that rather than one of you 
 shall lose a farthing by us, if the worst comes to 
 the worst, we will strip ourselves of everything in 
 the world. But go quietly now, because we have 
 no money left." 
 
 They were awe-stricken by his solemnity. They 
 could not murmur, because his trouble was so 
 great, at their own probable or possible losses. 
 Some of them went out with streaming eyes — all 
 of them without a word. And then the iron
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 265 
 
 shutters were let down, and the door closed — and 
 Melliship's bank had stopped. 
 
 A very different scene went on at the other 
 house. The news of the run on his bank acted on 
 the old man like cold water on a fainting woman. 
 He left off maundering to his son, raised his head 
 erect, and looked in sheer wonder at the messenger 
 who brought him the news. A run on his bank .? — 
 on Mortiboy's .'* The thing was impossible, absurd ! 
 As well expect the whole race of sheep to assert 
 their independence, or the infant in arms to demand 
 a separate establishment, as that his customers 
 should dare to distrust him. 
 
 He rose and grasped his stick in a menacing 
 manner, as if the appearance of that weapon alone 
 would restore confidence ; and placing his hat 
 firmly on his head, he walked out of the house, 
 followed by Dick. 
 
 As he marched down the street — his step firm, 
 his bearing confident, his aspect stern — the people 
 fell back right and left, and those who were 
 hurrying to his bank to draw out their deposits, 
 slackened their steps, and allowed him to go on 
 first. 
 
 The whole street front was blocked with people.
 
 266 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " You had better go round by the back way, sir," 
 suggested a bystander, in a meek whisper. 
 
 Old Mortiboy turned upon him Hke a wild cat, 
 gnashing and gnawing with her teeth. 
 
 " Who the devil asked for your advice ?" he 
 gasped out, and passed straight on to the front 
 entrance, blocked up as it was. They fell back to 
 make way as his tall, thin figure passed through 
 their midst, followed by his great son, Dick — like 
 Saul, a head taller than anybody else, 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Mortiboy, in a loud, shrill voice, 
 " perhaps you will let me get through to my own 
 bank, gentlemen." 
 
 There was some hesitation in the crowd. 
 
 " If I cannot get through you," said the old 
 man, " by God, I'll have the shutters up in three 
 minutes." 
 
 But Dick the stalwart was in front of him — 
 clearing a path by the free use of his elbows. To 
 get into the bank itself was a more difficult matter ; 
 for here, with every goodwill, the people were so 
 jammed and pressed together, that they could not 
 possibly make room. As Mr. Mortiboy put his 
 foot upon the steps, a little slip of an old man, 
 whose terror was almost comical, fell at his feet, 
 crying—
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 267 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Mortiboy, Mr. Mortiboy, don't rob 
 me of my money ! Oh, sir, I'm a small man — I 
 must draw it out ! Oh, sir, let me have it. I'm 
 ruined — I'm ruined !" 
 
 " What the devil is the matter with the man V 
 answered Mr. Mortiboy ; and then, standing on the 
 step, and turning to the people, he made the shortest 
 and most effective speech they had ever heard — 
 " You FOOLS !" was the whole of it. 
 
 Dick caught the little man under the arms, and 
 lifted him up high. 
 
 " By gad !" he said — " isn't it Pig - faced 
 Barnsby.?" 
 
 The crowd roared with laughter. The little 
 man, a barber by profession, had enjoyed that 
 appellation from some fancied resemblance be- 
 tween his own and a porker's face, in the memory 
 of all who had been boys in Market Basing in 
 Dick's time. 
 
 " Look here, my men," said Dick — " let us give 
 Pig-face his money first. How much is it, old 
 man V 
 
 " Mr. Richard — sir — if you please — twenty-six 
 pounds six and fourpence, sir. I'm only a little 
 man. Oh, this is serious — this is serious !" he 
 whined.
 
 268 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 " All right. Now, make way for my father, 
 please. Come along. Pig-faced Barnsby." 
 
 He seized him by his breeches and the collar of 
 his coat, raised him aloft, and carried him tortoise 
 fashion over his head into the bank. Then he 
 deposited him in a corner, and told him to wait 
 patiently till he could be attended to. 
 
 Dick Mortiboy was in his father's private room. 
 He drew back the green curtain of the door, and 
 watched the cashiers paying away the money over 
 the counter. 
 
 The pressure from without increased. 
 
 Melliship s bank had stopped. Men must make 
 themselves safe. So Mr. Mortiboy's customers laid 
 siege to his bank. 
 
 "This can't go on for ever," said Dick, after 
 looking on for a few minutes. " We shall be run 
 out too." 
 
 " Eh .? eh r said the old man, feebly. 
 
 The momentary excitement had gone by. He 
 was sitting in his arm-chair, low and dejected, 
 brooding over the tragedy of the night. 
 
 " I must stop the run," said his son. 
 
 He had been thinking over old stories he 
 had heard his father tell before he left home : of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 269 
 
 bankers who had paid in silver, in a fight against 
 time : of an Irish story of sovereigns heated in a 
 shovel, to appear that moment coined, and served 
 hot and hot to the clamorous creditors. 
 
 " You will let me act for you, sir ?" he said. 
 
 For Dick Mortiboy had hit upon a plan. 
 
 "Yes, Dick — yes, I leave all to you— I leave 
 all to you. Do anything you like." 
 
 His son rushed off to the stable-yard in Dern- 
 gate, ran up the granary steps, and carried down a 
 pile of empty sacks on his shoulder. 
 
 They were barley sacks from the brewery. He 
 called for assistance, and got the gardener and old 
 Hester to help him put the sacks in two large 
 empty boxes. They nailed down the lids. Then 
 they drove them to the back entrance of the bank. 
 There they emptied the boxes of their contents. 
 
 The sacks were carried into the strong- room : 
 the doors faced the counter. It was on the ground- 
 floor of the building, behind the large room where 
 the ordinary business of the bank was transacted. 
 Housekeeper, servants, clerks, helped to ransack 
 the house. They stuffed twenty of the| sacks with 
 bed linen, pillows, bolsters, curtains, hangings, saw- 
 dust, sand, paper, anything that would make them 
 look solid, and that they could at the moment lay
 
 2/0 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 their hands on. They rammed the stuffing down 
 hard, and set the sacks in double rank opposite the 
 door that opened into the public room — ten before 
 and ten behind. 
 
 Then Dick summoned Mr. Ghrimes, and told 
 him what he meant to do. The manager went 
 with him to the money safe, and they took out fifty 
 bags of sovereigns, with ;^ioo in each; and into 
 the mouth of each sack in the front row they poured 
 the golden contents of five bags. The back row of 
 sacks they tied up with strings. 
 
 Mr. Richard Mortiboy, the younger, was going 
 to practise on the credulity of Market Basing. 
 
 If his sacks had really been full of sovereigns, 
 they must have contained;^ 400,000 — for they would 
 have held ;^ 20,000 a-piece. And who could have 
 carried the sacks there } 
 
 I can carry 4,000 sovereigns. 
 
 Dick Mortiboy could manage, at the outside, 
 7,000 — he was almost a giant in strength. 
 
 Hercules himself might walk off with 10,000 on 
 his back. 
 
 But the people the spectacle was prepared for did 
 not think of these little things. 
 
 The originator of the plan knew he might trust to 
 their simplicity for success.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 271 
 
 He was right ! 
 
 They threw open the door, and showed the glit- 
 tering metal. 
 
 The " Open Sesame " had been said ; and there, 
 before their wondering eyes, was more treasure than 
 Ali Baba's fabled cave had held. 
 
 Gold !— Gold !— Gold !— Gold ! ! 
 
 Riches beyond the dreams of avarice ! The sight 
 of the dazzling heaps of specie wrought like a 
 magical charm on the panic-stricken crowd. 
 
 They gaped, and were satisfied. Their money 
 was all there. 
 
 Mortiboy's was saved ! 
 
 Dick had stayed the run ! !
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 jHREE weeks have passed since the 
 suicide of Mr. Melliship and the failure 
 of his bank. The town of Market 
 Basing has in some measure recovered 
 its tranquillity, and those who have lost money are 
 beginning to consider that they are lucky in pulling 
 something out of the wreck. Meantime, official 
 assignees have taken possession of the old bank, 
 books, papers, and assets. The bereaved and ruined 
 family have stripped themselves of their last farthing, 
 save a poor hundred pounds a-year, the slender 
 portion which Mrs. Melliship brought her husband 
 — the large settlements made upon her at her 
 marriage being absolutely surrendered for the 
 benefit of the creditors. For their advantage, too, 
 the books, pictures, and furniture are to be sold.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 273 
 
 It is the last day the Melliships have to spend in 
 their old house. For, obeying the usual instinct of 
 broken people, they have decided on going to Lon- 
 don, and hiding their poverty and ruin where no one 
 will be likely to see it. The wounded beast seeks 
 the thickest covert, where he can die undisturbed : 
 the stricken Briton looks for the deepest solitude, 
 which is in the streets of infinite London, where 
 he may brood over his sorrows, and meditate fresh 
 enterprises. 
 
 Kate Melliship goes sadly from room to room, 
 taking her farewell of all that she has known and 
 loved so long. There are the stately bookcases, 
 the portfolios of prints and drawings, the music, the 
 pianos, the very chairs and sofas which have wit- 
 nessed their happy hours. Dry-eyed, but with a 
 breaking heart, she turns over the leaves of the 
 books, and takes a last look at the pictures in the 
 portfolios. Nothing is to be taken away. They 
 have decided, Frank and she, because their mother 
 is helpless, that nothing but the barest necessaries 
 of clothing can be retained by them, not even the 
 smallest trinket, not the most precious keepsake, 
 not the most trifling memento. Whatever happens, 
 they will be able to say that, in the wreck of their 
 father's house, they too were wrecked and lost their 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 all. Even the ring upon her finger, with her father's 
 hair, will to-night go into the jewel-box, and in a 
 few days be put up for sale with the rest. Alas for 
 this wrenching up of all the tendrils and spreading 
 roots with which a girl's affection clings to her 
 home ! Agony as was that bitter awaking when 
 the shrieks of the maid roused Kate from her sleep 
 in the early morning, it almost seems as if this is 
 worse, when everything has to be left behind, and 
 of the father who cherished and loved her so 
 tenderly, nothing will be left at all but the memory. 
 Surely, it were something to have a few books of 
 his — to preserve some little token, the sight of 
 which would always bring him back to mind. It is 
 not to be ; and poor Kate, too wretched for tears, 
 sits silent and sad in the lonely, fireless room, and 
 feels as if there were no more possibility of life, or 
 light, or joy. 
 
 Let me try to depict her. 
 
 She is, like her brother, fair-haired ; and, like 
 him, tall. Not so fascinating as Grace Heathcote, 
 she has a certain dignity of bearing which makes 
 her more striking in appearance. Grace is a maiden 
 fair — Kate is a queen. Grace is a young man's 
 goddess. For Kate, the Knight Bayard himself, 
 when his locks were touched with gray, and his
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 275 
 
 beard grizzled with forty years, might yet have been 
 proud to break a lance. Sweet, good, tender, and 
 true is Grace — strong with a woman's strength, but all 
 womanly. All this Kate is, and more, because she 
 adds resolution, self-reliance, independence. These 
 she has in a greater degree than her brother Frank. 
 
 While she sits with her mother in the cold draw- 
 ing-room, the door is opened, and Grace Heathcote 
 herself runs in, in her quick and impulsive way, and 
 throws herself upon her neck. 
 
 '' My Kate — my poor Kate," she cries, with the 
 ready tears of sympathy. 
 
 Kate answers coldly — ■ 
 
 " We leave to-morrow. I am saying farewell to 
 the old house." 
 
 " But you are not going to leave everything be- 
 hind you .''" 
 
 " Everything — everything. Until every single 
 debt is paid, Frank says we have no right even to 
 the clothes we wear. All will be sold, Grace, dear. 
 It seems strange. I cannot sometimes understand 
 how a single month can make so great a difference. 
 We were so happy then, and we are so miserable 
 now." 
 
 " Kate, dear," whispered Grace, " I have brouglit 
 a present for you, with a message for Frank." 
 
 18—2
 
 276 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 "Who sends us presents now?" 
 
 Grace turned very red. 
 
 "It — it is from Uncle Mortiboy — your uncle, 
 Kate. Here it is, with his best love and kind 
 wishes." 
 
 Grace held in her hand an envelope, unsealed. 
 In it was a bank of England note for a hundred 
 pounds. In their poverty and distress, a hundred 
 pounds seemed to her a large sum. It was the very 
 first gift of any kind they had ever received from 
 their uncle. 
 
 "Did he send it of his own free will, Grace .'*" 
 
 Grace nodded with pertinacity. 
 
 " Did no one suggest it to him, Grace "i " 
 
 Grace shook her head violently, blushing very 
 red. 
 
 " Did you suggest it ? No } It seems very kind 
 of him — very kind indeed of him," said Kate. 
 " But you must ask Frank if we could accept it." 
 
 "Yes," said her mother. "Frank manages for 
 us now. I am hardly consulted about anything; 
 and poor Frank's ideas are so unworldly and boy- 
 ish. Oh, my poor dear husband ! Oh, Francis, 
 Francis, to think that you should have had such an 
 end!" 
 
 The widowed lady sobbed as if her heart would
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 277 
 
 break, and fell back on the ottoman she was sitting 
 on. 
 
 " Go," whispered Kate to Grace. " You will find 
 Frank downstairs." 
 
 A little while before, Grace would have romped 
 all over the house after Frank ; but since that con- 
 versation of theirs in the lane at Hunslope, her 
 feelings were altered very much. Now she was 
 very coy ; and her little heart beat fast as she 
 tapped lightly at the door of the room Frank had 
 from boyhood called his own. 
 
 His voice said, " Come in." 
 
 Grace entered his sanctum blushing, and looking 
 all the more lovely for it. 
 
 She gave Frank her hand to shake; with the 
 other, she held the note in her pocket. 
 
 Now, though it is hard to do it, the truth must 
 be told, that in this business of the hundred pounds 
 Grace Heathcote had been deceiving Kate grossly. 
 Such was the fact. 
 
 She went to call upon her uncle with the secret 
 intention of asking him to do something for the 
 Melliships — what, she did not know. She found 
 the old man in a peevish and irritable frame of 
 mind. He was ailing in body, besides ; and had 
 had a stormy interview that morning with Ghrimes,
 
 278 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 his manager, who had dared to put in a word for 
 the unfortunate Melliships. Mr. Mortiboy softened 
 a little at sight of his favourite niece ; but his face 
 grew hard as the nether millstone when she told 
 him on what errand she had come. 
 
 " Who sent you T he cried, angrily. " Who told 
 you that they had any claim upon me T 
 
 " Nobody, my dear uncle, I came by my- 
 self." 
 
 He began to walk up and down the room, 
 muttering — 
 
 " I had nothing to do with his death — nothing. 
 I could not prevent it. I did not foresee it. I 
 shall lose money as it is through it, I dare say. He 
 has upset everything. No, girl — I cannot do any- 
 thing for them. I must be just — just before I am 
 generous." 
 
 Grace knew Mr. Mortiboy well enough to know 
 that when he talked in this way his resolution was 
 final. She sighed, and tried another tack. 
 
 ** I suppose, dear uncle " — the little deceiver put 
 her lovely arm round him — "you would not object 
 to helping them indirectly } I mean if it were at no 
 expense of — of justice." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 *'Why, uncle, do you remember the kind and
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 279 
 
 generous gift you made me — of a whole hundred 
 pounds — only three weeks ago, when you dined 
 with us ? Now, that is mine — is it not ? Well, I 
 want to give that to my cousins." 
 
 "The girl's mad!" 
 
 " And for them not to know that it comes from 
 me. So, if you don't mind, dear uncle, giving it me 
 back again, we can manage in this way very well. 
 You shall sign a cheque — a piece of paper — for it, 
 which I will give to them, and tell them it comes 
 from you." 
 
 Here was an opportunity of being generous, as 
 Grace had put it, without the infringement of those 
 bulwarks of justice with which Mr. Mortiboy loved 
 to surround a mean and selfish action. The girl, of 
 course, was Quixotic, mad, and romantic ; but, then, 
 it was always the way of girls ; and, of course, if she 
 insisted on it — if she was quite sure it was the only 
 way, and if she was quite sure that Kate would not 
 suspect — he was ready to give way. He wrote the 
 cheque, gave it to Grace, and saw her depart on her 
 errand of mercy and charity with quite a glow at 
 his own heart, as if he had done it himself. 
 
 So he had. He had gained a reputation on the 
 first gift to Grace which was now going to be 
 doubled, at no greater expense, by the second — the
 
 28o Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 only drawback being that it had really cost him a 
 hundred pounds. Now, Mr. Mortiboy would have 
 preferred a reputation for generosity which had cost 
 him nothing at all. 
 
 But all this was a secret from Frank. To conceal 
 any thing from him was very painful to Grace, and 
 she felt awkward and embarrassed. She wanted to 
 get the affair of the present over at once ; but 
 when she tried to approach the subject her heart 
 fluttered so that she dared not venture to begin 
 about it. 
 
 So she stood there — rooted, it seemed, to the 
 spot on which she had taken her stand when she 
 entered the room. Her eyelashes lay in a black 
 fringe on her cheeks — Frank could not see a bit of 
 her eyes — and her manner was restrained, and not 
 at all like Grace Heathcote's usual demeanour. 
 
 " Frank." 
 
 " Grace." 
 
 And then neither spoke. 
 
 The poor boy looked at the carpet, the ceiling, 
 and at his mistress's face, and thought to read his 
 fate there. But Grace stood inscrutable as the 
 Sphinx. They had not met since the day of that 
 walk in the Hunslope lane, when Mr. Frank pro- 
 fessed his love. What painful events had happened
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 281 
 
 to both since that afternoon ! Yet the memory of 
 it rushed into their hearts at the same moment, and 
 they blushed like children. 
 
 They stood for a few moments in silence. 
 
 " There have been words between us, Grace," 
 said Frank, "that must be as if they had never 
 been said." 
 
 "That cannot be," said Grace, firmly. "We 
 cannot unsay." 
 
 " Then we must forget." 
 
 "We cannot forget," said the girl. "Tell me, 
 Frank, what you mean, plainly. Tell me all that is 
 in your heart. Do you love me no longer V 
 
 " My love — my darling ! I love you better — a 
 thousand times better ; but it is because you are so 
 far off from me. Do you know that I am a beggar 
 — that the very clothes I stand in belong properly 
 to our creditors } Grace, I dare not think of love. 
 Yet how hard it is to forget ! I have first to pay 
 my father's creditors — how, I do not know. It is 
 my sacred duty. I swore it. I must keep my 
 oath. It will be my life's work. But you, Grace — 
 my dear, dear girl — forget me. Let me go and 
 toil on, without nursing an idle hope. Release me ; 
 help me to tear away every illusion, so that I may 
 face the reality. I am a pauper indeed, for I am
 
 282 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 stripped of more than money — I must give you 
 back your love." 
 
 As he spoke this, his voice shook with emotion. 
 With the last word he broke down. 
 
 Grace looked up in his eyes, bent upon her with 
 his soft, sad gaze. A tear stood in them. 
 
 "What, Frank, is a woman's love such a light 
 thing that it can be taken up and given back at 
 any moment .? For shame, sir ! Do you think it 
 is not till the wedding service that we take each 
 other for better for worse } For shame, Frank ! 
 Do you suppose that I love you less because you 
 have no more money } You silly boy ! Don't you 
 think I love you more because you are unhappy, 
 and because— oh ! Frank — Frank — " 
 
 And here she dropped her head upon his shoulder. 
 There was nobody by to see her. 
 
 It is five minutes later. The interval has been 
 spent in their mingled tears and kisses. Their lips 
 separate, their arms drop from each other's ; but by 
 this, their second sacrament of love, the twain are 
 henceforth one. 
 
 " I shall tell them myself," whispered Grace, 
 " and to-night. I shall write to you if I can get 
 permission ; but I must not without. And now, 
 Frank— my Frank — we must part. You will trust
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 283 
 
 me Frank ? Kiss me, and tell me again that you 
 love me," 
 
 " I love you, Grace, I love you — I love you ! Oh, 
 God ! when shall I tell you so again ?" 
 
 Then Grace told Frank the story of the bank 
 note she had brought in her pocket to give him. 
 
 When the name of Mr. Mortiboy was mentioned, 
 Frank flushed with agitation, and refused to soil 
 his fingers with any of the money of his uncle. 
 
 " My father's enemies are mine," he said, looking, 
 it must be confessed, very manly and noble : for 
 Frank Melliship was a fine fellow. 
 
 This forced the truth from Grace. 
 
 She told him old Ready-money did not give the 
 hundred pounds. It was her money, and he only 
 had charge of it for her ; and if she had a hundred 
 thousand million of hundred pound notes, all were 
 Frank's ; but this was all she had got. She laid it 
 at his feet, and so on. 
 
 Pride at last gave way, and Frank pocketed the 
 note. 
 
 " I consent to take it, Grace, on trust, to hold it 
 for Kate and my mother. I will never touch a 
 penny of it, nor shall they, unless we want bread. 
 Some day, Grace " — he was enthusiastic, and his 
 eyes flashed — " when I am rich and famous, I
 
 284 Ready-mo7iey Mortiboy. 
 
 shall give you back this note, and claim your 
 hand." 
 
 He held out his arm, looked at his clenched fist, 
 and shook it, as one who means to move the 
 world. 
 
 Grace tried to pull down his arm. All she said 
 was — 
 
 " Silly boy !" 
 
 But she liked to see him brave, and ready to fight 
 the world — for her. 
 
 They were disturbed by the voice of Kate 
 Melliship. She was calling Grace's name as if she 
 was not sure where she would find her. She had 
 her own womanly instinct to tell her that there was 
 something of a very private nature going on between 
 them. 
 
 '' Come, Grace, dear," she said, " here is your 
 father come in to see poor mamma, and he has sent 
 me to find you." 
 
 Grace kissed Kate, called her sister, looked fare- 
 well at Frank, and sailed out of the room with her 
 arm round sister Kate's neck. 
 
 Frank had several visitors that day. One was 
 his cousin, Dick Mortiboy. 
 
 " When do you go away, all of you T he asked.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 285 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 " Send me your address, Frank, will you ? Pro- 
 mise that, for old times. Dick Mortiboy never 
 forgets old friends, my boy — nor old enemies. It 
 is not always possible to pay back old scores to 
 either ; but ^I do my best. There are not many 
 men between this and the Pacific who have done 
 me a mischief that go about comfortable and easy 
 in their minds. Well, let us have the address, for 
 your father's sake. Many is the tip I have had 
 from him in the days when tips were scarce." 
 
 Frank promised : and Dick, shaking hands with 
 him, strode off. 
 
 John Heathcote was another visitor. 
 " But what are you going to do, my boy .?" he 
 asked Frank. 
 
 " I don't know. I hope something will turn 
 up." 
 
 " Something turn up, indeed ! Yes : and you 
 may be a clerk in a bank at a hundred a-year, with 
 permission to marry when you get a hundred and 
 fifty. No, no — we must find something for you, 
 Frank, my boy." 
 
 Mr. Heathcote pressed his hand, and took his 
 leave. Folded in a packet was the farmer's present 
 — the same as his daughter's, a note for a hundred
 
 286 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 pounds — which he left in Frank's hand like a 
 physician's fee. Frank's heart was full. He had 
 more than half a mind to tell Mr. Heathcote of his 
 relation to his daughter ; but he could not. He 
 sat, and buried his face in his hands, in that same 
 chair where his father had sat a month before, 
 with wild eyes gazing upon the imaginary spectre. 
 Presently, when his thoughts were too oppressive 
 for him to bear, he seized his hat, and went out to 
 drive away some of his care and sorrow by dint of 
 physical exertion. 
 
 He took a walk up the Hunslope-road. A mile 
 out of Market Basing stands Queen's Cross — one of 
 the monuments erected by King Edward to the 
 memory of Eleanor. From the little hill that the 
 cross stands on there is a fine view of the town. 
 Frank stood contemplating the familiar prospect, 
 when he was aware of somebody standing by his 
 side. 
 
 It was Grace. He took her hand, and pressed 
 it tenderly in his. 
 
 " I came on first," she said. " The carriage will 
 be here directly. Papa was talking a long time at 
 the Angel to Mr. Mortiboy, and 1 walked on ; and 
 I have walked, and walked, till you see I have got 
 as far as this."
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 287 
 
 As she spoke, the Heathcotes' sociable drove up, 
 and stopped to take up Grace and set down old Mr. 
 Mortiboy, whose foundry was behind the hill, within 
 a quarter of a mile of the cross. 
 
 Frank was to have one more meeting that day. 
 
 His uncle sat by the side of John Heathcote, 
 with his long, lean, bending figure ; and his out- 
 stretched arm looked in the dim twilight, like some 
 bird of prey. 
 
 " So," said he, in his creaking voice, " you go 
 away to-morrow, young gentleman, I hear — you go 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " We do, Mr. Mortiboy." 
 
 "Well, I hope that you will prosper, and — and 
 get money, and take care of it — not like your poor 
 father." 
 
 " If my father did spend money, he knew how to 
 spend it on good and worthy objects, Mr. Morti- 
 boy," retorted Frank, hotly. 
 
 " Ay, ay — we all knew Francis Melliship." 
 
 " I will have nothing said about my father from 
 you," said Frank. " You were always his enemy. 
 You took a pleasure in going up and down the town 
 saying spiteful things of him. You envied him, 
 Mr. Mortiboy. When he was richest, you had 
 treble his wealth ; and though you care more for
 
 288 Ready -money Mortiboy. 
 
 money than for any other mortal thing, you envied 
 him. You saw how people loved and respected 
 him, and you looked in vain round Market Basing 
 to find a soul that either loved or respected you. 
 Do not dare to speak, sir, of a dead man whom 
 you might have saved. Yes, Mr. Mortiboy, there 
 is a letter lying on the study table now — an un- 
 finished letter — telling me that you might have 
 saved him. Do not dare, sir, to speak of the man 
 whose death you have compassed." 
 
 " Upon my word !" said Mr. Mortiboy. " Upon 
 my word ! Now this is pretty peacockery !" 
 
 Nevertheless, though the old man's words were 
 brave, his cheeks were white, and his fingers 
 trembling. The blow had struck home more deeply 
 than his nephew thought. 
 
 Mr. Heathcote caught Frank by the arm. 
 
 '' Don't, Frank," he cried. " What's the good ?" 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy raised himself erect. He was taller 
 than Frank, and it always gives a man a moral 
 advantage to be able to point downwards. 
 
 He shook his forefinger, solemnly, two inches 
 in front of Frank's nose. 
 
 " Young man," he said, " it ill becomes one of 
 your years and inexperience to speak of things of 
 which you know nothing. Some day you will be
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story, 289 
 
 sorry for what you have said. Go home now, and 
 see your sister. You will be sorry for what you 
 have said this very evening. I wish you well, sir." 
 Mr. Mortiboy, it will be seen, alluded to the 
 hundred pound cheque of Grace's. The old man 
 did not know that Frank had been told the truth. 
 It was gracefully done, and conveyed an impression 
 — dim and vague, but vast — of secret generosity, 
 which affected Frank disagreeably. He felt as if 
 he had been speaking too hastily, and, wishing 
 Grace and her father good night, without another 
 word, went home. 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 O London ! Cry of the 
 young and ambitious. 
 Let those who will sit at 
 home, grub for money 
 piece by piece, die and 
 be forgotten. To Lon- 
 don ! — battle-field where 
 glory is to be won, gold- 
 diggings richer than any 
 in California, diamond 
 fields more fertile than any in Natal : — the place to 
 make fortunes, to repair ruin, to hide disgrace, to 
 realize dreams, to bury shame. No fable is it, 
 invented for the delusion of youth — that of the rich
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 291 
 
 man who came to London with a single sixpence 
 in his pocket. It is a reality which happens every 
 day. Nor does it matter whether the beginning 
 be made with a sixpence or a hundred pounds, for 
 the end is certain to him who has brains, and pluck, 
 and patience. 
 
 The widow, with her two children, and such 
 small impedimenta as remained from the general 
 wreck, came to London. They had their modest 
 one hundred pounds a-year — Mrs. Melliship's dowry 
 at her marriage ; they had besides, two hundred 
 pounds in cash. A small stock to start with ; but 
 Frank and Kate had youth and hope. 
 
 " We Will paint pictures, Kate," said Frank, " and 
 sell them. I would give the world to be a great 
 painter. We will get hung in the Royal Academy, 
 ' and all the world will run to buy." 
 
 Kate smiled. 
 
 " Find me subjects, Frank, and find me strength 
 and skill." 
 
 " You at least have the genius," said her brother. 
 
 It was true. Kate Melliship had been taught as 
 carefully as Market Basing professors could teach 
 — though it had not been possible, in a country 
 town, to give her those lessons in painting which 
 
 19 — 2
 
 292 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 are essential to making a finished artist. And she 
 had genius, which her brother had not. While 
 Frank's drawings were sometimes stiff and always 
 weak, hers were vigorous and free. If her con- 
 ceptions were generally too difficult for her powers 
 of execution, they were always artistic and genuine. 
 Art was her passion. To be an artist for bread 
 would bring no sense of shame with it, but rather 
 of pride, as it ought. The only thing was to find 
 out how to make bread out of it. 
 
 They took lodgings in South Kensington, near 
 the Museum, and began to work. Mrs. Melliship, 
 with the view of doing something to help the family, 
 wrote secretly to a certain first cousin — her nearest 
 relation. The first cousin sent her a ten-pound 
 note : throwing the money to them like a bone to a 
 dog. Kate made her mother promise to write no ■ 
 more begging letters, and said nothing to Frank 
 about it. 
 
 This was the dreariest period in Kate Melliship's 
 life. Her mother always in tears, or querulously 
 comparing things present with things of old ; Frank 
 alternately in enthusiastic hopes of success and 
 sheer despair ; and her own work going on all too 
 slowly for her impatience. They were exiles, too.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story » 293 
 
 and not yet settled into acquiescence with their lot. 
 
 " Nos dulcia linquimus arva, 
 Nos patriam fugimus," 
 
 they might have cried had any one of the three 
 known so much Latin, or found any consolation in 
 applying it. Some women, if anything goes wrong, 
 find a text in the Bible which fits their case, and 
 are immediately comforted and consoled. It does 
 not help them with any advice, it does not show 
 them that they are punished for their own faults, it 
 does not promise anything for the future ; — but 
 then it is a text ; and the feminine heart, after 
 receiving it, feels soothed and warmed, like a cold 
 man with a glass of brandy and water. Kate was 
 not one of these women. She had the bravery to 
 look things in the face. Her mother was not one 
 of these women, because she never looked any 
 thing in the face. 
 
 Frank, too, in spite of his enthusiasm had mo- 
 ments when his courage failed. At night, Kate 
 would hear him walking to and fro far into the 
 small hours. This was when he was haunted with 
 the thought of failure, knowing that on success 
 depended his hopes of Grace — battling with the 
 temptation to ask of silent Heaven, why : that why 
 
 19—3
 
 294 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 which every innocent victim of sin and folly is 
 tempted to ask, so that the Giver of all good is 
 perpetually assailed with the reproach that He has 
 given evil. 
 
 " Is it not hard, Kate ?" — he would ask some- 
 times, when his mother had gone to bed — " Is it 
 not hard ?" — selfish in his sorrow. " All was in my 
 grasp. Grace loved me ; we were rich ; we — " 
 
 " Don't look back, Frank dear. Look forward. 
 She loves you still. If she is worth having, she will 
 wait." 
 
 " Wait t Look here, Kate " — he tore the cover 
 from a picture he had just finished. "This is 
 the kind of daub which is to make me famous, 
 
 is it r 
 
 "■ Indeed, Frank, it is not bad. Your colouring 
 is always rather cold." She bent over it, trying to 
 find points for praise, but there were none. "At 
 any rate, you can copy." 
 
 " And earn about fifty pounds a-year." 
 He was not always in this hopeless mood. Some- 
 times he was ready to laugh over little privations 
 which had become necessary in their diminished 
 means. It was in the time of that celebrated series 
 of letters in the Daily Telegraph which showed how 
 a man can marry, bring up ten children in luxury.
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 295 
 
 be the proud proprietor of a pew, and save sixpence 
 per annum to meet contingencies, all on eighty 
 pounds a year ; and he would read out the details, 
 applying them to their own case, till Mrs. Melliship 
 would be astonished by hearing their old laughter 
 almost as loud and bright as before. At twenty- 
 four one can't be always crying, even though 
 things do look hopelessly bad. 
 
 " I can't do anything with it, Kate," said Frank, 
 ruefully contemplating his grand classical picture, 
 "The Death of Antigone," which he had begun 
 with such confidence and pride. " I shall never be 
 a painter. What shall I try next } The more I 
 look at that stiff-necked Antigone, the more I hate 
 her. Shall I advertise for a post as light porter t 
 Look at her eyes : she squints. Shall I become a 
 photographer's tout } Aid me, my wise sister, with 
 counsel." 
 
 But Kate had none to give. 
 
 As the slow, cold spring crept on, Mrs. Melli- 
 ship's health began to decline. More trouble for 
 poor Kate. She did not dare tell Frank that the 
 London confinement was telling upon their mother. 
 So she waited, hoping and fearing, and working 
 bravely while the weeks crept by. Grace and Lucy 
 Heathcote wrote to her.
 
 296 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 Lucy's letters were all about Grace. Grace was 
 becoming more womanly ; she thought she was paler 
 than she used to be ; she was more thoughtful ; 
 she seemed more religious. 
 
 Grace wrote about things in general. She did 
 not disguise from Kate the hard battle she always 
 had with her mother. The girls, indeed, had never 
 been greatly influenced by Mrs. Heathcote — inferior 
 as she was to her daughters in point of both educa- 
 tion and feeling. 
 
 " Tell Frank," she wrote, " that I have promised 
 papa not to write to him, I told him, too, that I 
 was going to send him messages. Tell him, dear 
 Kate, that he is to go on loving me if he can, for I 
 shall always love him. He is not to be worried if 
 he does not succeed at first, because I can wait, 
 and he is not to be impatient. 
 
 " My mother and I had a scene yesterday. Poor 
 Lucy only cried. It was about Cousin Dick. You 
 know poor mamma's insane idea that Dick wants 
 to marry me. 
 
 " * Pray, how long are you going to encourage 
 Dick's attentions ?' she asked me. 
 
 " ' Until I find out he is paying me attentions/ I 
 replied. 
 
 '' Then she said things that made me go out of
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 297 
 
 the room, and I refused to go back until papa came 
 home. Dick, indeed ! 
 
 " Dick is a real good fellow, though, and I like 
 him tremendously. He is as good-natured as a big 
 man always is, and never in the way like little men. 
 Pray, Kate, how is it that little men take up so 
 much more room than big men ? He says wonder- 
 ful things, too ; and invents stories, if you ask him 
 for an anecdote, as if he was a Trollope. I hold 
 up my finger, and say — 'Dick, a Mexican story.' 
 And he begins at once quite gravely, * When I was 
 in Texas,' and then always something new. He 
 confessed to me the other day that he invents. 
 Mamma says that he is a young man of excellent 
 religious principles. If so, my dear, he takes care 
 to keep his light hidden, for he never goes to 
 church, wanted once to play cards on Sunday, 
 smokes cigars all day if he can, and I once heard 
 him swear at Silly Billy till the poor man turned 
 white. But I like Dick. Here he comes, and I 
 am going to be shown the lasso trick — wait till I 
 come back. 
 
 " Oh, Kate, my dear. Cousin Dick is an admirable 
 Crichton. He has been throwing the lasso as they 
 do it in his beloved Texas — Lucy and I looking on. 
 The miserable victim was a colt ; its leg is hurt.
 
 298 Ready-money Mortiboy, 
 
 Colts in this country don't understand the lasso, as 
 I told Dick. He swore in Spanish. It sounded 
 very deep and grand, like a church organ in a rage 
 not like the very ugly and vulgar sounds which 
 issue from the mouth of the rural Briton. Kate, 
 my dear, I'm very miserable, because I can't help 
 being happy sometimes, and I'm ^afraid you and 
 Frank are not. Forgive me, dear. Mamma refuses 
 to recognize our engagement. Of course, that 
 makes no difference. Poor old uncle Mortiboy 
 looks greatly changed in the last few weeks. His 
 hand shakes, his head shakes, and he shakes all 
 over. Lucy goes to see him oftener than I, because 
 she is a better girl than your wicked Grace — whom 
 
 you and F love so much — and does her duty. 
 
 He sits and shakes, and talks perpetually about 
 what is going to happen when he is gone. 
 
 " ' When I am gawn,' he says, in such a doleful 
 way that you would think he was going at once. 
 But he is quite happy when Dick is with him. He 
 follows him with his eyes. He cannot bear to 
 spend his evenings without him. Dick, like a good 
 creature, sits and talks with his father every night 
 of his life. . . . I've told you all the gossip I 
 know. Papa wants me to give his love to you, and 
 tells Frank to keep a good heart. The dear old
 
 A Matter-of-fact Story. 299 
 
 man ! I had a walk and a talk with him yesterday 
 all over the ploughed fields, and came back with 
 mud up to my eyes. I told him, what I tell you, 
 that I love Frank, and shall never marry anybody 
 else, even if anybody else should ask me. Cousin 
 Dick, indeed ! 
 
 " Please give my kind remembrances, and Lucy's, 
 and mamma's, to Mrs. Melliship and to Mr. Frank 
 Melliship — is that cold enough for you i* — and send 
 me a long and happy letter." 
 
 Dick was not without his troubles. The old man 
 bored him almost beyond endurance. To make 
 the evenings livelier, he conceived the brilliant idea 
 of keeping his father's weekly bottle of gin always 
 half full. Then the old man, quite unconsciously, 
 took to drinking double and treble allowance, and 
 would go to bed an hour earlier, staggering up the 
 stairs. In the morning, he was tremulous and 
 nervous. He did not like to be left alone. The 
 death of Mr. Melliship seemed to have suddenly 
 aged him. At night he lay awake — unless he had 
 taken more spirit than was good for him — tremb- 
 ling at imaginary whispers. Ghrimes, at the bank, 
 found that his capacity for business was gone alto- 
 gether ; and yet he would not give up his attend- 
 ance at the bank.
 
 300 Ready-money Mortiboy. 
 
 With all this, tighter than ever with the money. 
 Nothing to be got out of him for any of Dick's 
 foreign schemes. And all the more hopeless now, 
 because the old man had only one thought — to keep 
 his son at home. 
 
 Second trouble — Polly. Once a week or so, she 
 came to see him. Dick went to the trysting-place 
 with as much joy as a boy goes to keep an appoint- 
 ment with the head master after school. She was 
 always gushing and affectionate ; always wanting 
 more money for little Bill ; and, which was his only 
 comfort, always afraid of him. 
 
 Third trouble — Lafleur. With his usual bad 
 luck, this worthy had got through his share of the 
 thousand, and was wanting more. Before long, his 
 own would be all gone. And his promise to raise 
 five thousand in three months ! More than two of 
 them gone. And how to raise the money } 
 
 J WWMHIII I II I Illl l lHI I MIWII II III II I I IIlBl l l l Mii l ii ii i i i i i i i ii itii i m ii im Ji 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
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