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THE LIBRARY
OF THE
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OMNIBUS ARTIBUS
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812L964
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
A NOVEL.
↓ A
BY
HENRY W. LUCY.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
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8126964
OG
GIDEON FLEYCE.
CHAPTER I.
The Cobweb.
MR. GIDEON FLEYCE Stood at the window of one of the
largest of the first-floor rooms in a quiet street off Picca-
dilly. He had himself occupied the suite of chambers for
several years, and his fathers before him had lived a long
life and pursued an ancient profession within its walls.
Evidence of prolonged tenancy was found in the appear-
ance of the furniture-not inasmuch as it was grievously
worn, but that it was of a kind which gentlemen able to rent
rooms on first-floors in fashionable quarters do not now
affect. The tables and chairs were of the heaviest ma-
hogany, and there was a sofa which, on an emergency,
would have admirably answered the purpose of a four-
post bedstead. The floor was covered by a Turkey-carpet
of dyes long dull; a priceless carpet in its day. But it had
come cheap to Mr. Gideon Fleyce's father, who had taken
it as
"value received" from an officer of a line regiment
who had brought it home intending it for quite another
purpose. On considering its measurements it seemed to
have been made for the first-floor room in Carlton Street,
and Mr. Gideon Fleyce's father, with characteristic readi-
ness to relieve any of his fellow creatures from embarrass-
ment, had accepted it on account of a little compound in-
terest which, calculated on the most liberal terms, would
have reached about a tenth part of the value of the carpet.
Mr. Gideon Fleyce was not thinking about this happy
coincidence as he stood by the window looking down the
street.
In certain military circles the house containing this par-
839019
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
ticular suite of rooms was known as The Cobweb, and
there had been little jokes made about a certain elderly
gentleman, now rarely seen in the neighborhood, who was
familiarly known as The Spider, and who was in fact
Gideon's father.
1
There was nothing suggestive of a spider about Gideon
himself, as he stood within the shadow of the heavy red
curtain that prevented the prevalence of inconvenient
light in the room. He was a portly, rosy, prosperous
looking man, who was probably a little on the near side
of forty. In the dull framework of the room he looked
the picture of good health, good temper, and good will
among men. He was the sort of man a crossing-sweeper
would pursue to the very curbstone, and a woman beg-
ging in the street, catching a glimpse of his pleasant face,
would follow certain of sixpence, and indeed had often
been known to get it. He was a well-dressed man to the
extent that his clothes were of the costliest material, fitted
him well and always looked new. He was also of the
rare and fortunate class who are able invariably to pre-
sent the appearance of having just put on a new hat. It
might indeed be urged against the perfectness of his
dressing that, taking him from hat to boots, he looked a
little aggressively new.
He liked to have new things, not only because he was
rich, and was pleased to carry about him some evidence
of the fact, but because, within the last two or three years,
he had developed a certain restlessness which clamored
for change even in so unimportant a matter as a pair of
gloves or a hat. He had not made a dead set at the fur-
niture and the surroundings of the room in Carlton Street,
because they had through long habitude become so much
a part of his life that he noticed them no more than he
did the air he breathed, or the sky over his head. But he
had, three years before the day we discover him standing
at the window in Carlton Street, bought what he called a
little "cottage" in the country. It was not a cottage to
begin with, being a decent sized house, standing in large
grounds and costing for the purchase a good round sum
of money. But it pleased Gideon to call it a cottage.
Other people might have castles, or places, or lodges, or
mansions, few of which would equal the comfort or attrac-
tiveness of his cottage, or rather what his cottage should
be when it was finished. But he was a plain man, one of
GIDEON FLEYCE.
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the people, a self-made man, and if his labors were so far
prosperous that he could afford to have a house in the
country, in addition to rooms in town, let it be called a
cottage.
Down at the cottage he struck a pretty fair average
with the state of quiescence in which he left the arrange-
ment of his rooms in Carlton Street. The cottage was in
a constant state of turmoil, workmen generally living in
the drawing-room whilst they were altering the dining-
room, or camping out in the dining-room whilst they were
varying the arrangements of the drawing-room. As for
the garden it was, as the head gardener said, “in a con-
stant state of earthquake." Gideon scarcely knew a tur-
nip top from a monthly rose, chiefly discriminating be-
tween them by the broad distinction that one was eaten
and the other was not. Still, if he were to be a country
gentleman he must have a garden, and must walk about
it, and undertake the general direction of affairs.
It was a strongly marked characteristic of our friend
that in whatever circumstances he found himself placed,
he must needs take the personal command. He had been
successful in his business transactions, successful beyond
expectation. He had long ago cut himself adrift from the
plodding and pettifogging procedure by which his father
had amassed wealth sufficient, had the fancy taken him, to
hang the walls of "The Cobweb" with cloth of gold.
Gideon speculated widely, and everything was going on
swimmingly. Very soon after he began to feel his feet he
turned his attention to speculation in land. He knew
exactly what he was, and he had a very clear impression
of what he would be. If he went on in the steps of his
father he might grow as rich and remain as obscure as that
estimable gentleman. But Gideon, whilst having the
family failing of money-getting, had also a latent passion
for money-spending. Money, was to be got by all means.
But it was not to be hoarded. Gideon felt himself capable
of taking his place in society, and even of filling a posi-
tion in public life, and he was quite prepared to pay for
his footing. He knew he might be as rich as Croesus, or
even as his father. But as long as his wealth was repre-
sented by gold or bank notes he would miss the object for
which he strove. Land was, according to Gideon's judg-
ment, the most respectable thing in England.
"You might have half a million of money in the funds
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
and not be counted a gentleman. You might have half a
hundred acres of freehold land, and, especially if you had
upon it a more or less ramshackle place called a hall, you
might take your place among county gentlemen."
That was Gideon's broad way of putting the matter,
and for a year or two he had been devoting himself to the
acquisition of land. The cottage and its surroundings
were a small item in the account, a mere handful of earth
in the broad acres which Gideon possessed. He had not,
it will be understood, entered upon his destined career at
the time we make his acquaintance. But it had always
been mapped out before him, for though it is possible
there may, in the course of this history, be written some
things to Gideon's discredit, it should be understood at
once that he was a keen purposeful man, who knew whither
he was going, and had a pretty keen eye for the best road.
He was simply playing with the cottage. But he did it
with all his might. In the course of a short year the gar-
den went through as many transformation scenes as the
grounds of the fairy place in a pantomime. Money was
no object, and Gideon, standing amid the freshly-turned
up soil of his garden liked to compare himself with Napo-
leon, and his way of overcoming difficulties. He was not
an extensive reader. But he had come across Napoleon's
reply when the difficulties approaching Italy by the Alps
were suggested.
"There shall be no Alps, Mangel," Gideon said, when'
the gardener having just completed some elaborate and
costly alterations, was peremptorily instructed to remove
the vineries to the other end of the garden wall, and was
pointing out sundry difficulties. The gardener did not see
the appositeness of the remark, but at great expense the
vinery was moved, and something else put up in its place;
which done Gideon came and looked at it and smiled
softly to himself, thinking how difficulties melt before a
strong will and a full purse.
One other old thing Gideon kept about him in Carlton
Street was his father's old clerk Dumfy. Man and boy
Dumfy had been in the firm forty years, entering its ser-
vice as errand boy at the ripe age of ten. He was at this
date a sort of confidential clerk and private enquiry agent.
For the latter calling nature had gifted him with several
high qualifications. He had an eminently respectable
look, more suggestive of a butler in a good family whose
GIDEON FLEYCE.
7
thoughts turned to serious things, than of a clerk in any,
of the relations of commerce. Perhaps this was due to
his exceedingly respectful and subdued manner. He had
a voice ever soft and low, which, a beautiful thing in a
woman, is apt to be rather detestable in a man, especially ·
when combined with a habit of walking about softly, which
brought the fellow up to one's shoulder when his presence
was least expected.
Dumfy habitually dressed in a frock-coat, whose ill-cut
and somewhat rusty appearance contrasted with due mea-
sure of respect with the clothes of his master. The only
little personal vanity Mr. Dumfy permitted himself was in
respect of his hair. He cultivated a curl on a little bear's
grease; in fact there were two curls, or "wisps," as the
gay young gentlemen who sometimes called at The Cob-
web were accustomed to describe them. They seemed to
have nothing whatever to do with the general arrangement
of Mr. Dumfy's well-brushed and well-oiled hair. In an
ordinary way the observer is led gently up to curls. There
is something in the general style or arrangement of the
head that suggests them before you actually come upon
them. But you might not by getting a partial view of the
top, or the back, or the front of Mr. Dumfy's head ex-
cogitate these curls. They came upon the beholder sud-
denly and unexpectedly, as you come upon a gable in a
work of gothic architecture.
Mr. Dumfy was not over well paid, at least not by his
employer, though it was generally understood that he had
not lived for forty years surrounded by opportunities
without making money of them. His business was prin-
cipally confined to opening the door to casual visitors,
and considering whether it was likely that his master was
at home to them, a problem which long experience en-
abled him to solve without much difficulty. He wrote a
few letters-not many, for the business correspondence in
Carlton Street was generally brief and to the purpose.
Also he was most useful in making enquiries, and being
a duly articled clerk was able to carry out certain prclimi-
naries relating to legal actions occasionally forced upon
the good-natured Fleyce. He, further, kept a set of books
and sat ready at call in a little room shut off from the
larger apartment by a double set of doors.
There were no signs of business belongings in the room
in which Gideon stood, it presenting rather the appear-
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
ance of a dining-room in which barons of beef and mag-
nums of port had been polished off through a long vista
of years. But in the room in which Dumfy sat the walls
were piled up almost to the ceiling with tin boxes, on
which were painted the initials of some of the best-known
men in London.
At the sound of the street bell, rung at the brightly
polished knob over the little brass plate which bore the
inscription, "Mr. Gideon Fleyce," Dumfy passed through
the room on his way to open the door.
"If that should be Captain O'Brien," said Gideon,
"you can show him in, and I shall not be at home for the
rest of the morning, or at least till he is gone."
"Yes, sir."
CHAPTER II.
A Morning Call.
GIDEON had not occasion to await the formal announce-
ment of Captain O'Brien before learning that his guess at
the identity of the morning caller was correct. He heard
his cheery hail of Mr. Dumfy in the outer office. These
two had known each other for a good many years, though
they were not in the habit of meeting at clubs or in gen-
eral society. Of the two Mr. Dumfy's information of all
that concerned Captain O'Brien was much more exten-
sive than that which the gallant Captain possessed of Mr.
Dumfy. He had known him when he was in full pay, and
in active service in the parks and in the drawing-room.
There was a certain monotony attending the circum-
stances of their meetings, which always took place in the
little office outside, with its wall-lining of initialled tin
trunks. In those days the Captain was always wanting
money, a condition of life not wholly distinct from his
present one. But there was this difference, that having
some remnants of a fortune and some bulk of expecta-
tions, he was then in the habit of getting what he wanted.
Gideon's father was in the business at this time, and he
doled out money by the hundred pounds, casting his
check upon the waters, and finding it return to him (after
GIDEON FLEYCE.
9
what Captain O'Brien thought were exceedingly few
days) largely augmented by increment of interest.
The Captain, among his other early extravagances, had
gone into Parliament, sitting for an Irish borough through
the two last years of a moribund House. He had rather
made his mark, dashing into debate with the same light
heart he would, if fortune had favored him, have carried
into battle. Without knowing it, and certainly without
any effort to acquire it, he had from the very first hit upon
the great secret of success in the House of Commons.
Constitutionally impetuous he had one night dashed into
debate without any blood-chilling preparation. Being
absolutely fearless his legs had not trembled under him,
nor had his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth when
he, quite unexpectedly to himself, found that he was on
his feet, and heard friendly members near him call out,
"New Member! New Member!" with intent to give him
precedence. The hour was propitious, though of that
also the Captain had taken no account, being, in fact, ab-
solutely ignorant of the ways of the House. It was eleven
o'clock, at which time hon. members having returned
pleased with their dinner and anxious to be amused, hailed
with satisfaction the appearance of anyone likely to meet
their requirements. These were promising as the new
member stood below the gangway in easy attitude waiting
till the friendly hubbub around him had subsided and he
might be allowed to speak.
The question was one with which he was thoroughly
acquainted-one of the first conditions of successful
speaking in the House. Another scarcely less important
one the Captain also fulfilled, inasmuch as he talked in a
perfectly natural manner, as if he were discussing topics -
to his brother officers at the mess, the ordinary vivacity
of conversation being somewhat toned down by the pres-
ence of an illustrious Commander as guest. It was on a
Tuesday night, and the debate was on the second reading
of a Bill brought in by some private member on the sub-
ject of procedure for the recovery of debts. Even at this
early stage of his career Captain O'Brien had much prac-
tical experience on the subject, and he discussed it with a
plain common-sense, irradiated here and there with flashes
of humor that quite charmed the House.
Moreover, he told with admirable effect a sprightly
story, another sure way of getting the ear of the House of
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
Commons. Talking about the difficulties which sometimes
environ the emissary of the law charged with the duty of
personal service of a writ, he told how a brother officer of
his, being sorely pressed by a usurer, had taken refuge in
a certain private hotel in the west end of London. Here
it was his intention to lie perdu till the storm had blown
over. But the usurer was too much for him. He found
out his retreat, and despatched a sheriff's officer with a
writ.
(6
Now, sir, what happened?" the Captain continued,
taking the Speaker into his confidence with easy grace.
Something which I am sorry to say cannot be regarded
as vindicating the majesty of the law or adequately fur-
thering its object. The hotel where my friend was staying
was undergoing a process of painting and whitewashing.
Some of the men were in the entrance hall whitewashing
the ceiling. My friend, borrowing the blouse and overalls
of one of the workmen, mounted the plank set on trestles
from which the painters carried on their work. The
bailiff coming in searched the house, and in the course of
his pursuit happened to pass along the corridor underneath
the plank, and at that very moment, by a remarkable coin-
cidence, the bucket of whitewash which my friend was
using happened to topple over, and smothered the unfor-
tunate representative of the law."
This is the kind of story which goes down admirably with
the House of Commons towards eleven o'clock at night in
the middle of a dull debate, and its point was considerably
sharpened by the shrewd suspicion that the officer on the
plank was none other than the gallant member addressing
the Speaker.
If O'Brien was acceptable in the House itself, he was
prime favorite in the smoke-room, on the terrace, in
"Gosset's room," and wherever men congregated for
cheerful conversation. But unfortunately his popularity
did not extend to the borough which he represented. It
was all right when he was down there. No one, least of
all Irish men and women, could withstand his hearty
manner, his quiet humor, and his overflowing good-nature.
But when he was gone his constituents and the country
at large began to get a truer estimation of his value. The
Ballydehob Eagle, a sheet largely read by the electors, took
to analyzing his votes and dissecting his speeches. Both
these showed lamentable shortcomings. At the time he
GIDEON FLEYCE.
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K 1
sat in Parliament Home Rule was not yet invented, much
less was the Land League born. But there was even then
a certain undefined feeling among the electors that the
proper policy for an Irish member was invariably to "go
agin the Government.”
Captain O'Brien had not at that time greatly studied
politics. It was hard to say precisely on what platform he
had stood and won his election. He sat among his own
countrymen below the gangway on the Liberal side. But
he had a way of judging for himself on questions of the
day as they presented themselves, and his decision was
only occasionally satisfactory to his constituents. When
they protested he retorted. The breach grew wider as the
days wore on, and the inevitable period of the dissolution
approached. The climax was reached when, in reply to a
savage assault upon him by the Ballydehob Eagle, Captain
O'Brien published a letter written to him by the proprietor
and editor of that proud and tamcless bird, in which he
besought his influence with the Government to obtain for
his wife's nephew some trifling post under the Revenue
Department. The Eagle scorned to discuss a personal
matter of that kind with the recreant member. But it
clawed him viciously nevertheless, and when the day of
election came round, Captain O'Brien found himself at
the bottom of the poll, and indeed had to beat a strategic
retreat in order to escape personal maltreatment.
This was awkward, inasmuch as it brought down upon
him his many creditors with renewed insistance and re-
covered opportunities of pressing home their demands.
In the dilemma he once more sought the quiet neighbor-
hood of Carlton Street, and had a fresh series of prelimin-
ary interviews with Mr. Dumfy in the outer den.
He was
by no means a ruined man. His own fortune was pretty
well spent, but his expectations, of the firm basis of which
Gideon's father had been careful to assure himself, stood
him in good stead, and were worth advances sufficient to
relieve him from pressing necessities.
In course of time the expectations were realized, and
after Gideon Fleyce's father had taken the lion's share and
all the Captain's debts were paid off, there still remained
a round sum, which, going his ordinary way, the Captain
would have gaily disposed of in a couple of years. But,
as the Spider observed to Mr. Dumfy, the Captain was
"not such a fool as he looked." He knew if he kept the
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
money by him, with whatever virtuous resolution, they
would both have melted within the space of two years.
So, acting on the advice of a friendly solicitor, he bought
himself an annuity, and bravely set himself to solve the
problem of living like a gentleman on three hundred a
year. In addition he had his Captain's pay, not much of
itself, and its acceptance involving responsibilities that
made his annual three hundred seem very small indeed.
Having begun to be wise, he went on with a steadfastness
that really surprised himself. He determined to sell out,
to invest the proceeds in desirable securities, and sternly
to live within his gross income. The total was not much,
but he found the undertaking easier than he thought, and
discovered quite a new and tranquil joy in the conscious-
ness that he had no bills out against him. He could afford
to belong to a good club, and his brief term of member-
ship of the House of Commons had brought him many
pleasant acquaintances. He went everywhere and knew
everybody who was worth knowing. He had his club for
his town house, whilst many of the nobility and gentry
were good enough to keep up for him in the country
costly preserves, where in due time he might enjoy a little
shooting.
He was very friendly with the cniefs of one of the
great political parties, and it was understoood might, if he
pleased, have had a seat found for him. But he had no
ambition in that way. He could go down to the House
when he pleased, whether to smoke a cigar on the terrace
or to sit under the gallery and hear the debates, and, as he
said, he had no constituents tugging at his vitals. He
liked politics, and knew a great deal more of them now
than when he had a voice in the councils of the nation and
a hand in shaping legislative measures. But the kind of
work that had the greater attraction for him was done out-
side the House. The name of Captain O'Brien did not
figure in political gatherings or public demonstrations.
But it was understood that in a quiet way he knew as well
as most people what was going on behind the scenes, and
that though he never seemed to do anything he was often
very busy in the interests of the State.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
13
CHAPTER III.
Going into Parliament.
"O'BRIEN," said Gideon, when the newcomer had seated
himself, which he did on the table in preference to a
chair, "I mean to go into Parliament."
"Indeed! Now that's very good of you, quite con-
siderate. I suppose you won't mind beginning with an
Under Secretaryship, or perhaps a junior Lordship of the
Treasury. Either gives you a seat on the Treasury Bench,
you know, and saves you all the trouble of being down
for prayers."
"Yes, I mean to go into Parliament, and it has occur-
red to me that it would be some advantage if I went in for
a county instead of a borough."
O'Brien stared at him with unfeigned astonishment.
He had been taken aback by his brusque announcement
and the easy confidence with which it had been made.
That was exactly what Gideon had intended should fol-
low, and he saw with satisfaction the further effect of his
cool assumption. Here was a man hand and glove with
people whom Gideon would, if no one had been looking
on, have crawled up to obtain the favor of their acquain-
tance. He was member of a club that would certainly
have black-balled Gideon had he succeeded in getting any
one to put him up. He was an accomplished man of the
world, of good birth, if of no particular connections. Yet
how much easier he was to manage than the gardener.
When Gideon put on his Let-there-be-no-more-Alps man-
ner, the gardener in a trice obeyed, but with a sullen and
contemptuous air which showed he thought his master
was an ass and was hesitating whether he could afford to
tell him so. And here was Captain O'Brien, who had
evidently intended to be facetious, bowled over at the
second ball, and plainly convinced that this was a serious
matter.
"I took the liberty of sending for you to talk the mat-
ter over," Gideon continued, walking up and down the
room with his hands behind his back and the pleased smile
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Ĝideon fleycE.
14
that seemed to indicate the possession of a certain knowl-
edge which he could not well convey to his interlocutor,
but which might with safety be left in his hands triumph-
antly to work out. "This is a matter I know nothing
about and you know a great deal. I'm not sure how these
things are arranged, but I believe it is not unusual for a
gentleman of experience to undertake the affairs of a can-
didate. I want you to consider whether it would be worth
'your while to take me up, put me through the facings,
and do whatever is necessary to work the affair. I don't
mean to spare money. If you are so good as to take a
little trouble in the matter, I should be glad to offer you
as a friendly acknowledgment of friendly service a check
for a thousand pounds if I don't get in, or a check for
two thousand if I do."
-
"Which side are you going in on?"
"Well that,” said Gideon, as if the matter at issue were
the color of a wall paper, "is one of the things we shall
have to discuss. I may say that I have not studied poli-
tics much. I don't think I ever read a speech through,
and take care to keep clear of the political leaders in the
papers. So you see you will have to work upon virgin
soil."
"That's not a bad notion, though I am bound to say the
application is a little new. It suggests a new reading of
a passage in Burke, where he says he has constantly ob-
served that the generality of people are at least fifty years
behind in their politics, meaning that they are accurate
and just judges of what took place half a century ago,
whilst they are narrow and illiberal in their estimate of
the affairs of the day. But you are literally forty years-
or is it only thirty-eight? I beg your pardon-behindhand
with your politics since you haven't come up with them
at all. As a rule when candidates think of coming for-
ward to solicit the suffrage of a constituency, they have
made up their minds on the broad issue as to whether
they will support the Liberal or Conservative colors. You
don't seem to have got further in your political pro-
gramme than to have decided upon standing for a county.
Why a county?"
"Well, I have always understood that a county member
is a bigger sort of thing than a borough member, that is
politically; but I don't make any disguise to you that
whilst I don't care about politics I do care a great deal
Gideon fleyCÊ.
15
Am
about social position. Now if I stand for a county,
whether I get in or not, I'm brought into contact with the
sort of people I want to know, the kind I want to receive
me and who I would like to see with their legs under my
mahogany. Of course if I win I am somebody right off
the reel. You can't snub a county member or say he got
in by the Irish vote, as you may if he stands for a bor-
ough."
"Very true," said O'Brien, who began to perceive that
Gideon, if he knew nothing of politics, had thought his
own position out, and that his native shrewdness was
helping him to a just conclusion. "Then I should advise
you to stand in the Liberal interest. County members
are cheap on the Conservative side. They are woefully
rare with us, especially just now. To win a county in the
Liberal interest would certainly be a distinction, which
ought to get you some notice from the chiefs, and bring
you well out at official at homes, and even dinner parties.
But, on the other hand, conspicuous merit like yours has
a better chance of recognition with the Tories.
It is part
of their system, more particularly under Dizzy, to keep
their eye on young men, never to forget a service done to
a Party, and even extravagantly to reward ability. Per
haps this is because they are not overrun with the com
modity. But there's the fact. Look at young Marchant.
A month ago his name was unknown outside Old Bailey
circles. There he was recognized as a 'cute fellow, a
sound lawyer, and an adroit speaker. He was a favorite
junior, and sometimes got big cases to himself. But the
mob of the Tory Party would have stared him full in the
face if they had met him in a drawing-room, and would
have given no other sign of recognition of his existence.
"And what did he do? I'm a little out of this sort of
thing, you know."
"
"And this is fame! Well he won a seat from the Liber-
als at a time when the party in office were beginning to
shake in their shoes with apprehension that the country
was getting tired of them. He comes into the House and
is immediately taken into town by a Cabinet Minister.
A prominent place is made for him in a big debate; he
acquits himself well, and if his party only remains in
power after the next election he will be Attorney-General
as sure as he lives. Then, there's old Cadwallader, a case,
if I may say so, a little nearer your own. He was not a
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
barrister, nor is he a good speaker, or in any way a strong
man. But he held for the Tories a seat which they were
horribly frightened about, and if he had won the battle of
Trafalgar or Waterloo he could not be received with
greater distinction. Yes, our own fellows make a great
mistake there. They are a little too commercial in their
relations with the party. In your place and with your
views I should say, turn up a Tory."
"Do you mean to say if I got in for a county they
would not recognize me on the front bench?”
"I have said that a man who brings a county to the
Liberal party fetches a gift that is worth acknowledgment.
They would give you a cheer when you came in, and per-
haps Gilbert might be told to bring you round and intro-
duce you to Gladstone and the rest. But that would be
all over in a fortnight, unless you showed the ability to
make yourself either useful or disagreeable. Gladstone
is a great statesman and a magnificent leader at a supreme
crisis. But he is shockingly faulty in small matters. He
never knows a man if he meets him in the lobby or the
library, or in the street. His head is always in the clouds,
and the number of mortals he walks over in his abstrac-
tion, and makes mortal enemies of, would appal him if he
only could have supplied to him a correct list. There is
one case just now greatly troubling the Liberal party.
One of its most distinguished members won't go straight.
He is always kicking over the traces and doing a deuce of
damage. He doesn't want anything for himself or his
somewhat extensive family; which is the worst thing
about him, and makes him altogether unmanageable. The
fault is, I won't say altogether, but in a great measure,
Gladstone's. There are particular reasons why Gladstone
should be personally friendly to this man. He and his
have done enormous services to the Liberal party, and
personally to Gladstone himself. But when he comes
into the House Gladstone ignores him, does not see him
when he meets him, avoids little opportunities for chat, and
quite unconsciously and without intention puts on a don't-
know-you air. Now that's excessively riling to some men
and accounts for the absence of enthusiasm with which
the personal attacks on Gladstone from the other side are
resented in his own ranks."
16
-
"I saw him at a public meeting once and thought he
was a very affable gentleman."
5
A
GIDEON FLEYCE,
17
T
"Yes, that's in public. He's all right when he is on his
legs, and he can, if he pleases, make himself eminently
agreeable in print; but he never, or rarely, pleases. Now
look at Dizzy. It's perfectly delightful to see the way
that artful old campaigner comes round fellows. Whilst
he was in the House of Commons, and Heaven knows
how they're going to get on without him, he was always
in his place; heard and saw everything. If a man on his
own side made at all a decent speech he would be sure to
hear from Dizzy. If a man on the other side made any
kindly reference to himself, or by an allusion to the Con-
servative Opposition left an opening for friendly reply,
be sure that Dizzy either that night or that week would ac-
cidentally come across the man and say a pleasant word in
his ear.
Did you ever hear how he came over the O'Cal-
laghan, and won from the Opposition side a steady vote?”
No, I don't think I ever did." Of course he never
had; but Gideon had been brought up a lawyer, and was
constitutionally averse to making admissions.
، ،
"Well, the O'Callaghan was returned for an Irish bor-
ough as a Liberal Home Ruler. He was a ridiculous lit-
tle man, with a voice several sizes too large for him, and
the most extravagant gestures ever seen on sea or land.
He amused Dizzy, who, being led to notice him across the
House, took in his character at a glance, and saw his pos-
sible advantage. One night when the O'Callaghan was
strutting across the lobby, he felt a friendly hand on his
shoulder, and heard an unmistakable voice say, 'Mr.
O'Callaghan, do you know you remind me very much of
my old friend Tom Moore.' The pleased O'Callaghan
was from that day one of Dizzy's most faithful supporters.
He would, at whatever personal inconvenience, come
over from Ireland to vote on a big division. It counted
clear two votes on a division that Gladstone, who also
knew Tom Moore, had never discovered and proclaimed.
this wonderful likeness."
"Which side do you consider is likely to be in the
longest?" Gideon asked, coming back to business.
"That is a consideration which certainly should weigh
something with one so perfectly disinterested as yourself.
At present things look very much as if the Tories were in,
at least for another spell. Dizzy's name is a thing to con-
jure with, and there are a good many people who think
that if he lives to hold the flag through the next election
M
+
GIDEON FLEYCE.
18
the fight is as good as won. On the other hand, Gilbert
and one or two other fellows think that we who live in
London are in the dark. What is called the great heart
of the country is said to beat with Gladstone. Certainly
it doesn't look like it from one or two bye-elections. But
these bye-elections are proverbially misleading. We must
have a dissolution within two years, and it may by chance´
come sooner."
"But do you think that for the next twenty years, say,
we shall have the Tories in office more than the Liber-
als?"
"No, I certainly do not. These things come in cycles.
Liberal work in office leads to nothing so surely as the
bringing back of the Conservatives. First of all we get
finished the work appointed, and can go; then we are al-
ways making enemies by touching vested interests; and
lastly, we drive the coach so fast that the country, without
any particular disapproval of our measures, hankers after
sloth, and the Tories come back to do nothing at home,
and to let off some dangerous fireworks abroad. Taking
the matter all round or in sections of a quarter of a cen-
tury, you will find that the Liberals are much longer in
office than the Tories, and I fancy that as we go on that
proportion will lengthen to the disadvantage of the To-
ries.
""
""
'Then," said Gideon, firmly, "I shall stand for the
Liberals. There's a good many of my sort in their ranks
already. Whereas, even if I won a scat for the Tories.
they would never make me quite at home amongst them,
I've a notion, too, that my hankerings are on the side of
Liberalism. I'm a self-made man, and a man of progress,
and all that sort of thing, you know, seems to go better
with the Liberal programme than with the Conservative.
Therefore, O'Brien, I'm your man.
'Well, that's something done. When a man's made up
his mind whether he's going to stand as a Liberal or a
Conservative he has taken a long stride in the way to his
seat in the House. Now I would advise you to reconsider
your notion about the county. It's a hard job and a costly
one, and quite a question whether the game would be
worth the candle. We also have dukes and marquises,
earls, and all that on our side, though not quite so many
as on the other. Our men generally have a younger son
or some college friend and hunting companion whom they
66
GIDEON FLEYCE.
ދ
19
t
like to run in for a county where there's a chance. You
can't go down to the county town, stand in the market-
place and announce that you are the Liberal candidate.
These things have to be managed, and it would be very
difficult for a man like you to get a fair run for a likely
county.'
(6 'That's a matter we can think over.
>>
As I've told you,
I don't mind the money. I have a little and am ready to
spend it for value received. But we may take it as settled
that you'll run the affair for me?"
"Yes; I don't see any harm in the proposal you have
made. That's settled, and we have also settled that you
are to be a Liberal, which really is something gained.
Now I'll talk it over with Gilbert and see what openings
there are, whether in county or borough. I suppose you
don't mean to go in before the general election ?"
"I really don't know anything about it, and don't want
to know about the details.'
"You have rather an odd notion of what are the details.
But I'll go into the matter and let you know."
When he was gone Gideon walked slowly up and down
the room smiling to himself, dreaming dreams and seeing
visions, in which he hob-nobbed with Cabinet Ministers,
took a countess down to dinner, and was on nodding terms
with a real duke.
""
CHAPTER IV.
The Whip.
It was on the first of January, 1878, that the conversa-
tion recorded in an earlier chapter took place between
Gideon Fleyce and Captain O'Brien. An amazing year
both in the history of England and other countries this year
1878; a year of constant disturbances and frequent alarm;
a year that saw a British fleet sail with sealed orders to
the Dardanelles; a year when the reserves were called out
at home, and when Cabinet Ministers resigned within a
few hours of solemn declaration that the rumors of dis-
sensions in the Cabinet were untrue.
All this was, as yet, in the bosom of the future, and the
A
1
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20
GIDEON FLEYCE.
new year lay white and innocent looking enough under
its covering of snow. Still it had its burden to bear in-
herited from its predecessor. There was trouble every-
where. Trade was in a lamentable condition, and no one
could see hope of improvement. India was suffering from
a terrible famine, which found some slight reflection in
the condition of the people of South Wales, who had no
work to do, and little bread to eat. The Russians and the
Turks had their hands at each other's throats in the Shipka
Pass. Plevna had just fallen, but as yet the Russians
hurled themselves in vain against the stronghold where
Osman Pasha showed the world how Turks can fight be-
hind earthworks.
The public mind, which for more than a year had been in
a chronic state of anxiety, was aflame afresh with uneasy
apprehension since a proclamation had just appeared sum-
moning Parliament to meet on the 14th of January, fully
three weeks before its usual time. What this might portend
nobody quite knew ; but the general impression was that it
could not be anything eminently desirable. The Liberal
party were still lying in the slough of despond, where they
had been thrust by the election of 1874. The Conserva-
tive majority in the House of Commons was not only
maintained but increased. Lord Hartington was in nomi-
nal command, though Mr. Gladstone, aroused from his
short-lived retirement by what were known as the Bulga-
rian atrocities, had come to the front, and was hampering
his colleagues with what some of them regarded as ill-ad-
vised enthusiasm.
It seemed that the fortunes of the Liberal party were at
their lowest ebb, and that the Conservatives were planted
in power for an indefinite period. It was a greater sacri-
fice than Gideon Fleyce quite realized that he should have
decided to throw in his lot with the discredited and dis-
heartened party. Probably it was due to his state of
ignorance. If he had known a little more he might have
acted otherwise. He had made his choice, and the Con-
servatives continued to revel in their supremacy all un-
conscious of what they had lost.
Captain O'Brien was not a man given to let the grass
grow under his feet. Having frankly taken up Gideon
he determined honestly to earn either the thousand pounds
or the two thousand pounds. There was no harm in the
transaction, nothing which a gentleman of unblemished
GIDEON FLEYCE.
21
honor might not undertake. It was done every day, and
though the gallant Captain would not like to be known as
an election agent, he did not object to the work, or to this
little windfall of ready money.
A day or two after he had seen Gideon in Carlton Street,
he looked in at the Reform Club, thinking he might find
there Sir Henry Gilbert, the Liberal Whip. Sir Henry
had been and gone, and O'Brien decided to stroll over to
the office and catch him there.
It was a bright day, with the sun shining through a sky
supernaturally blue for London. The snow which the
last days of the old year had scattered upon its grave was
already cleared, and the cold weather had given place to
something that seemed like April warmth. The town was
already full, the early summons of Parliament having given
an unwonted impetus to life. The clubs were crowded,
and men rarely seen in London in January were to be
found in the neighborhood of Pall Mall.
Captain O'Brien, walking down Parliament Street, met
one of these. Taken at a back view, it would not be
thought he was a very old man. He was smartly dressed
in a coat new as the year. In gracious recognition of this
spring day that had strayed into winter weather, the gar-
ment was of light gray, with trousers to match. A blue
necktie and lavender kid gloves over which mittens were
drawn, since it was not yet quite spring, completed an at-
tire remarkable'on any person on this particular day. But
the wearer was of himself a noted man.
He walked erect,
and with a certain swinging pace. But his progress was
slow, and there was a curious hesitation about lifting his
feet, which suggested that his boots were soled with lead.
Then his face was very old, leaden in hue, and with deeply
furrowed lines by the side of his month, the upper lip of
which was adorned by a little patch of hair, wonderfully
black, which just covered the portion of his upper lip im-
mediately under his nostrils, like an "imperial" trans-
planted.
He was evidently engrossed in the deepest thought, re-
garding passing events with lack-lustre eyes and with a
mind that was far away. Many people who passed raised
their hats in salutation. Sometimes when he caught the
motion he mechanically bent his head in acknowledgment,
but oftener, he did not see, and walked steadily on.
O'Brien knew him very well, and was indeed a personal
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favorite of his. He raised his hat as he passed, but Lord
Beaconsfield did not see him any more than he had seen
half-a-dozen who had gone before.
"Suppose he's thinking about the Queen's Speech, and
how much may not be told in so many lines, "O'Brien said
to himself as he turned round to regard the remarkable
figure with its fashionable clothes that seemed to belong
to a man of thirty, and its leaden footsteps that told of
fourscoure years.
"I've got a candidate for you, Gilbert," said O'Brien,
entering the room where the Whip was busily engaged
with his correspondence.
"Thank you. If you had got a borough or a county
you would have been more welcome."
22
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Well, you can't get them without a candidate. All
things must have a beginning, and in electioneering it's
usual to commence with a candidate.”
"Who's your man? Is he rich ?"
"Yes."
"And vulgar?"
"Rather."
"And ignorant?
"Very.
"Then I think, unless you are particularly interested,
we will let the matter drop. I have on my books now at
least fifty men who answer your description. The anxiety
to get into Parliament has increased, is increasing, and
ought to be diminished. Every man who has made a lit-
tle money in trade seems to leave a margin which he de-
votes to spending in the effort to get into Parliament.
Worst of it is they nearly all want 'assistance.' They will
give so much and I must find so much. The only thing
they throw in without deduction is their vulgarity and
their ignorance. I'm very glad to say that of late years
there's a tendency on the part of this class to go over to
the other side. But here again we're hit. It's only the
very rich who have any chance there. Dizzy with his far-
seeing way encourages that sort of thing. He likes to
have our old monopoly of trade and commerce broken
into, only his people draw the line at fifteen thousand a
year. Anything under that we may have; anything above
that is welcomed in proportion as the thousands mount
up.
They're useful for subscriptions at the Carlton,
pay all their own expenses, and make a neat and effec-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
23
素
​tive rounding off of the Conservative working man edi-
fice."
"I don't know how much my man has got. But I
think it's enough on the basis you set forth, to give him
the choice of either side. He has honored us with his
preference, and the thing is what can we do for him?”
"Will he pay all his expenses ?"
"Yes."
"Has he got any local connection ?”
"Not a shred. He's quite a new man, self-made, of
course, shrewd and clever in his way. Rather hit with the
notion that he has the making of a Parliamentary debater
in him, and may give you some trouble when you want
to close a debate. The odd thing is he wants to stand for
a county."
"Well, now that's modest! What would he like? North
Shropshire? or Middlesex, or perhaps Midlothian, where
he will bowl out the bold Buccleuch?”
"C
If you named any of these and advised him to stand
he would certainly go, for he knows no more reason why
he should not have a chance in any of these places than if
you named a county where a Liberal would have a walk-
over. But, of course, it's no use throwing a man away.”
""
"I'm not quite sure of that," said Gilbert. "If you can
get a man to break his teeth against one of those Tory
strongholds it does no harm—at least to no one but him-
self. It wakes the people up and shows us where we are.'
"That's all very well from your point of view. But, re-
member, I'm thinking of his interest. Let us at least give
him a good fight for his money. Haven't you got a borough
where a commercial sort of a man would have a chance?"
"Not one.
The whole kingdom has been surveyed, and
the boroughs carefully mapped out. We are supposed
to be in low water. If so it is'nt for want of candidates.
Many of them, like your friend, are no use, but they mean
fighting. My difficulty is keeping them from going at
each other's throats, and chucking good chances away.
Well, perhaps you will think it over. My man means
business. There are some aspects of him in which he is
by no means a fool. I believe that if he once sat down be-
fore a place, whether borough or county, he would work
in it a way that would astonish you old stagers. He has
plenty of money, and, if possible, even more of confi
dence in himself."
(6
*
A
*
1
24
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"That's a good sort of a man for the times. I'm a lit-
tle struck with your description. I will go through the
list again. Stop! here's Saxton, a one-horse borough,
which I should like to have a snap at. It's been in the
Montgomery family since '32, before which time it
returned two members. Ever since there's been only
one, but he's always a Montgomery. I'll think over Sax-
ton, and write to you And, now, good-bye. Just look at
these letters I have to deal with, and pitying, leave me.”
It was not amongst the least inexplicable problems in
party politics that Sir Henry Gilbert should be sitting
here in this dull ill-furnished room in Parliament Street,
slaving like a horse at correspondence, and working
against the grain at figures. All his natural tastes lay in
quite the other direction. An admirable shot, an enthu-
siastic fisherman, at home on the deck of a yacht, loving
horses, dogs, and country life, he consented to live and
slave in London during the best months of the year, and,
what at the time seemed even worse, he was obliged peri-
odically to run up to town when the clubs were empty,
when the House of Commons was clothed in brown Hol-
land, and when the town looked a wilderness.
It certainly was not as a means of livelihood that the
Yorkshire Baronet had accepted a post, the fascination of
which grew upon him yearly. Not to mention his broad
lands in Yorkshire, he had at the West End of London
something like a square acre, covered with princely
houses, and yielding a royal ground rent. It could not
be the attraction of place or the prospect of ultimate ·
reward. It is true that in English history a Whip had
once blossomed into the full glory of a Speaker of the
House of Commons. Others had been made Peers, and
doubtless that was the goal which Sir Henry Gilbert
would reach if in the meantime the incessant labor of his
office did not kill him. He murmured sometimes and
contrasted his lot with that of more favored men. If
things went right others got the praise; if anything
went wrong it was he that was to blame, and the
blame was none the less scathing because expressed in
courteous language. But, after all, he liked the work,
coming to it with renewed zest every session, though
drooping in the heats of July and agonized in August if
matters were so working that it was not possible to take
train northward on or before the twelfth.
Полтора
F
GIDEON FLEYCE.
3
25
CHAPTER V.
Mr. Tandy, Solicitor.
GIDEON FLEYCE's energy and his Napoleonic impetuos-
ity were contagious. He got through an enormous
amount of work in a day, and he expected others about him
to be equal to a similar strain. If he had read the New
Testament, which was not his habit, he would have found
a likeness of himself in the Centurion who said "to one
man go, and he goeth; and to another come, and he com-
eth." But Gideon's reading, limited in all other direc-
tions, was for obvious reasons cut off in Holy Writ at the
last verse of Malachi. He always meant to read, and hon-
estly envied men to whom, as to Dogberry, reading and
writing had come by nature. But he had read nothing,
not even the full history of his great exemplar the first
Napoleon, and it was a proof of his natural ability and
quickness that he was able to make such show in current
conversation as he did.
He had impressed O'Brien with the necessity of mov-
ing quickly in the matter of laying siege to some consti-
tuency. O'Brien had reported with modified fulness his
conversation with Sir Henry Gilbert, and Gideon, accept-
ing the inevitable, had relinquished his high ambition to
represent a county. He was not accustomed to waste his
time or his energies in vain regrets.
Vain regrets. He was now
embarking on a field in which he must, for a time at least,
be content to be led by others. He could not, as O'Brien
had said, go down to some market town and proclaim
himself the Liberal candidate. It was all dark to him,
the way, the men, and the means in politics. But he felt
sure that he could feel his way, and that presently he
would fall into his natural position of leader and let
others follow. A borough would do very well to begin
with. If necessary he would hereafter select his own
county, and win his seat without the interposition of any
middleman.
At present O'Brien was absolutely necessary to him
and, recognizing that fact, he thought he was cheap at a
A
phy
2
}
1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
thousand guineas, and would be much cheaper at two
thousand. Gideon, amongst innumerable matters, was
wont to plume himself upon the intuition with which he
picked out men to do his work. He liked to look at a
man, to talk to him half an hour without giving him
any hint of his intention, and then, if he were satisfied,
he would go home, write a note of three lines, and offer
him double the salary he was receiving to join his service.
He was not always right. But as far as O'Brien was con-
cerned there could be no doubt he had secured the one
man who could do his work if it could be done, and in
these circumstances Gideon knew how to make himself
agreeable.
The preliminaries arranged, O'Brien had descended
upon the unconscious borough of Saxton, and had an
interview with some of the local Liberal magnates. I say
some because he met several in company. But practically
there was only one. This was Mr. Tandy, whose name with
the word "solicitor" written after it caught whatever rays
of sun lighted upon the High Street. Mr. Tandy was one
of those naturally able men who, by some strange chance,
perhaps simple enough if we only enquired into the his-
tory of their lives, are content to lie chained to rusty
anchors in small and sleepy country towns.
He was a
man, at least Saxton thought so, who might have been
anything. If he had gone to London he would surely
have made his way to the head of his profession. But he
was content to stop in Saxton, ard had climbed to what-
ever dizzy heights were possible in the town. He had
been born in it, and, to do him justice, did not shrink
from reference to the little cabin on the top of the hill
by the church where his father had lived. The cupboard
in those days was precariously filled by the proceeds of
the aggregation of what Tandy senior called "odd jobs."
The market was fluctuating, and sometimes did not rise to
the level of meat twice a week. But Tandy, jun. thrived
upon whatever was going, and seemed to thrive scarcely
less when nothing was going, which was not unfrequent.
Having learned in early life to distrust odd jobs, he set
himself at a miraculously early age to acquire a permanent
situation. This was offered to him in the office of old Mr.
Solley, whose family for generations had advised the in-
habitants of Saxton on knotty points connected with the
administration of county court law, and on critical issues
26*
GIDEON FLEYCE.
27
14
}
with the executive as represented in the police court.
Young Tandy's first legal studies were bounded by the
daily necessity of sweeping out the office, copying letters,
and going errands. All this he did well, and by grada-
tions, which are more familiar in story books than easy in
real life, rose from being errand boy to the high position
of clerk, saved enough money to get his articles, gradually
took all the labor off the drooping shoulders of Mr. Solley,
was taken into partnership, and a year later stood by the
grave of his old employer, dressed in deepest black,
and setting an example of decorous affliction of which
Saxton took full note, and, it is to be hoped, profited by.
There was no one to dispute with him the heritage of his
late partner's business. After a due interval he reverently
took down the shabby and indented plate on the railings,
bearing the honored name of Solley, and presently the
placid life of Saxton was disturbed by the intelligence
that there was a new brass plate on the lawyer's railings
better and bigger and brighter than had ever been seen
before, and that on it was beautifully engraved,
"Mr. Tandy, Solicitor."
Mr. Tandy had all the business in Saxton, and for maný
miles round. But he felt it was painfully inadequate to
his capacity. These pettifogging cases, with their three-
and-fourpences, and their six-and-eightpences, were well
enough in their way; but their resemblance to the odd
jobs of the parental abode was a little painful. He had
tried a bigger thing when he attempted to promote con-
nection for Saxton with the trunk line that haughtily
swept by it at the distance of some thirteen miles. But
no one would build a railway to Saxton, a place whither
no one seemed to go, and, stranger still to the outsider, a
place which no one seemed to want to leave.
This had failed, for the present at least; but Mr. Tandy
did not despair. There was another field which he felt he
might legitimately crop, if it only were within reach. He
always felt it a personal matter, besides being a disgrace
to the British constitution, that Saxton was not in these
days contested at election time. The Montgomeries, who
owned half the town, and a good deal of the county, reg-
ularly returned some member of their family. This had
been the same for at least thirty years, though previously
Saxton had had its share of election excitement, which
meant beer and money for the electors and large fees for
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27
28
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​GIDEON FLEYCE.
able solicitors. Mr. Solley had been the Liberal agent in
those days, but had had no heart in the business nor any
aptitude for managing it. His man had been beaten so
hopelessly that the defeat, coming at the close of a series
of similar disasters, had shut off adventurers, and at each
succeeding election Amurath to Amurath had succeeded
to the representation, in the person of a Montgomery.
The advent of Captain O'Brien with a letter of intro-
duction from Mr. Walters, a Liberal landowner of the
county, opened up a cheerful prospect for Mr. Tandy.
Nature had gifted him with a phlegmatic disposition,
which he had assiduously cultivated. Not unconscious of
early defects in education, he had acquired a manner well
calculated to hide them. He did not, at least when in
public or in his office, talk much, and always in a slow,
deliberate manner, which enabled him to lie in wait, as it
were, for truant h's, to be properly particular about his
plurals, and to keep an eye on his nominative. He showed
no sign of elation when Captain O'Brien disclosed his
business, but rather dwelt upon the difficulties of the posi-
tion, the influence of the Montgomeries, and the exceed-
ingly bare chance there seemed for an outsider. All this
was not quite new to O'Brien, who had learned the history
of the borough from Gilbert. But Gideon meant to stand
an ascertained fact which cut short doubts and made dis-
quisition or difficulty mere waste of time.
"Mr. Tandy had undertaken to see about it. There were,
he said, several important burgesses to consult. The mat-
ter must be handled delicately, for many prejudices would
have to be overcome. Foremost among these, O'Brien
gathered, was the natural disinclination of a highly respec-
table town to be disturbed by the turmoil of a contested
election.
"I'll sound them," Mr. Tandy said with a troubled look,
as if he were certain beforehand of never reaching the bot-
tom. "We must go about the thing cautiously, for this is a
small place, and it won't do to stir up bad feeling without
any practical result. I suppose your man is ready to stand
the racket, and means to go through with it if we take him
up?"
""
'The best thing you can do," said O'Brien, "is to see
him. Perhaps he would come down here if an appoint-
ment were made."
So it was settled, and O'Brien went off by the first train
GIDEON FLEYCE.
29
*
in order that he might not interpose any delay in Mr. Tan-
dy's plunge into the process of "sounding." As he drove
off to the station he pictured to himself the lawyer going
about the town "sounding;" first with his knuckles on the
doors of the abodes of the burgesses, to see if they were at
home; then going in roundabout but highly artistic fashion
to ascertain their views with respect to running a Liberal
candidate.
Mr. Tandy did none of these things. He said not a word
to any one of his visitor, nor of the object of his journey,
but early the next morning he went off to London and
commenced soundings in that mighty deep. The operation
was directed to ascertaining the precise position of Gideon
Fleyce, and his capacity for standing what Mr. Tandy had
called “the racket" of a contested election, where it would
be necessary to secure the exclusive services of an able
lawyer, who might require considerable sums of money to
be dispensed in a strictly legal manner. It may be pre-
sumed that the result of his enquiries was satisfactory, for
two days later Gideon received a note in which Mr. Tandy
invited him to visit Saxton and confer with some of the
principal burgesses on the Liberal side on the subject of
Captain O'Brien's visit.
CHAPTER VI.
"I met with Napper Tandy."
"ONE, Two, Three-four, Five, SIX; One, Two, Three-
four, Five, SIX. That's a little better, papa, dear; if you
would only manage to get round a little quicker on Three-
four it would be better still, and you must take a longer
stride there. Now, try again. One, Two, Three-four, Five,
SIX; One, Two, Three-four, Five, SIX. But there are
various sorts of strides. There's the camel's and the
mouse's for example; and if you insist upon going right
off at the camel's stride,. you pull me up rather sharp.
Understand, you go round me at Three-four, and therefore
have to take a longer stride to keep time. Now, try again."
They were off waltzing round the room, she with as much
grace as was possible considering the circumstances of
矍
​>7
鼗
​GIDEON FLEYCE.
partnership, and he with the air and heaviness of a rhino-
ceros going to a funeral. It was nine o'clock at night, and
the scene was a dining-room, a good-sized room, not very
lofty, having a deep bay-window and plenty of red curtains.
There was a lamp on the table, which had been moved out
of the way, lest in the spasmodic efforts to come up to the
requirements of Three-four the gentleman should have
damaged that piece of furniture, solid as it was. There
were red curtains over the deep bay-window on which the
light from fire and lamp came back with a cheerful glow.
There was an old-fashioned book-case filled with an ex-
ceedingly miscellaneous assortment, including Stone's
Manual of Magistrates' Law, and Miss Braddock's disquisi-
tion on Aurora Floyd.
W
*30
7
The instructress was a young lady of eighteen, dressed
with great taste in some material, the name of which I
really do not know: but it was of dark green, looked silky,
fitted tightly an exceedingly pretty figure, and was decently
fastened at the throat. If the testimony of several young
men in and near Saxton might be accepted as unbiassed, I
should feel no hesitation in describing the young lady as
bewitchingly beautiful. But when I come to turn over in
my mind, with the view of cataloguing and describing
each particular feature, I am afraid doubt would be thrown
on the perfect impartiality of the youths.
She had a good deal of hair, which, like her dress, was
worn in plainest fashion. She so far came up to the re-
quirements of the usual kind of beauty, that her eyes had
in them a certain hue reminiscent of the violet. Looking
at her (if one ever got a chance of doing so without being
discovered) the thought would enter the mind that in cer-
tain phases of humor this violet hue would grow softer
and deeper, and would look all the more beautiful when
slightly dimmed as the violet is with the dew upon it.
But that was a mood in which, if the young lady ever in-
dulged in it, it must have been when out of sight of man-
kind, or even of womankind. Generally her eyes were
sparkling with fun or delight, or sometimes even with
wickedness, and when she was in this mood, with just an
adáed tinge of color on her cheeks, and with a musical
laugh rippling out between pearly teeth, the judgment of
the young men above recorded did not appear so capable
of being reversed by calmer tribunals as the hasty mind
might at first be inclined to surmise.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Y
*
31
The young lady's parent was a big man, heavy one
might suppose in any circumstances, but just now weighed
down with the total impossibility of getting round at the
right time in the waltz, and feeling oppressed by his natu-
ral incapacity for what seemed to come so easy and
natural to the young lady in the tight-fitting dress and the
one white rose in her hair. His aspect was ludicrously
funereal. Early in the evening, before being so far pro-
moted as to go round with his partner, he had been nearly
overcome in the struggle with his right foot, the heel of
which he well knew when the young lady pronounced the
monosyllable SIX, should be found brought close up to
his left heel. But so far from this being the case, he was
invariably discovered with his legs wide apart. The
teacher was patient and he was dogged, and at the end he
had triumphed, and would have made quite a success of it
only in the excitement of the moment, and having his
mind, as it were, concentrated upon this final difficulty, he
had fallen into the habit of bringing his heels together
with a loud crash.
"I'm getting a bit dazed now, Napper, my dear, and
perhaps it wouldn't be worth while to go on any further
to-night, though, of course, I will if you think I should.”
“No, papa, dear, I think that will do for to-night. Only
you know the worst of it is we've to begin over again
every night at precisely the same place. I know quite
well that when we start to-morrow night, when you have
had your nap after dinner, you will at the sound of SIX
be discovered standing with your legs wide apart in the
middle of the room, and with that comical look of despair
on your dear old face which sends me into a fit of laugh-
ing, and then we get nothing done. Couldn't you keep it
up a bit during the day?"
"I did, my dear, and have run the most fearful risks of
detection. Only this morning a gentleman came down
from London to see me on particular business. I had
put the chairs on one side, and was going round and
round with One, Two, Three-four, Five, SIX, and was, I
think, getting into it first-rate, when the boy knocked at
the door, and throwing it open showed him in. He must
have heard me counting, and so, as at the moment I had
just been brought up short at the book-case, I went on,
making believe to count the books before I turned round
to greet him. Do we sing now, my dear?”
→
A
بول
32,
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Yes, papa; only perhaps you would like to get a little.
breath first. I'll play over the tune, so that you'll catch
it before you begin."
She sat at the piano and played over the air of "The
Wearing of the Green," singing a bar here and there and
nodding gaily to her father, who sat in the arm-chair,
thumping his hand on the arm-beating time he thought
it was, though to tell the truth the time had nothing what-
ever to do with the music.
"Now, papa, stand up, and don't come out with such a
boom to start with as you sometimes do.”
The troubled expression came back to the man's face as
in prompt obedience to the command he rose and stood
by the piano. Then he began in a voice that seemed
to complete the similitude ventured on with respect to
his dancing. I never heard a rhinoceros sing, but if
there had been one in the next house it certainly might
have been expected to have made response to what would
have seemed to it a companion in distress.
I met with Napper Tandy and she took me by the hand,
Saying, how is poor ould Ireland, and how does she stand?
Then in amid the roar, distinct among its demoniac ris-
ings and its hapless fallings, stole in a rich, bright voice,
lending an infinite pathos to the reply of that mysteri-
ous personage named in the verse.
She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,
Where they're hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.
"That's a little too high for you, papa, and is not at all
the song I would teach you.
""
"But I like it, my dear, above all.
I heard it years ago
when you were a little thing in frills and petticoats, and I
was in some degree a master in my own house. I used to
sing it to you, and then you got the name, and I believe
more than half the people in Saxton believe you were
christened Napper.'
"This is not quite the same tune, papa, you used to sing
to me. In fact, it's so very long since you heard it, and
perhaps heard it only once, that you got quite a tune of
your own, which had no more to do with the proper air
than sawing wood has."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
1
33
"That's just your impudence. After I had been singing
this to you for years, and when you were a little thing you
have come and sat on my knee and thrust your curls in
my eyes, and asked me to sing 'Napper Tandy' to you.
As soon as you were old enough to fiddle on the piano and
get your own tune out of music books you pretended to
have made the discovery that my tune was not to be found
in the book. All that I can say is that I can't see any dif-
ference. Not that I mean to say you are not right, but I
will say what I was singing to you was the same tune.”
"And then, papa, I've told you so often that Napper
Tandy was a 'he' and you always sing 'she.'"
"And so I shall to the end. I know only one Napper
Tandy, and I know by her perversity that she is a girl.'
""
Whereupon the fond parent laid his hand upon the
beautiful hair, drew the soft cheek with its bloom peach
tenderly against his own, and proceeded to conduct him-
self in a manner that would have been fatal to the peace
of mind of any one of the half-dozen young gentlemen of
Saxton and its neighborhood before alluded to.
I have refrained as long as possible from introducing
the gentleman by name, feeling a certain shame-facedness
in the circumstances in which we have discovered him.
But a man cannot in certain aspects of his life go through
three volumes of a novel anonymously. It would obvi-
ously be inconvenient to be obliged to refer to him in
private life as the householder who sings "The Wearing of
the Green," or the gentleman who waltzes after dinner
with his daughter, or even as the father of Napper Tandy.
In the latter case the secret would be out at once, and as
everybody would know that this was Mr. Tandy, solicitor,
whose brass plate was at this moment (as well it might be)
blinking in astonishment on the front railings, the confes-
sion may as well be made with good grace.
It may even be added that in this, or in some similar
way, Mr. Tandy was accustomed to spend his evenings in
the society of his daughter. The singing lessons had been
going on for at least four years without any appreciable
diminution of Mr. Tandy's tendency to
(( start with a
boom." The dancing was a later undertaking, and had
special reference to the approaching county ball. Napper
Tandy had been to her first ball in the previous January,
and had fed for the subsequent twelve months upon its
ecstatic delight. To say that she danced well would be to
**
O
2*
?
34
GIDEON FLEYCE.
occupy time in a manner insulting to the intelligence of
any man gifted with ordinary eyesight. She had learned
dancing at Professor Tangye's, a celebrated instructor,
who had done much to educate this part of the county.
She went through the full course of lessons. But as the
Professor admitted, when it was complete and his charge
established she might have learned everything in a single
night, or at most in three.
She danced long before she looked upon the lank hair
of the Professor or heard the twang of his fiddle. Her
walk was a dance, time and style being regulated by the
circumstances of the moment and fettered by the accident
whether she were walking up the aisle to her pew in
church or skipping across the meadows with Knut, the
colley that Sir James Montgomery had had specially trained
and presented to her.
**
Napper had ever so many partners a year ago, and with-
out thinking too precisely about individuals she knew that
this time she would have ever so many more. But she had
made up her mind that on this occasion her first waltz
should be given to her father. Last year, as through some
previous years before she had been promoted to the state
and dignity at which in country towns girls may go to the
county ball, he had been well content with the attraction
of the whist room, varied by occasional incursions into
the supper room. If the truth were told he would have
viewed the approaching celebration with greater equa-
nimity if he had not had this horrible refrain of One, Two,
Three-four, Five, SIX, ringing in his ears, with the con-
sciousness of all it portended.
But Napper had said she must dance with him, and if
she had said he must give up his profitable and growing
business, and go about with her to grind an organ whilst
she put a monkey through its paces, he would not have
thought of disputing her mandate.
But singing was another matter. He rather thought he
had capacities in that direction, which though maimed by
lack of opportunity in early life, might be made something
of. He made a great deal of it in church on Sundays, for
there was a pretty full congregation, a good organ, and a
strong choir, and a man singing A flat when he ought to be
tuning B sharp was a small consequence, albeit he opened
his mouth wide, threw out his chest, and gave his voice
full play.
•
कुनै समय हुन
#
GIDEON FLEYCE.
35
Napper was a little doubtful as to his ultimate success
in this walk. He might, she sometimes thought, in san-
guine moments, be got to go through a waltz with a little
assistance from his partner. But in the matter of singing,
the deficiency of his sense of tune and time was a little
embarrassing. Still it pleased him to sing, and the house
being semi-detached, with the piano set by the outer wall,
it did not distress the neighbors.
"What have you been doing to-day, papa?" said
Napper, when the lesson was over, and they were seated
by the fire.
"Much the usual round, my dear. Letters to write,
clients to see, two cases in the County Court, and a visit
from a gentleman from London, though that certainly did
touch a matter something out of the common way."
"What was it? Anything to do with the railway you
were so anxious about two years ago that you did not
have your singing lesson for three weeks, and have not yet
I'm afraid quite recovered the lost ground."
"No, it's something livelier than that. It is the prospect
of a contested election. It's not my secret, and I should
not tell you except that I know you don't tell again. But
I think we shall have some life in the town presently; and
now, my dear, trot off to bed, for I must be up early to
catch the train for London in the morning."
"But you'll be back at night?"
"Yes, I'll be back at night," said Mr. Tandy, his eyes
drooping, and a worn expression taking the place of the
eager, elated look with which he had referred to the pos-
sibilities of the election. He was thinking of the difficulty
of getting round at Three-four, and of the hard dealing of
Providence with some men, handicapping them with an
ineradicable disposition to be left with their feet astride at
the numeral six.
CHAPTER VII.
The Conscript Fathers.
Busy, Mr. Dumfy ?" said Gideon, passing through the
office on the morning he had received the note from Mr.
Tandy.
"No, sir," said Mr. Dumfy, deferentially and even apolo-
<<
€
36
&
gideon fleyCE.
getically. The presumption was that if a man engaged
a clerk and had for his sole use an outer room lined with
tin deed boxes, and further supplied him plentifully with
pens, ink, and paper, it would be more agreeable to him
to know that he was busy. But in addition to the convic-
tion, long built up in the mind of Mr. Dumfy, that it was
no use trying to come over any member of the family
which owed its parentage to the Spider, he thought that
Gideon, having evidently formed some other plans, would
not be aggrieved to hear that business in the office in
Carlton Street was not brisk. The old times when the
Patriarch was in possession, and when no day passed but
there was a good haul, had flown for ever. Gideon had a
large and apparently profitable business. But it did not
require much clerical assistance, and was not transacted in
Carlton Street.
(C
'Ah, well," said Gideon, "I dare say you can spare the
time to go into the country for a bit. It may not come
off, but I fancy it will, and it is well to be prepared. I
am going into Parliament, and have accepted proposals
made to me on behalf of the Opposition to contest a place
called Saxton-by-the-Sea. I'm going down to-day to see
some people there, and I want you to go with me, for if
it's all settled I shall leave you down there a good deal to
look after things and report."
1
"Very well, sir," said Mr. Dumfy, rubbing his hands,
"of course I shall be ready to go with you to-day. But is
there any prospect of what I may call continual residence
out of London."
"That will depend; but what does it matter? Wouldn't
you like to have a change? Nice watering-place you know,
dip in the sea before breakfast, catch your own shrimps
and eat them at tea, isn't that the sort of thing?"
"Yes," said Dumfy dubiously, his hesitation having
reference rather to the bath before breakfast than to the
shrimps at tea. "But you see, sir, I have a little establish-
ment, humble in its way, but still a home, situate at Cam-
den Town. My salary here, though not enriching, enables
me to pay my way. But there would be many charges in
connection with removal to the salubrious neighborhood
you have so kindly mentioned.”
"Oh, that'll be all right. When you're down there you'll
live at my expense, which I suppose would be so much in
your pocket.'
GIDEON FLEYCE.
37
+
"Thank you, sir, but there's another little matter.
There's Rehoboth.'
>>
"Where on earth is Rehoboth? or what is it-a patent
medicine?”
}
"It's our meeting-place, sir."
"Oh, a club, a free and easy. I never suspected you of
that. You have not quite the air of a chairman.”
"No, sir," said Mr. Dumfy, smiling faintly, and not
without a consciousness that in thus encouraging the jest.
he was doing even as Naaman when "my master goeth
into the house of Rimmon to worship there and I bow
myself in the house of Rimmon.” "Rehoboth's our place
of meeting on the Sabbath, our Chapel in short. I never
miss a service there, and am, so to say, the senior deacon.”
"Do you want to take Rehoboth with you?”
"No, sir, but it would be a breaking up of old associa-
tion, and indeed a blow to the worldly position of the
place, seeing that I'm accustomed to put on one side a pro-
portion of my weekly income to sustain the ministration.
"2
"Can't you do that from Saxton? Send up a Post-
Office order or hand in the amount, I suppose it's not large,
at the end of the month?"
"If I absented myself from the work of the deaconship
I should esteem it a duty to try and make up in whatever
small way by money gift, and I was thinking that perhaps
in the circumstances you would like to take that into con-
sideration in my weekly wage."
"Oh! nonsense. But if it will make your conscience
easy I'll tell you what I'll do. Give me the address of
Jeroboam, and I'll send a pound a month whilst you're
away."
Mr. Dumfy's countenance fell. To the worldly eye this
seemed to meet the case. But Mr. Dumfy's eye was not
worldly.
"It's Rehoboth, sir, not Jeroboam.
Your proposal is
very kind, and would meet the case except that you some-
times might forget, and it would be troubling you too
much amid your big affairs to mention our humble en-
deavors in the Camden Road. If you would kindly add
the five shillings a week to my intaking on the Saturday
that would be the simplest plan."
So it was settled, and Mr. Dumfy, his bosom's lord sit-
ting lightly on its throne, went down second-class to Cold-
harbor Junction, the nearest railway point to Saxton. He
38
GIDEON FLEYCE.
had a shrewd suspicion that Gideon, who was a curious
mixture of meanness and magnificence, would never deduct
the five shillings a week even when the business of Saxton
was concluded, and the occasion for this special donation
to the weekly offertory at Rehoboth had ceased to exist.
Thirty shillings a week paid regularly was the assessment
of the value of Mr. Dumfy's services in Carlton Street. In
olden times, when customers were plenty, this, though
small, was regarded as sufficient. It was more in the way
of retainer, fees, sometimes very large, flowing into Mr.
Dumfy's coffers for value received in connection with ser-
vices not exactly rendered to his employer. Now as clients
were few, whilst the wages remained stationary, five shil-
lings a week was an addition not to be despised. More-
over there was a prospect of free quarters at Saxton, and
possibly the handling of miscellaneous moneys. It was
hard to leave the little home in Camden Town and the
companionship of Mrs. Dumfy. But the separation would
be brief, and the five shillings were sure.
Gideon's rendezvous with the Conscript Fathers at Sax-
ton was fixed at the Blue Lion, an hotel which in former
and happier days had always been the headquarters of the
Liberal party, and had seen some rare pranks. Old Mr.
Goldfinch, the grocer in High Street, who in the prime of
his manhood had done the State some service, bribing
heavily in the interests of Parliamentary Reform during
the contest of 1832, had many pleasing stories to relate
about the place. Perhaps most popular, though at this
epoch a little stale, was the story of how Roger Mont-
gomery had ridden into the coffee-room on his famous
horse Earl Gray; how from the vantage ground of the
saddle he had made a stirring speech to the freeholders ;
how they had drunk a good deal (Roger, indeed, had
started with refreshments early in the morning); how when
the meeting was over Earl Gray resolutely refused to pass
out; how Roger Montgomery swore a great oath that if
he would not go by the door he should go by the window;
how the window sashes were taken out, and how Roger
getting what run was possible in the big room, had clapped
spurs to Earl Gray and dashed out through the window
into the High Street, and so ridden home, as if that were
his usual way of leaving a political meeting.
It was in a smaller but cosier room that Mr. Tandy re-
ceived the new candidate and his clerk. The influential
GIDEON FLEYCE.
39
burgesses, whose support was so difficult to secure and
so absolutely necessary to success, were, when Gideon
entered, ranged in chairs around the table, as if they were
about to hold an inquest. They had been standing before
the fire engaged in social conversation when the candidate
drove up.
But at the sound of carriage wheels they as-
sumed this position as one more befitting the importance
of the occasion and their own unpurchasable dignity.
Gideon shook hands with them all round very warmly,
at once introducing into the consultation a desirable air of
cordiality. Some of this was in return spent upon Mr.
Dumfy, with whom Mr. Tandy first shook hands, an ex-
ample followed with great impressment by the four Con-
script Fathers, who were not quite sure he was not a
second candidate, a fact which, whilst it would increase
the interest of the situation, would certainly mean the in-
troduction of more capital in the event of the negotiations
terminating happily.
M
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Tandy, "you know what we are
here for, and it will not be necessary to go into a formal
statement of affairs. The gentleman we see before us—
him in the arm-chair by the fireplace," Mr. Tandy hastily
added, for the Conscript Fathers, disappointed to find
there was only one, were not quite sure in which direction
they should turn their eyes-" has come recommended by
influential members of the Liberal party in London. What
is more to our taste, for we are not accustomed in Saxton
to be dictated to by cliques in London, is that he has the
warm support and is personally vouched for by a gentle-
man whom we are proud, in various distant degrees, to
call our friend, I mean Mr. Walters, of Stoneleigh."
The Conscript Fathers nodded approval. Mr. Walters
was of a good family, and though he did not spend in Sax-
ton so much as might have been expected he did not al-
together neglect the town.
(6
Perhaps Mr. Fleyce would like to state his opinions
on the principal political topics of the hour. We go in
here for true Liberalism, which we take to be the greatest
good of the greatest number."
(6
Certainly," said Gideon, feeling in his breast coat
pocket, and producing a bundle of notes.
He had had the day before an hour's talk with O'Brien,
who had jotted down for him a few heads on which it
might be desirable that he should enlarge in order to sat-
}
Kam jo
40
GIDEON FLEYCE.
isfy the natural hankering of his future constituents after
precise information on his political views. His secret
fear was lest, knowing nothing whatever on any one of
them, he might mix them up, and offer a few remarks on
the extension of the county franchise, which really belong-
ed to the section of local rating. But he had taken every
precaution and was never chary about trusting himself.
"Before our friend begins," said a piping voice that ap-
propriately belonged to Mr. Goldfinch," there are one or
two little matters which we might allude to.
Before 1832
I well remember when a candidate came down we used
to begin at the beginning. Of course, we are a locality,
and if you don't have localities you can't have a State.
Therefore, I think we should begin with local topics, and
can come to State affairs by and by.”
Gideon looked appealingly to Mr. Tandy for explana-
tion of what this might mean, but Mr. Tandy had with-
drawn behind his stoniest expression, and was looking
straight out of the window at nothing.
"The fact is," said Mr. Firminger, "we expect our mem-
bers to look after us. There's a good deal to be done in a
small place like this, and we don't like men as knows more
about the road to India than the way down High Street.”
Mr. Firminger was a butcher, and, as he said in mo-
ments of self-congratulation, accustomed to come down
sharp on the block.
"I think," said Gideon, hastily looking at his notes,
"that the gentleman is quite right. There's a great deal
of nonsense talked about the road to India. The difficul-
ties in the way of Russia are enormous. Whether they
go one way or whether they go the other, there's noth-
ing but trouble before them. There's a mountain they'll
have to get over. I can't at the moment remember its
name," he said, turning his notes over.
"Oh! never mind," said Mr. Burnap; "never mind just
now, sir. What Mr. Firminger says is quite right. We're
men of business, and what we wants to know before we
goes further into this 'ere affair is, what's your view of
relief of the rates?"
"Ah! the local rates," said Gideon, carefully putting on
one side the folio marked County Franchise. "Yes, that's
a burning question which must be settled, and will be
settled to your satisfaction, gentlemen, if we can only get
back a Liberal Government. My own opinion is—is-
""
GIDEON FLEYCE.
*i
4I
O'Brien had not done this very well. He had made the
note a little too full, going into the history of the question
instead of getting the opinion at the top quite handy. An
awkward pause ensued, Gideon turning over the papers
with a face like a turkey cock's in color. Mr. Firminger
snapped his fingers. Mr. Goldfinch shook his head. Mr.
Burnap commenced to whistle a tune, whilst Mr. Tandy
looked straight out of the window. Gideon began to see
he was not making much way. He felt sure he was quite
sound on the question of local rates if that confounded
O'Brien had only put his opinion immediately at the top
of the page instead of burying it in a lot of notes not too
easily decipherable. He could make nothing of the faces
round him, and was beginning to think politics formed a
more difficult field than he had believed, when up and
spoke Mr. John Griggs, the upholsterer.
"It's no use beating about the bush and talking about
local rating and the road to Indier. We're all plain men
of business. We've come here to meet you, and what
we want to know is your views on particular affairs. Of
course, if you're a Liberal, you are a Liberal, and there's
an end o' that. But what about conducting the election
on a decent basis? I'm a plain man, and talk straight.
What about the annual dinner, and even two annual din-
ners-one at Christmas and one at midsummer, as were
known in old times-what about the subscriptions?"
A light broke in upon the bemused candidate. Here,
at least, he was at home, and with great satisfaction he
folded up and put in his pocket the notes on his views on
political topics which Captain O'Brien, in the profundity
of his alleged knowledge of these matters, had insisted
upon his taking with him.
"Gentlemen," he said, with his smile coming back, and
all the easy confidence returned, "those are matters on
which you will find me as straight as my estimable friend
here, whose name I have not the pleasure of knowing-
66
Griggs, sir, upholsterer, High Street, if you will allow
me, I'll give you my card."
((
My friend, Mr. Griggs, whose upholstery I'll warrant
is not equalled by any of the houses in London, puts the
matter in an admirably clear light. A long study of poli-
tical questions, I admit, had the tendency at the outset to
obscure my appreciation of the situation. When a man
is full of a matter it's likely to be running out at all sea-
""
R
授業​と
​42*
GIDEON FLEYCE.
sons, and some that are not quite convenient. But I
think, gentlemen, if you will take for granted adhesion
to those Liberal principles which have made the country
great, we might talk in a friendly way of other matters."
Gideon's relief from embarrassment was contagious.
The Conscript Fathers resumed their look of pleased
intelligence, while Mr. Tandy withdrew his gaze from
the outer wall, and looked round the table, even per-
mitting his eye to rest in a friendly manner upon the can-
didate.
"Perhaps, Mr. Tandy," said Gideon, "you can give us
some information of those charitable institutions which
are so great an honor to small constituencies. Of course
you have an infirmary?"
((
“No,” said Mr. Tandy, with a touch of regret in his
voice, we have not at present an infirmary. But we
think that in course of time, if parties keep pretty well
balanced, and dissolutions take place with moderate fre-
quency, we will manage a cottage hospital. In the mean-
time, there's a cricket club, a most deserving institution.
Also there's the Benevolent Longshoremen's Society,
which is doing an admirable work, and is now a little
short of funds. We've also a House for Decayed Bur-
gesses. Of course, we have, or should expect to have, a
bazaar occasionally, and I'm not quite sure that we might
not get up a regatta, or at least a race for the boatmen, a
most estimable body who vote straight one way or the
other, according as they like the candidate. Men, not,
measures,' is, I may say, their motto."
"These are all good works," said Gideon, who had care-
fully, and perhaps ostentatiously, made a note of the list,
"in which I should feel privileged to assist. Of course, I
need not say in the presence of a gentleman, whose legal
attainments are not unknown to the profession in Lon-
don, that there are certain views entertained by the law to
the prejudice of particular expenditure of money on the
eve of an election."
"That we will guard against," said Mr. Tandy.
"Then there's the Foresters," piped Mr. Goldfinch.
"You don't happen to be a Forester?”
"No," said Gideon, "though I remember even in early
days how greatly I longed to be admitted to that mystic
brotherhood. There's something so fresh in their occu-
pation, something so tasty in their attire, that, though not
GIDEON FLEYCE.
43.
enrolled in membership, I have always felt as if I were
one of them,"
"Ah!" chirped Mr. Goldfinch, pleased beyond expres-
sion at this appreciation. "I've been a Forester for forty
years. I remember in '32, when I was carrying the flag
-me and the Stummer, we used to call him as lived be-
hind the Almshouses-you know, Griggs, that had only
one arm, and his father used to say-
>>
"There's another matter I've been thinking of," said Mr.
Griggs, and he had been thinking of it so intensely that
he did not hear the shrill voice of his old crony, and
ruthlessly broke in upon his reminiscences. "I think a
member ought to live in the town he represents. I don't
hold with people who get into Parliament for a borough
and only see it when they come down to make a speech.
There's a good deal of talk about a man having a stake
in the country; what I says is, let a man have a stake in
the borough."
(6
Certainly," said Mr. Firminger, in whose mind the men-
tion of one having a stake in the borough opened up
possibilities of large supplies of meat to a big house.
us.
That's very well put. We're old-fashioned people in
Saxton, and like to have our member living next door to
""
"Not next door to your shop you don't mean, Mr. Fir-
minger?" Mr. Burnap, the builder, interposed with an
air of gentle correction. "There's lots of nice sites just
outside the town where a gentleman of taste might build
a mansion."
"And, I daresay," said Gideon pleasantly, "that Mr.
Griggs would be able to furnish it in a style worthy of
Saxton. I'm much struck with this notion. I have al-
ready a little cottage in the country, but that's a mere
trifle. I like Saxton. I think it would suit me. In fact
I feel better already, though I've been only an hour or so
in the place. There's something about the sea air that
does us poor Londoners good," and Gideon sniffed about
as if he clearly discerned the flavor of seaweed in the
dull and stained green table-cloth before him.
This action brought to his recollection something that
he had temporarily forgotten, but which justified O'Brien's
appreciation of his skill in conducting such a delicate
business as that upon which he was now embarking. He
had, upon his arrival, ascertained from the landlord the
}
44
2
เ
GIDEON FLEYCE.
precise number of gentlemen waiting to see him, and
had thereupon given instructions for the preparation of
dinner equal to the number, and as nearly worthy of the
occasion as the shortness of notice permitted. Gideon
sniffing the scent of imaginary seaweed, became conscious
of the odor of turkey.
"I think, gentlemen, we are on all fours now. If there
are any matters of detail not yet mentioned, let it be un-
derstood that no economical consideration will prevent
me doing my duty to burgesses who shall honor me with
their confidence."
"There's poles and banners," said Mr. Goldfinch, who
by this time had forgotten the personal reminiscences of
Stummer's father, upon which he had earlier embarked.
"Ah! my friend," said Gideon, with his most engaging
smile, “those were little adornments of an election well
enough in your day, but in ours I'm afraid they're pro-
hibited. Isn't it so, Mr. Tandy?"
"Flags are illegal," said Mr. Tandy, a little shortly, feel-
ing that here was an opinion being got out of him without
any visible connection with six and eightpence. "But
you may have poles."
"Then we'll have poles," said Gideon gayly; "and now,
gentlemen, I took the liberty of ordering a little refresh-
ment. As a preliminary to my having a stake in Saxton,
let us have a chop in the next room, eh?"
What with the excitement of the meeting, his pleasure
at Gideon's appreciation of Forestry, combined with the
prospect of large orders for grocery at the new house
which Mr. Burnap was to build and Mr. Griggs to furnish,
this joke was nearly the death of poor old Goldfinch.
"It went down the wrong way," he explained, when by
vigorous slapping on the back they had brought him
round.
The younger men enjoyed it not the less acutely be-
cause with greater physical comfort. There were more of
these flashes as the Conscript Fathers sat round the turkey
on the table. Mr. Firminger would as soon have seen a
good round of beef or a saddle of mutton, though a little
mollified by the presence of a great dish of mutton chops
which prefaced the attack on the turkey, and which he
knew had made a big hole in the stock of a certain shop
over the way. But for the rest the feast was an unalloyed
pleasure, none enjoying himself more thoroughly than
GIDEON FLEYCE.
45
Gideon. He had started badly with those confounded
notes of O'Brien. But when once he got the ropes in his
own hand see how he has steered! He had discovered in
himself quite an unsuspected talent for repartee and hu-
mor, to the power of which occasional outbreaks of cough-
ing on the part of Mr. Goldfinch still testified.
Mr. Tandy proposed the health of "The New Member
for Saxton," which was drunk upstanding and three times
three. Gideon responded with his hand in his waistcoat
and with a tone of much emotion. He was quite surprised
at his own eloquence. No faltering over words, no`hark-
ing back to reconstruct sentences; all as glib and as easy
as the outpouring of a water-tap. As for idea, if you had
only seen the Conscript Fathers how they thumped the
table, how they shouted "Hear, hear!" and how thirsty it
all made them, you would have had no further doubt on
that point.
-
It was late, and fortunately dark, when the Conscript
Fathers strolled forth arm in arm to seek their respective
hearths. They had agreed to take Goldfinch home first
on account of his age. But Gideon, who drank very little
wine, thought as he stood at the door of the Blue Lion,
waving his adieus, that it would be rather hard on the last
man when, having seen number three home, he would
have to find his own house unassisted.
CHAPTER VIII.
An Electioneering Agent.
WHEN Mr. Burnap suggested among the things that
would be expected from a popular member for Saxton
that he should build a house in or near the borough, he
all unconsciously touched a responsive chord in Gideon's
nature. As appeared in connection with his dealings with
the cottage, few things delighted him more than building,
unless, indeed, it were pulling down. He was not ac-
customed to argue with himself on the question of per-
sonal expenditure. If he had, he might reasonably have
urged that since he had no natural tendency towards some
of the vices of his fellow-men, he might, being able to
Cat
+
GIDEON FLEYCE.
afford it, fairly indulge in this particular fad. He neither
smoked nor drank, abstaining not on moral grounds, but
simply because the smell of tobacco made him feel sick,
and an extra glass of wine gave him a headache in the
morning. As compared with the cost of the luxury of
building and rebuilding, cigars and wine would have been
a mere trifle. But that is Gideon's affair, not ours.
46
2
·
What he had to consider was not whether he should
spend money, but whether the prospects of his campaign
at Saxton were sufficiently good to induce him to enter
upon lavish expenditure in the way of opening up per-
manent relations with the place. He did not definitively
decide on the morning after his banquet to the Conscript
Fathers. It was too big a thing to be settled right off.
Gideon stopped one day a week at the Blue Lion, a pleas-
ant hostelry, at which Mr. Dumfy was also put up, greatly
to his content.
Without disclosing any facts personal to himself, or
hinting at the nature of his intention, Gideon in this way
managed to learn a good deal about Saxton, and of the
prospects of any man who would in a bold and liberal way
oppose Mr. Montgomery.
He found that the way of regarding politics attribu-
ted to the Longshoremen was pretty fairly distributed
throughout the borough. Men, not measures was what
Saxton wanted. Mr. Montgomery was pretty well in his
way. He was of good family, lived close at hand, had a
pew
in the parish church, subscribed temperately to the
local charities, and spent a fair sum of money in the town.
Of late Mr. Goldfinch's declining years had been disturbed
by a horrible suspicion that Mr. Montgomery was dealing
with some of the co-operative stores in London. There
were rumors of large deal boxes coming by train to Cold
Harbor Junction, and thence conveyed in a covered cart
to the Hall. At present this did not go beyond the length
of suspicion. But it was talked of a good deal in the par-
lor of the Blue Lion, as Mr. Dumfy was able to report,
after having in the interest of his employer spent an even-
ing there, smoked three pipes and drank three glasses of
gin and water, which duly appeared in the bill.
Moreover, Mr. Montgomery too, in his occasional inter-
course with the electors, had grown into the habit of as-
suming perpetuity of tenure. A Montgomery had sat for
Saxton through fifty years, and that any stranger should
издать любовь
47
entertain a notion of contesting the borough would have
seemed to Mr. Montgomery not only shocking, but ridic-
ulous. The stranger might, he would have thought, with
equal reason have disputed his right to walk in his own
picture gallery, or to appropriate the armchair by his own
fireside.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Saxton had accepted this condition of affairs partly
through long habit, but principally, Gideon thought, be-
cause it saw no prospect of release. He learned enough
from his own observation, which tallied with Mr. Dumfy's
reports, that he had not only a very good chance at Sax-
ton, but that if the election were properly conducted he
was certain to oust the present member. What properly
conducted meant he had gathered from his interview with
the Conscript Fathers, and he was quite prepared to fall
in with the prevailing views of the place. He was not the
kind of man to spoil an enterprise by niggardliness.
Whatever measure of consideration he bestowed upon an
undertaking was exhausted when he had determined to
embark upon it. The question with him was: Is the
thing worth undertaking? That answered in the affirma-
tive it was worth whatever expenditure of money might
be demanded.
There was another meeting of the Conscript Fathers at
which Captain O'Brien was present, and at which Gideon
was formally accepted as the Liberal candidate. Up to
this time the secret of Gideon's business in Saxton had
been kept close. Now there was no occasion for further
mystery. Mr. Goldfinch having the seal taken off his lips,
or rather his beak, chirped the good news all over the
town. It was talked of in the smoking-room at the Blue
Lion, where it was received with universal applause. The
gentlemen of Liberal politics, of course, rejoiced in the
forthcoming freedom of their ancient town from the thral-
dom of Toryism, backed up by family influence. The
Conservatives pooh-poohed the chances of "The political
adventurer," as they called Gideon, but did not conceal
their satisfaction at the prospect of a contested election.
It would put life into the town and make money spin.
Gideon soon began to find himself occupying the posi-
tion and enjoying the delights of being a public man.
The landlord of the Blue Lion simultaneously doubled
his attention and added fifty per cent. to his charges.
When Gideon walked about the streets he was conscious
}
48
GIDEON FLEYCE.
of people staring at him, and felt a glow of satisfaction as
he heard them whisper "That's him!" The electors could
see at a glance that the new candidate was a much better
dressed man than the old member. His clothes fitted his
plump person like a glove, his hat was unfailingly radiant,
his gloves new, and his boots perfect. Withal there was
nothing of the dandy in his appearance. He was simply
well dressed, with just that suspicion of everything being
a little too new, before noted.
The Longshoremen took to him from the very first. It
is a peculiarity of the vocation of this class of citizens that
they should have a good deal of leisure. To the casual
observer it might appear that they earned an honest liv-
ing by lounging about the beach with their hands deeply
set in their trousers' pockets and their eyes intently fixed
on the distant horizon. Here Gideon found them at
whatever time chance made most convenient to himself.
Early morning or late afternoon they were sure to be
there, always with their hands in their pockets and their
gaze far, far at sea. Many of them wore top-boots com-
ing high over their knees. The sou'-wester appeared in-
dispensable to their calling, and all affected a blue woollen
jersey convenient for rolling up at the hips so that they
could get their hands in their pockets. What at first
struck the unaccustomed eye of Gideon was their appar-
ent state of continued preparation. They seemed ready
to go anywhere and do anything. On the second morn-
ing of his visit to the beach he hastened his steps lest per-
adventure he should find them gone, and his opportunity
of improving the acquaintance lost. But there they were
just the same, as ready as ever to go anywhere and to do
anything; but in the meantime standing still and doing
nothing.
Gideon chatted with them in his cheery manner, talking
on all topics but that of the Parliamentary representation
of Saxton. They also avoided that topic, but they knew
very well what was in the wind, and fully appreciated the
compliment paid to them by the new candidate in seeking
them out thus early. Gideon did violence to his feelings
by possessing himself of a tobacco pouch, which he filled
at the tobacconist's in High Street with the strongest
"shag." Also, more offensive still to his sensitive nature,
he had a roll of pigtail which he was wont to produce
during pauses in the conversation, and these were so frc-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
49
1
quent that the pigtail was speedily absorbed by the Long-
shoremen.
The engrossing nature of their occupation left them
little time for idle conversation, and induced sententious
habits of speech. But when Long Bill, in the middle of
one afternoon, broke a silence that had lasted for a quar-
ter of an hour with the remark, "A right-haffable gent,
that's what I say," there was a grunt of approval all
round. Gideon's name had not been mentioned, but
every one knew who was meant. Certainly it could not
be Mr. Montgomery, who never came down to the beach,
and had never so much as offered a man of them a pipe
of tobacco.
Gideon carried on the campaign with equal skill and
success in other quarters. He went to church on the
Sunday, a discipline not half so painful as he might have
found it, since he had the honor of escorting Miss Tandy
and sitting by her in the pew which used to be Mr. Sol-
ley's. Napper and the candidate were already great
friends. She was pleased with him as being a nice pre-
sentable gentleman, who was doing something that greatly
cheered and would profit her father. Gideon, for his
part, thought that Napper was the most agreeable person
of her sex he had ever met. He had reached the suf-
ficient age already attained without any of those disturb-
ances of mind common in other cases, and which distinctly
affected the lives of the six young gentlemen in and near
Saxton who have been already distantly alluded to. Gid-
eon had been too much occupied with other matters to
pay much attention to women. He had seen them at the .
Cobweb in his father's time, some of them very pretty and
well dressed. They were often in tears, ncarly always in
trouble, and were regarded as a great nuisance by his
elderly but practical parent. Beyond these chance visi-
tors Gideon had seen wonderfully little of womankind.
They had not come in his way, and he had neither inclin-
ation nor opportunity to throw himself in theirs. Whether
he would ever marry was one of those questions which
had not yet presented itself. When it did he would doubt-
less sit down before it, devote half an hour of concentrated
thought on its advantages and disadvantages, and swiftly
decide one way or another.
Up to now he had not been called upon to consider the
matter, and he certainly was not considering it as he sat
3
*
V
50
GIDEON FLEYCE.
in the dining-room at Mr. Tandy's listening to Napper's
sprightly chatter. Nor did it throw itself before him as
he walked to church by her side; nor, as sometimes hap-
pened, when he drove her through the country lanes; nor
even later, when he discussed with her the possibility of
purchasing and transforming the Castle. All he knew
was that she was a very pleasant companion, and even a
useful one.
He liked to have her with him when he strolled about
the town, dropping into a shop to buy something he did not
want, or taking advantage of her intimacy to make fresh
acquaintances. Napper knew everybody in Saxton, and
everybody loved Napper, not all with the hopeless affec-
tion of the six young men, one or other of whom the pair
were sure to meet when they took their walks abroad.
Gideon was more absolutely unconscious of the existence
and the secret passion of the six than was Napper herself.
Had he known and been aware of the scowling glances
which followed him up and down the street as he walked
along with Napper, he would have been more careful.
Each of the six had a vote, and the aggregation of six
votes has ere this been known to turn the scale in a
sharply contested election.
Gideon knew nothing of this, and went on his way
beaming. They were, in truth, a very pleasant couple to
look upon, and seemed to carry sunshine wherever they
went. Napper's appearance was the signal for a welcom-
ing smile whether in shop, or mansion, or cottage. She
was always the same, though perhaps a little more earnest,
both in her playfulness and her tenderness when she
stooped her pretty head to enter some of the low-built
cottages that had a bit of High Street all to themselves.
Gideon closely followed her, and knew he was sharing her
welcome. He could not have gone into these places with-
out introduction or invitation, and neither could have been
obtained except by preliminaries that would have taken
away from the desired effect.
Nothing could have been better than the good fortune
into which he had accidentally stumbled. Napper had
not the slightest idea that they were electioneering. Gid-
eon had a very shrewd idea upon the subject; but of
course politics or political prospects were never mentioned.
He was simply a friend of Mr. Tandy's, and nothing more
natural than that, being a stranger, he should take advan-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
51
tage of Miss Tandy's swift peregrinations of her native
town to see the place. But as he went to and fro, sharing
the bright sunshine that Napper diffused, stroking the
heads of the little children, cracking jokes with the moth-
ers, and entering into friendly conversation with the
fathers, Gideon felt that he was making an uncommonly
good start.
CHAPTER IX.
Castle Fleyce.
It was during one of the walks with Napper that Gid-
eon came upon the Castle. It stood on a hill fronting the
English Channel, and overlooking the quaint little town
whose records went back to Wittenagamote. Saxton had
been built, burned, sacked, and pillaged, taken and re-
taken, and had in other ways enjoyed the vicissitudes of
the good old times. Some of its earlier buildings standing
to this day, with slanting roofs the lower edge of which
is not more than shoulder high, date back to times whither
the memory of man goes not. The houses which seemed
to tumble against each other in the common race down
the hill to the sea, were not of such antiquity.
But they
were at least old enough to know better than to present
themselves in the rectangular shape of modern English
houses roofed with slate. They were of all sizes and
shapes, having only this in common, that the roofs were
all covered with tiles of rich, red brown hue, which,
whether seen from sea or land, gave the little town, nestl-
ing among its innumerable trees, a charm that caused the
heart of the wayfarer to yearn towards it.
As to the Castle, it had been greviously and unac-
countably neglected by its owner, who preferred to live
in a monotonous white stone house with nice windows
that would move up and down, and with straight lines
ruled everywhere. The Castle was, when Gideon first
looked upon it, "let," along with the farm and some of
the customary farm-buildings. The farmer could not, of
course, be expected to set any higher value upon the her-
itage than did his owner. He did not want it all; but
there it was in the middle of his land, and it must go with
PRE
う
​I
GIDEON FLEYCE.
52-
the gates in the field and the accommodation road to his
own door. Since he had the Castle he must do something
with it, and what he did was to hand it over to his cowman
in consideration of a certain proportion of weekly wage.
-The cowman would rather have had a comfortable shanty,
with a thatched roof and a little pond in which he might
rear ducks. But cowmen have not much choice in this
world, and this particular one had to take what was offered
to him. Thus it came to pass that in the Hall where
Godfrey de Bolougne had sat at meat, Gurth, the swine-
herd, ate his daily portion of pickled pork.
The home accommodation, it must be admitted, was not
extensive. Of the lordly Castle there remained in any
measure of completeness only one of the towers that had
flanked the gateway. This was roofless, and from its top-
most walls rents gaped where windows had been. But the
stout oaken floor liad withstood wind and weather, and
now came in useful to make a roof over what might be
called the first story. The floor was patched up and made
watertight. Then John Cowman brought his goods and
chattels, his wife and his children, his cocks and his hens,
and his litter of pigs, and entered upon possession of the
Castle.
It was not a procedure that stirred any heroic emotion
within his breast. He thought the Castle was damp on
one side when the snow lodged in the crevices. But it
never occurred to him to sit and dream of the brave men
and fair women who had once trod the hall, in the pro-
digious fireplace of which there now stood at boil the in-
adequate piece of pickled pork destined for the family
meal.
John Cowman was one night observed walking in pro-
found meditation in the court-yard. His pipe, which had
brightly burned when he left the hall, was cold and
dead, though the stem was still held firmly between his
teeth. His hands were sunk deep in the pockets of his
corduroys, and his brown and withered billycock was well
set on the back of his head. Discovered in such circum-
stances in such a place John Cowman seemed as one who,
looking back through the long vista of time, beheld as in
a moving picture the whole court-yard repeopled with a
gay and gallant host. But as it turned out, John Cow-
man had thus suddenly been struck with nothing more
poetic than the possibility of turning to use a portion of
GIDEON FLEYCE.
53
the spacious court-yard by enclosing it and growing
therein turnips, carrots, onions, and other vegetables, de-
signed to vary the monotony of the family standing dish.
John was not used to thinking; hence the state of coma
into which he had been cast when this brilliant idea pre-
sented itself. Being, however, a practical man, as soon as`
he had recovered, he set to work, made his cabbage gar-
den, and before the shocked seasons again revolved the
hapless Castle by the sea was done the further dishonor.
But nothing could altogether or even in material degree
spoil the stately beauty of the ruins. Long ago, probably
about the time when Cromwell was putting things right
at Westminster and elsewhere, the ivy peeped forth, and,
touched with pity for the desolation it beheld, began to
enclose the ruins in its far-reaching arms. Since then,
taking kindly to the old gray walls, and happy in the pure
strength of the air which circled round, it had grown with
amazing fertility. I do not know any place where the ivy
grows quite like it does at the Castle. Springing from
trunks as big as an ordinary tree, and as gray and as
gnarled as an oak, it flings itself about the walls in rich deep-
green foliage. It particularly affects the buttresses, some
of which it has wholly covered from human sight. At the
entrance from what was the outer court-yard Napper and
Gideon looked upon heaps of manure, old carts, and duck-
pond, cow-sheds, pig-sties, and other things pertaining to
the vocation of John Cowman. But when they had walked
past the court-yard there was nothing more in the sur-
roundings of the Castle to mar its beauty. A rich wooded
country lay north, east and west, while southward over
the green fields and umbrageous oak trees, and finally
across the red tiles of the houses at Saxton, the blue sea
stretched itself out, sometimes, on clear days, visibly
bounded on the south side by the French coast, and nearly
always alive with ships passing to and fro, with white
sails spread, or with black smoke streaming from the fun-
nel. All there was life and energy; only Saxton had
fallen asleep by the side of the greatest water highway in
the world.
G
Gideon walked about, saying very little in response to
the bright chatter of his companion, but looking at the
Castle with glistening eyes. It was the very thing for him
a further proof of how completely he was in luck's way.
Some people reckoned fortunate ended their career with
~
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MATERIAL
23
h
GIDEON FLEYCE.
residence in a Castle. Here was a chance for Gideon to
commence his in that happy way, and with a Castle the
antiquity of which was beyond doubt.
He had not an eye for natural beauty, as Napper had.
If closely questioned, and bound to answer frankly, he
would have wondered why imputation should rest upon
Peter Bell because
54
A primrose by the river's brim,
A simple primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.
What more should it be? It could not very well be a new
hat, or a dress coat lined with blue satin, a carriage and
pair, or a large balance at the bank. That was Gideon's
practical way of rebuking the poct's petulance with Peter.
But even Gideon felt the quiet yet stately beauty of this
grim, gray Castle. It was ever so much nicer than
The Cottage, which stood just off the highway, and was
approached by a level carriage drive. But the thing was
that it was a Castle. "Castle Fleyce" he had already
named it, and in his mind's eye saw his note paper, with
a crest (which he had not yet looked up) stamped with
his new address. Perhaps in time the people would get to
talk of him as "Fleyce, of Castle Fleyce."
His quick eye ranged over the court-yard, with the well
in the centre of it, and the roofless chambers, windowless
and carpeted with green sods. The walls, where they stood
were still stout and unbroken, likely to see out a genera-
tion of modern houses. With a lavish expenditure of
money, and the direction of a man of ingenuity and taste,
such as he who had transmogrified The Cottage, the looped
and windowless raggedness of the Castle might be changed
into a stately and comfortable mansion.
'You are very quiet this morning, Mr. Fleyce," said
Napper. "Has the Castle been too much for you? Has
your mind gone back to the time of mailed knights or
ladies fair?"
"No," Gideon said with his peculiar smile. (He liked
to have this pretty girl wondering what he was thinking
about.) "I was not giving that a thought."
"Then what were you thinking about? I have a right
to demand satisfaction of curiosity by way of compen-
sation for the dullness of your company."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
55
}
"I was thinking I would buy the Castle, restore it, and
come and live down here."
Napper was delighted with the notion. She grew quite
enthusiastic talking about it, and by the time they reached
the town Gideon began to think he really had under-
taken quite a noble enterprise.
CHAPTER X.
Mr. Dumfy's Reflections.
ABOUT ten o'clock one morning in the very early spring
of the year 1878 a solitary stranger might have been ob-
served advancing up the High Street of the little town of
Saxton-on-the-Sea. The stranger, who had seen fifty win-
ters, was respectably dressed, though the garments were a
trifle threadbare. The two well-oiled curls unexpectedly
appearing over the ears, the stoop that had developed
something like a hump in his back, the gliding pace with
long footsteps and silent footfall, proclaimed our friend
Mr. Dumfy. He carried a note in the right hand that
swung with his advancing paces, and the errand upon
which he was bent probably gave a particular turn to his
thoughts. He was on this occasion filling the part of
Mercury not in that personage's least popular character
as the god of thieves, pickpockets, and dishonesty in gen-
eral, but as messenger between the gods.
The note he carried was from Gideon, and was addressed
to Mr. Tandy. But Mr. Dumfy had been at pains to ascer-
tain that its purport more nearly concerned Miss Tandy.
It was, in brief, a proposition that Mr. Tandy and Miss
Tandy should accompany Mr. Gideon Fleyce on a further
visit he proposed to pay to the Castle, with the object of
surveying it and arriving at general conclusions with re-
spect to its disposition. By this time the Castle had passed
into the possession of Gideon, though the most tempting
offers did not succeed in inducing the owner to do more
than let him have it on a pretty long lease. It had already
cost Gideon either in cash or in promises to pay, a consi-
derable sum. The value had gone up marvellously since
the time when the ruins had been thrown in with the far-
C
GIDEON FLEYCE.
56
mer's lot. Even John Cowman began to discover a new
beauty and a fresh attraction in the situation when he be-
came aware of this London gentleman, reputably of fabu-
lous wealth, who wanted to get possession. It then turned
out that not only were John's feelings touched, but his
pocket had been deeply dipped into. Compensation was
required for all sorts of things, and Gideon astonished Mr.
Dumfy by the prodigality with which he met these de-
mands.
"It would break your father's 'art, sir, if he on'y heard,"
Mr. Dumfy had remarked when he took instructions to
write letters that settled the demands not only of John
Cowman and of the proprietor, but of the farmer who
abandoned a short portion of his lease. "His gray 'airs
would be brought with sorrer to the grave," Mr. Dumfy
added, with a sympathetic snivel.
"Never you mind, Mr. Dumfy, nor him either. I know
what I'm about, and know when to throw a sprat to catch
a whale. By the way, your weekly account is swelling a
little too quickly. If I leave the pounds to take care of
themselves, mind you, I don't forget to look after the
pence. It seems to me that gin reappears too frequently
and in too large quantities in your bill."
"It's the electors, sir," said Mr. Dumfy, anxiously ex-
plaining. "It's really a-stounding what a lot o' gin and
water they take whilst cracking you up and running down
the other party.”
"Yes, but they need not take it through a hose supplied
with patent hydraulic force, and I don't see how else they
are to consume so much in a week. Just look at it, Mr.
Dumfy; look it up, and don't let me have to go into it
myself."
Mr. Dumfy was thinking of this and other things as he
walked up High Street swinging the letter in his right
hand. To tell the truth, he had, merely to save writing
and a strain upon his inventive power, put a great deal
more down to gin and water than that beverage was cal-
culated to stand. It was all honestly spent in the inter-
ests of the candidate and of his confidential clerk. A year
ago Mr. Dumfy would not have laid himself open to this
rebuke. Having been brought up under the very claw of
the Spider, he knew exactly how far, or rather how short,
was the distance he might go with these little matters.
But Gideon had seemed so entirely lost to the parental
€
GIDEON FLEYCE.
3
57
counsels, and had so evidently made up his mind that
money was dross as compared with the interests he was
now pursuing, that Mr. Dumfy had not thought he would
devote the few moments necessary to running through the
items of the petty cash. That was an error, and Mr.
Dumfy was very angry with himself for having fallen
into it.
"There'll be a good deal less gin drunk in this blessed
burrer this week, that I'll certify," he said to himself with
grim determination.
Another thing that disturbed the ordinary equanimity
of his mind was this correspondence upon which he was
now engaged as an agent. He had seen with apprehen-
sion his employer's growing regard for Miss Tandy, and
thought he discerned something more than answering
signals on her part.
(6
A hartful 'ussy," Mr. Dumfy had remarked to himself
with his accustomed disregard of the aspirate. "She's
made her book and she means winnin'. She's the most
artfullest of this kind of schemer. After all's said and
done Gideon's not quite a fool. If she'd set her cap at
him in the usual sort of way he'd have smelt a rat soon
enough and sheered off. But this perfectly innercent way
she has of smilin' and rattlin' on as if she wasn't athinkin'
of nothin', that's what's dangerous. Drat it, I can't a bear
your scheming women that look as if butter wouldn't melt
in their mouths, and all the time they are smelling round
to see whether it's fresh or salt so that they may have the
pick."
This mental attitude of Mr. Dumfy towards Napper,
which, by the way, found no expression in outward bear-
ing in the presence of that young lady, did not wholly
arise from concern for his master's threatened interests.
The fact is that Napper, usually the most good-natured
and friendly person in the world, had conceived an unac-
countable dislike for Mr. Dumfy. When she came to ex-
amine the causes that underlay this she was obliged to
confess that they would not bear investigation. Driven
from one objection to another, as each one was found to
be imaginary and unsupportable by evidence, Napper had
desperately taken refuge in the undeniable fact that Mr.
Dumſy had nothing worth speaking of in the way of in-
step.
-
"You may take my word for it, papa,” she had said one
>>
P
Q
3*
[Bur
C
*FAC
58
GIDEON FLEYCE.
evening, when during a pause in the dancing lesson Mr.
Tandy had taken occasion to remonstrate with her on the
injustice and unkindness of her attitude towards Mr.
Dumfy, "that if a man has a flat foot he is lacking in
some of the higher qualities of human nature. I don't
mean to say that my rule differs from other people's to
the extent that it has no exception. But run over the list
of your acquaintances, take note of the shape of their feet,
and just tell me if you don't find that if a man is flat-footed
he is also mean, or shuffling, or in some other way unde-
sirable as an agent, or a friend.'
""
Mr. Tandy, who was always impressed by Napper's di-
rect and downright assertions, furtively examined his own
feet, and was gratified to find, what he had never before
thought of looking for, that he was moderately arched at
the instep.
"I cannot undertake, my dear, systematically to pursue
the investigation you suggest, though I dare say there may
be something in it."
Something! there is everything in it, papa, and you
will find out Mr. Dumfy some day."
Napper was never downright rude to Gideon's clerk,
but her habit of mind was too frank, and her looks too
untutored, for misunderstanding by a gentleman, who was
always furtively regarding the world with slightly bleary
eyes when the casual observer thought they were cast
upon the ground. Miss Tandy did not like him, and he
for his part hated Miss Tandy. Quite apart from the in-
fluence of mutual dislike he did not regard with favor the
possibility of Gideon taking to himself a wife. Things
were going on very well now in Carlton Street, and Mr.
Dumfy was inclined to let well alone.
Whilst these things revolved in his mind, the door by
the railing labelled "Mr. Tandy, Solicitor," was flung
open, and out bounded Knut. Knut (commonly known
as "Nuts" among the ignorant boys of the town, with
whom he was highly popular) was the collie dog that had
come to Miss Tandy with a note in a formal old-fashioned
handwriting in which Sir Robert Montgomery "presented
his compliments to Miss Tandy, and being anxious not to
interfere with the course of mutual affection, begged her
acceptance of Roland." This is what may be called "the
christened name" of the dog. Napper had met him in
company with his master, uncle of the member, an old
TINCT
1
GIDEON FLÈYCE.
gentleman who lived three counties off, and paid a visit
once a year to the Hall. The dog at sight of Napper had
leaped towards her with every manifestation of closest ac-
quintance and fondest attachment. Napper took the ad-
vance naturally, as she did everything else, and it was only
by certain strategic movements that Roland was induced
"It was love at first
to accompany his master home.
sight," Sir Robert had said, with some other pretty re-
marks that came with great grace from the stately old gen-
tleman. He had kept the dog a few months to complete
its training, and then sent it on with the note copied above.
The collie was still officially recognized as Roland, but
no one ever called him by that name. Napper had begun
to call him Canute, in reference to his extraordinary pro-
ceedings down by the sea. He was accustomed when the
pair went for a walk on the beach to regard the wide ocean
as a personal matter. He would go down to the very edge,
where the retreating wave had left the sand dry, and an-
grily prohibit further advance. When the inevitable wave
came back he would stop till his paws were wet, incredu-
lous that the sea had presumed to disobey his injunctions,
and then would retire furiously barking. So Napper
called him Canute, and discovering some time later that
the learned men wrote the word Knut, she gratefully ac-
cepted that orthography as meeting the demand, for a
monosyllable, imperative in the successful nomenclature
of dogs.
59.
Knut's appearance on the pavement, as if ejected from
the hall by a catapult, was a well-understood signal in the
neighborhood. It meant that Miss Tandy was pulling on
her gloves, and would presently appear. Knut always had
a preliminary burst before finding it possible to tone down
his movements suitably to the duty of escorting a young
lady. There was opposite Mr. Tandy's, a block of houses
fourteen or fifteen in number, bisected on either side by a
narrow passage. It was Knut's morning habit to dash
round this block, taking on very fine mornings a little ex-
tra scamper in the meadow at the back. When he came
back he was generally out of breath, with his tongue loll-
ing out of the side of his mouth and gleams of suppressed
humor in his eye, as if somewhere in the meadow he had
become acquainted with a capital joke, whilst bound over
to secrecy as to its particulars. At the same time he was
able more or less steadily to walk behind his mistress.
2
め
​GIDEON FLEYCE.
►
On this particular morning Knut paused a moment at
the door, thinking which way he should go. Looking up
and down the street he observed that, as far as the inconve-
nience of a crowd was concerned, the road was equally
clear on either hand. To the right the sole human being
in view was the policeman, who stood at the corner of the
street just opposite the Town Hall, a convenient point of
observation which commanded half the extent of Saxton.
The other way he observed walking along the pavement
the stranger whose appearance has already been described.
What passed in the dog's mind no one can say with au-
thority. It is quite certain that he knew Mr. Dumfy. He
had seen him frequently bring letters to the house in High
Street. Being a dog of fine observation and of rare sym-
pathy, he had possibly been made aware of his mistress's
feelings towards the gentleman. These are, however,
matters of mere speculation. What is certain as a matter
of history is that Knut, after looking up the street and see-
ing the policeman, and looking down the street and behold-
ing Mr. Dumfy approach, set off in the latter direction at
tremendous speed, dashed himself between Mr. Dumfy's
legs just as he was skirting a more than usually circum-
scribed point of the narrow pavement, and Mr. Dumfy
was stretched at full length in the gutter.
бо
Perhaps Miss Tandy, with her strong prejudices, would
have said that the only undesirable thing Mr. Dumfy hon-
estly hated was dirt. He generally carried, when absent.
from the office, a small clothes-brush in the tail pocket of
his frock coat, and occupied spare moments in brushing
himself. To be thrown over in the muddy street by a dog,
and that dog Miss Tandy's, was about the bitterest thing
that could have befallen him. With something that, did
we not know it is not in use in Rehoboth, would have
sounded like an extract from the Athanasian Creed, Mr.
Dumfy, rising to his knees, savagely turned as if intending
to make an end of Knut if there were a loose paving stone
about. But all that was visible of the dog was his bushy
tail vanishing round the passage by the block of houses.
Mr. Dumfy would have gone back to the hotel, defer-
ring the delivery of his message till he could have got rid
of some of this horrible mud, but he was close at Mr.
Tandy's, and when he looked up there was Napper stand-
ing at the door pulling on her gloves and indulging in the
vulgarest laughter. It is true she stopped when she saw
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"""
61
Mr. Dumfy regarding her, and came down to meet him
with many pretty protestations of regret, and expressions
of hope that he was not hurt. But he could see all the
time that she was on the verge of breaking forth into
further laughter, and under his breath Mr. Dumfy pro-
cecded with further quotations from minatory literature.
"No, I am not hurt, Miss," he said; "leastways not
much. There is a trouser tore a little about the knee, and
I don't think as this mud will ever quite rub off the elber
of my coat. But this don't matter to a pore man.
We
must not stand in the way of rich folks keeping dogs to
run mad up and down the thoroughfares, or even training
them to trip up the public accidental like.”
This last suggestion was too much for Napper's shaky
equilibrium, and she broke out into laughter, which the
six hapless young men would probably have been inclined
to describe as melodious, but which Mr. Dumfy held to be
vulgar.
"I am glad you're pleased, Miss. Of course if a poor
man can give pleasure in any way it's his dooty so to do.
Here's a letter I was bringin' which I'm sorry it's a little
muddied. If I could have saved it at the sacrifice of the
other leg of my trouser I would; but I couldn't manage it,
Miss. Here's the dog coming back. If you will hexcuse
me I'll go now in case we might fall out.
"I hope you are not angry with poor Knut, Mr. Dumfy,
or with me for laughing. He didn't mean it, and I really
couldn't help it. You looked so fierce, when you glared
around on getting up from your knees."
"Yes, Miss, it was very funny indeed. Praps you'll ask
Mr. Tandy to send an answer, as I'm a little uncomfortable
with this mud."
Mr. Dumfy as he limped back to the hotel felt he had
made another mistake. What business had he to show
his anger? It was a little hard in the circumstances to
keep quiet. But he would make it up next time he saw
Miss Tandy, and would even go the length of patting
Knut on the head if he met them out in company, as he
often did. But he felt that he had better carry out this
last intention soon, it being borne in upon him that Knut
might not live very long.
CC
Dogs go about and eat all sorts of things, some not
good for them." And Mr. Dumfy laughed grimly to him-
self.
{
#
H
The
whit} xay wh
*
+ 62
GIDEON FLEYCE.
CHAPTER XI.
1
Sacred Vocations.
(6
'PAPA," cried Napper, bursting in an hour later upon
the privacy of Mr. Tandy's office, "what is the price of a
pair of men's trousers?"
Mr. Tandy was at the moment engaged in briefing a
case, in which a much esteemed plaintiff claimed damages
for injuries done to his crops by the overflowing of a ditch
belonging to the Waterworks Company in the county
town. He looked up in amazement at the question thus
plumped down upon him. Napper was such an extraor-
dinary girl, so accustomed to ignore the conventionalities
of life, that he did not know what this query might por-
tend. He felt, too, a painful sense of his own incom-
petency to wrestle with any ideas, however wild, that the
girl might take into her head.
2
Just now he felt this more strongly than ever, for Nap-
per, fresh from the keen sunlit March air, looked so bright
and strong that, to her unhappy father at least, she was
more than ever irresistible. She had been having a scamper
with Knut, whom she had deluded into the garden of an
empty house, and whilst he was frolicking among the
wilderness of weeds had raced off round the corner, where
some minutes later Knut discovered her. The humor of
this quite new and original joke had taken such entire
possession of Knut that even now, when it was all over,
and his mistress, recognizing the force of propriety, had
settled down into sedateness and had walked quite properly
along High Street, he with his tongue lolling out and his
white teeth gleaming, was shaking his sides with quiet
laughter as he looked into the perplexed face of Mr.
Tandy.
"The price of a pair of trousers, my dear?" said Mr.
Tandy, when he found his voice, which was discovered in
its solemnest tones. "What can you-I mean, why will
you-in short, I'm very busy just now, and can't discuss
matters."
"The fact is, papa," said Napper, all unconscious of
ވރު
63
what was passing in her parent's mind, "Knut this morn-
ing had the misfortune to knock over Mr. Fleyce's clerk.
He got dreadfully muddied, and his trousers torn at the
knee. He is, as he says, 'a pore man,' and I want to send
him a pair of trousers."
"Oh!" said Mr. Tandy, as much relieved as if he had
suspected an attack of measles, and had just received
professional assurance that it was merely a slight cold.
"That's all, is it? But you see, dear Napper, you cannot
send a man a pair of trousers in a promiscuous way like.
There are various things to consider. There's the pat-
tern. Your fancy may not hit his; and, scarcely less im-
portant, there's the question of fit. These things are not
made in a mould. You had better send him the money."
'Very well, papa; I never thought of that. But how
much shall I send him ?”
"
GIDEON FLEYCE.
**
"I dare say he will get suited for a sovereign; and
perhaps it would be better if I undertook the mission.
You don't seem to perceive any difficulty hedging it
about."
"Indeed I don't. It was my fault, or rather Knut's,
though it comes to the same thing, and I should be sorry
for him to suffer any loss. But if you will kindly under-
take it I shall be very glad. I am afraid I should laugh
again if I spoke to him on the subject, and I fancy I mor-
tally offended him this morning."
"I suppose he brought the letter you sent in to me?
It is from Mr. Fleyce. He wants to know if we'll go up
to the Castle after luncheon and look round to decide
upon the alterations.”
"Oh, that'll be jolly," said Napper, clapping her hands
with unaffected delight. "I have a great notion about
the Castle, and how it may be made a beautiful place.
Write at once and say we will go, papa.
""
(C
Unfortunately I cannot go. I've got this case to pre-
pare before post time, and it's quite as much as I'll do to
get through with it."
"Very well, then, sit down quickly and write that Miss
Tandy and Knut present their compliments to Mr. Gid-
eon Fleyce, and will have pleasure in accompanying
him."
"My dear," said Mr Tandy, with a freshly troubled
brow, "I don't quite know how I mean what-
"Or perhaps which,' papa," interrupted Napper as her
""
N
5
☆.
}
64
GIDEON FLEYCE. -
father came to a stop and gazed distracted on the half-
filled folio of brief paper.
He was not much versed in the ways of the world, but
it did occur to him that it was scarcely quite the thing
that a young lady like Napper should be making appoint-
ments with single gentlemen albeit of middle age, and go-
ing to inspect lonely castles with no other company than
a collie dog. Yet how could he explain this to Ñapper, or
even hint at the existence of a scruple? He might just
as well have endeavored to explain to her the bearings of
the case before him as they diversely affected his client
and the Waterworks Company. Napper meant no wrong,
and was incapable of inventing any. She was unmaiden-
ly to the extent that she was in the habit of following her
own impulses in cases like the present, where they led her
out on some such innocent errand as she now proposed to
herself. Mrs. Grundy lived in Saxton as she dwells in
most places, and fills them with her influence in propor-
tion as they are geographically small. But Mrs. Grundy
had never breathed a word to the detriment of Napper,
who was daily accustomed to do things which, if perpe-
trated by other young ladies, would have been sharply dis-
cussed. It was admitted by general consent that Napper
did whatever she might do, just as the stream gleamed
and bubbled in its course down the hillside, and as the
lark sang, because she could not help it. Mr. Tandy
often regretted that Napper had neither mother nor sister,
nor near friend, to hint, as they might have done, that
while her outdoor procedure was as innocent as the gam-
bolings of a lamb under the trees in the meadow, it might
be well if she remembered that they occasionally differed
somewhat from the accepted mode.
My g
Mr. Tandy never could screw his courage up to the
point necessary for giving this warning. Here was a fine
opportunity, and he clutched at it feebly, so feebly that it
was as far out of his reach as ever, and he ended by writ-
ing a note, though not quite in terms suggested by Miss
Napper.
(C
I've been thinking, Mr. Fleyce," said Napper, looking
at her companion with eyes that glowed with kindliest in-
terest, "what a noble ambition it is of yours to get into
Parliament."
They were walking slowly up the hill that led to the
Castle. Knut, altogether regardless of the duties that per-
T
GIDEON FLEYCE.
65*
tained to his situation, was half-an-acre off busily engaged
in bringing in a sheep which he had a moment earlier
driven with fierce barking from the rest of the flock.
"I can conceive few things nobler," Napper continued.
"In some countries I have heard they pay the members, a
thing which seems to me to take away altogether from the
peculiar dignity of the position. When a man gets wages
for doing a certain work there's an end of the obligation.
But look at the members of our House of Commons! They
get no salary, and would, I believe, scorn to take it. I have
heard papa say that in tne mere effort to find opportunity
for serving their country they spend at elections sums of
money that are in themselves a fortune."
"Yes," said Gideon, with a little sigh, “I believe it costs
a lump before you get in.”
"Then when you are in what is your life? One of un-
ceasing devotion. You go down in the afternoon at a
time when other people's labor for the day is coming to a
conclusion. You sit on benches and never leave the place
till early morning, except for twenty minutes or half an
hour to snatch a hasty meal in a not very satisfactory din-
ing-room."
"You seem to have a very minute acquaintance with the
ways of the place, Miss Tandy. Were you ever there ?”
"No, but I've heard Mr. Montgomery talk about it till
I've almost felt the tears in my eyes. Then there are the
Irish members who I'm told make themselves very disa-
greeable. Mr. Montgomery says they watch out of the
House members who are in any way obnoxious to them,
see them comfortably seated at their dinner, and then,
just when they are about to begin, try and get the House
counted, which in some way or another means that every one
must rush back into his place. At first they used to do this
when the soup came on; but it was found that the soup
could be kept hot without spoiling, so now they wait till
the fish is brought in, and just when their particular ene-
my has taken the first mouthful the bell rings for a count,
and he has to rush off."
66
"Now," said Gideon, to whom all this was quite new,
"that's rather hard lines."
"Yes, and there's worse than that. You may be kept
there all night, long rows of you snatching a brief sleep in
the library, whilst others sit in the House.
awake up whilst others go and have a sleep.
Then you
These are
青
​66
little inconveniences, on which Mr. Montgomery lays a
good deal of stress. To my mind they are very slight
as compared with the life of devotion which English gen-
tlemen like you cheerfully give to the service of their
country. I suppose a large proportion of the House of
Commons is made up of men who either earn their own
living or have made their own fortunes."
"There's the lawyers, for example," said Gideon.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Yes, see what valuable time they unselfishly devote to
the business of the nation. If you were in trouble and
wanted their help they would charge you ever so much for a
speech; but they give of their abundance to the House of
Commons without stint, sitting up late at night, neglecting
their private business and endangering their health. They
take no fees for this. They get nothing and expect noth-
ing. Then there's the class of men who have worked
hard all their lives and have made a fortune. You would
think they would like to settle down quietly at home and
enjoy themselves. But no; they will spend any money
to get into Parliament, and when they are there they share
the work and fatigue with younger men.
I mean to say,
Mr. Fleyce," Napper cried with face aflame with the glow
of honest admiration, "that this is one of the finest things
in our English life, and I hope the day may never come
when you pay members of Parliament.
""
"Yes," said Gideon, drawing himself up and throwing
out his chest, "there's no doubt it ain't all sugar plums and
roses in the House of Commons."
It is wonderful how systematically Napper, all uncon-
sciously, succeeded in making him believe he was a won-
derful fellow, with developments of good breaking out in
quite unexpected places. It was plain that to this fine
handsome girl he was something of a hero. There might,
he thought, be some little fallacy underlying her argu-
ments. But what of that? It was her nature to make
haste to seize the best side of any question. Mr. Mont-
gomery, whose legislative feats were limited by faithful
voting, and who had never opened his mouth except to
shout or to yawn, finding at the county ball a sympathetic
listener in the charming girl with whom he had just danced,
dwelt with an eloquence that surprised himself upon the
discomforts of a seat in the House of Commons. Napper's
glowing fancy and generous sympathy had improved upon
this till she felt there was hardly any respect or consider-
}
*
he hous
GIDEON FLEYCE.
67
ation too great to pay to men who thus constantly and-
most uncomplainingly sacrificed their personal comfort on
the altar of their country's good.
"We have a great deal to put up with," Gideon con-
tinued, unconsciously assuming that he was already a
member of Parliament, "but it is a great cause in which we
labor."
"Indeed, it is. There's that beautiful phrase, you will
know it in the Latin, Mr. Fleyce. I don't, though I can hum
the music of its mournful resonant syllables which say,
'It's sweet and glorious to die for one's country.' You don't
quite die in the House of Commons, though I believe many
valuable lives are shortened. But you work, and would I
dare say be ready to die if it were necessary. In the mean-
time this devotion of your days and nights to the service
of your country is a noble thing. And what a splendid
thing it must be, Mr. Fleyce, to rise in such an assemblage
and deliver a great speech upon a momentous occasion,
with the House full to the very doors and all the world
listening outside!"
"Yes, I think when the opportunity comes I shall rather
like it," said Gideon, smiting himself upon the chest and
beginning to be honestly impressed by the kindling enthu-
siasm of his companion.
"Next to being a speaker, I should like to be a writer.
Fancy sitting down in your room-quite a small room per-
haps, that wouldn't hold twenty people, and writing some-
thing that should be read by twenty thousand or a million.
I should like to be a writer for the newspapers. I always
look upon them with a kind of awe. They are a great deal
more powerful than clergymen, and I think their calling
quite as sacred. I never spoke to one or saw one that I
know of, but I fancy they must all be sad men, weighed
down with a sense of their responsibility. I suppose some
people write every day what a million people will read on
the next. There's a congregation for you, Mr. Fleyce!
There's no public meeting contes up to that."
"I'm thinking of having a newspaper of my own," said
Gideon. "The people down here want waking up. There's
nothing but a wretched paper published in the country.
town, and costs threepence. I believe in penny newspa-
pers, and mean to give 'em a good one.”
"That's right, Mr. Fleyce," said Napper, as earnestly as
if she were thanking him for some great personal favor done
13
171
68
to herself. "In your hands I am sure it would be noble
in its aim, and do an immense amount of good. It is well
that some people should be rich if they have the same ca-
pacity and desire that you have for doing good to their fel-
low-men, elevating their minds, and leading them to live
purer and nobler lives. I wish there was more of this spirit
in the pulpit, and that people who get up there to talk on
a Sunday would remember that there are six other days
in the week of a life quite different from that we enter upon
for an hour or so on a Sunday, when we put on our best
clothes and sit together in rows. It is very little food we
get on Sundays of the kind that helps a man or a woman
to live from Monday to Saturday. There's a verse Swift
wrote on the window of Chester Cathedral one day when
he looked in and found the place empty. How does it go?
Something this way, I think-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
The Church and clergy here, no doubt,
Are very near akin,
Both weather-beaten are without
And empty both within.
The clergy have, as a rule, improved in outward appear-
ance."
*
1
"You wouldn't say that either Mr. Gommy or Mr. Twoms,
our curates, are weather-beaten without?
"No, but certainly they are empty both within. Some-
times when I am in our pew in the dear old church I sit
and stare at the minister, and marvel, not so much that
God should have made such a puny creature, but that the
people should be content to sit and listen to his flow of
watery commonplace, just because he wears a white or
a black gown, and stands in a wooden box. I know our
two curates, meeting them at croquet parties and the like,
and I declare that if one were to make an observation to
me twenty minutes' long I should be found dead at the end
of it. I have tried to talk to them, but never could get
out of them the faintest flash of human thought, let alone
divine idea. Yet if a man has anything to say, it seems
to me that the time when he must say it is when he stands
face to face with a crowd, all looking at him, listening for
his word. Sometimes I wish I were a man.
"Heaven forbid," Gideon piously ejaculated.
"I never preached a sermon or made a speech, but I feel
that if I were one day to find myself in the pulpit at West-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
69
minster Abbey, with all the crowd beneath quiet and watch-
ful, I could talk without need of preparation. It would
be harder in the House of Commons, because there I fancy
a man to be a successful speaker must have a good deal of
the fighting element in him. At church they are all of one
opinion, or at all events sit quiet. In the House of Com-
mons-so I gather from what Mr. Montgomery says-there
are occasional expressions of difference of opinion. To a
combative man this would be an advantage. They would
serve like a trumpet call or the clash of arms to inflame
his blood and uplift his sword. But I'm not a man and
I'm not combative, though I think I'm exceedingly talka-
tive, and have been preaching a sermon without the pul-
pit."
"But not without an attentive congregation, Miss Tan-
dy," Gideon said, taking on a habit of courtesy, as it was
his wont to be influenced by whatever association chanced
to be foremost. "I never before thought of going into
the House quite in the way you talk about. I am afraid
you judge us a little too leniently. But I hope I'll do my
best. Now, here's the Castle, and I want you to decide in
which of the tumble-down chambers we shall fix the con-
servatory, and whether we shall have a tennis lawn in the
west wing or on the other side."
K
CHAPTER XII.
The Spider.
MR. ISRAEL GIDEONS sat in his counting-house a count-
ing out his money. In no other respect did Mr. Gideons
realize the popular notion of regal state or habitude. In-
stead of a golden crown there appeared on his head a black
velvet skull cap. He wore a long loose coat of a dirty gray
material, and of a make which conveniently baffled curios-
ity as to the condition or even the existence of any gar-
ments underneath. The coat came nearly down to his
ankles, and beyond that there certainly was evidence of a
pair of trousers very much the worse for wear. He had
on his feet a pair of carpet slippers so much too large for
him that he might with ease have fully inserted his natur-
C
70°
GIDEON FLEYCE.
ally small feet. He preferred to wear the shield at the
back of his slipper under his heel, instead of covering it,
a contrivance which imparted to his walk a certain shuffle
and an intolerable flapping.
*
Mr. Gideons had a large mouth, a nose rather hooked
than Roman, and a pair of black eyes that twinkled omi-
nously beneath projecting eyebrows thatched with furzy
gray hair.
He was short in stature and spare in figure, but
*in some odd ways conveyed the impression to the observer
that at one time he had been larger. He seemed to have
worn away with excessive energy, a process which threat-
ened eventually to leave behind nothing but the skull cap,
the questioning black eyes, and the small bony hands with
their long nails and their ingrained accumulation of dirt.
+
Mr. Gideons occupied, and was indeed the freeholder
of, premises which had once been advertised as "desirable
bijou residence, suitable for a gentleman of fortune."
was an old house situated at Fulham, only a story high,
but substantially built, with an eye rather to having rooms
large than many. The one in which Mr. Gideons sat was
a good square chamber, with a massive fireplace. It had
not much furniture, and no carpet to speak of. There
was a plain mahogany table at which Mr. Gideons sat with
a pile of gold before him, which he was making up into
rouleaux of twenties. A strip of carpet was stretched before
the fireplace, leaving the rest of the floor bare. The fire
had gone out, or rather had been put out by Mr. Gideons
with a too bountiful supply of slack administered at an in-
opportune moment. He had his scuttle always filled with
slack. He preferred it, he said, because it "caked" nicely,
burned steadily, and gave little trouble. He might have
added that it was also cheaper, but that was a point to
which he made no reference.
The most prominent article of furniture in the room was
a large iron safe, which occupied a considerable portion
of one wall. Mr. Gideons' chair was so placed that he
could face the safe, which he did with manifest satisfac-
tion. In addition to the pile of gold there was on the table
a number of slips of paper cut out of old letters. Also
there were a pair of scales, such as bankers use for weigh-
ing gold. Mr. Gideons took out of the heap a small hand-
ful of coin from which he counted twenty sovereigns.
Placing them in one of the slips of paper he with a dex-
terity and quickness that betokened long practice rolled
GIDEON FLEYCE.
#*
71
3
++
them up, folded the paper at either end, and weighing the
package against a similar parcel left in one of the scales,
put it on one side amid a lengthened row of similar pack-
ets.
*
As his busy fingers moved Mr. Gideons talked rapidly
to himself. His remarks were presently interrupted by a
loud ran-tan at the front door. Starting up and instinc-
tively stretching out his hands over his heap of gold, the
old gentleman said, "That's Ike," and forthwith proceeded
with astonishing rapidity to empty the gold into a canvas
bag, which he put into the safe, carrying thither the rou-
leaux he had already made up. Having doubly locked
the safe and put the key in his pocket he unlocked the
room door, which he had as a matter of precaution fast-
ened before sitting down to his morning occupation, and
went out into the hall, the empty recesses of which were
at the moment reverberating with another loud and im-
perative knock.
The old gentleman, observing the preliminary precau-
tion of putting the chain on before opening the door,
peeped forth through the aperture and beheld standing on
the steps a portly, well-dressed gentleman.
"Good morning, Ike," he said with a leer, playfully plant-
ing his wrinkled face in the doorway.
"Come to see your
old dad? Where's your carriage and pair and your fine
manservants? Round the corner, eh? Why didn't you
bring them to see old Israel Gideons? Plenty of room for
company in the house. Kitchen cold and no beer or cold
meat. Otherwise a warm welcome."
"You will have your joke as usual, father," said the gen-
tleman on the doorstep, known in Saxton and elsewhere as
Mr. Gideon Fleyce. "But if it's going to be drawn out
much longer perhaps you had better let me in, and then
we will have it all to ourselves."
"Oh, will you reely come in?" said the old gentleman,
making believe to unfasten the chain with extraordinary
haste, bowing low as Gideon entered. "Wasn't quite sure.
that you would care to visit your old father in a place like
this. Thought it was just a morning call to be passed on
the doorstep. Rather expected you to leave your card,
and as it saves the hinges thought I wouldn't open the
front door more than necessary; but, come in by all
means. This way, my lord," and the merry old gentleman
walked with mincing footsteps before his visitor, and
*
M
GIDEON FLEYCE.
showed him into the room on the first floor, where he had
been sitting.
""
72
"Poof! said Gideon, "this place is pretty close.
Haven't you had the window open lately?"
"Yes, I had it open a little at the top three days before
Christmas, and a nice cold it gave me. But if I'd known
your lordship was coming and didn't like the air I certainly
would have had it changed regardless of expense."
ро
"Aren't you a little economical about the air, father?
This is March, you know, and you can hardly get along
with that pinch you had before Christmas.'
>>
"It does very well for me," said the old gentleman. "Of
course you want more fresh air, as you want more clothes
and more everything else than your father. How well
your lordship looks! Another new hat, I suppose. Per-
haps if you've a coat to spare that you've worn for a
whole week and got tired of you will sometimes think of
the author of your being. And how are your friends?
The Dook of Wellington in pretty good health, I hope;
and the Queen all right? Is the Prince of Wales at Marl-
borough House now? And how's the Princess? Let me
see, weren't you godfather to one of the children? Dear
me: what a thing it is to be a man of fashion, hand-and-
glove with the aristocracy, whilst your poor old father
never got any nearer than to be hand-in-pocket with
them.'
""
Gideon stood with his back to the fire, smiling genially
at his eccentric parent, but saying nothing. Indeed the
old gentleman left no opening for conversation to be con-
ducted on ordinary principles. He was hopping about
the room like an elderly pigeon that had fallen upon evil
days, and grown limp and dingy. As he put this fire of
questions to Gideon he stood before him with his head a
little on one side and his hands clasped before him with
an air of mock deference.
"I've got some news to tell you, father, when you have
quite used up this excellent joke."
'Now this is good of you to come out all this way to
bring news to your disreputable old father. What is it?
Has Lady A. been seen with Mr. K., or has Lady B'.s
poodle had a fit of coughing? Out with it, Gideon. Your
father's getting old. Seventy-three next birth-day. Life
is short, and at my time of life we cannot afford to put
things off."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
73
""
"I'm going into Parliament."
"Really, now," said the merry old gentleman, with an
excruciating air of abashed surprise, "going into Parlia-
ment! House of Lords, of course? You wouldn't think
of anything below that. How well it will look in the
peerage Isaac, Lord Carltonstreet, First baron created
1879. Son of old Israel Gideons, of Fulham Road, a
worthy but eccentric gentleman, who minds his own
affairs, knows he's a jackdaw, and doesn't attempt to strut
as a peacock.' Well, my lord, you see I wasn't far out in
my address when you entered-the spirit of prophecy was
upon me.
"Then it led you astray, for I'm not going to the House
of Lords—at least not yet. I'll begin with the Commons.
I thought you'd like to hear all about it, though you do
seem to cut up very rough because your son gets along in
the world."
"Yes, he gets along in the world, but so does the lackey
hanging on to your fine carriage. I never had a carriage
in my life. The 'bus was always good enough for me, and
many's the time I've walked miles to save threepence.
That was my way of getting along, and it answered pretty
well."
"At least, you cannot complain, father, that my way of
getting on has cost you anything.
"It has cost me all the pain, whatever that may be, of
seeing a son of mine turn out a fool," said the old man,
suddenly dropping his mask of playfulness, and, as was
always the case when angry, snuffling his speech through
his nose.
"I brought you up to a good business, and I
left you in possession of it because I thought you were a
smart fellow, and would not only keep it up but improve
What have you done? Dumfy tells me that you've
hardly a customer in the place-
"What right has Dumfy to talk of my affairs?" said
Gideon raising his voice and dropping into the same
snuffling speech that marked his father's passion.
'Dumfy was my clerk long before I handed him over
to you with the other office furniture. He comes to see
me sometimes, and I like to have him here. We sit and
talk over old times when ninety per cent. was got with
safety, and we turned up our noses at twenty-five. I
mean to leave Dumfy twenty pounds in my will. He's a
good fellow and deserves something for his long service.
►
4
$74
Besides he'll be so mad that it was not £19 19s. 11d., and
that he'll have to pay the legacy duty."
"If you're so fond of Dumfy's society you may keep
him to yourself. A nice pair you'd make."
"I'll tell you what, Ike, I'd rather have his company
than yours, coming here and complaining of the very air
your father breathes, and filling the place with a stink of
lavender water."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
((
"Come, come, father," said Gideon, dropping the snuf-
fling and resuming the smile, "don't let us be foolish.
What are we quarrelling about? I've not come to ask you
for anything. I thought it my duty to bring you this
news, which some fathers would be proud to hear.'
Well, I'm not, so there's an end of that.
It's only
another step of your downward course.
What do you
want to get into Parliament for? Do they pay you any-
thing for it? Can you get anything there that you can
sell outside? Will you find opportunities for doing a
little business on notes of hand? If that's your game,
and you come for a father's blessing you shall have it.
Otherwise you'll please me best by stopping away till your
senses come back to you."
“Now, father, this is ridiculous, besides being offensive,
which I know is no matter. You went your way, and I've
gone mine. Perhaps in the end it will turn out that I've
done better than you; at any rate I've got things in hand
that if they turn out right will leave me one of the richest
men in England."
"If they turn out right, yes," roared the old gentleman,
his merriness apparently forever gone, and a look of the
intenscst and angriest contempt showing through the dirt
in his face, and blazing forth from under his shaggy eye-
brows. "But don't you suppose I know all about your
business, the basis upon which it rests, and which may
any day crumble and bring you to beg at that door, where
I tell you at once you will beg in vain. Your great acres
are mortgaged to the last sod; you're living now from
hand to mouth on borrowed money; you're hoping to
be able to hang on by your teeth till your property's so
far developed that you may sell it in lots.
I dare say you
would find it very convenient if your father would pay down
twenty or thirty thousand pounds for you in cash. But if
you wanted five pounds to carry you over a single day,
with the certainty that on the morrow your specs. would
GIDEON FLEYCE.
75^
x
come right, and you could pay me back five hundred-´
fold, I wouldn't give you a penny. If you'd gone on in
the business I made for you, and had come to grief, I
would have helped you. It's an honest business that;
doesn't mean crawling about in big people's houses, and
trying to look one of them. You don't know what you
did on the day you changed your name.
I said nothing,
at least not to you, but that was the last drop in a cup
pretty well filled. Ashamed of your father's trade, ashamed
of your father's company, ashamed to bear your father's
name! Look here, do you see that?"
The old man had worked himself up to a state of fury,
in which the snuffle was lost in a scream. With trembling
hands he produced from his pocket the key of the safe,
had now flung it open, and was standing with outstretched
arm pointing to its recess.
"Do you see those rows of paper, row on row, in twen-
ties, fifties, aye hundreds? Do you know what they are?
They are gold, Ikey, gold, every one of them, and there's
more to come. More comes in every year, every month,
every week.
It's better than a seat in the House of Com-
mons, more lasting than the grip of a lord's hand; worth
all your joys in the company of men and women who de-
spise and laugh at you. That's what comes of minding
your own business. It might have been yours, it was in-
tended to be yours, but if I leave it in my will to my son
Isaac Gideons, where will they find him? They'd go and
look in the office in Carlton Street, but he wouldn't be
there. They'd go to the synagogue and ask the patriarchs
of our people for this son of the old Hebrew who died so
rich; but they would know nothing of him. They might
hear of a poor make-up creature going about under the
name of Gideon Fleyce, and aping London fashions, but
they'd never believe that he was the son of old Israel Gid-
eons. Perhaps the money would get into Chancery and be
dribbled away amongst lawyers. That I'll take care it shan't
be. I've settled where it shall go to, all but the twenty
pounds for Dumfy, so take a good last look at it, Ikey.
There it is. These packets not arranged are what I was
making up when you came in, and there in that bag is
more gold which I'll go on with as soon as you're gone, and
I hope that won't be long. Take a long look. Let it be
burnt in upon your brain, and sometimes when you are
hard pressed for money to keep up your trumpery glitter,
£
part of thing
GIDEON FLEYCE.
176
then think of this beautiful safe with its rich lining, which
might have been yours but which you've sold for a
shadow."
The sight was in truth burnt in upon Gideon's brain
never to be forgotten. As he walked away from the in-
hospitable door he saw the open safe, every line of it,
every rouleau, with the bag of gold lying on the left side.
He saw it then and many times after, and beside it the
figure of the infuriate old man with the velvet skull cap
on his head, the ludicrously large carpet slippers, the flash-
ing eyes, and the bony, dirt-begrimed hands outstretched
pointing to the safe.
Just now he was marvelling not so much at the im-
mensity of his father's wealth, but at what seemed the
reckless manner in which he stored it. He knew the the-
ory upon which his father regulated these affairs. This
gold was only a small proportion of his wealth. He had
his banking account, where lay securities reaching a larger
total than even Gideon dreamed of. The gold was simply
the accretion of dividends now rolling in from various in-
vestments. Five years ago, at a period of commercial
panic, Israel had made a large sum of money owing to
the accident of his having at the time a sum of gold
in the house which he was enabled to pay down on the
nail. His rejoicing at this stroke of fortune was more
than counterbalanced by the consciousness that if he had
only had twice as much gold in his strong box his gains
would have been increased in proportion. He had then
resolved to keep in his safe a sum of gold ready to operate
with whenever panic again smote the Stock Exchange.
It would come some time, he felt sure. Every month
he was expecting it, and every month he piled up his gold
ready for the eventful moment. This fancy Gideon was
familiar with. But he did not know that the hoard had
accumulated to this extent, and marvelled that his father,
who never risked anything, should risk robbery, and per-
haps worse, if it were only known that this quiet house
in Fulham was really a gold mine.
He was quite right in his judgment of his father's fore-
sight. Israel Gideons, when he stored five thousand
pounds in gold in his safe, took precautions against the
possible incursion of thieves.
En
*
за
GIDEON FLEYCE,
CHAPTER XIII.
{
77
Gideon's Guests.
GIDEON had not run up to town solely for the purpose
of calling to see his father. Being in London he had
thought the opportunity favorable for paying a visit to
the old man, and was a little crestfallen at the result. It
was quite 'a new light that had flashed forth in the out-
burst of passion. Nothing of this kind had previously
passed between the two, and Gideon had been altogether
misled as to the view taken by his father of his ambitious
pursuits. The old gentleman hitherto maintained the
merry mood which sat upon him so quaintly. He had
said nothing when Gideon changed the family patron-
ymic for one that had struck his fancy. It is true he
always ignored the change in such written communication
as he held with his son, always addressing him as Isaac
Gideons. Now Gideon had learned how bitterly the old
man resented the slight, and what animosity he nourished
towards the son who, according to his view, had cast him
off.
His
To do Gideon justice, he was not especially pained by
the prospect of being cut off from the enjoyment of his
father's wealth. There were times when the ability to go
to a safe like that in Fulham road would have been high-
ly convenient. But Gideon had before him the prospect
of quite sufficient wealth of his own making. It was, as he
sometimes said to himself, all a question of holding on.
property, it was true, was mortgaged, but well within its real
value. As long as he had the interest forthcoming, all
was well, and as the months passed on the time was visibly
approaching when he should be able to sell his holding at
great profit. Therefore, the Spider's evident intention
of cutting him off did not hurt him nearly so much as
the feeling that he had fatally wounded his father's pride,
and that reconciliation was hopeless. The old man had
been kind to him in his way. He had made room for him
in the business in Carlton Street at an age which imposed
on him no necessity to retire. Gideon would have been
J
} ·
{
Mid
78
GIDEON FLEYCE.
glad if he had taken in his new pursuits an ordinary meas
ure of interest, and had displayed in his prosperity that
pride which he felt they justly merited. But he knew it
was no use trying to argue the matter out.
The old man
must go his way, and Gideon would go his.
This now led him to Carlton Street, where, in the same
room where we first met him in company with Captain
O'Brien, he had another interview with that estimable and
indefatigable gentleman. Since things were going on
swimmingly at Saxton, and his prospect of presently enter-
ing the House of Commons appeared certain, Gideon be-
gan to think that he would like to have a foretaste of
the joys of that society he yearned to enter. The diffi-
culty was that with the exception of O'Brien he knew
nobody, and though a good many men in society knew his
family name, and had a personal acquaintance with his
father, the circumstances relating thereto were not of a
character that would induce them to force their hospital-
ity upon the Spider's progeny, albeit disguised and re-
named.
Gideon had great faith in giving a dinner. His first
proposal to O'Brien was that he should issue, in his name,
invitations to a carefully selected body of well-known
members inviting them to dine with him at the Cottage.
O'Brien was able to show him that this would not do, and
at last it was arranged that O'Brien was to give a little
dinner at his club, which Gideon of course was to pay for,
and at which he was to make his debut as a political per-
sonage.
"I have got all settled at last," said O'Brien, "but it's
been rather a tough job; of course not in the matter of
soup, or fish, or wines. They are all right, and will be of
a quality suitable to your high hopes. The difficulty was
to get fellows to come. Everybody's engaged three deep
just now, and scarcely any one is to be had under six
weeks' notice. But I've done pretty well, and have got a
fairly good company."
"How many shall we be?" asked Gideon, twenty?"
"I should hope not. You don't suppose this is going
to be an agricultural dinner or a mid-day debauch by one
of the committees of the Corporation of London. It's not
dining to get twenty men into a room, it's feeding. What
you want is an opportunity of meeting a few men who may
be useful to you, and having a quiet talk all round the table.
،،
<
GIDEON FLEYCE.
79
If I'd done exactly what I wanted I would have left us eight
all told. But knowing your weakness for numbers I've
stretched a point and made it ten.”
"And who are they?" Gideon asked, meekly accepting
this rebuke of his hospitable intent.
"First of all, giving due precedence to Her Majesty's
Judges, there's Belsey. He's a very good fellow, and has
not been on the Bench long enough to get spoiled. I
don't frequent that part of Westminster much, and never
was at an Assize Court in the country; but I read some-
times of the goings on of the judges, and am surprised peo-
ple stand it. The way they bully the public all round,
from the sheriff in his gilt carriage to the witness who is
driven in a tramcar, is incredible, besides being nonsensical.
I sometimes feel inclined, if I had a six months' leisure, to
get subpoenaed as a witness where Spotsam is judge. I
wouldn't have to do very much to bring about an ex-
plosion from the Bench, whereupon a few words quietly
spoken from the witness-box might have a useful effect in
calling attention to an abuse of authority, which exists
only because the ordinary public when dragged into the
witness-box are so belated with the strangeness of the
place, the pomp of the proceedings, and the bullying
which begins with the usher, that they don't say a word.
Why do you want six months' leisure? Á week or
even a day would do if you could choose your time.”
66
"That would do for the proceedings in court, but for
the rest of the time I should be in prison. However, you
needn't be afraid of mecting Belsey; he has not yet got
inoculated with the bumptiousness of the Bench. He was
a very good fellow when in the House, and would have
made a better Solicitor-General than more than one who
has been chosen over his head. Still, he's done pretty
well, though I fancy he often hankers after the husks of
Parliamentary debate. Then Gilbert will come, which is
awfully good of him, seeing the pressure upon him. But
he takes a strong interest in your case, and will do any-
thing to further it. It will be an immense advantage for
you to be found in his company. Then there's Mockett.
You've heard of him, I dare say. He's getting up in years
now, and is quite out of the hunt, but he bears his disap-
pointment pluckily, acknowledging that he played his own
game, and if he lost he had no one to blame but himself.
Was in the ministry, and seemed to have a future before
""
}
λ
{
Man-per
*
80
gideon fleycE.
}
him, but differed with Gladstone on the question of the
quality of paper to be used in the Blue Books, or some-
thing of that kind, and heroically resigned his post. The
newspapers cracked him up a good deal, more especially
the Conservative journals, who had long articles extolling
his patriotism, and applauding the honesty of a man who,
on a matter of principle, preferred his conscience to his
place. I rather fancy Mockett thought Gladstone would beg
him to withdraw his resignation, but G. was very busy at
the time, didn't think anything of it, scarcely missed Mock-
ett from the Treasury Bench, and so the thing drifted on,
and a successor was appointed. It was a delicate and dan-
gerous game to play, and turned out a bad job for Mockett."
"Has he been in the shade long?
"It happened many years ago now, and Gladstone has
had more than one chance of bringing him back, but when
new ministries have been formed, or vacancies have oc-
curred, Mockett has never been thought of. He's shelved
absolutely, though he serves a public use by presenting a
fearful example to ambitious and restless young Ministers.
Since his failure he has shown a good deal of sense. Of
course he feels the position bitterly, but he has not angled
with the other side, nor posed as a candid friend—at least
not often, and never seriously. He is well-informed, well-
connected, has travelled much, knows people and places,
and is a capital fellow at a dinner-table. Denham you've
not heard of yet, though you will if both of you live a few
years longer. He's a lawyer, very sound, and in rising
practice; but what is more unusual, he is a favorite speaker
in the House of Commons-the best of his cloth I should
say, being able most fully to divest himself of wig and
gown when he rises to discuss matters of general policy.
He has no connections, and nothing to help him except
his own ability; but he'll get on."
"Now that's cheering," said Gideon. "I like to hear
that a man may get on in the House of Commons simply
by his own merit."
"There's nothing else that will get him on there. He
may be the son of a Duke and yet a blockhead. In private
intercourse members will never forget his father the Duke,
but in their aggregate capacity they are absolutely insensi-
ble to the subtle attraction of the parentage, and will
howl him down as impertinently as if his mother were a
washerwoman. Look at Blissenden, who is also coming
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GIDEON. FLEYCE.
on Wednesday. There's a man that started in life cer-.
tainly with less advantages than I possessed. He is, or
was, something in the wool line, and has a big factory at
Bradfield. His first taste of public life was in the Town
Council of his native town, and his first essay in statesman-
ship related to the carrying out a plan of sewering the
town. I have been told by a man who lives in Bradfield
that the quiet, yet resistless, way in which Blissenden
came to the fore was something marvellous to see. At that
time it is possible his ambition did not go beyond the
folds of the Aldermanic gown or the length of the Mayor's
chain. But he worked tremendously, neglecting no de-
tail, shrinking from no labor, and practising all those arts
in the management of public affairs which will some day be
used by him on a very different scale. He's made his mark
in Parliament already, and in the very way that will con-
firm the opinion of those most sanguine for his future. The
House, which had heard a good deal of him, and expected
something truculent and aggressive, was surprised to see
the quiet, well-dressed, almost boyish-looking man, who
didn't talk broad Yorkshire, as had been expected; who
didn't appear in his shirt-sleeves as had been apprehended;
and who, above all, refrained from heaving half a brick at
the Speaker on the ground that, seated in the chair, he
was a convenient cockshy. Blissenden is only just begin-
ning, and will go a long way before he's pulled up.
Goymer is a man of another type, equally ambitious, hard-
working, and in his way capable. It just depends on the
humor of the man who forms the next Liberal Ministry
whether he gets a place in it or not. That's what he is
trying for in an awkward, heavy style, which contrasts
painfully with Blissenden's forward and incisive motion.
Goymer is a wonderfully learned fellow, distils some of
his surplus information through the newspapers, and
wants to pour it in buckets on the House. The House
won't have it, and then Goymer storms at it, insisting that
whether it likes it or not it shall be instructed.
Of course,
he might as well run his head against a stone wall. Hav-
ing tried it on once or twice, the House now won't listen
to him, even when he may have something to say. But
he is an honest man, though heavy and somewhat given to
crotchets, and I need not tell a man of your general infor-
mation that there is nothing more fatal to success in pub-
lic life than the taint of a crotchet."
*
-81
A
1+ 4
4
+
GIDEÒN FLEYCE.
"If he writes for the newspapers," said Gideon, "I'd get
him to do me a few articles for my paper, when it is
started."
82
“I think I wouldn't ask him just now, at least not at the
dinner. I am not quite sure that he writes the sort of
thing that would go down at Saxton. Now, I am nearly
through the list, though there's no opportunity of omitting
Wratten. I'm not quite sure how it comes about that
Wratten will be one of us. I'm by no means clear whether
I asked him or whether he invited himself. However,
he's coming, and we must make the best of him. He is
the man of whom Starcourt said that he ought to be nailed
on the door of the House of Commons, as
a bat is
nailed on a stable door, as a warning to whom it may
concern. Starcourt, you know, is a pretty good judge of
Parliamentary demeanor, though not himself a successful
practitioner, and he didn't too strongly put the general
view about poor Wratten. I say poor because the man
must lead a miserable life. He came into the House de-
termined to take it by storm, and he is constantly being
snubbed. It is said, but this of course is a libel, that the
ink was not dry where he had signed his name at the ta-
ble before he was on his legs giving notice of a resolution
on a question of high imperial policy. He is not without a.
method, but the plans he has are much of the same kind
as those the ostrich is accustomed to carry out when it has
its head comfortably buried in the sand, and thinks no
one can see it. Wratten's one notion is to keep his name
before the public-if in conjunction with that of a dis-
tinguished man so much the better. With this object,
whenever any great event happens during the sitting of
the House, he breathlessly rushes down, and seizes the
first opportunity to put a question to Ministers on the
matter. You can see him sitting on the edge of the bench
anxiously looking round the House, guessing whether
anyone wishes to get before him. The thing being of
importance, his name figures prominently in the report
the next morning, and the name of Wratten looms large
among the constituencies. This is one of his minor arts.
A more serious undertaking is when he gives notice to
bring in a Bill, or move a resolution on a subject which the
Ministry have undertaken to deal with. Of course he has
to withdraw in their favor, but when he meets his consti-
tuents he is able to say, 'See what a good boy am I, and
GIDEON FLEYCE.
83
what a powerful influence for good. The moment I
moved in this matter the Treasury Bench saw the time
had come, and now are going to deal with the abuse.' I
believe Wratten is a perfect nuisance in the newspaper
offices, always sending them paragraphs about himself, or
carefully prepared reports of speeches which he is about
to deliver. He is not a desirable companion, but I don't
think we need regret his getting the invitation, however
it was obtained. He will be useful for you as a study of
what you should avoid. There you are, Fleyce; there's
the last of your guests. By the way we must not forget
to keep up the little fiction that they are mine."
"I only make nine of it," said Gideon, who had been a
rapt listener to this somewhat candid discussion of his
guests.
1
"Oh, I forgot Gosley, the dear old Gosley! I did ask
him, though, to tell the truth, it was because Pennyfather
couldn't come. Gosley is a bore, though of a different
type from Goymer or Wratten. He has the largest views
of his duties as a member of Parliament, and a quite cos-
mopolitan range of subjects. From Greenland's icy moun-
tains to India's coral strand Gosley is quite at home. He's
always buzzing round like a bluebottle on a hot summer
day. A thorough Liberal, conscientious and useful to the
extent of his powers; but he likes to think he is direct-
ing forces, like old What d'ye call it Addison wrote about,
who was seated in the whirlwind directing the storm. At
critical moments he gets in the Tea Room with one or two
old women of his own mind, and they with their mouths
full of muffin declare We can't stand this sort of thing any
longer. So they draw up resolutions and promote cabals
which, ridiculous in their inception, are not without their
influence on public affairs. To see old Gosley marching
about the lobbies after one of these portentous meetings
is a sight full of enjoyment for persons not immediately
concerned. In moments of melancholy he will descant on
the absence of appreciation on the part of successive Prime
Ministers who have not invited him to join their Cabinets.
Gosley could do anything. Foreign Affairs, the Colonial
Office, the Home Office, any of these he would prefer.
But he would not be above looking after the Navy or car-
ing for the Army if the Premier pressed him to take office
in connection with either of these services. He is a good
old soul of a much larger nature than Wratten, and though
•
STAR
oh and
Em
$84
GIDEON FLEYCE,
a bore at least amusing. Now we have gone through the
list of guests. Perhaps you'll leave the management and
the wines to me, and don't forget eight on Wednesday
next."
FI
CHAPTER XIV.
At Dinner.
O'BRIEN'S final difficulty in respect to the dinner was the
arrangement of the guests at the table. He had fought
his way successfully through all earlier obstacles, but felt
that this was not to be slighted. He wished that the party
should be useful to his client and agreeable to his friends.
Gideon was, as he said to himself, "such a duffer," that he
felt he had no right to thrust him upon men like the Judge
or Blissenden, or even Mockett. It was another thing
with Gilbert. What is a Whip for if he is not able to put
up with an hour or two's boring company? But O'Brien
had a heart, and felt that Gilbert had done enough by
promising to come, and he was determined that the even-
ing should be made as agreeable for him as possible.
At first he had the notion of planting Blissenden next
to Gideon.
""
"These Radicals are too cock-a-whoop," he had said to
himself, "and a little bringing down won't do them any
harm.
Finally there burst upon him a happy thought, which
was carried out when with moderate punctuality the com-
pany found themselves at dinner, and Gideon was seated
between Wratten and Gosley. All this anxiety on the part
of O'Brien was perhaps a little unnecessary. He had
formed certain fixed ideas about Gideon which induced
him to treat with hasty contempt his pretentions to take
his place in the political world. With his wide experience
O'Brien might have been expected to know better than to
regard this as an exceptional weakness. Gideon was quite
as well informed and more capable of acquiring informa-
tion in politics than many men who sat in the House for
important constituencies, and looked monstrous wise on
the strength of the position. The difference in Gideon's
case was tha, being bent upon carrying out a certain
*
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
undertaking, he had very wisely, when seeking advice
from a business man, admitted his total ignorance.
Gideon looked very well as he sat among the men who,
without their knowing it, were his guests. He was better
dressed than some of them, notably the Judge or Mockett.
As a rule the House of Commons is a bad place to look
for models of good dress, more especially if they be sought
on the Liberal Benches. The Judge had already brought
his shirt front into a woefully crumpled state, whilst Gideon
smiled above a fair and uncrumpled expanse of snowy
cambric.
"How do you like your new dignity, Belsey?" asked Gil-
bert.
"Not at all," said the Judge, in his hasty, choleric man-
ner. "If I were a man of fortune I would give up the post
at once and return to the old battle-ground. I would as
soon, having to make the choice over again, be a cherubim
as a judge. They are, I suppose, cut off from free and un-
ceremonious intercourse with the world around them, just
as we sitting on our bench are. I am fond of politics, and
have been ever since I was a lad. Now I dare no more
open my mouth in public thereupon than I dare swear at
the Lord Chancellor. I am not supposed to have any
opinion on current affairs, whereas I have very strong
ones, and never have been a good hand at disguising them.
More than that, one is cut off from cheerful conversation
and companionship. I tried to get over this, at first per-
haps a little spasmodically. There's Wenham, for example,
an old chum of mine ever since we both went to the bar
together. I often meet him walking down to Westminster
Hall and fall in for a chat. But it's no use; I have given
it up. Perhaps if I were to meet him on an iceberg in the
Arctic Ocean, or on a moor in Scotland, it might be all right.
But so near Westminster Hall, he evidently cannot get
over his associations, or forget that presently I will be on
the bench and he pleading before me. I give you my
word of honor I'm afraid to say when I meet him: 'A fine
morning, Wenham,' for fear he should reply, 'As your
lordship pleases.'"
((
кураринный
To
85
'You are misanthropic, gloomy, and prejudiced. You
are new to the business and take a one-sided view of it.
But look at the other side; look at the salary, the dignity,
and the opportunities of quietly amassing a fortune with-
out killing yourself with work."
دن
盏
​Arse
трудни
86
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"The dignity is all right, but the salary's insufficient.
There is, I believe, a vulgar notion abroad that judges
going circuit travel at the expense of the State, and are
entertained at the charge of the Exchequer. That makes
the real facts more aggravating. I was sitting at dinner
next to John Bright the other night, and in his sneering
atrabilious way he said, 'What a nice lot of fellows you
judges are when you can't travel about without a good
cook.' Now that's 'ignorance, sheer ignorance, Madame,'
as Johnson said when the lady asked why, in his dictionary
he had defined the pastern of a horse as its fetlock. Only
Bright is so confoundedly self-satisfied that you are not
likely to get an admission of ignorance from him."
"Then don't you have a cook?" asked Gideon, grate-
fully striking in, feeling that the conversation was
coming to his level.
now
"No, sir," said the Judge, wrathfully, and apparently
disposed to make the matter a personal question with the
company.
"What we have is a fellow whom we call a
contractor. He undertakes to feed the judges and their
suites all through the circuit, and a pretty stiff sum it
comes to. Our bill on the Oxford circuit last time came
to £362, and that did not include wine or beer. One of
the odd things about it is that coffee also is excepted.
You may have a cup of tea, but if you ask for a cup of
coffee, it's extra."
"This is really shocking," said O'Brien, "and to my
mind proves more clearly than ever that the country is
going to the dogs. But then you have lodgment."
"Yes, we have lodgings of one kind or another. At
Carlisle they are infamous, at Liverpool excellent, at Man-
chester uncomfortably gorgeous. Perhaps, as I see I am
exciting your profoundest sympathy and chilling Den-
ham's professional enthusiasm, causing him to consider
his determination to mount the bench, I should say that
there are two towns on circuit where judges are received
right royally and entertained at the charges of the muni-
cipality. One is Bristol and the other Newcastle-on-Tyne.
At Bristol, some years ago, they tried to shuffle off the coil
of hospitality, and took an opinion from Selborne, who
was then Roundell Palmer. He advised them that they
certainly might drop the custom, only, on the other hand,
the judges would then not be bound to perform certain
antique and graceful forms for the municipality, so they
GIDEON FLEYCE.
87
decided to hold on by the ancient customs. Then there's
the buck. As Fitz said to me when we arrived in Exeter,
'The Western Circuit would be endurable only for it's
venison.'"
"Tell us about the buck. I never heard of that."
"No; one half the world never knows how the other
half lives. There's a great earl down near Exeter whose
forefathers have been in the habit of welcoming the ar-
rival of the judges at the county town by the present of a
fine buck. I dare say it began in the time of Judge Jef-
freys, who went the western Circuit and loved venison.
I don't care for it myself, being of the opinion of Con-
ingsby's friend, the great Lord Everingham, who thought
the breeds of sheep must have been very inferior in the
old days as they made such a noise about their venison.
All I know is that the judges have to give two guineas to
the man who brings the buck, and two guineas to the con-
tractor, together with two bottles of port wine to assist in
the cooking. Why this should be is wholly incomprehen-
sible, particularly in the case of the contractor, who gen-
erally gets the buck. This is bad, but I hear it is worse
in Lincoln, where there are two noblemen who send a
buck apiece for the delectation of her Majesty's judges,
and these little formulas have to he gone through twice."
"Pity the sorrows of a poor judge! But they don't
seem to dim the spirits of Dorkings."
((
-
No, those are irrepressible, especially during a good
black assize. Wilton says Dorkings would sit at the Old
Bailey day after day without salary if he might only pass
per diem sentences amounting to a hundred years' penal
servitude. We never have any difficulty in arranging who
is to do the hard work at the Old Bailey. Dorkings, like
Barkis, is always willing."
"But I don't know about his permitting himself pleasure
without pay," said Denham. "He was when at the Bar al-
ways pretty keen about the fees."
((
Yes, and he managed to roll up a pretty good lump
before he consented to face those calls upon the purse
which Belsey has so pathetically descanted upon."
Mr. Mockett chimed in "I suppose you have heard of
his conversation with the Duchess of Mull the other day.
She came up to him and with the atrocious bad manner
which duchesses sometimes permit themselves, said: 'Well,
Sir Albert, I have heard that you are a very rich man.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
'Yes, Duchess,' said Dorkings, a little taken aback and
horribly afraid she was going to ask him for a subscription.
'I have worked hard and have been paid regularly.' 'Well,
now tell me how much are you worth?' About ten mil-
lions,' said Dorkings, with his gravest bow, and the Duchess
retreated defeated.
""
"Dorkings," said the Judge, "has the complete way of
growing rich. He earns a great deal and spends nothing;
he never entertains company. I never met a man who had
been in his house. There's some mystery about him.
"You may be sure it's a woman," said O'Brien.
"Is it
true what one hears about the bangle that he never takes
off his left ankle ?"
"It's not a bangle, it's a bracelet, and it's worn on his
arm, a bracelet of solid gold welded together and immov-
able."
"An affair of the heart, you may be sure," said Denham,
'though the thought of Dorkings with a heart is a new
sensation."
(6
The Judge having, in addition to his high position, a loud
voice and an energetic manner, had managed pretty well
to hold the company together whilst he thus discussed
upon his learned brother. But the ice once broken every-
body made haste to fall in, and Gideon, who had meant to
shine a little himself, had the greatest difficulty even in
following any consecutive course of conversation. Mr.
Gosley and Mr. Wratten, when they failed in their at-
tempts to speak across the table, personally addressed
themselves to him, concluding long-winded narratives in
which they themselves formed the hero.
"I went to Gladstone and told him this would not do.
We had had a meeting in the Tea Room, at which the
whole thing had been discussed-at least I made a speech,
and so did Blenheim-after which the meeting was ad-
journed, our time being up. But it was very clear that
the party would go to pieces if this thing went on."
Mr. Gosley, whilst he thus discoursed, had settled his
elbow on the table with his head leaning upon it, his face
turned towards Gideon, who was looking across the table
where the clear, well-balanced voice of Mockett rose
above the din in discussion on fly-fishing.
“I know a man, a first-rate fisher, who has the most ex-
traordinary collection of flies I ever saw. They are made
for fishing in all parts of the world except these islands.
-t
ان
89*
GIDEON "FLEYCE.
One he's rather proud of is made from a feather of a cock
pheasant, reared in Central Hungary, a thing no British
fish would touch, however enticingly thrown. Of course
he never uses any of them, but generally carries them
about with him on his fishing expeditions, for, as he truly
says, you never know what may happen. I always make
a point when I meet him of asking him whether he has
yet tried his fly made from the feather of the Central
Hungarian pheasant. But he admits it has never been on
the water yet."
"The oddest fly I ever saw fished with," said Gilbert,
himself no 'prentice hand with the rod, "was a part of the
beard of a famous R. A., a man who, by the way, handles
the rod with as much picturesque effect as he does the
brush. I never saw a man cast a fly so prettily. He was
fishing one day near Ardrishaig, and had caught nothing.
He tried all he could, and all the flies in his book with the
the same result. At last he, in his wrath, caught hold of
his red beard, nipped a bit of the end, and made a fly
which, as sure as I'm an honest fisherman, filled his basket
with trout."
"They called upon me to ask if I would use my influ-
ence with my friend Hartington," Wratten said in Gideon's
other ear. "I went very carefully into the matter and I
said I would see what I could do. I was, of course, very
glad to assist in any object which I thought was for what
seemed to me the general good. I remember a similar
case when I was in Persia. I was dining with the Shah,
who said to me 'could I do anything for the Grand Vizier's
I
"""
aunt.
"Wratten's conversation always reminds me of the
French orator who, being interrupted and losing the thread
of his discourse, recommenced with the observation,
'Where was I?' 'Vous disiez, moi,' cried a voice from
the crowd."
This was a whispered remark from Denham in the
ear of Blissenden, who sat quietly watching the company
but contributed nothing to their conversation. None of
the guests interested Gideon so much as this silent one.
He had made a terrible blunder on entering the room,
which he had done a little late, thinking it desirable that
his entrance should appear as important as possible. Hav-
ing been introduced to Mockett, whom he found talking to
a boyish-looking individual, and misunderstanding some
}
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pare
£
GIDEON FLEYCE.
reference Mockett made to him, he had thought that the
lad was his son, and he greatly feared that he had let this
impression appear. He prided himself, as we know, on
his judgment of men. But it was a puzzle to him to see
this terrible Radical, this controller of more or less secret
societies in populous places, so absolutely free from self-
assertiveness, and displaying even a pleasing bashful-
90
ness.
M
Mockett had one of those useful voices which can be
heard above any sound less than a waterfall. Through the
growing din, with Gosley increasingly confidential on his
right side and Wratten more than ever self-laudatory on
his left, Gideon could make out that at that end of the
table they were discussing art and artists.
"He may have his faults, but he's one of the few men
who can draw a face-above all a woman's face.
He gets
the eyes in the right place, quite a novelty, I assure you,
in that kind of drawing. I have seen in the work of some
great men eyes put in such a position that it would be per-
fectly impossible for the owner to see out of them. Now,
Mardyn gives his faces a good human eye, one that you
could wink with."
Mardyn was a name which Gideon knew. He drew pic-
tures for Punch and illustrated books. Gideon felt it was
time for him to begin to shine if he meant to do it at
all. He was getting on famously with his companions on
either side, turning upon each at well-regulated intervals
with a face displaying the profoundest interest in their
narratives, though for all he understood they might have
been reciting the names of the ships in Homer. O'Brien
saw him, and began to have a much higher opinion of his
abilities than he had brought to the table with him.
Gideon would try a shot about Mardyn, and get the stream
of conversation turned towards him.
Just as he was moistening his lips and preparing for the
plunge, Gilbert dashed in with an enquiry fired across the
table to the Judge, which set all the company by the ears.
Belsey, you are now an outsider, besides being a judge.
What is your judicial opinion on our chances at the gen-
eral election ?'
"
"I think they are good," said the Judge emphatically.
"I go about the country a good deal and get a better view
of things than you fellows, who stop in town and think
there is no world outside the four-mile radius from Char-
f
GIDEON FLEYCE.
91
<
""
}
ing Cross. I think the country's sounder than it appears
to be when surveyed from St. Paul's or the Clock Tower."
"So do I," said Gilbert.
(6
de So don't I," cried Mockett. "Depend upon it, Dizzy's
right in the view he takes of foreign politics. The people
like to hear the drum and the shrill ear-piercing pipe."
Yes," said Blissenden, in his quiet way, now for the
first time joining in the conversation, "but they don't like
to pay the piper. They have had the melodies played in
music halls and elsewhere, and now they have got not only
weary of the tune, but are growing uneasy about the
cost.'
"It's my opinion," said Mr. Gosley, "that if we do get
in again Gladstone will have to pay more attention to the
views of men below the gangway. We are not going to
stand snubbing. We made the party what it is, and we
shall want to have our claims recognized."
"Well, the party's in a dreadful mess now, and has been
for some time," said Denham, "and if you made it what it
is, Gosley, I wouldn't say anything about it. The thing is,
are you ready to take office ?'
""
(6
To tell the truth," said Gilbert, with a weary look, “I
sometimes wish to heavens we may never get back to
power, or at all events that I may never live to see the
day. If there's one thing worse than the Liberal party in
opposition it is the Liberal party in power. Our enemies
are those of our own household. We pull six different
ways at the same time. There's not a man amongst us,
except perhaps Gosley, who doesn't think he'd make a
better Prime Minister than the chief. We're all so fatally
honest, so confoundedly conscientious, so infuriately inde-
pendent, that we constantly play into the hands of the
enemy. We've got our private nostrums for saving the
State, and are not only certain that they will cure, but are
ready to affirm that anybody else's will kill. I often think
that since, for some great crime committed in the dark
ages by an unknown ancestor, I must needs have been
condemned to be a Whip, that mercy should have been
tempered with justice, and I might have been brought up
on the other side. There the relative positions of Whip
and party are thoroughly understood."
“You mean,” said Goymer, "that one is the Whip and
the other is the pack of hounds to go hither and thither at
the bidding of the huntsmen. I hope that is a state of af-
+
}
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92
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
fairs that will never be found possible with the Liberal
party."
"It certainly won't so long as you have a say," said Gil-
bert, good-humoredly. "The only way I ever manage
with you is on the principle by which a party is sometimes
driven. If I want you to vote 'aye,' I employ you to vote
'no,' and when I want you to keep out of a debate I send
you a note, trebly underlined, begging you to be in your
place at a particular time.”
""
"For my part I think I may say I have never
Wratten, who had been very uneasy at his inability to
strike in, had got thus far when the worthy Judge broke
in, without meaning to be rude, but his highly-trained
mind instinctively ignored immaterial issues.
"Things have been very badly managed from the first.
Gladstone is both the strength and the weakness of the
party. His feminine discomposure after the election of
1874 upset everything, and but for Hartington, who
behaved nobly, the party would have been so wrecked that
twenty years wouldn't have served to repair its fortune."
"You've only dealt with one aspect of the proposition
you started with," said Blissenden. "Gladstone made a
mistake about himself in 1874, perhaps not inexcusable
in a man of his temperament, with his nerves unstrung by
overwork and his temper loosened by a sudden and
astounding rebuff. But you're all mistaken if you don't
see that he's the only man who can place the Liberal
party where it was. He's the one man that can move the
country, and the country's quite ready to be moved when
he puts his hand to the lever."
"Blissenden is right," said Gilbert, "and all you town-
bred men are wrong. I know what the answer of the
country will be at the general election, and I see behind
that a woeful time for the Whip. The old, old story of a
triumphant Liberal party exercising its spare energy in
pulling its own hair and scratching its own face, Gosley
triumphant in the tea-room, Goymer shaking a wise head
and looking unutterable things from a bench below the
gangway, and all the men who've got nothing glaring at
those who have got something."
"Belsey," said O'Brien, "this conversation is getting
a little too serious. We shall have Goymer moving to
have Gilbert's words taken down, to avoid which let's go
and have a cigar."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
metal
93
5
In the smoking-room Gideon managed to get away
from Wratten, who was in a desperate ill-humor, reflect-
ing that, whether accidentally or designedly, he had not
been permitted to complete a single sentence. Gosley
was harder to deal with since he was bent on rebutting
Gilbert's insinuations, and showing if his views had becn
adopted in 1873 the issue of the general election would
have been different. Gideon had so far adapted himself
to the company of the good man that he could let him
talk on without disturbing his reflections, and even man-
aged to get brief chats with Sir Henry Gilbert and
Blissenden. He was much drawn towards the latter, and
would have liked to improve on his acquaintance, but he
felt that he would have plenty of opportunity by and by.
In the meantime what he wanted to think over, if Mr.
Gosley would only let him, was whether on the whole it
were better for him to come in as one of a troop of tri-
umphant Liberals, or to temper a general defeat of the
Liberal party by winning Saxton from the enemy? On
the whole he concluded that the latter would be more to
his personal credit, and was not so pleased as he should
have been to hear these confident predictions of victory
all along the line.
CHAPTER XV.
The Clerk of the Works.
Two years have passed since we first found Gideon
Fleyce standing at the window in Carlton Street waiting
for the coming of Captain O'Brien. A great deal had
happened in the meantime. In respect to the interval
unbridged by consecutive narrative all had gone well
with Gideon. His financial affairs were prospering in
that somewhat feverish glow which flushes in moments of
prosperity, and takes on a something of a ghastly yellow
when things do not go quite straight. As has been noted,
everything depended on his ability to "hang on." Hang-
ing on involved a renewal of early loans and the arrange-
ment of further ones; but the basis of the transaction was
sound, and within certain limits of time there would be
no difficulty with great financiers who had large floating
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
capitals, and liked to have them temporarily anchored
over broad lands.
Gideon's Napoleonic eye had stood him in good stead.
He had seen opportunities for purchasing improving
properties, had invested therein the whole of his own
money, and had liberally borrowed from others. But
this kind of borrowing was on a very different basis from
that conducted in palmy days in the dimly-lighted room
in Carlton Street. The men who lent him money were
famous banking firms, fully alive to the magnitude of
the transaction and exceedingly careful in their investi-
gation of the security. That this should have been
satisfactory to them was the best proof of Gideon's
acuteness and the soundness of his bargain. Certainly
there was his own fortune thrown in, and represented in
"the margin" on the original cost of the land. The lend-
ers kept a firm grip on their holding, and would in the
ordinary way finally appropriate it should Gideon fail in
meeting his engagements. But every day drew nearer to
the blissful time on which he had reckoned when, owing
to the action of circumstances which cost him nothing,
his property, always improving, should realize twice the
amount of its purchase money. Even now Gideon nib-
bled at the kernel of the nut, occasionally selling little
parcels of land, though he did it regretfully and only
under pressure of exceptional circumstances, feeling that
he was sacrificing prospective advantages.
He had got into the way of spending his money freely,
and Saxton was already costing him what only a princely
revenue could meet. First of all there was the Castle.
The purchase money of the long lease had been fixed at a
fancy price, and the alterations put it up to a good round
sum. He did not regret money gone if only it had
brought him adequate return, and least of all did he
lament the amount spent on the alterations, for they had
brought him into very intimate acquaintance with Napper.
That young lady had gone into the question of improve-
ments with all the enthusiasm of an unsophisticated na-
ture. She had a natural talent in this direction, and if she
had been a man might have made a decent living as an
architect, her universal genius adding to the necessary
qualifications a taste for landscape gardening. Gideon
knew nothing about it. What pleased him most was to
see men at work with mounds of earth in one place and
GIDEON FLEYCE.
95
corresponding excavations in another. But he always
looked wondrous wise, and, when a thing was done, had a
way of smiling which suggested either that he had thought
of this before, or that whilst it would do very well he knew
of something better, though he would not on this occa-
sion give articulate expression to his superior views.
It was Napper who planned it all, though her modest
way of conducting the enterprise frequently led to Gideon's
giving orders and honestly believing that the suggestion
had emanated from himself. Of course all the old farm
buildings were removed clear out of sight. The gateway
which had formed the main entrance to the court-yard
was left intact and supplied the doorway to the new man-
sion, which in a very modest and skilful way had subor-
dinated itself to the general design of the ruins.
It was
in the court-yard that Napper's fancy had found fullest
scope. A flower garden bloomed where John Cowman had
grown onions and cabbages. The thick and springy turf
which carpeted chambers that once had been hall or but-
tery or boudoir was for the most part left untouched, only
trimmed a little and swept and rolled. Here and there in
quiet corners, deliciously cool on the hottest day, were
bits of lawn the like of which the county could not pro-
duce. What had been the chapel was turned into a con-
servatory, the work being managed as elsewhere with the
least possible disturbance of the ruins.
t
-
It really wanted very little doing, as Napper said; the
less the better, only whatever was done required her skilful
touch and graceful conception. If Gideon had had his way
untrammelled it would have ended in his carrying away
the ruins altogether and building in their place some sham
stuccoed tenement. But, as generally happened with
people who came in contact with Miss Tandy, Gideon did
not in any undesirable particular have his way. Napper
managed him as she managed her father and the whole
population of Saxton, male or female, hostile or friendly,
envious or adoring. It is quite possible she did not know
herself when she was exercising this useful art. Certainly
the person subject to it was not aware of the process.
Underneath the veneer of Gideon's gay, good-humored
manner, there was a strong and deep foundation of ob-
stinacy, not to say pig-headedness. To contradict him
was sufficient to confirm him in the course challenged.
Napper never contradicted him. At the same time, as far
Satu
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
as Castle Fleyce was concerned, its owner never got his
way when he differed in the slightest measure from the
views of "The Clerk of the Works," as he had named
Napper in a sudden and exceptional flash of humor.
Mr. Dumfy noted these goings-on with grave discomfort.
He could see as far through a milestone as most people.
He read the very soul of the solicitor's daughter, and saw
therein all those mean desires, those greedy aspirations,
and those subtly-conceived plans which, by an odd coin-
cidence, were the reflections of the immortal part of him-
self. When Mr. Tandy had come to him with a sovereign,
and expressed his daughter's regret at the accident which
had led to the rending of his garment, Mr. Dumfy took
the coin with every expression of gratitude and satisfac-
tion. By this time he had overcome the momentary and
rare exhibition of a sullen and somewhat savage nature,
which he had himself regretted within ten minutes of its
manifestation. When he had raised himself on his knees
in the muddy road, it was with the quick intent to look
about for a paving-stone wherewith to smite Knut even
unto the dust. Even later, when he had reflected on the
brevity of life, with special reference to the chances that
environed a dog, he had meditated the purchase of a small
packet of poison, which, administered in a dainty dish of
meat, would close Knut's account forever. But he had, on
reflection, abandoned this plan as altogether unworthy of
his energies. If he had not flashed forth in the presence
of Miss Tandy he might have done it. After what had then
passed, should Knut suddenly decease with plain evidence
of poison, he would inevitably be suspected, and he knew
enough of Gideon's temperament, and of his readiness to
prove his devotion to Miss Tandy, to reckon upon instant
dismissal.
Of course there was the Spider in reserve; but Mr.
Dumfy was not such a fool as to think of deliberately and
of his own choice exchanging the service of Gideon for
that of his respected father. His present berth grew
richer and richer in his esteem. Gideon occasionally
dropped down upon his petty cash accounts; but they
were much more carefully kept since the time when over-
confidence had led him to make those abounding entries
of gin. The total weekly amount was not less, but it was
more carefully distributed; and with a greater wealth of
substantives. In addition to other curious qualities this
3
97
GIDEON FLEYCE.
effort at book-keeping somehow or other invariably left in
Mr. Dumfy's pocket at the end of the week a sum exceed-
ing his appointed wage.
He had, on the whole, a very comfortable time down at
Saxton. Now that the Castle was built and Gideon's af-
fairs had grown into regular shape, Mr. Dumfy had re-
turned to the settled joys of the household in Camden
Town, and as the Sunday came round Rehoboth knew his
presence once more. Still he frequently had occasion to
go down to Saxton, and sometimes spent two or three
days there, which formed a pleasant break in the mono-
tony of London life. The greatness of his employer was
reflected upon him, and he enjoyed an amount of consid-
eration among the people which he would not have bar-
tered for Gideon's, seeing that his share cost him nothing
whilst Gideon's involved much money expenditure.
Mr. Dumfy, whilst able to make the best of whatever
good things came in his way, was constitutionally troubled
with apprehension of the future. What he had now was
nothing to what he might lose next week, or next month,
or next year, if certain things happened. The certain thing
that would happen he clearly perceived was that Nap-
per would marry Mr. Gideon Fleyce, and the certain thing
that would follow thereupon would be his immediate dis-
missal. Just as he discovered in the fair and frank ex-
terior of Napper the loathsome meanness which made up
his own nature, so he perceived in the young lady's mind
a strong and unquenchable hatred for himself, exactly
corresponding with that he cherished for her.
To tell the truth Napper rarely bestowed a thought
upon him. She did not like him, it is true, and had an in-
stinctive feeling that his almost total absence of instep
was not the sole reason for a distaste for which she could
not otherwise very well account. But he was nothing to
her, not nearly so much as one of her old men in the
almshouses. She was always civil to him. But as a rule
she was more than civil to people with whom she came in
contact. Mr. Dumfy keenly felt the difference, and the
extracts from the Commination service formerly alluded
to had in process of time grown into the rounded propor-
tions of a second Athanasian Creed, which he could on
occasions recite to the unconscious Napper's everlasting
condemnation.
"A mean, artful 'ussey, playin' her game that open that
5
98
GIDEON FLEYCE.
very few suspect her; but it's all as clear as moonlight.
She thinks that conceited fool Gideon is rolling in riches,
that he'll sit in the Houses of Parliament, and perhaps be
made a barynite. Any 'ow here's this Castle Fleyce, that
she's had made accordin' to her own pattern, cutting it out
as if it were one of her own skirts she was a making up,
and Gideon standing there, looking on smilin' in his
knowing way, as if he warn't being tied up just like Samp-
son with Delyla's 'air, though he's got no strength, which
Sampson certainly 'ad."
Thus Mr. Dumfy, whose frequent attendance at Reho-
both enabled him occasionally to garnish his conversation
with metaphors, discoursed with the Spider as they sat at
meat in the house in the Fulham Road. The meat was
exceedingly limited in quantity, and having stuck to the
pan in boiling diffused through the room an odor remote
from appetiziag.
"Made a little scouse for you, Mr. Dumfy," said the
Spider when the guest entered the banquetting hall. "You
seemed to find the bread and cheese cold last time.”
"Yes," said Mr. Dumfy, sniffing with a slightly dissatis-
fied air, "but haven't you made this a little too 'ot?"
"It's my extravagance with the coal," replied the Spi-
der, regretfully, as he raked together a small quantity of
slack, which left it forever a mystery how the pan could
have got burned.
Mr. Dumfy had formed the habit of dropping-in in the
Fulham Road every other Sunday night on his way home
from Rehoboth. It was a very long way round, and he had
more than once hinted that it was a little late for supper
when he got home. The Spider had met these advances
by the cautious production of bread and cheese, the latter
Dutch and very dry. Also there was a flagon of what Mr.
Dumfy recognized as "four-'arf." The Spider himself had
not partaken of this sumptuous meal, though Mr. Dumfy
could not fail to notice the peculiar measurement of the
liquor when poured out. It was too much for a glass, and
not enough for a pint, which appeared to suggest that the
latter quantity had been imported, but had somehow or
other evaporated.
The Spider found these visits so interesting and con-
solatory that he began to look for them with increasing
appetite, and since it was plain that Mr. Dumfy was not
to be bound by the silken bonds of bread and cheese and
수
​99 ·
gideon fleyCE.
we
very thin beer, he had ventured upon the more substan-
tial and richer allurement of a hot supper. The first ex-
periment was not a success, but Mr. Dumfy recognized
the goodness of the intention and ate what he could of
the compound.
"Now the Castle's built, and all them flim-flams in the
back yard's put right, you'd expect she'd drop off a bit.
But no! When a female's once made up her mind to a
thing of this sort, she goes on without so much as think-
ing of the shame. She's not up at the Castle quite so
much, and I must say her father does the right thing by
coming with her. But there's all'ys summat up, the end
being that she's around spying, and ordering, and settling
things, just as if she were goin' in as missis next week."
This, it should be said, was an exaggeration, due prob-
ably to the inspiriting effects of the four 'arf and the
genial glow of the burnt scouse. As soon as the Castle
had been furnished by Mr. Griggs, and was ready for oc-
cupation, Napper had begun to withdraw. She did this
not because people in Saxton were beginning to talk
(moved thereto by hints diplomatically dropped by Mr.
Dumfy), or because she thought there was anything
wrong in sometimes taking her father's arm and strolling
with him up the hill to look in at the Castle to luncheon,
or peradventure to dinner. She did not go any more,
simply because her work was finished, and it was, to tell
the truth, the excitement of the work which made Gideon's
company endurable. She had not abandoned her faith in
his generous schemes and great destiny. If he was going
into Parliament, of course it was with the intention of do-
ing the State some service. He certainly was going in,
and spared neither money nor personal effort to secure
his election. At the same time, she began to think that,
like some others, he had mistaken his vocation. She dis
covered that his actual knowledge was exceedingly limit-
ed. In literature she herself was pretty well read; but
when she started in that direction she was speedily pulled
up by discovering that Gideon did not know what she
was talking about. Of politics and public affairs she
knew nothing. He, of course, as coming forward to rep-
resent the borough, m t know everything, and Napper
thought the opportunity favorable for adding to her store
of knowledge in this new field. Gideon took refuge in
mysterious references, or strung together a few phrases
Aba
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100
A
shes
gideon fleyce.
which Napper's quick intelligence detected to be non-
sense.
This was a matter she could not quite make out. How
a man who knew nothing whatever about politics or of
public affairs, at home or abroad, or even of the history of
his own country, should go into Parliament to make laws
was a matter beyond her comprehension. But with all
her quickness of decision and occasionally surprisingly
energetic manner, she was modest and truthful. This was
clearly a business which she did not understand, and was
it for her to judge others? She thought not; and so
quietly refrained from touching these topics, greatly to
Gideon's relief, who was conscious of quite a new feeling
of shame at being an impostor before this girl.
With politics a forbidden ground, literature hopeless,
and the works at the Castle complete, Napper found Gid-
eon's company rather a barren entertainment, and accord-
ingly began to shun it. To Gideon this new attitude car-
ried fresh confirmation of a truth borne in upon him as
strongly as it had been upon Mr. Dumfy. He did not
take such a low opinion of Napper as came natural to his
clerk. But he honestly felt that it would be a very nice
thing for her if he married her, and made her mistress of
Castle Fleyce, with a prospective house in town.
CHAPTER XVI.
Not in Love.
In robe and crown, the King stept down
To meet and greet her on her way;
"It's no wonder," said the lords,
"She is more beautiful than day."
GIDEON had seen all Napper's pretty ways, playing
round about him as a butterfly circles round a rose; or as
Gideon was inclined to put it in its severer aspect, as a
moth flutters about a candle. Now the poor frail thing,
feeling its wings singed, had withdrawn, hoping to carry
its wound, and its woe to some qui place where in course
of time they might grow healed. He watched the helpless
flutterer with a fresh access of tenderness. It would all
come right in the end, he thought, and he was sure that
}
على
GIDEON FLEYCE.
IOI
not for anything less than a matter of supreme importance
would he give pain to this bright and beautiful girl, who
was so happy when fate first led him to Saxton.
He had been, brought up in a school where it was cus-
tomary to give nothing for nothing, and to charge from
fifty to sixty per cent. on actual advances. He could not
entirely divest himself of the notion that in thus plainly
laying siege to his affections Napper had in her eye those
substantial advantages which would accrue from union
with him.
There he was, in degree, at one with Mr. Dumfy. But
he was able to perceive what Mr. Dumfy was not always
successful in comprehending, and that was the possibility
of certain other influences that had clearly been at work
in the mind of this unfortunate young person.
No one
before had ever been in love with him so far as he knew;
yet when he came to think of it there were many reasons
why they should be. He was, as his glass told him, a
pleasant-looking man, his glossy black whiskers setting
off to advantage the clear red and white of his complex-
ion and the pearly purity of his teeth. He was certainly
well dressed and had more new boots in a year than any
man of his acquaintance. Besides he was pleasant-spoken,
and had of late in the new company with which he was
associated put on certain manners altogether unfamiliar
in Carlton Street, and which when graphically described
by Mr. Dumfy during the Sunday evening in Fulham
Road, were received with snorts of contempt and snap-
pings of dirty fingers on the part of his revered parent.
Gideon was of very quick intelligence, and was not in
society for nothing. Without appearing to watch, he saw
how a born gentleman like O'Brien comported himself,
and almost unconsciously adopted his manner. His edu
cation had marvelously progressed during his compan
ionship with Napper. She had no idea that she was
teaching, and Gideon had still less suspicion that he was
learning. But the process was going on day by day, and
Gideon began to have quite surprising glimpses of how
gentlemen thought in particular circumstances, and what
it was likely that they would say and do. Of course the
change was entirely superficial. You cannot make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear, at least not during a process
of manipulation comprehended within the space of two
years.
Mom
24
"
فی نی
102
I
GIDEON FLEYCE.
It was Gideon's great misfortune that his idea of being
a gentleman and a member of Parliament should have
come to him so late in life. That it came to him at all
is evidence that there were some good impulses in him.
His father, for instance, was thirty years older than he,
and it is safe to assert that at no moment of his life had
it occurred to the Spider that it would be a nice thing to
be a gentleman. As far as he had studied the genus, a
gentleman was a well-dressed creature who spent a great
deal more money than he actually possessed, and was
continually calling at Carlton Street for fresh loans. Gid-
eon, in his earliest advances towards manhood, had glad-
dened the old gentleman's heart by his avidity in the mon-
ey making business. It seemed quite natural that this
should be so. It had been in the family since they hawk-
ed wares in the streets of Jerusalem. Still, parentage is
a tricksey problem. No one can say how a youth of un-
exceptional parentage may turn out. There is, in truth,
a proverb to the effect that the sons of the clergy are not
all they should be. The Spider, when contemplating the
near probability of Gideon's birth, never speculated
whether he (if he it should prove) would be born with
three arms or one eye. But he often lay awake in the
dead unhappy night wondering whether it were possible
that he should have a son who was to be a discredit to
the family-that is one who, coming into possession of
tens of thousands of sovereigns, did not by honest trade
make them fifties.
<<
Gideon had at first done credit to his training.
He
had thrown himself into the business with youthful ener-
gy and hereditary talent. He had even exceeded his fa-
ther's wildest hopes, causing the business to spread and
multiply exceedingly. It was with ecstatic recognition
of this great goodness that the old man had retired in
favor of his son, and set himself up in the bijou residence
in the Fulham Road suitable for a gentleman of fortune,
and filled up his leisure moments by counting his money.
It was shortly after this event that Gideon, looking
about for fresh means of adding to his wealth, had hit
upon the land scheme. Then had entered into his mind
what his father regarded as a demoniac ambition to be a
gentleman of position, and his natural shrewdness led
him, as the shortest and completest way, towards the por-
tais vi the House of Commons. Thereafter his downward
當地
​GIDEON FLEYCE.
103
course had been followed with accelerated impetus till
"Now," as the Spider observed with his evil eye glaring
upon Mr. Dumfy, as if that estimable person had had
something to do with it, "Now he no more values a fifty
pound note than if it was a three-penny piece."
If Gideon had commenced earlier in life he would have
done as well as, or even better than the well-placed gen-
tlemen who utter platitudes at public meetings, and pass
for exceedingly wise men of cultivated taste and well-
bred manner. He had done well, wonderfully well, con-
sidering the time and measure of opportunity he had
enjoyed, and if he would only carry out the half-formed
intention he had, and marry Napper without loss of time,
he would in the race of respectability overtake a good
many who made an earlier start.
He was rapidly tending in that direction, but, of course,
there was no hurry. He must get this election through
first, and relieve his mind from the recurrent worry of his
mortgages. With a seat in Parliament and the corner
turned he could with more satisfaction to himself tell
Napper that he had made up his mind to marry her. She
was an estimable girl, a rare prize, just the very thing he
wanted to round off his establishment. Of course he
might marry money. There were plenty of dark-eyed,
red-lipped children of Israel, who, after proper prelimin-
aries, would consent to stand by his side under a canopy
whilst he dashed a tumbler to pieces on the ground at
their feet. Their fathers were unpleasant persons in most
cases, and their mothers distinctly tended towards obesity.
These were objections that were growing upon the culti-
vated taste of Gideon; and besides, he had never thought
of such a thing. Napper would have no money, but he
would have enough for two, and she would bring to his
household gifts that were not to be weighed in the balance
with such weights as the Spider was wont to put in his
scales.
He felt conscious of quite different feelings when in
company with Napper. At first her really ridiculous re-
gard for the truth struck him as a curiosity. He had
never in his life come across any one who, quite naturally,
without any effort, appearence of mental controversy, or
vestige of self-sacrifice, told the truth on all occasions.
Even gentlemen of historic names, and doubtless among
themselves of unimpeachable honor, did not hesitate
M
The
*
what
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EÓ.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
104
to misrepresent fact when they came to deal with the
Spider.
Gideon had, first of all, been attracted by this curious
phenomenon, as he might have been drawn by discovering
a comet in the heavens. He had heard of such things, of
course, though chiefly in reading history or fiction. But
here it was quite natural, growing and living under his
very eye. It was really a curious thing, and Gideon, after
staring at it for some time, began to grow quite to like it.
To have near him a person who, in whatever circum-
stances of the hour or day, might be relied upon to tell
exactly the truth, neither more or less, was something
worth having. It was like the prospect of possessing a
watch that, hour by hour and year by year, kept true time,
and saved its owner the trouble of guessing whether it
was now slow or then fast. Gideon liked this so much
that he even tried it himself—not in any important affairs
where to tell the truth would have been seriously damag-
ing, but in minor matters where, two years ago, he would
unhesitatingly have shielded himself from possible injury
by adapting facts to circumstances. Now he, sometimes,
judiciously and by way of experiment, let facts have their
own way, and was encouraged by finding that the conse-
quences were, after all, not so calamitous as lifelong
habitude had led him to apprehend.
The worst of it was that with his old associates the thing
made no difference. In the society where Gideon had
been born and bred it was the custom for men to assume
a proprietary interest in facts and deal with them accord-
ingly. Thus there grew up a mental habitude of taking
a man's assertion and turning it over in the mind with the
object of deciding how much was true, and where and
with what object it varied from the path of rectitude.
One thing Gideon was quick enough to perceive was
the enormous saving of time and of brain power accruing
in social communities where people were accustomed to tell
the truth, not only in great but in small matters of daily
life. Having a turn for arithmetical calculations he came
to the conclusion that twelve months spent with Napper
would be equal to two years' residence with his esteemed
parent. Half the time father and son spent in social or
business intercourse they necessarily occupied in winnow-
ing truth from fiction in the mixture presented in each
other's converse. When Napper spoke, Gideon had only
*
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
105
to endeavor to grasp the meaning of her words in their
ordinary acceptation. This done he knew precisely what
she meant to convey, and his old economical instincts
rose up to confirm the impression that after all this was
the better way of speech.
It will be clear to experienced students that since Gideon
could thus calmly discuss the girl he was not in love with
her; wherein they are right. He never had known what
it was to love any one in the sense foolish men and women
use the verb. Women were a sealed book which he never
thought it worth his while to open. Here it was spread
out before him with fairest page, and he felt conscious of
a new and subtle pleasure in studying it. But as for love
he was too busy to think of that.
It began to be as clear to him as it was to Mr. Dumfy
that he would end by marrying Napper. Of course he had
only to ask her, and she would be his. It was like getting
possession of the Castle. A big money sacrifice would be
involved; but price was no object where value was to be
received, and here more clearly than ever Gideon dis-
covered full value. This very sense of certainty of pos-
session was enough to prove the absence of love. It may
be true that perfect love casteth out fear, but it is certainly
not true with respect to the initial stages of the process.
Gideon had no fear, inasmuch as he had never contem-
plated the possibility of Napper's saying nay to his yea.
He would, he supposed, marry Napper, and he smiled to
himself to think how mighty pleased her respectable father
would be at such a brilliant match.
But just now he had other things to think of. When he
could write M.P. after his name, when the rapidly succeed-
ing sale of lots of eligible land on building leases were
clearing off his mortgages, when he had his town house,
and when the men whose names he saw in the newspapers
were accustomed to put their legs under his mahogany,
then he would come to this really estimable girl and would
say to her: "Napper, I've watched you closely for some
time, and know your value. You are a good girl and a
clever one, and would be a credit to any establishment. I
don't ask whether you've got any money. I've enough for
two. I might have done better, and perhaps I might look
higher, but I'm a judge of character. I've studied yours
and I like it. Come now and be Mrs. Gideon Fleyce, wife
of G. Fleyce, Esq., M.P., of Castle Fleyce, in the county
5*
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​{
106
GIDEON FLEYCE.
of Limester, and of number something-or-other Grosvenor
Street, W."
King Cophetua would woo the beggar girl only when he
might step down from his throne and invest her with the
glory of the crown he laid at her feet.
CHAPTER XVII.
A Rising Journalist.
GIDEON had not made a light answer when, in reply to
an observation from Napper on the question of newspaper
proprietorship, he had stated that he intended to have a
paper of his own. He had meant to go through with this
thing at Saxton, and in his large way it seemed the cam-
paign would not be complete unless he owned a news-
paper. Perhaps next to editing or managing a newspaper,
the easiest and most agreeable thing in the world, accord-
ing to the world's way of thinking, is to own one. There
is this particular difference, that whilst of course anyone
can edit a newspaper without preparation it requires more
or less of capital to become a proprietor.
Gideon had the capital, and he thought he would like
to have the newspaper. Mr. Gladstone, he understood,
had a large share in various metropolitan and provincial
prints. A Cabinet Minister was about buying, or had
just bought, a journal having the largest circulation in the
world. Other distinguished statesmen were more or less
suspected of proprietorial rights in newspapers, and to
Gideon it seemed that this was the right thing to do.
As usual when wanting something in connection with
his electoral campaign he looked to Captain O'Brien, and
asked him to find him a man who could start and success-
fully run a newspaper at Saxton, just as he might have
asked him for the loan of his pocket-knife. O'Brien,
whose impulses were all honest, endeavored to dissuade
his client from embarking in this new adventure.
"What do you want with a newspaper at Saxton?" he
asked. "It cannot pay; it would be a constant drain
upon you, and will do you no good. The worst thing in
the world for a man in public life is to own a newspaper.
L
€
GIDEON FLEYCE.
107
It brings him into all kinds of embarrassing relations with
his friends, and so far from helping him by keeping his
name favorably before the public, it does him injury. If
you start a paper everyone will know that it is your own ;
then, how can you deal with yourself and your prospects?
You can't puff yourself in your own paper, and can't even
do yourself justice, for if you have earned a good word,
and it is said for you in a journal you are known to own,
all its value will be discounted. You might as well write
a letter yourself in your own hand and under your own
name, discoursing on your many good qualities. The
local papers will look after you fairly and fully enough,
and you'd better leave the business to them.”
Gideon scarcely listened to these words of wisdom, as
was his habit when he had once made up his mind. He
had thought about the newspaper before Napper men-
tioned it, and what she had innocently said confirmed him
in his idea. It would be a grand thing to have a news-
paper all your own, to say in it, or have said in it, what
you pleased, and thus be in direct communication with tens
of thousands of people. Besides, it would be another
earnest of his intentions and stability. He already owned
a castle at Saxton. If he had a newspaper, too, he felt he
would be rather set up.
-
O'Brien, finding Gideon obdurate, and feeling that it
was not his business to throw himself in the way of swine
running down a steep place bounded by the sea, undertook
to find the necessary man. In fact he had had him in his eye
when Gideon mentioned the subject, and it was only by a
considerable sacrifice of amiable intention that he had
uttered his warning. This was just the thing for Jack
Bailey, and might be the making of him in more ways than
one. Jack was the son of an old friend and compatriot of
O'Brien. Like most Irishmen who cut themselves adrift
from their native soil, he was clever, and like many, he
had a taste for journalism. He had come to London three
years ago full of high hope and boundless ambition. This
was about all the fulness he possessed, his pockets and his
portmanteau being singularly empty. But that was a mat-
ter which did not greatly trouble Jack. He had letters of
introduction, which he felt certain would forthwith place
his foot on the step of the ladder, and then- !
In com-
mon with enthusiastic youths with a taste for journalism
who essay to storm the gates of London, Jack had a quiet,
108
GIDEON FLEYCE.
pathetic trust in his letters of introduction. They were to
men whose names were familiar to him, and whom he
knew lived and worked in the very Arcana of journalism.
What troubled Jack as he smoked his pipe in the second-
class carriage that whirled him rapidly to London was the
embarrassment of riches that would presently beset him.
The first step was everything, and whether he should con-
sent to accept an engagement on the Jupiter, the Thunderer,
or the Early Starlight was, he felt, a matter of the gravest
importance. Like hundreds of other youths bent on the
same errand, he firmly believed that in London journalism
there were at least a score of round holes waiting for the
round pegs that should be thrust into them.
He was of
course the round peg, and felt that in occupying a partic-
ular position (having made a certain selection and done
his best to smooth over the natural disappointment of
those of his friends whom he could not oblige by taking
the position they had ready for him) he would not only be
meeting his own views, but greatly obliging the particular
paper he had selected.
"The quality of mercy is not strained," he cried aloud,
waving his short pipe with theatrical air. "It droppeth
as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.
It is twice bless'd. It blesseth him that gives and him
that takes."
Jack's natural spirits, always irrepressible, were just
then naturally at their highest pitch, and when his sole
companion in the carriage, an elderly gentleman sucking
at a stout Chinchinopoly cheroot, got out at the next sta-
tion, Jack knew he thought he was mad, and greatly en-
joyed the joke.
He was very kindly received by the famous journalists
to whom he carried his letters of introduction. They were
exceedingly busy, but each in turn asked him to dinner,
and he met at their table two or three others of high re
pute, and some whose names he had never heard, though
he gathered that they produced a considerable portion of
the wisdom, warning, and counsel, distilled in doses a little
over a column in length in the morning papers. His new
friends said they would think of him, keep his name daily
before them, and whenever opportunity arose would with
both hands seize it by the hair; and when the door was
closed on his buoyant figure, they straightway forgot him.
The one who was the least effusive in his reception of the
GIDEON FLEYCE.
109
î
youth from Ireland, lingered a little in the hall with Jack
as the latter bid him farewell.
"I have told you I will bear you in mind, my lad," he
said, looking kindly into Jack's face with the bright gray
eyes that saw so much; "but I must tell you too that I
have said it to a good many more, and so probably have
all men in my position. London is like a great magnet,
and all the bits of steel filings and chippings knocked off
in any part of the country fly towards it. But a bit of
steel filing or an odd knuckle of iron is not a shapely and
well-tempered chisel warranted to do a good day's work.
There is no trade like ours, my lad, at once so seductive
and so exacting. The railway stations, especially those
that lead from the North are daily disgorging youths,
some of average ability, many of none at all, and one in
five hundred of heaven-born aptitude, all pressing forward
in the great, and attractive race for the prizes of literature,
and it's hard working nursing mother Journalism. The
many after a heartbreaking struggle starve, or if a merci-
ful Providence has blessed them with any remnant of
common sense, they go now and do what they should have
done at first—they drive the pen in a merchant's office,
or measure out dress stuffs in a draper's shop. The some
having at least mechanical aptitude drop into the rank and
file of journalism and earn a more or less satisfactory in-
come in the neighborhood of the Police Courts, or even,
if they have luck, in the Houses of Parliament. The five-
hundredth, whether the doors be opened or closed to him
when he commences his campaign, sooner or later inevi-
tably takes his place, just as he would have done if he had
been born a joiner or a market gardener, or had been
gifted with whipcord leg sinews, suitable for a professional
walker or runner. In journalism, perhaps beyond any
other profession, the best man wins, and that is partly
because it is absolutely the most open profession, wanting
neither capital nor stock-in-trade to start with, not even
an easel and box of paints and pallet as a painter must
needs have. There is no such thing as patronage in
journalism, and exceeding little to be got out of personal
friendship. Our real master and employer is the public,
and the public will not have forced upon it second or third-
rate work in deference to the amiable intentions of any
man desirous of befriending an acquaintance, or getting
a wife's relative off his hands. I think you will do, my
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GIDEON FLEYCE,
lad; but whatever you do you will have to do it yourself,
and the sooner you get out of your head the notion of
anyone shovelling you into the snug places of journalism
the sooner you will begin to move. When Humpty Dumpty
fell off the wall, you know, all the king's horses and all
the king's men could not get him back again. In its way
it is the same with you young chaps and journalism. You
stand at the foot of the wall looking up to the top and
thinking how nice it would be to be sitting there, and how
admirably qualified you are for the post, but you must
climb yourselves. If it is in you you will do it, and all
the king's horses and all the king's men-that is to say all
the editors and all the able journalism of the day cannot
keep you back. If it isn't in you, well then if all the
editors of all the daily papers in London were to combine
to make a back for you, you'd never get up, or if you did
you would presently swiftly and ignominiously be thrust
down. It would have been easier for me to stop short at
the formula about bearing you in mind and that sort of
thing. But I like the look of you, and moreover I have
some tendency towards honest speech, and feel it is kinder
and more honest to tell you all this than to buoy you up
with false hope of what I can do for you. I can do for
you just what was done for myself when the imperturbably
yawning railway station disgorged me, and that was as
nearly as possible nothing. What I have done I have done
for myself, and you will find that is the history of every
man who holds a position on the London press to-day.
Don't you hurt your prospects, my lad, by thinking things.
are otherwise. It will bring you only disappointment and
sorrow, and wasted opportunities."
This was rather a wet blanket on Jack, as seeming to
extinguish the warm hopes with which he had looked from
afar on the reflection in the sky of the lights of London.
But he was not (at least not then) easily cast down, and
even took refuge in reviling his kindly counsellor.
"A mean, calculating Scotchman," he said to himself,
having succeeded in raising his spirits with the assistance
of a soda and brandy and a cigar. "He wants to discount
the claim I have upon him, and wishes to make out a case
to show he actually can do nothing. I suppose he is the
five-hundredth man, the irresistible genius, the patent cork-
screw warranted to go through an oak board. Nothing
could keep him back, I'll warrant. And he did it all him-
110
Gideon fleyce.
III
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2
self! The conceited, niggardly Scot; and I don't think
so much of his writing neither, although it is cracked up,
and he's got a fine berth, besides writing as much as he
likes in the monthlies and quarterlies."
Jack vowed he would go near him no more, and when
presently they met on equal terms he would take an op- '
portunity of conspicuously cutting him.
Jack was a very clever fellow, a smart writer, and a fair
scholar. He had passed through Trinity College with
that particular sort of distinction which a youth gains.
among his classmates, when they declare that if he liked
he might have got any prize. Jack apparently did
not like. At any rate he got none, but he brought away
with him a fair smattering of classical knowledge and a
wide acquaintance with English and French literature, to
the study of which he was drawn by natural taste.
Whilst he was waiting till fortune should decide for him
which of the three great papers named he should accept a
staff appointment on, he began to write paragraphs and
short articles for the evening papers and some of the
weeklies. Of most of these ventures he heard nothing
more, but one or two began to appear. When Jack saw
his writing in print for the first time he felt that his for-
tune was made, and since there would be no need for fur-
ther hoarding of the small balance of cash that remained
to him after five weeks' waiting in London, he went out
and had a good dinner, including a pint of champagne, an
eightpenny cigar, a cup of black coffee and a glass of
chartreuse. This was unfortunate, as payment for his ar-
ticle (which when it arrived amounted to only double the
amount he had spent on his dinner) was deferred till the
end of the month.
In the meantime Jack had to live, and he found the
problem very hard to solve. He learned the way to the
pawnbroker's shop, and temporarily dispossessed himself
of his watch and some other articles of portable property.
At the end of the month he got his guinea for his article, and
a few shillings from some other papers. He worked hard
enough to have made a decent living if all he had written
had been printed and paid for. But whilst he was gradually
establishing a footing in this precarious fashion, he would
write five articles, of three of which he heard nevermore.
They vanished as completely and as hopelessly as if he
had dropped them into one of the openings in the main
i+
112
I
GIDEON FLEYCE.
k
drainage. But he was unquestionably getting on. He
had a bright pointed style and a daring way of looking at
things which recommended him to some papers. He even
got an article in a magazine, and looked with blurred eyes
upon his name set forth in fair type-"J. Devonport
Bailey."
Jack had noticed before leaving Dublin the enormous
advantage it was to a man entering upon a press career to
have a memorable Christian name. The commoner the
name the more exigent the necessity. Plain Fred Smith
would be nowhere in the race; but let him come out as F.
Belshazzar Smith and he is already some way towards
making his fortune. The same with John Jones, who
might as well attempt with such a name to thrive in popu-
lar literature as he might demand from the Prince of
Wales the immediate restoration of the Princedom, which
probably belongs to him by lineal descent. But when J.
Cholmondely Jones appears at the foot of an article, we
somehow or other gain a very different idea of the person-
ality of the writer. Thus Jack had, very early in life, de-
termined to become famous under the name and counter-
sign of J. Devonport Bailey. Of course this was no use
among his friends. The gay youth of Trinity had always
called him Old Bailey. In London, where he presently
found many friends of a boisterous sort, all called him
"Jack" before they had known him twenty-four hours.
Having once made a start in the business of friend-mak-
ing, Jack went ahead like a progressive snow-ball. The
friends into whose hands he had fallen were, perhaps, not
of the most desirable kind. Their trysting-place was the
bar of one or other of the public-houses which lie between
Ludgate Hill and Temple Bar, and wherein literature is
cultivated on a little water and a great deal of spirits.
This was, possibly, the turning-point in Jack's career.
There is nothing like hard work for keeping a youth out
of temptation. Jack was working very hard, partly be-
cause he liked it, and partly because he must live, and
here were his means of livelihood. But as he began to
prosper, found readier acceptation of his articles and grow-
ing checks from various sources at the end of the month,
the disposition which led him to give himself a big dinner
in commemoration of the publication of his first article,
and induced him to order chartreuse with his coffee when
he knew cognac would have been at least threepence
•
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
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113
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cheaper, now led him hopelessly astray. He was always
at one or other of the bars to which shifting fashion led
the gay youth of Fleet Street. Of a generous nature, and
constitutionally inclined to let the morrow look after it-
self, he spent his money faster than it came in, and when
he had changed his checks and paid what he owed, he
found himself face to face with a new month and very little
money. He was better paid than at first, and found a surer
market for his goods. This meant that he need not work
so hard to make a certain income; but it also meant that
if he had worked as hard as during the first twelve months
of his residence in London he might have been in comfort-
able circumstances, and on the way to establish his fame.
That was not Jack's notion of getting through life. A
great deal of bloom had been rubbed off his early as-
pirations. At one time journalism was a sacred vocation
to him. Now it was a mere business. So much “copy"
accepted and printed meant so many guineas. He would
work only when driven by direst need. His work, though
naturally bearing signs of haste, was quite good, spark-
ling with native humor, and agreeably aggressive. How
long this would last was, even to Jack, a matter of sad
foreboding in hours when he lay in his bed, with the
broad daylight streaming through the windows on a
wretched youth, with his head tied up in a wet bandage,
and an empty soda-water bottle on the table near him.
O'Brien knew something of what was going on, and
noted with pain Jack's downward progress. He liked him,
as everybody did; only his liking was of a more useful
sort than that of the generous fellows old and young
who were Jack's boon companions, for whom he "stood
drinks," and who now and then, with intent to keep the
ball rolling, repaid the attention in kind. O'Brien had
Jack to dinner occasionally at his club, where he listened
with grave attention to the youth's flaming account of his
comet-like progress in his profession. O'Brien noted that
for so prosperous a youth, who might be supposed to have
lunched in due time, Jack had quite a phenomenal ap-
petite at eight o'clock in the evening, and that his clothes
were not quite so well appointed as befitted his high and
improving station. Later, in the smoking-room, Jack,
soothed by a comfortable dinner, a moderate allowance of
wine, and a good cigar, sometimes grew confidential. He
let O'Brien knew that the path of a man of literature was
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GIDEON FLEYČE.
114
not always strewn with roses—or to quote his precise ima-
gery, "it was not all beer and skittles." There were pre-
judices to be overcome, animosities to be vanquished, and,
above all, mediocrities to root out of high places which
they held to the exclusion of genius.
What O'Brien liked better to hear were some sighs from
the depths of Jack's still uncontaminated heart for some-
thing higher than this skirting of the highways of literature
in company with men who maintained its worst traditions
without diffusing their soddened career with any of the
gleams of elder genius-"Churchills with anything save
the ability to write the 'Rosciad,' to-day feasting on orto-
lans, yesterday tearing tripe, and to-morrow evening an
empty trencher." There did not seem any hope of Jack
in London. He was doing moderately well, but he drank
a great deal too much and too often. His day had been
a continual succession of "nips" and his night a steady
carouse. If he could only be got away to some quiet place.
he might be saved, and since Gideon would have it so,
Saxton seemed to supply the very opportunity.
Behold then, Jack settled at Saxton, editor and man-
ager of the Saxton Beacon. At this particular period the
Beacon had been blazing for six months with, it must be
owned, a somewhat lurid light. Of course Jack knew
nothing of the requirements of Saxton, or of the elements
of success in such a paper. Politics were not his strong
point, but since Gideon was going in on Liberal princi-
ples it seemed right that Jack should belabor the Con-
servative Ministry. This was a fortunate incident, seeing
that Jack's nationality made it quite a pleasant duty to
"go agin the Government." Only a certain measure of
discretion and general information is required even in the
prosecution of this agreeable and summary political creed.
Jack hit out a little widely, being satisfied if only he hit
some one. His lapses from historical fact and his oc-
casional misapprehension of the drift of affairs gave oc-
casion to the enemy to blaspheme, and the local Standard
(published in the neighboring town of Lampborough),
gleefully undertook the duty of "showing up" the new
paper.
À more serious failing was Jack's lordly contempt for
matters of local interest. The people of Saxton presumed
to think that in the vast mind of the young editor from
London, the affairs of their little hamlet should find an
+
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
appreciable place. All this Jack treated with scathing
contempt. He made up a pleasant miscellany of useful
and entertaining knowledge, comprising long extracts
from new books, combined with the latest betting re-
ceived by telegraph, the whole illuminated by an admir-
ably written political leader, in which Jack was able to
show that Lord Beaconsfield was mainly responsible for
the troubles in Mexico which resulted in the execution of
the Emperor Maximilian.
*******
115
A deputation of the local magnates, in which Messrs.
Griggs, Burnap, and Goldfinch took a prominent part,
waited by appointment upon the editor to point out to
him this grave drawback to the acceptability of the new
paper. Jack treated them with such mingled hauteur and
ridicule that they were glad to retire. They subsequently
saw Gideon, who, though himself standing in mortal ter-
ror of the supercilious youth, managed to induce him to
listen to the representations made.
Jack began to give longer reports of the police courts,
petty sessions, and above all of the meetings of the Town
Council, a turn in the direction of affairs which rapidly
opened up a new field for his genius, and gave a decided
impetus to the sale and popularity of the Beacon. At-
tracted by the shindies that regularly took place at the
meetings of the Corporation, Jack flung himself into local
politics with all the ardor of youth. The time formerly
given to the slaying of the slain at Westminster, and the
flogging of dead horses in the matter of Lord Beacons-
field's actual or imagined shortcomings, was now turned
to consideration of the doings within the little Common-
wealth of Saxton. Jack "stirred them up," as he said, and
whatever they might have thought of the process he
mightily enjoyed it himself. Never had there been seen
writing like this for miles round. That the Lampborough
Standard "wasn't in it," was the unanimous verdict of the
company at the Blue Lion, where even before the discov-
ery of this new field Jack was a prime favorite. He could
sing a livelier song, tell a funnier story, or drink more
with less appreciable result than any man in the Borough.
These were things which, as Dogberry said of reading and
writing, came by nature. But the slashing articles that
appeared every Saturday in the Beacon, and which were
looked forward to with an eagerness that had a great effect
on the circulation of the paper, must be the result of the
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116
GIDEON FLEYCE.
training received in the highest and most renowned circles
of metropolitan journalism.
Gideon heard the Beacon talked about, and finding it
feared, began to think more of Jack than he had on first
acquaintance been inclined to do. Towards the establish-
ment of these amicable relations Jack contributed nothing.
His large contempt for most things was from time to time
centered upon his employer, whom he sometimes even
dared to chaff. Gideon was not accustomed to this sort
of thing, but he felt he could not, at least until the election
was over, quarrel with Jack, who accordingly lorded it
much in his own way, contributing to the slow building
up in Gideon's mind of the conviction that after all it was
not such a fine thing to own a newspaper.
"He might have found all the money," he said, one day
to O'Brien, with an ominous snuffle which betokened a rare
access of honest rage, "and I might be in the receipt of
weekly wage from him. I went in one morning and found
him sitting in his shirt sleeves smoking a nasty pipe, and
with a pewter pot on the desk beside him. I hate the
smell of tobacco, especially out of a pipe, and ventured to
hint that perhaps he might defer the enjoyment till after
office hours. He turned on me as sharply as if I had ac-
cused him of murdering his mother. Are you going to
run this machine, or am I?' he asked. 'We had better get
that point settled before going any further. If I do it I do
it my own way, and the independence of the Press shall
never suffer at my hands. If you are going to do it we
will have this pewter taken back, I will carrry myself and
my pipe off, and you can open the windows.' There's a
way to talk to a man who is losing £15 a week on the pa-
per, and paying this fool a bigger salary than he ever
earned before, or would ever be worth. The hardest thing
is I had to draw in, and the end of it was he positively
asked me not to call again in the morning, as he said it
interfered with his work."
S
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
117
CHAPTER XVIII.
Great News.
Ir is not my fault if the devious course of this history
sometimes drops upon Mr. Tandy in undignified positions.
We all lead a dual life, one in public and one in the house-
hold. The more important and awe-inspiring our public
position the greater are likely to be the contrasts if the
ability to take the roofs off houses were a common posses-
sion, and we might at will look in upon our great people
in the sanctity of their homes. It would be an evil day
for the majesty of the English bar, if by some swift trans-
ition the Lord Chief Justice, seated on the bench in wig
and gown, were to be presented, for whatsoever brief
space, to the view of the crowded court with his coat off,
his shirt sleeves turned up, peacefully engaged in the avo-
cation of washing his hands and face.
It was already eleven o'clock in the morning, and Mr.
Tandy should have been in his office. But it chanced that
business had no imperative calls that morning, and as
Napper had insisted on his helping her in a little business
she had in hand, Mr. Tandy yielded. Having strolled into
the office to look at his letters, he had come back into the
dining-room, and was now standing by the fireplace with
an exceedingly woebegone expression, whilst Napper
knelt on the ground behind him, and with busy skilful
fingers arranged some appendages on the skirt of a new
dress, which she had hung on his graceless figure.
Napper's dress not only played its part in completing
the hopeless misery of those six young men heretofore al-
luded to, but was the marvel and despair of young ladies
in town and county. Napper did not lay herself out to
dress extravagantly. A lamentable lack of the finer sen-
sibilities of our human nature even enabled her to wear
the same dress twice in the same company. But she was
always dressed well. Her dress fit her with a nicety that
was the despair of Miss Nethersole, the banker's daughter,
who sat three pews behind in church, and who in the
pauses of the Litany recognized the fact, that though she
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Gideon FleYCE.
had her dress from a London house who had their assist-
ants from Paris, Napper's dress, whilst simple in style and
obviously infinitely cheaper, had ever so much more style
¿ about it.
W
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118
Sometimes the young ladies of the neighborhood, in
gushes of confidence, asked Napper to confide to them
the secret of the dressmaker's residence; to which Napper
answered simply: "I make my dresses myself," thereby
unwittingly giving rise to much heartburning and to dark
suspicions.
"The selfish little cat," was Miss Nethersole's remark
to herself, when, as she supposed, she was thus rebuked.
"She's picked up some one that's a perfect treasure, and
wants to keep her to herself."
Of this enmity in the bosom of her friends Napper was
altogether unconscious. When she was asked who made
her dresses she, after her manner, simply told the truth,
and was not able to conceive the constitution of mind that
would call in question so plain a statement.
Napper made her dresses partly because it saved her
father a little money, but principally because she could do
it much better than she could get it done. Her great dif-
ficulty was planning the design on a lay figure. This was
generally met by the engagement of Mary Ann, the girl
who did everything in the house except the cooking.
Many moments of ecstacy did Mary Ann enjoy while hav-
ing Miss Napper's dresses fitted on her figure. How de-
lightful it would have been if something should suddenly
happen to finally sever herself and her mistress at the mo-
ment when the dress was receiving its finishing touches!
She did not wish any harm to her mistress; but she would
like to have had a dress like one of these.
On this particular morning Mary Ann was absent on a
brief visit to her relations at Saxmund. Among Mary
Ann's minor attractions was a strong family affection,
ministered to by a quite abnormal wealth of cousins. At
brief intervals she had a cousin arrived at the paternal
home who was going away the next morning to New Zea-
land or San Francisco, or anywhere that was a long way
off, and he (or she) could not possibly sail till they had
seen Mary Ann. One of these periodical severings of
family ties was just now hanging over Mary Ann, and she
had posted off to Saxmund in the early morning with in-
tent to spend a long day in the temporarily united family.
Ex
Th
119.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
In this dilemma Napper's thoughts had primarily turned
to the cook. But apart from other considerations, the
cook had not a figure that readily lent itself to service of
this kind.
"She's stouter round the waist even than you, papa,"
Napper said, as the two sat at breakfast discussing this
difficulty. 'Indeed, I think of the two, you are much
better, so if you don't mind, after breakfast, I'll just settle
that sash on you."
"Nonsense, my dear," replied Mr. Tandy, with not un-
natural alarm, "you're joking.
"Indeed, I'm not, papa," answered Napper decisively,
scanning her father's figure with a critical eye. "I don't
suppose you could get the skirt over your shoulders or
draw it on in any way possible to a man. But I could pin
it over, and you could hold it on at your waist. It won't
take ten minutes. I only just want to see how I can ar-
range the bow at the back. I cannot get it on myself; the
cook, besides being excessively stout, is slightly soiled,
and you are my own dear papa, always ready to be useful.”
It was no use Mr. Tandy resisting. For a moment, as
he sat in his office looking over the letters, there came
upon him a wild thought of flight. There were several
places he might have engagements which would suddenly
call him off, and he might remain from home till Mary
Ann had parted with her latest cousin, and would be
available for Napper's needs. But this guilty thought
was speedily strangled. It was only a little thing that
Napper asked of him, and why should he balk the girl?
No one would see him, and no one be the wiser, and he
would have the satisfaction of knowing who had obliged
Napper.
So without unduly prolonging the study of his corres-
pondence he walked into the dining-room with a firm
step, though with a look of foreboding that Napper hailed
with a merry laugh.
66
'You look as if you were going to be hung. It's not so
terrible after all. Now stand there. I'll pin the band of
the skirt to your waist. You hold it with your fingers, sa,
and then I'll get it done in less than no time."
The perfect performance of this promise was in somet
measure barred by Knut, who, regarding the arrangement
as one especially designed for his entertainment, did his
dest to meet it with generous encouragement. Seated at
""
*
1
120
{
GIDEON FLEYCE.
a convenient distance so that he might take in Mr. Tandy's
figure to full advantage, he rapped loudly on the floor
with his bushy tail. This applause he varied by an occa-
sional incursion among the folds of the dress, by laying
his body affectionately across Mr. Tandy's feet (who felt
he_dare not move lest he should disarrange the inscruta-
ble performance going on at his back), and still worse, by
twining his head inside Napper's arms as she knelt and
with rapid touches arranged the bow.
"Lie down, Knut, or you shall be put out," she cried in
stern tones, which Knut dared not disobey. So he with-
drew to his former position and resumed the applause,
which he carried on with a vigor not to be excelled by the
professional claqueur.
(C
I have heard," said Mr. Tandy, in his meekest tones,
"that it is customary to allow the model a few minutes'
interval for rest and refreshments every quarter of an
hour."
"Very probably, but it's nothing like quarter of an hour
yet."
"Well, it seems quite twenty minutes since I have been
standing here in this ridiculous attitude. If I were caught
at this I would never be able to show my face in the
County Court, the Police Court, or in my own office.”
At this moment a thundering knock was heard at the
front door, and the look of half-comical discontent which
had mantled the massive countenance of Mr. Tandy gave
place to one of wild terror.
"For heaven's sake, Napper," he cried, "take the thing
off! There's Fleyce at the door. I can see his coach-
man's head over the blind. If he only happens to look
this way he will see me. There's Fleyce in the hall. You
know his way of bouncing in, as if the place belonged to
him."
Napper swiftly disengaged the robe from the lay figure
on which she had deftly pinned it, and had just time to
fling it into a corner of the room when Gideon entered.
(6
"Good-morning, Miss Tandy," he said, a little more
breathlessly than was his wont in addressing that young
lady. Hope I don't disturb you by a call so early in the
morning, and by walking in unannounced. The fact is,
I've been rapping at the door for some time, and no one
coming I took the liberty of turning the handle. I've
brought you some great news. Why, Tandy, what's the
1
>
121
matter with you?" he exclaimed, turning towards the chair
into which the Clerk of the Peace for the borough of
Saxton, Clerk to the Borough Magistrates, and holder of
various other high offices, had flung himself when de-
livered from the skirt of Napper's dress. "You are as
pale as a ghost. Hope you are not ill? It would be very
awkward to have you break down just now. Perhaps you
have heard the news, and it's upset you?”
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"No," said Mr. Tandy, gasping, and running his hands.
through his hair. "I've not heard any news. I am a
little seedy with overwork, I suppose; but shall be all
right presently.
Well, here you are," said Gideon, handing him a tele-
gram. "I got that this morning from O'Brien, and drove
round to the junction for the newspapers before coming
down to see you.”
"Northcote announced Dissolution in the House of Commons
last night. Dizzy's manifesto out this morning. Shall be down
by the first train. Must get out your address to-day. See
Tandy, and get him to make all arrangements for speedy print-
ing and posting."
"This is a little sudden," said Mr. Tandy, as he read the
telegram, "but it won't take us much aback.
You came
down in good time, and have kept steadily at it since; but
now we shall have to bustle. You have not written your
address yet, I suppose?
"No, not a line of it, but we'll soon knock that off. I've
got it all pretty well in my mind, and as soon as O'Brien
comes down we'll hold a council of war and get it out.
I have not opened the newspapers yet, but here they are,
and here is the Earl of Beaconsfield to His Excellency
the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.'
>>>
Mr. Tandy carefully read this famous manifesto. He
was alert now, and the skirt of the unfinished dress hud-
dled up in a corner of the room cast no chilly shadow on
his soul.
"It is to be hoped," he read out from the manifesto,
"that all men of light and leading will resist this de-
structive doctrine. The strength of this nation depends.
on the unity of feeling which should pervade the United
Kingdom and its widespread dependencies. The first duty
of an English Minister should be to consolidate that co-
operation which renders irresistible a nation educated as
our own in an equal love of liberty and law.”
6
صور
+
gideon fleyce.
"This is a great mistake," he observed. "Dizzy must
be losing his head to go and fling down a reckless chal-
lenge like that to the Irish people on the eve of a general
election. I fancy he feels it himself, or we would not
have these feeble wanderings around for taking phrases.
'Men of light and leading is too far-fetched, whilst to
talk of 'consolidating co-operation' and 'a policy of de-
composition' is nonsense.
"Well, we have nothing to do with that," said Gideon, a
little impatiently. "I don't suppose people down here
know or care anything about Ireland, much less about
phrase-making. I thought I would bring you the telegram
and the papers, so that you might get things in train. The
other side will be at work in a jiffy. O'Brien will be down
at three o'clock, and we'll work out the address. I will
get Bailey to come. Not that he knows much of the mat-
ter, but he might give a turn to some of the sentences,
though I think I shall get 'em pretty taking. I hope, Miss
Tandy, you will favor us with your company in the coun-
cil. I have the highest estimate of your opinion."
"That is very good of you, Mr. Fleyce, though I know
a great deal less than Mr. Bailey. But I will come if you
like."
(6
122
1
Then, at four o'clock at the Castle, and we'll all dine
together after and quietly talk the matter over."
CHAPTER XIX.
The Candidate's Address.
THE Company was duly assembled at four o'clock in the
library at Castle Fleyce, a cosy room with a splendid view,
but deriving its name chiefly from a book-case where
Hume's "History of England," "The Decline and Fall of
the Roman Empire," "History of Rome," and a collection
of Mr. Robertson's histories, handsomely appointed and
never opened, gleamed in new bindings.
Gideon entered a few minutes late, a little paler than
was his wont, and with a compression about the brow in-
dicative of intense thought. It was no new thing for him
to approach the consideration of his address to the free
and independent electors of Saxton.
He had for many a
GIDEON FLEYCE.
123
year thought it over day and night, and had secretly stud-
ied many flowers of literature of the same kind blooming
in other gardens. He had now the whole cut and dried
and stored in the loft of his memory. But he wished to
stand well with the assembled company, and meant to
-throw off in impromptu fashion the sentences so carefully
and laboriously conned, and of which, to tell the truth, he
was not a little proud.
Moreover, he wished O'Brien to know, and that pre-
sumptuous young jackanapes Bailey to understand, that he
knew a great deal more about politics than he was credited
with. He had begun to read the newspapers of late, not
the murders and robberies, and general assortment of
police news, which had formerly been his mental pabulum,
but the leading articles. From the study of earlier ad-
dresses to electors he discovered that the great thing was
not to be too precise in your declarations on any particu-
lar question of the day. By uncompromising approval he
might gain six votes, but at the same time he would alien-
ate half a dozen.
Gideon cared just as much for what he largely and con-
veniently called "the Land Question," as he understood
it. That was not much, but he did very clearly perceive
that if he took one side he would have the tenants with
him and the landlords against him, whilst if he went on
the other side he would certainly lose the tenants' vote
and might not gain the landlords. He wanted to have
both, and flattered himself that in the line he had taken in
his address he would make a sweep all round.
"Now, Mr. Bailey," he said, "if you will be good enough
to act as secretary on this important occasion, we shall get
along. Here's pens, ink and paper, and there's a bottle
of claret, which I hope it won't be thought bribery and
corruption if Mr. Tandy joins us in a glass; and the rest,
not being voters, may have two.”
"Have you turned over the address in your mind?"
O'Brien asked, coming to business.
“Well, I have thought of it a little, and have jotted
down one or two of the heads. There's the Eastern Ques-
tion; we must say something on that.”
Certainly," said O'Brien, "but not much; people are
tired of the Eastern Question."
"You must say a few words by way of introduction,”
Mr. Tandy ventured to observe.
O
*
1
the f
**
路
​GIDEON FLEYCE.
66
Oh, yes," said Gideon, impatiently, "that will be all
right. Now, Mr. Bailey, if you are ready here goes," and
Gideon dropped his left hand in the bosom of his waist-
coat, and taking a firm hold of his notes, began :
124
"To the free and independent electors of the borough
of Saxton. Gentlemen,-Parliament has been dissolved,
and it forthwith becomes your duty to elect a member for
the new House. It is mine to briefly embody with the
plainness and sincerity to which you are entitled my
political convictions, that you may apprehend the charac-
ter and complexion of the sentiments which govern me
now and would assuredly influence my vote in the Com-
mons House of Parliament. '
"}
Gideon paused and looked round for applause.
"That's a very fair start," said O'Brien.
"Don't you think," said Jack, tossing off a second
glass of claret, which set him ahead of the company by a
clear fifty per cent., "that's rather unfortunate about
' apprehending the complexion of the sentiments?' You
can't apprehend a complexion, you know."
Gideon looked at Jack with a face that flushed with
anger.
"You can write it down, Mr. Bailey," he said, with the
slightest approach to a snuffle in his voice, "and if you
have any criticisms to offer you can make them on the
proof sheet."
1.
'Oh," said Jack, with the easy affability that always
aggravated Gideon, "very well; but I thought you were
here to discuss the matter as we went on."
"With regard to the Eastern Question," Gideon de-
claimed, continuing his address without further notice of
Jack's impertinence, "my sympathies are always and
always have been with the subject races of the Porte,
though I plainly own, gentlemen, that as a lover of
heroism I cannot forbear some sympathy to the nation
that has been vanquished after a splendid resistance. Yet
no doubts of the sincerity of Russian diplomacy can pro-
hibit an emotion of respect for a nation which at an
enormous cost of blood and treasure has emancipated
thousands of Christians from Turkish misrule, and practi-
cally obliterated an Empire whose career throughout the
whole of European history has been attended by the curses
and lamentations of oppressed or invaded peoples. When
the attitude of Russia grows obtrusively sinister to our
GIDEON FLEYCE.
125
country, I shall be willing to band with you, gentlemen,
and with all Englishmen in concerting measures for the
national safety.
""
"I rather think," said Gideon, "that's managed pretty
neatly, and the language, perhaps, is not inaptly chosen.
"You mean," said O'Brien, "that you run with the
Turk and hunt with the Russe."
""
"That's rather a fine picture of you, banded with
Messrs. Goldfinch, Burnap, Firminger, and Griggs, con-
certing measures for the national safety if the attitude of
Russia grows of too sinister a nature to our country,"
said Jack.
Gideon looked sharply at the youth, whose eyes were
gravely bent upon the manuscript before him.
He was
strongly inclined to think that the young cub was chaffing
him; but Jack was as grave as a judge, and there was no
doubt the sentence was a fine one. Gideon was glad to
see that the youth was capable of being touched by a
worthy emotion, and was inclined to forgive him his
earlier impertinence.
"I think that is all I need 'to say on foreign politics.
Now we will go on again: Gentlemen,-So much on this
first point, I claim your leave to say, adding only that human
foresight plays but an insignificant part in this world of
accidents. But, gentlemen, when I turn to your internal
policy, a fresher and kindlier interest possesses me.
Here
at least we deal with the hopes and struggles of our own
countrymen. I apprehend there is no measure which
should go to improve in however small a degree the
general condition of the people but would command my
steadfast advocacy. An ever-increasing number of votes
in favor of proposed measures of great domestic interest,
such as the County Franchise, the Burials Bill, Marriage
with a Deceased Wife's sister, exhibits the growth of
public opinion and the sure illumination of Liberal culture.
There are measures awaiting Parliamentary acceptance
which affect the happiness of millions, containing ele-
ments to humanize the austerities of our social code; and
in favor of such measures I should cordially vote. That
is not committing myself to too much, I think. What do
you say, Miss Tandy?"
"I don't know much about it," said Napper, "but it
seems to me that if there is a fault in the general style of
the address, it is that as far as it has gone you don't seem
11.
***
#
126
GIDEON FLEYCE.
""
"You
to be saying anything at all. It is rather as if you were try-
ing to walk on both sides of the road at the sametime.
"Thank you, Miss Tandy," said Gideon, flushing as if
she had paid him the highest possible compliment.
have exactly hit it. After that I go on with greater en-
couragement. Now there is the Land Question, a very
ticklish subject on which we must say something. That
is not the address, Mr. Bailey, please don't write that
down. I give you a wave of the hand when you go on
with the address. Now then :-'Measures affecting agri-
cultural interests must always enlist my deepest and most
careful attention. The agricultural interests of this divi-
sion of the county are of special magnitude, and I hold
that your representatives, whether sitting as Conservatives
or as Liberals, fail in a paramount condition of the duty
they owe their constituents if they neglect to make them-
selves intimately acquainted with the opinions and wishes
of those who follow agricultural pursuits. In a special
degree would I here refer to the farmer's interest in the
land he occupies. I hold that after having spent large
sums of money in procuring artificial manures and in
cultivating the soil into a high condition of fruitfulness,
the farmer is absolutely entitled to the benefit of those
advantages which his capital and labor have brought
about; and the Land Question therefore would find a
cordial advocate in mc. At the same time I would not
pledge myself to any legislation on this question that did
not impartially weigh the landlord's claim and so adjust
the balance of equal rights. And such equitable adjust-
ment, I am satisfied, is obtainable by cautious enquiry and
narrow consideration of the arguments advanced by both
sides.'
"""
"What do you mean by the Land Question finding a cor-
dial advocate in you, Mr. Fleyce?" asked Napper. "I
suppose there are two sides to the question, and you don't
say which is to have your advocacy.
""
"Miss Tandy," said Gideon, beaming with pleasure, "you
ought to be in Parliament yourself. I think I must drop
into my address a pledge to vote for women's rights. Is
there anything else of a definite nature, O'Brien, that I
should notice?"
H
"I think with Miss Tandy," said O'Brien, "that you have
erred on the side of definiteness; but perhaps you are
right."
{
GIDEON FLEYCE,
گھر
127
"I am averse to precipitate reforms,'" Gideon contin-
yed, waving his hand in sign to Jack, "which in uproot-
ing the weeds very often tear away the flowers of natural
memories and institutions; and in this respect I am content
to follow humbly the example of that Grand Old Man, Mr.
Gladstone, who has grown Gray and Glorious in the service
of our common country, whom to name is to do honor to
myself as a member of the great party with whom History
shall imperishably associate him, whose capacious mind
knows accurately and with exquisite English sympathy to
disconnect what is base from what is good, to disentangle
the parasite from the pillar whose beauty it hides, and to
infuse new elements of health and strength into forms and
conditions of our constitutional existence which Conser-
vatives suffer to decay into the corruption that germinates
those national sicknesses by which Empires are killed.'
Beautiful!" cried Jack Bailey, raising his eyes to the
ceiling and stealing a glance at Napper as he brought them
down. "Burke is not a patch on that."
> >>
"Another glass of claret, Mr. Bailey," said Gideon,
pleased at the enthusiasm of the young man.
This was a
favorite passage with him, and he was glad to find it appre-
ciated even by supercilious youth. "I thought of putting
that last, but perhaps I had better wind up with some ref-
erence to this part of the country. Now, Mr. Bailey: 'I
cannot claim to have been born your neighbor, to have had
my infantile slumbers soothed by the roaming surge that
beats on your shingley coast, but I do claim feelings of love
for your town and county, which could not be deeper if
Saxton were my native soil. All my chief interests are cen-
tered on Saxton. I have builded myself a humble home
here, which I hope will associate me and mine with your
ancient borough for all time to come.'
"He means to get married," Jack muttered to himself.
"Have you got that, Mr. Bailey.”
"Yes, sir."
"To Saxton I am united by bonds as deep as gratitude
can forge. It is my delight and happiness to linger among
the glories of its scenery and to claim fellowship with its
sons. It would be my pride, as it is my ambition to be,
not so much the representative as the benefactor of Saxton.
But if by your help, gentlemen, I am elected as your mem-
ber, you will be qualifying me to fulfill many secretly-cher-
ished hopes of being known to my constituents as a man
Q
1 % A
>>
Right
GIDEON FLEYCE.
who never lost an opportunity to promote their dearest
interests, and who desired no better tribute to his endeavors
than to be remembered as one who was very faithful in his
adherence to the highest forms of Liberal policy and de-
voted to the welfare of those who made him the proud re-
cipient of their confidence.
3)
"I think that last paragraph will touch them up. Don't
you think so?"
128
"Yes; it will be appreciated by the longshoremen, and,
indeed, by the tradespeople generally."
((
Now, we'll get this printed right off, and let it flame
from every wall in the borough in the morning. Perhaps
you'll see to that, Mr. Bailey. You can get back in time
for dinner."
Gideon's banqueting table had been set for five-himself
at the head, Miss Tandy on his right hand, O'Brien on his
left, and Jack Bailey and Mr. Tandy vis-a-vis at the lower
end. But this arrangement was disturbed by Miss Tandy's
discovery of imperative engagements at home. She would
walk herself, not wishing to take her father away from the
company, in which he would be happy enough.
Also she peremptorily declined Jack's escort, a decision
which caused that young man much surprise. He and
Napper were already great friends, and with the audacity
of youth he missed no opportunity of cementing the friend-
ship. He thought it would be very pleasant to walk down
with Miss Napper, and he was already thinking that some
delay might arise in the delivery of the manuscript to the
printer, seeing that they would walk slowly, and he would
of course see Miss Tandy to her father's door. But Nap-
per nipped this in the bud, and saw Jack off the premises
with a start of a quarter of an hour before she ventured
out.
The fact is Napper was sick at heart, and wanted to get
into the fresh air with none but herself for companion.
No one of the company she had just left would under-
stand her feelings, least of all Gideon, who thought he
had deepened the favorable impression long ago created.
Napper had been very quiet at the so-called consultation,
not wholly for the reason which had moved others to the
same course, and which was to be found in the fact that
Gideon had really not asked them for consultation, but
summoned them for applause. She had begun to find
out that his political character was a sham, and this ornate
GIDEON FLEYCE.
129
}
saying of nothing in long words to the electors was final
confirmatory evidence. She had expected to hear some
brave, simple words addressed to the people on the ques-
tions of the day. Instead of which Gideon had turned his
early education to account in an effort to say as little as
possible upon his own convictions if, indeed, he had any,
and by all means not to offend the prejudices of others.
Napper had looked forward hopefully to the contest in
the borough, where, as she understood, the electors had
hitherto had no voice. But she felt with pain, here was a
sorry commencement.
CHAPTER XX.
"How they brought the News to Ghent."
NEWS travels slowly through the highways and byways
of Saxton. Towards noon each day the carrier, coming in
from the Junction, brought thirteen of the London daily
papers, which he delivered at as many houses, being those
of the residents of the intellectual aristocracy of the town.
Whilst all Great Britain and Ireland was vibrating with
the news flashed hither and thither by telegraph, and
echoed by every tongue, that a dissolution of Parliament,
long expected, had come when no one expected it, Saxton
slept on under the thin March sunlight,
Rocked by breezes, touched with tender light,
And sung to by the sea.
Down on the beach the longshoremen still stood at gaze,
looking out over the tossed waters for the ship that never
came home. They were exactly the same, save that they
had put monkey jackets over their jerseys. With many
of them this was evidently an empty compliment to the
season and a deference to prejudice, for they wore the
garment wide open at the chest, and the keen wind, salt-
laden from the sea, beating about their chests, found them
barricaded only by the familiar jersey. As in the heats of
summer so in depths of winter, their hands were far down
in their capacious trousers' pockets, that evidently being
*
•
6*
130
an attitude which long experience had suggested was best
calculated to fit them for sudden emergencies such as be-
fal on our English coasts. All unconscious of_the_great
news which Gideon had brought down from the Castle,
they chewed the contemplative cud and fixed their eyes
on the far horizon.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
At the same time Mr. Goldfinch sat at his desk in the
shop in High Street, whilst his young men bustled about
making up pounds of sugar, brown and loaf, weighing
out ounces of tea, and deftly slicing pounds and half-
pounds of butter from the great tub-shaped heap on the
counter. Mr. Goldfinch sometimes lent a hand on Satur-
days when the market people streamed in on their way
homewards. But as a rule circumstances permitted him
throughout the day to perch his little high-dried body on a
stool behind the desk on the left-hand side just as you
enter the shop. Here he was supposed to be intent upon
the making out of bills; but the position had other ad-
vantages. From this commanding height he could survey
the shop and see that Pilcher combined the proper pro-
portion of rapidity in making up the parcels with the
suavity desirable in addressing ready money customers,
and that Philpot, who was getting a little shaky, did not
spill the tea on the floor when he took it out of the big
canister.
ま
​Also Mr. Goldfinch was able to act as time-keeper to
Tom Prodgers, who went out with a large basket distrib-
uting provisions throughout the town like a good genii.
This was a duty at once engrossing and exciting. Prodg-
ers, senior, was a longshoreman, and perhaps it was the
taint of blood that led to the formation of a habit on the
part of Prodgers, junior, to set down his basket in shady
places and refresh himself with a game at marbles, pitch
and toss for brass buttons, or whipping top as the season
might be. In the winter he made slides before the doors
of the almshouses and engaged in deadly combat with
snowballs with the doctor's boy and the red-faced boy
from Firminger's. During the early weeks of his engage-
ment he had attempted to meet the reproaches of his
master with the affirmation that he had been gone only
ten minutes or at most a quarter of an hour. But the
ready production of Mr. Goldfinch's figures showed the
hopelessness of this endeavor, and Tom was driven either
to the invention of fabulous excuses for non-appearance
*
-
wh
GIDEON FLEYCE.
in due time, or to relapse into sullen obstinacy when con-
fronted by proofs of his guilt.
Another thing which Mr. Goldfinch found desirable in
connection with the post was that being out of the way of
interference with actual business, it afforded him oppor-
tunities of chatting at leisure with customers as they
passed out. Tuesday was not a very busy day, and the
few customers that came were at leisure to discuss general
affairs. If they had only known the intelligence which the
world a few miles outside was throbbing with, what a day
they would have had to be sure! As it was, the delight
was deferred by some hours, and now they had no choicer
topics for talk than the weather, the condition of trade,
the newest burial, the latest death, and the wedding near-
est in prospect.
N
131
Mr. Firminger was at this same hour quite alone in his
shop. On Tuesday the custom of the week was beginning
to revive, but only with languid breath. His stock had
run very low, being chiefly composed of the leavings of
Saturday night, and Mr. Firminger, with his blue apron
aggressively tied on, was now engaged in rounding off
stray bits of meat and trimming them to make them look
as inviting as possible. This he did with great energy,
using his knife almost viciously, as if he bore a personal
grudge to the meat. But that was merely a habit of mind
and had no personal application. "He always came down
straight on the block," as he said, and when a piece of
meat that lay thereon was thin he carried out this axiom
literally, chopping off bits of hard wood after the blade
had passed through the layer of meat.
Mr. Firminger always did things in that way, and was
rather proud of it than otherwise.
((
'Plenty more where that comes from," he was accus-
tomed to say, when the superfluous energy of his action
was commented upon, and it was suggested that he might
spare himself a bit.
If he attempted to drive a nail into the wall he generally
either broke it off short or buried it up to the head with a
sledgehammer blow. If on Sunday afternoon, going out
with Mrs. Firminger and the latest born in the perambu-
lator, he essayed to propel the conveyance, he dealt with
it as if it were a handcart. If he helped Mrs. Firminger
herself into the dogcart, she usually found herself in im-
minent danger of falling out on the other side. To this
Sat
3
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132
day she bears on her matronly bosom the mark of a pin
which her spouse, in a well-meant effort to fasten her shawl,
had driven an inch or two into her flesh. If Mr. Firminger
had heard of the good news from London it might have
been supposed that, in his mind's eye, he had on his block
the claims of the rival candidate, and that he was making
mincemeat of them. But, in truth, he knew nothing, and
was only trimming a bit of mutton.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
7
Mr. John Griggs, as became an upholsterer in a large
way of business, did not sit in his shop, having an office at
the back, where he received customers, and where he was
at all times willing to emerge to conduct them over his
stock. Next to Mr. Burnap, who had had the building
contract for Castle Fleyce, Mr. Griggs had up to now made
the most out of the new candidate. As already recorded,
he had had a commission for furnishing the place, and the
transactions had left many bank notes sticking to his fin-
gers. He was more than ever convinced of the desirable-
ness of the borough never again falling into the condition
of affairs wherein a neighboring landowner assumed as a
right its Parliamentary representation, and warned off all
other candidates.
Mr. Griggs sat at his desk checking off an estimate, and
from time to time applying a large blue pocket-handker-
chief to a small pink nose. He had an exceedingly minute
fire in a stove, which, if enclosed in one of the wardrobes in
the shop outside, might have warmed its interior, but was
wholly inadequate to the task in the office, more particu-
larly as Mr. Griggs sat with the door open, holding the
theory that to have it closed repelled possible customers.
There were no windows to Mr. Firminger's establishment,
which to all intents and purposes was an open stall. But
the atmosphere there seemed much less chilly than in Mr.
Griggs's shop with its faint smell of wood and varnish, and
its partial illumination by the pinched nose of the austere
proprietor.
Mr. Burnap was away on business in Lampborough,
and was the first, outside of the inner circle that gathered
round Gideon, to hear the great news. Mr. Burnap was
at first greatly inclined to give up the errand which had
taken him to town, and hasten back lest peradventure
someone should rob him of the distinction and delight of
first telling Firminger and Griggs and Goldfinch. But on
reflection he thought he might safely secure the profits of
GIDEON FLEYCE.
133
1
}
his business and still retain the privilege of being the first
to communicate the news. The papers did not often get
in much before one o'clock. Neither Firminger, Griggs,
nor Goldfinch took a paper, waiting till after business
hours when, at the Blue Lion, someone looked through
the news of the day, and read tit-bits out for the benefit of
the company.
Those who got the papers would have to
read them first; then they would surely wait to get their
dinners (the hour for which in Saxton was one o'clock) be.
fore going out to spread the news. Mr. Burnap thought
he was safe up to two o'clock, but would take care not to
be later than half-past one. News like this did not come
every day, and opportunities were not to be trifled with.
At the same time, he could not afford to miss the bar-
gain that had taken him to Lampborough. The fact was
that an old church on the other side of the county was
going to be "restored." The splendid oak pews, the vood
of which was at least 300 years old, were offered for sale
amongst the other old materials. Burnap, who was not
without occasional flashes of idea, had seen to what use
this choice wood could be put. When doing up the Castle
he had put in round the hall a bit of wainscoting a foot
high. It was of oak, and well enough in its way, but
these pew doors and front and back divisions would make
quite unique wainscoting for the hall. Burnap meant to
glance over them with deprecating eye, to throw out a hint
that they might do for mending up old things, pick them
up cheap, and resell them to Gideon at something far over
their real value; and that was considerable.
The sale was a little protracted, and though it began at
ten o'clock in the morning it was half-past twelve before
the old pews were knocked down to Mr. Burnap at a re-
markably reasonable figure. It was a ten-mile drive to
Saxton, a distance already performed by Mr. Burnap's
mare, who in addition was getting up in years. He could
not hope to do the distance under an hour and a half, but
then he would be in by two. So, sacrificing his dinner at
the one o'clock ordinary, an institution on which he had
cast a kindly thought when driving towards Lampborough
in the morning, he had the mare put in and drove at what
she thought an unnecessarily hasty pace towards Saxton.
Two o'clock was striking as he drove along High Street,
meaning to call first on Mr. Griggs, whose shop lay in the
way. As he drew up at the door, who should he see
Z
134
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
through the glass but Mr. Tandy talking to Mr. Griggs,
who was nervously mopping his nose and betraying other
signs of excitement which too surely disclosed the truth.
When Mr. Griggs beheld Mr. Burnap muffled up to the
chin, sitting in the trap at his door, he dashed past Mr.
Tandy, to that gentleman's surprised discomfiture, and
closed the door after him to prevent his too early partici-
pation in conversation.
"Good morning, Burnap.
Going out for a drive, I sup-
pose? I've got some news that will make you warm."
"Is it about the dissolution?" Mr. Burnap growled,
feeling just cause for resentment. Oh, I heard that two
or three hours ago, and was just thinking of looking in to
tell you, but was too busy.'
(6
Mr. Burnap felt he had Griggs there, the effect of his
rapid repulse being the greater, owing to the lowness of
the temperature which gave the upholsterer a peculiarly
miserable and depressed look.
"Have you heard this long, Mr. Tandy?" Mr. Burnap
continued, as the solicitor delivered himself from his im-
prisonment, and appeared on the doorstep. It just flashed
upon Mr. Burnap that this might have been the first place
Mr. Tandy had visited, and that if he made haste he might
still triumph over Goldfinch and Firminger.
"No," said Mr. Tandy, "only about a couple of hours.
Mr. Fleyce had a telegram this morning from Mr. O'Brien,
and drove over to the Junction for the papers. I have
just been round to our friends Goldfinch and Firmin-
ger to tell them that we shall have the address to-night,
and must get to work forthwith. We mean to have a good
stylish committee for conducting the election, but, of
course, we'll have to do all the work and must talk it over.
I'm going up to the Castle at four o'clock to see about the
address, and shall probably stop afterwards to have a snack.
But I'll be down at the Blue Lion at half-past eight, and
we will discuss matters."
Mr. Burnap, who was a short-tempered man, heard this
explanation with mingled feelings. What business had
Tandy to go bustling about with a bit of news as if it were
a hot potato and burnt his fingers? It was a long time
since Mr. Burnap had had such a chance, and now by this
fellow's meddlesomeness he had lost it.
"Tandy's no more than a child," he muttered, as he
drove off. "If he hears anything he must go running all
1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
135
over the place to tell it. I've no patience with such
ways."
Then, again, Mr. Burnap wished the actual commence-
ment of electioneering proceedings had been delayed for
whatever time was necessary for him to dispose of the
pews to Gideon. At various consultations of the candi-
date with his friends since the first time they met at the
Blue Lion, Gideon had shown a nervous apprehension of
anything that would bring him within the law.
He was
not going, as he plainly said, to spend a lot of money on
his election and find himself turned out on petition be-
cause of some inconsiderate action on the part of his
agent. That was "all bosh" as Mr. Burnap knew. There
was only one way of winning Saxton, and that would not
only have to be adopted, but it was well understood that
Gideon, having convinced himself of the necessity of the
old plan, would not stand in the way of its adoption. He
would find whatever money was necessary.
That was
quite settled, though he insisted on knowing nothing of
how it was disposed of, a stipulation which entirely met.
the views of Mr. Burnap, Mr. Firminger, Mr. Griggs, and
Mr. Goldfinch.
But in the matter of the pews there might be a differ-
ence. The sale would be a personal transaction between
himself and Gideon, and as he did not mean to have his
journey to Lampborough for nothing he was not sure how
far the bargain he intended to strike would meet with the
approval of the election judges if they insisted upon in-
quiring into it.
On this head he received some assurance from Mr. Tandy
when they met at the Blue Lion later in the evening. Mr.
Burnap was careful not to go too minutely into particu-
lars; in fact he led Mr. Tandy to believe that the bargain
had already progressed some distance, and what he pro-
fessed himself most anxious about was whether an ordinary
business transaction between an honest builder and an en-
terprising houseowner would assume a criminal aspect
because of the imminence of an election in which both
would take a prominent part? He learned with satisfac-
tion that as the writ was not yet issued, and that even a
week or two must elapse before Parliament would be dis-
solved, there could not be any harm in proceeding with a
business transaction of that kind.
Relieved on this head and mollified by the present pos-
►
t
136
session of a second glass of hot whiskey and water, and
the near prospect of an unlimited supply chargeable to
"the committee," Mr. Burnap simmered down from the
condition of asperity in which he had fallen when he dis-
covered that Mr. Tandy had forestalled him with the news.
He was even in high spirits, and by way of salutation laid
his hand on Mr. Griggs' shoulder with a friendly cordiality
which shook every bone in the upholsterer's body, and
seemed to make his cold worse than ever.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
The news variously affected the Conscript Fathers.
Mr. Burnap was inclined to be boisterous. Mr. Griggs was
exceedingly nervous, and already began to forecast lament-
able defeat for the Liberal candidate. Mr. Goldfinch took
on a certain air of serenity which grew more beautiful, as
in honor of this occasion he ordered more than one extra
tumbler. His disposition to go back to '32 and relate
with minute detail what had taken place at that epoch
became in time a little wearisome. Perhaps it was scarcely
fair upon him that his narrative should have been persist-
ently interrupted, generally by the not over-well-bred Bur-
nap. It may be all very well to judge of Hercules by the
measure of his foot. But it is not fair to a chronicler to
snap him up before he is half way through his story, some-
times when he is barely on the threshold of it.
This was
Goldfinch's fate, and it says a great deal for his natural
good temper that he did not resent the interruption, but,
the piping of his thin voice being drowned amid the thun-
der of a casual remark from Mr. Burnap, he subsided with
a watery smile of resignation, watchful for a fresh oppor-
tunity to narrate a story so curiously apposite.
Mr. Firminger, whilst not so fluent as Mr. Burnap, was
quite as noisy, and very anxious for an opportunity for
immediately "coming down on the block." Mr. Tandy
was the quietest at the festive board, and the most seriously
occupied with plans for conducting the campaign. Hither-
to, though Gideon had dipped pretty deeply in his pocket,
there had been nothing in the shape of a fund available
for general expenses, nor had there been any authority
given to him by Gideon to pledge his credit. However,
Mr. Tandy had thought himself justified in ordering a
private room at the Blue Lion, which it was intended
should be the headquarters of the Liberal committee. As
yet he thought it desirable that gentlemen should pay for
their own refreshments, but probably on the morrow, when
*
137
GIDEON FLEYCE.
•
F
the address was actually out, it might seem appropriate
that the labors of the committee, gratuitously rendered,
should be lightened by judicious provision of meat and
drink.
Mr. Tandy had brought in with him a proof of the ad-
dress, wet from the press, and its meaning strangely dark-
ened by eccentricities on the part of the printer, whose
work had not yet been revised. It was a fresh proof of
the great merit of this literary effort that it sounded quite
as well with the printer's improvements as it had done
when dictated by Gideon. It meant about as much now
as it did then. But, meaning apart, there was a ring about
the phrases and a generous eloquence throughout which
increased Mr. Burnap's respect for a gentleman who had
incurred a large building account, and brought tears into
the eyes of Mr. Goldfinch when he recollected how in that
very room, fifty years ago, Mr. Montgomery, father of the
present Conservative candidate, now dead, and buried in
the churchyard, where the tombstone had only a fortnight
ago been re-lettered owing to growing a little messed by
the weeds and the moss which got on it quite unaccount-
ably had in that very room read an address which he
(Mr. Goldfinch) would not say was more eloquent; but it
certainly did seem to him that in those days the gentlemen
who came forward as candidates were on the whole, he
didn't say there were not exceptions, but on the whole
better than those of to-day, and more good to the borough,
more free in their allowances of tea and coffee to the ser-
vants, and less inquisitive about an extra pound of sugar
here and there in the week's bill.
•
CHAPTER XXI.
The Longshoremen Wake Up.
THE news spread the next morning with the light of the
tardy sun. Like the sunlight it diffused warmth and
brightness wherever it fell. Everybody, from the prosper-
ous tradesman in High Street to the fisherman's family in
the back court behind the Dog and Duck, felt cheered by
the intelligence. As for the longshoremen, the news im-
>
و الي المدار
138
2
Y
район
GIDEON FLEYCE.
mediately distracted their attention from the horizon, and
all their thoughts were turned landward within the boun-
daries of the borough. They set their hands deeper into
their pockets with the sure and certain hope that presently
those receptacles would contain something beyond their
ordinary complement of bone and flesh, a jack knife, a
baccy box, and some odd pieces of twine apparently stored
there with the expectation that they would be useful sup-
posing a ship were driven ashore in a gale of wind. Also
they chewed their quid of tobacco with a profound and
gentle contemplation.
There had come to them the crisis in the life of every
freeborn Englishman, being also a householder. Within
a measureable distance of time they would be called upon
to exercise the franchise. There was not a man of them
treading the beach that did not feel his new responsibility,
whilst some of them turned over in the slow machinery of
their minds tales they had heard at the family of how
some worthy sire at earlier elections had managed not only
to obtain his due from the candidate for whom he voted,
but had done his party the further service of taking a
bribe from the opposite side, and so spoiled the Egyptians.
These were matters not to be disposed of lightly, and the
longshoremen were not a community given to undue haste.
Everything comes to the man that waits. They were accus-
tomed to wait, and had no doubt that in due time both the
candidates would come to them.
It was curious that from the second day after Sir Stafford
Northcote, in his hysterically humorous fashion, had an-
nounced the dissolution in the House, the publicans of
Saxton began to prosper, whilst most other trades stood
still. The longshoremen, exhausted with profound medita-
tion on the beach, resorted a little earlier than usual to
the Dog and Duck, and did not retire until the utmost
limit of time permitted by the legislature. They had a
good deal to talk about, and found that speech flowed
easier and that thought came quicker when the mental
machinery was oiled with rum and soothed with tobacco.
That Gideon was the favorite was clear from the first. He
never showed himself in the streets but there gathered at
his heels a crowd of small boys, who cheered incessantly.
Prodgers, junior, was so demoralized by the excitement of
the time that he absented himself for the space of two
hours on an errand that, rigidly performed, would not have
13:
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ܐ ܐ
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4
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139
required more than ten minutes. When he came back Mr.
Goldfinch placed a week's wages in his hand and bade him
go forth, which he did joyfully. Being thus released from
commercial cares, he was able to devote all his spare time
to politics, and from the first he associated himself enthu-
siastically with the Liberal cause and its champion in
Saxton.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Gideon had not only with him the boys of the borough,
but their mothers, who, less critical in their taste than
some people, were much taken by the newness of his
clothes, a conquest confirmed by the affability of his man-
ner. Gideon missed no opportunity of upholding the
principles of purity at elections, and, as Mr. Burnap had
complained, was always insisting that the law should be
respected. At the same time, when seated on rush-bot-
tomed chairs in the humble homes of the accessible
electors, he had a way of looking pounds of tea and smil-
ing Christmas joints that had a marvellous effect upon the
womenkind, on whom the cares of the household pressed
heavily. They knew he could not now make good these
shadowy promises. But when he was elected and all was
safe, then it was clear there would be no more open-
handed and genial gentleman in the neighborhood than
the owner of Castle Fleyce.
From the children to the mothers up to the heads of the
household, the transition of popularity was naturally and
fully accomplished. As became their greater and more
immediate interest in the stake, the free and independent
electors were not to be bound by nods and winks and
wreathed smiles. What they wanted to know was, "Is the
£3 right?" From time immemorial the free and inde-
pendent electors of Saxton had enjoyed their birthright of
a minimum of £3, payable whenever a contested election
took place. This is alluded to as a minimum because, in
addition to this sum, paid down on the nail before the free
and independent went to the poll, there were contingent
advantages in the shape of beer money, fees for watching,
for putting up poles, and for doing various other acts of
which the chief practical recommendation appeared to be
that they made it possible to hand over a certain sum of
money to the elector in the form of wages.
Beyond this there was also that ecstatic thought which
had stirred the dull and murky waters of the minds of the
longshoremen, and had pointed to the possibility of getting
Se
A
Prane
४
.
蠱
​GIDEON FLEYCE.
140
}
£3 from both sides. Unfortunately no man had yet dis-
covered means by which an honest elector could take
wages from both sides, either as a watcher or the builder
up of mighty poles. Such dual service must be inevitably
detected. But since the ballot had come in there was no
obstacle to the expansion of the patriotic duty of making
two blades of grass (in the shape of payment of £3) grow
where previously only one had flourished. It was the first
contested election that had taken place under the Ballot
Act in Saxton, and its contingent advantage in this direc-
tion uplifted the hearts of the electors.
Mr. Montgomery, the sitting member, had heard the
dread news of the dissolution from his place in the House
of Commons, and received it with as much geniality as
might be expected of a man suddenly informed of an un-
expected call upon him for £5,000. Knowing something
of the way in which "this money-lending fellow" was con-
ducting the contest, Mr. Montgomery had put down his
own share of the expenses at that sum. At first he, like
Captain O'Brien and Sir Henry Gilbert, had been inclined
to undervalue Gideon's capacity. The notion of a vulgar
interloper like this coming down to Saxton and disturbing
in his family possession so worthy a person as Mr. Mont-
gomery, had seemed the height of the ridiculous.
But as
Gideon went on in his dogged way, and above all as he
showed his hand by leasing the old Castle, rebuilding it,
and taking up his habitation there at a vast weekly ex-
pense, Mr. Montgomery began to open his eyes and to
move uneasily in his chair. He did not doubt the ultimate
issue. It was absurd to think that Saxton would reject a
Montgomery for "a money-lending fellow from London."
But there would be a fight. A fight meant moncy, and
Mr. Montgomery hated to be called upon to dispense that
article beyond the level proportion of annual contributions,
which he paid as regularly and as cheerfully as he paid his
B
taxes.
A little while ago, when the inevitable nearness of a
general election had excited some of his friends in the
House, he had looked on with an easy smile, and felt how
nice it was to have a snug constituency all to himself and
his family. But things were changed now, and this con-
founded ballot deepened the seriousness of the aspect.
Formerly, the free and independent electors disposed to
make a change in their Parliamentary representation
मरने के
**
處
​GIDEON FLEYCE.
141
would have to take count of the pains and penalties of
offending a rich and influential neighbor. Now they
might vote as they pleased, without anyone being the
wiser, a state of things under which, Mr. Montgomery had
had it borne in upon him, he would be the loser. He was
a model member, as members go in country places. He
gave a guinea here and there to various local charities.
He never went so far as to dine at the farmers' ordinary,
but at agricultural shows and ploughing-match dinners he
sat at the head of the table, near the chairman, and when
dinner was over, he delivered in a loud voice, and without
punctuation, some remarks that were the echo of the
noisiest and most uncompromising speech delivered from
the Conservative benches during the preceding session of
Parliament.
He honestly believed all he said, just as in the time be-
fore Galilco people believed the sun went round the earth.
He never enquired into the matter himself and probably
would not have been much wiser if he had. He was a
Tory as his father had been and as his grandfather was.
He had no passion for politics and no particular desire for
senatorial honors. He didn't like London in the season
with its bustle, its frivolity, and its expense, and would have
preferred to spend the summer months at the Hall. But
à Montgomery had always been member for Saxton, and
he would as soon have thought of giving up the family
seat near Saxton as of abandoning the family seat at West-
minster.
All the old apathy vanished at the sight of opposition.
If even it had been some decent man of eminence and re-
spectability on the other side who had come forward to
tussle with him for his birthright, Mr. Montgomery would
have felt less sore. But the money-lending fellow with
his smug face and new clothes and his uproarious popu-
larity in the borough was more then he could stand.
He came down to Saxton early in the morning after the
announcement in the House. He was in the train earlier
than O'Brien, and being a country gentleman, was accus-
tomed when the Whip permitted it, not only to go to bed
early but to rise early. He had the family solicitor up at
the Hall, and the consultation which followed did not tend
to reassure him. It was clear that Gideon meant business,
and it was also beyond doubt that he had made some way
in the race.
That he should win was an idea Mr. Mont-
142
*ર્જ
GIDEON FLEYCE.
gomery still scouted. But the contest would be an excit--
ing and expensive one,
"What business does a fellow like that want here, Muffle-
ton?" he said, turning upon the good solicitor a face that
could scarcely have been angrier if he had suspected him
of having a hand in bringing the interloper down.
"This
is a respectable borough that has been in my family since
the first parliament of Queen Anne. Of course we have
had to fight it once or twice; but for years there has been
no sign of a contest, and now, just when things are dull,
rents are down and hard to get in, and I have three farms
on my hands, this money-lending fellow comes along
springing up out of the earth or the gutter, heaven knows
where."
It was astonishing what comfort Mr. Montgomery de-
rived from alluding to Gideon as "that money-lending
fellow,” though on reflection this reference to his business
was not encouraging. He had a notion that a money-
lender was usually a rich man.
Mr. Montgomery looked with dismay on the prospect
before him. But Saxton must be saved at whatever cost.
The first cost was, the demand upon him for an address to
the electors. Literary composition did not come easily to
him, and the preparation of his address cost him an an-
guished day. But it was out at last, flaming in bright blue
letters all over every square foot of wall or boarding unap-
propriated by Gideon's address, which had got the start by
twelve hours.
What troubled Mr. Montgomery further was Gideon's
inconsiderateness in the matter of addressing the electors.
The dissolution was not even achieved, yet much less was
the writ issued. It would be time enough then to go
through the nuisance of shaking hands with every man or
woman one met in the street, and to face the torture of ad-
dressing public meetings. But Gideon rushed into all this
with a light heart, and unfortunate Mr. Montgomery had
to plod wearily after him.
O'Brien had now taken up his quarters in the town and
was pushing matters forward both with tact and energy.
Mr. Tandy was hard at work, though he preferred to re-
main in the background, leaving public appearance to
O'Brien. Jack Bailey was also in high feather. He did
not like Gideon personally, and felt little interest in the
great political struggle agitating the country. But a fight
✰
✡
* I
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
143
was a fight. Here was one ready to hand, and Jack flung
himself into the fray with infectious ardor. The Saxton
Beacon came out as a daily sheet, in supplement of the
weekly issue, just big enough in size to report meetings at
which Gideon spoke and a column for Jack to prance in.
This he did with an acute delight that charmed Gideon,
amused the town, and wrung the soul of Mr. Montgomery.
That estimable gentleman found himself morning after
morning subjected to the most scathing inquisition, not
only painful in itself, but calculated to prove fatal to the
prospects of his candidature. O'Brien put Jack up to a
thing or two, and in due course there appeared articles in
the Beacon setting forth the number of Mr. Montgomery's
attendances at the House, the direction in which his votes
were given, and the number of times he had spoken.
What was even a more efficacious commentary was one
Jack derived from a list of the honorable gentleman's
local contributions. These were limited in amount and
strictly Conservative in the lines followed. What Mr.
Montgomery's father had given to, to that he would sub-
scribe, but he would go no further. The sum total did not
make an imposing return, and a throb of indignation ran
through Saxton when it discovered how little it had sub-
sisted on during the long term of Mr. Montgomery's tenure
of the seat.
I +
Nothing was said in the Beacon of Gideon's benefactions;
but at the Blue Lion, along the beach, at the Dog and
Duck, wherever the electors congregated, there were emis-
saries of the Liberal candidate setting forth the tale of
Gideon's generosity. This was well enough in the past,
but in prospect its brilliance was such as to hopelessly
shrivel up Mr. Montgomery's puny gifts.
Mr. Dumfy had come down a day or two after Capt.
O'Brien, and had also taken up his residence permanently'
in the borough or until such time as the election was de-
cided. O'Brien took up his quarters at the Blue Lion, and
as it was felt that Gideon was sufficiently represented there,
Mr. Dumfy was told off to the Dog and Duck. He didn't
like the change, the company being lower and the gin not
so good. But he had no choice, and there was compensa-
tion to be found in other directions. At the Blue Lion he
was sometimes overpowered by the impetuosity of Mr. Fir-
minger, the austerity of Mr. Griggs, the large voice of Mr.
Burnap, or the historical reminiscences of Mr. Goldfinch.
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GIDEON ELEYCE.
At the Dog and Duck he was a Triton among minnows.
By common consent he took the chair at the end of the
long deal table at which the longshoremen sat—always with
their jerseys on, their sea boots well greased, ready at a
moment's notice to meet the emergency that hourly over-
hung them. To this end they would not sit on a bench
alongside the table. Each man had his particular stool or
chair, and sat at all angles and in some uncomfortable posi-
tion, ready to jump up at a signal and hasten to the post
of danger or of labor.
Unlike the cozy parlor at the Blue Lion the tap-room at
the Dog and Duck was cheered by long flashes of silence.
At the Blue Lion if there ever was a pause in the conver-
sation (which was not often), Mr. Goldfinch was ready to
fill it up with reminiscences of '32. At the Dog and Duck
the conversation was conducted in a leisurely manner as
became men accustomed to contrast the vastness of the
ocean with the narrowness of life. If a man had anything
to say he said it in a drawling voice, and would sometimes
in the middle of a sentence stop to fill his pipe, secure
from interruption. When he had made an end of speaking
no one else was in a hurry to take up the tale, and they
were really grateful to Mr. Dumfy if in view of their ex-
hausted physical condition after a hard day's work on the
beach he would assume the principal duty of making the
conversation.
This Mr. Dumfy did with pleasure to himself and satis-
faction to the company. His feelings with respect to
Gideon were more acute than those of Jack Bailey, who
simply despised him and was impatient at his platitudes and
his assumptions. Mr. Dumfy, on the contrary, hated him
with a hate the more bitter because he was compelled to
hide it under a fawning manner. Nevertheless he desired
to see Gideon member for Saxton. If he could hold his
place it would be an increased honor to himself.
At any
rate there were in the process of the election pickings to be
had which must at least be earned with at least some sem-
blance of fidelity and zeal. Mr. Dumfy therefore served
his master at the Dog and Duck with great skill. He
painted on the fancy of the longshoremen brilliant, if
shadowy, pictures of advantages to be derived by them
when they should have Gideon for a member instead of
Mr. Montgomery.
At an early stage of his residence at the Dog and Duck
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
145
Mr. Dumfy had made clear one point that greatly exercised
the minds of the longshoremen. They had heard some-
thing of Gideon's caution with respect to keeping clear of
the law, and began to tremble for their statutory £3.
Gideon of course had never heard of such a thing-cer-
tainly he had never discussed it. But Mr. Tandy had had
a conversation with Capt. O'Brien which resulted in cer-
tain communications being made to the Conscript Fathers,
who thereupon declared that the last vestige of doubt was
removed and that Gideon was as good as member. Mr.
Dumfy had apparently received a communication of the
same kind, for on the second night he took the chair at
the Dog and Duck every man in the room knew that his
£3 was safe.
Their minds being relieved from pressing anxiety, they
were able to turn with undiminished vigor to the ques-
tion of how they might also get £3 from the other side.
Almost to a baccy box the longshoremen were with
Gideon. They had not forgotten his genial bearing in
the first weeks of his visit to the town, and which they
had contrasted with the stand-offishness or even more
offensive condescension of Mr. Montgomery. Besides
Gideon was a benefactor. If it had not been for him
there would have been no contest, and not a penny would
have been spent in the town. There is a principle of
sturdy honesty in the breasts of all Englishmen, and this
now asserted itself in favor of doing the right thing by
Gideon. At the same time if they could only get £3
from the other side and add it to Gideon's retainer it
would be a good and desirable thing. Accordingly when
Mr. Montgomery's agents began to stir and visited the
beach, looked in at the Dog and Duck, and called upon
these mariners of England at their own homes, they were
so well received that grave doubt was cast on the asser-
tion of Mr. Muffleton that the longshoremen had been
bought by the enemy.
"Those are good and honest fellows after all," Mr.
Montgomery said, walking up and down his library with
elastic step, and fixing his stock with pleased air. "I
don't mind confessing that it would cut me to the heart
to be left in the lurch by these simple, honest creatures,
lured by a money-lending fellow. But they are faithful
and honest, and mean to stand by the constitution."
7
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146
GIDEON FLEYCE.
CHAPTER XXII.
The Flagstaff at the Blue Lion.
THE dissolution took place on the 24th March. Before
the end of the week the writ had come down, and Roger
Montgomery, Esq., gentleman, of the Hall, Saxton, and
Gideon Fleyce, Esq., gentleman, of Carlton Street, Lon-
don, were duly nominated as candidates. The proceed-
ings at the nomination were of a melancholy character,
the dolor being deepened by Mr. Goldfinch, who shook
his head all down High Street, and contrasted for the
information of any who would stop to listen, the difference
between "this hole-and-corner business in a room,” and
the glorious doings of '32, when the candidates stood out.
on the hustings in the light of day, and had dead cats,
rotten eggs, and other evidences of political conviction,
thrown at them.
Mag
But though there were no cheerful proceedings at the
hustings there was not lacking partial compensation.
The wind was tempered to the shorn lamb by plentiful
libations of beer and even of stronger drink.
The pro-
cess by which this was obtained was exceedingly simple.
Mr. Tandy, sitting quietly in his office and looking more
respectable than ever, had on the day after the announce-
ment of the dissolution despatched Mr. Burnap and Mr.
Firminger to engage all the public-houses in the town in
the interest of the Liberal candidate.
"That's what I call coming down on the block,” Mr.
Firminger said as he went off gratefully upon his mission.
This point of strategy was decidedly in advance of the
Conservatives, who had yet scarcely wakened up to the
energy of the opposition. But that confidence in the
honest Englishmen which had cheered Mr. Montgomery
when reviewing the action of longshoremen was now
triumphantly vindicated. There were at least a dozen
publicans who asked for twelve hours' consideration
before accepting the retainer temptingly dangled before
them by the commissioners of the Liberal candidate.
They urged various excuses for delay. They had a lodge
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
147
meeting on about that date; their daughter was going to
be married; the house was about to be painted; their
wives "were expecting" about that time; still they would
see. Nothing would give them greater pleasure than to
gratify so open-handed a gentleman as Mr. Fleyce. But
they could not rightly say just now. The first thing in
the morning, or perhaps before nightfall, they would send
up word.
1
Both Mr. Burnap and Mr. Firminger knew well enough
what this meant. These good men were not Liberals in
politics, and though of course they would not allow
political convictions to stand in the way of material gain,
they would prefer, all other things being equal, to fly the
blue flag over their doorway. As soon as the emissaries
of the Liberal candidate were out of sight they with one
accord rushed off to Mr. Muffleton to tell what was in the
wind, and see if he meant to do the fair thing. If he did
he should have the house and welcome. If he didn't they
had said nothing that would drive custom from their door
when tendered from the other side.
Mr. Muffleton was greatly upset by these horrid pro-
ceedings. Through forty years he had been accustomed
to conduct the election proceedings for the Hall, and they
had gone forward in a quiet, respectable manner. Now
they were going with a rush that threatened to take Mr.
Muffleton off his legs, and caused him heartily to wish
that some one else would look after the business. But he
was in for it and must go through with it, and the first
thing was to engage these public-houses and any others
that might be available.
;
Mr. Montgomery was very wroth when he heard what
had been done, or rather what had been left undone.
"I am afraid we are muddling this dreadfully, Muffle-
ton," he said, with a voice and a look that clearly intimated
that though he said "we" he meant "you."”
"Here we
are with only a dozen public-houses, and they have got, I
suppose, between thirty and forty. What else are they
up to?"
،،
'Well," said Mr. Muffleton, nervously polishing his
gold-rimmed spectacles. "I hear they are making open
house all over the place. The landlords have instructions
to serve any man with drink who calls and mentions Mr.
Tandy's name. It's horrible, terrible, quite demoralizing,
I don't know what we must do."
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148
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"I'll tell you what we must do," said Mr. Montgomery
fiercely, being like most large-tonged, phlegmatic men,
very noisy in his wrath. "We must do the same.
It's no
use beating about the bush or splitting hairs in Saxton.
My father and my grandfather did this, and that hypocrit-
ical old Tandy knows very well that it is the only way to
carry an election in this borough when once blood is
stirred up by an interloper like this money-lending fellow.
He is spending money like water, and so shall I. See to
that, Mr. Muffleton."
"But there's the law," said Muffleton with growing
uneasiness.
"The law be," cried Mr. Montgomery with a fine
frankness, taking the oath as readily as if it had been
proffered him in due form by the clerk at the table of the
House of Commons. "The law is all very well in its
place, but its place is not Saxton at election times. What
should we do if we stood by the law? This fellow would
get in to a dead certainty. We should petition, and then
there would come out such a story that would lead to the
place being disfranchised, and we'd lose it out of the
family. He's deep enough in the mire now, and dare not
move against us. It will be a stand-up fight, and I mean
to stand to it. Of course," he added, hastily lowering
his voice and changing his tone, "these are only general
instructions. You will understand, Mr. Muffleton, I don't
want to go into any particulars or to know anything,
except that you are devoting all your attention to the
business. For my part I am aware that contested elec-
tions are expensive things. You may depend upon it any
money that may be necessary will be forthcoming; only
we must hold the seat.'
""
It was quite true what Mr. Muffleton had said about the
instructions given to public-house keepers. The doors
were thrown wide open, and Saxton had the biggest,
longest drink within the memory of man. The longshore-
men almost deserted the beach, and it is a merciful provi-
dence that nothing happened whilst they were away.
Night and day the tap-room of the Dog and Duck was
filled. Mr. Dumfy was not always in the chair, being
engaged in various parts of the town, but he came in at
night and presided in his usual place, and took his share
of the good things going. What troubled Saxton chiefly
was the brief spell of the joyous interlude. It was only
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
✔
in the beginning of the month that the dissolution was
announced. In the last week it actually took place, and
within a fortnight all would be over. This was the skele-
ton in the cupboard which rattled its ghastly chain through
every hour of the day and night, and bade the burgesses
drink whilst the taps were running.
All trade in the town
was at a standstill-all save the great business of eating
and drinking and shouting.
Some of the more provident among the free and in-
dependent electors, recognizing the transitory nature of
present joys, diligently sought opportunity for laying up
stores of hard cash. The 3 was safe and certain. It
was indeed as good as in their pockets. But there should
be other ways of adding to their store, and one was found
in the erection of flagstaffs. Flags were illegal, but there
was no law against flagstaffs, and presently these were
erected before all the committee rooms, and, as Jack Bailey
said, Saxton scudded under bare poles.
This was the longshoremen's opportunity, and they
made the most of it. It was a cheering spectacle to see
them working outside the Blue Lion, where it was
determined to erect the loftiest pole ever seen. Its
proportions were magnificent, and so was the little
account of the longshoremen.
،،
Twenty-five pounds!" exclaimed Gideon, happening
to see the item in Mr. Dumfy's account.
Dumfy's account was the only one he looked to, and
that for reasons sufficient in themselves, though not grati-
fying to Mr. Dumfy. But Mr. Dumfy had not lived with
the Spider for nothing. He had in this matter laid a trap
for Gideon, and chuckled as he saw him falling into it.
There were a good many items of his account which
would not stand enquiry. As it happened this one would,
Mr. Dumfy actually having paid over £25 to Long Bill,
the captain of the longshore gang. Now when Gideon
fixed his eye shrewdly upon him, Mr. Dumfy displayed
such marked uneasiness, that Gideon throwing aside his
caution, determined to look into the matter. It was not
the £25 that bothered him, but he had a not unfounded
suspicion that Dumfy was lining his own nest, and he
thought if he detected him on this, it would have the
effect of frightening him into honesty, since he would
never feel sure that Gideon would not come in, put his
finger on a particular item and demand explanation.
1
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Who did you pay the money to?" he asked.
"To Long Bill," answered Mr. Dumfy, with a guilty air
that sat well upon him.
"Go and tell him I want him. No-stop-" and Gid-
eon rang the bell. "Send a messenger för Long Bill,"
he said, when the waiter appeared. You can stay here,
Mr. Dumfy, we will see this matter out."
(6
The messenger found Long Bill working very hard,
with his hands deep set in his trousers' pockets, his legs
crossed and his body inclined at a comfortable angle,
supported by the flagstaff, which he was convinced was
the glory of Saxton, and would triumphantly propel Mr.
Fleyce into Parliament. Bill had a short clay pipe in his
mouth, and was plunged into profound meditation,
besides suffering from the languor which steals over the
body after an extraordinary physical effort. The flagstaff
had now been up two days, but still Bill felt the effect of
the unwonted exertion. Summoned to meet the candi-
date, Bill thrust his pipe into his waistcoat pocket,
unmindful of the circumstance that the sod was
burning, and cheerfully followed the messenger. He felt
sure it was something about the flagstaff, and hoped the
interview would not begin and end in empty compliments.
If there was a pound or two more going Bill felt he had
earned it.
"Well, Bill, how are things going at the beach?" said
Gideon, in his cheerful manner.
"Fust rate, sir," answered Bill, holding on to the top
of the door as if it was a plank upon which he had prov-
identially come when battling with the waves. "There's
not a man of them as won't come up to the poll right and
proper. The other party has been around talking of
what's to be had. But them men's all as true as the sun
when you are taking a hobserwation. There's old Bow-
sprit says this very morning. If they were to offer us
£4 a voter agen Mr. Fleyce's £3, do you think we'd take
it?, and every man of us said 'No!'"
"Bowsprit," said Gideon, reflectively.
"Is he a voter ?
I don't know him by name.
htt
"It's Jack Files, your honor. We call him Bowsprit
on account of his nose, which runs sheer out, and would
be handy if he was to run agen a sea wall with wind
and tide behind him. Of course you know," Bill added,
letting go the door the more fully to devote both hands.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
151
3
to holding his hat by the brim and turning it round inces-
santly as if it were, somehow, connected with his mental
machinery which had to be worked like a capstan,
"there's no knowing what's in men's minds, an' if so be
as the other party was to offer 'em £4 we might lose a
vote or two. But perhaps your honor wou'd think
whether it was worth your while to go, say, to £3 1OS.
You'll be snug under the lee then, for there's not a man
of 'em as 'ud let the ten shilling stand atween your honor
and the House of Parliament."
"I have not the slightest idea of what you are talking
about," said Gideon, smilingly, and looked the honest
tar straight in the eyes. "If it is anything about election
expenses you must see Mr. Tandy. What I sent for you
was about the flagstaff. I am thinking of having one put
up at the Castle, and just wanted to know how much did
you charge for this one."
"Well, your honor, to speak right out, we got £25 for
it."
Gideon was taken aback at this confirmation of Mr.
Dumfy's honesty, and looked sharply at that injured
individual to see if any signals had been passed to the
gentleman before him, who smelt so strongly of tar com-
bined with a savor that Gideon thought was stale tobacco,
but was really the pipe smouldering in his waistcoat
pocket. Mr. Dumfy, however, was ready for this, and
had carefully placed himself full in Gideon's view, and
with back slightly turned to the ancient mariner.
Gideon had evidently made a false step, and there was
nothing to be done but to follow up the enquiry on its
natural lines.
"That is a great deal, isn't it?”
"Well, I don't know, yer honor. I don't come to much
when you make it over amongst twenty-three hard-working
men, all fathers of families, and every man of them got a
vote."
"But you don't mean to say it took twenty-three men to
put up that pole?”
"Deed it did, yer honor, and took us three days into the
bargain, three days of sweating and working that would
have broke us down only for the drop of drink we got."
"But what did the twenty-three men do?"
"Well, the first thing we did was to get a flagstaff worthy
your honor and Mr. Gladstone. So we goes all over the
of
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на видни батери
152
GIDEON FLEYCE.
town looking one up. That took us a good couple of hours,
and we dropped into a house or two on the way, and said a
word for your honor to any gentleman who was taking a
drop. We found a flagstaff at Mr. Burnap's, but it looked
quite poor like; not worth having. We was awful tired by
this time, but I says to the chaps :-'This has got to be
done, so we'll have another gallon of beer, and down this
comes.' We was feeling a little queer with the walking
round and the sun, and didn't do any more the first day
than dismantle the first flagstaff as we put up.
At night,
down at the Dog and Duck, where the genman here stops,
we had a talk over the thing, and I says to the chaps:—
'We're going to fix the biggest flagstaff here as was ever
seen in the town, one that the mounseers over the way
might see if the day was bright, and they keep their weath-
er eye open. We're going to beat them Tories on this
tack.' So we goes and gets a ship mast, sixty or seventy
feet high, and a pretty good weight as your honor may
guess. The next thing we got was a scaffold pole that
reached from the ground right up to the other side of the
houses it might be forty-five feet, that was to go on the
top of it; then we had to get the gallan-mast. Then we
had to get two iron caps, and they was of the weight of
about three hundred weight. It is eighty feet high. It
has to go above all the rest, and above all the houses, and
they could see it over the way at Bullong. Now the great
question was, we had come to Mr. Burnap's to get a pair
of shears to rig it. When we went down to Mr. Burnap's
he had got no shears. What does we have to do? We had
to dismantle our luggers to get these shears, and unrig all
our masts and get our flags and ropes to get this up.
Now, it is no little weight to get it up because it is eighty
or ninety feet high when it is up. We dismantled our two
boats, that is our big luggers, and a tidy job it was for a
score of men, and a dry un too.”
}
"And it took twenty-three men all this time? asked
Gideon.
"Yes, your honor, and working pretty well. Moreover
than which look where we'd ha' been when we'd disman-
tled our masts. Suppose anything had come on the bank
and we with our luggers dismantled. Where 'ud we ha'
been, sir ?"
"Well, probably you would have been at the Dog and
Duck," said Gideon, smiling genially. "But you will un-
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153
GIDEON FLEYCE.
$5
derstand I am not quarrelling with you or disputing your
work or wages. I only wanted to know about having a
pole put up at the Castle on the day after the election."
"We'll do it, sir, and we'll do it right and proper, only
o' course your honor'll find us a pole, 'cause it'll never do
for our luggers to be dismantled and the wind likely to
blow on shore at any moment."
"All right, Bill, we will bear that in mind. Good morn-
ing."
Good morning, yer honor," said Bill, sending his hat
round with increased velocity and examining the rim with
added intensity, but making no sign of other motion.
"I will let you know about the pole," Gideon repeated.
"Thank 'er, sir, but I was just thinking your honor
would like me to drink your health."
"I should indeed, Bill, but I want you fellows to under-
stand that I could not give you a drop of beer if you were
parched. The law won't have it, Bill, and the law must
be obeyed."
،،
Perhaps Mr. Bill would take a walk with me," said Mr.
Dumfy. 'I'm going towards the Dog and Duck."
The cloud that had gathered over the bronzed and fur-
rowed brow of Long Bill cleared off at this invitation. He
was a slow-witted man not trained in fine distinctions.
He had often heard of this determination on the part of
Gideon not to stand treat for any man. It seemed from
the abundance of liquor all over the place, that he had at
one time gone back from his resolution. It was Mr. Tan-
dy's name that was used as the open sesame, at which the
hospitable doors flew back. But Long Bill knew enough
of Mr. Tandy to feel convinced that his benevolence did
not take this promiscuous shape. It must have been Mr.
Fleyce, and now, as he reported at the Dog and Duck,
with some slight verbal inaccuracy, he "had heern him
with his own voice say as he couldn't stand him twopen-
north of anything hot."
A gleam of intelligence shot across his mind as Mr.
Dumfy interposed. There was something going on that
he could not quite understand. But the liquor was not to
be stopped, and so long as Bill got that he was not inclined
to disturb himself with speculation as to who turned the
tap.
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M
GIDEON FLEYCE.
it
CHAPTER XXIII.
Meditation Among the Pews.
Ir was not only the longshoremen who were taken
aback by the swiftness with which the days passed, and
brought on the crisis at Saxton. Gideon felt it with what
he was beginning to regard as overwhelming force. Ev-
erything was going on swimmingly in his outward relations
with the electors. There was no question of his popular-
ity over that of the old member. His meetings were more
crowded and enthusiastic. He was exceedingly pleased
with his own fluent speech, and it seemed that the kind of
oratory was not less agreeable to his hearers. Mr. Mont-
gomery floundered through his commonplaces and stale
denunciation of the Opposition, and repeated many fa-
miliar phrases in exaltation of the foreign policy of Lord
Beaconsfield. Gideon fought shy of the question of for-
eign policy, partly because he knew nothing about it, but
largely because he was shrewd enough to see that it was
not of the smallest possible interest to the people of Sax-
The great question for them was the £3 to be paid
for their votes. That being assured, they felt that the
safety and honor of England rested upon a rock, into
whosesoever hands the chances of the forthcoming elec-
tion might place the destinies of the country.
ton.
Gideon had a difficulty, one by no means unfamiliar in
daily life. He had spent a great deal of money during the
last year in miscellaneous ways, and there had been a pull
upon him for Mr. Burnap's bill, and for the account of
Mr. Griggs. These had been no small items, and in addi-
tion there had been the weekly expenses of his household.
He had practically given up business in Carlton Street,
which was accordingly closed as a source of revenue. All
his own fortune, and that of some others, was invested in
his land schemes. These still continued to look prosper-
ous, and promised at no distant time to realize for him a
large fortune as the result of his foresight and shrewdness.
In the meantime there were large sums to be paid quar-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
155
terly in the way of interest, and there was no way of ob-
taining these except by fresh borrowing.
That was a circle which by this time had become a path-
way sore to the foot and sorrowing to the soul. One after
another he had closed the sources of accommodation, of
course in each case adding to the weight of his quarterly
responsibilities. He was paying immense sums in inter-
est, and it so happened that quarter-day was again at
hand. He had a good sum in the bank, but within a hun-
dred or two every penny of it was pledged in payment of
interest. Under ordinary circumstances this would not
have mattered.
What particularly pressed upon him now was this £3
apiece wanted on behalf of the free and independent
electors. There was a good deal of money flowing day by
day, accounts opened with public-houses, with the printer,
and with the agents.
Till the election was over these
might stand. But £3,000 was wanted within the next
week to pay down on the nail the £3 each which the
electors regarded as their due and without which they
certainly would not go to the poll, or, what was worse,
would go and vote for his opponent.
He must have the
£3,000 within a week. This he said to himself, and with
his old Napoleonic manner; but when he came to think
where he was to get it from his views became a little less
decided.
In addition to the money wanted by the voters, Gideon
had coming on within a few days a great fête at Castle
Fleyce, to which he had invited the nobility and gentry of
the county, or rather such of them as professed Liberal
politics. He yearned to see himself at the head of a table
in a real, though restored castle, entertaining the Lord-
Lieutenant of the county and many of the county gentry.
He had suggested this to O'Brien, though studiously keep-
ing in the background all other motive except that of po-
litical expediency.
"We must show that we have the party with us," he
said, and O'Brien had agreed, though a little dubiously.
The Captain broached the subject to Sir Henry Gilbert,
who had his hands full enough, amongst other occupations
the prospect of a contest in his own borough being forced
upon him.
But Sir Henry had, as he had promised,
looked into affairs at Saxton, and saw a rare chance of
winning an old Tory seat. He would spare no effort to
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
156
secure it, and accordingly wrote a letter to the Lord-Lieu-
tenant, who happened to be a Liberal, commending Gid-
eon to his judicious care, and urging him to accept the
proposed invitation. This the Lord-Lieutenant had done
with gracious warmth, and Gideon after having given the
fact time and opportunity to permeate through the county
circles had issued invitations to everyone who was anybody
at all and a Liberal, to a dinner-party and ball at the Cas-
tle.
The invitation had been accepted with flattering unan-
imity, and Gideon had before him the prospect of a pleas-
ing day. But this also would cost money, and it must be
ready money, since it plainly would not do for a candidate
for parliamentary honors, whose chief recommendation
was his great wealth, to begin opening accounts with
tradespeople.
The money must be had and Gideon would have it; but
where from? He parted with bits of his improving land
with an anguish that marked the taint of the Spider's
blood, and which, if it had been known in Fulham road
where a great deal else was known, might have done some-
thing to close the breach between himself and his father.
Every rood of land he sold now he knew he was parting
with at a sacrifice. If he could only hold on a couple of
years, or a year more, the land would be worth fifty per
cent. more than to-day. Whatever he sold now by so
much he lost the fruits of his speculation. It was no use
going to the great banks which had already advanced him
large sums on the title deeds of his estate. It was just
possible they might make what was comparatively a small
advance. But the application for it would create suspicion
that would have inevitable consequences. Very possibly
no one of the banks knew to what extent Gideon was
obliged to the other. So long as he wore his heart upon
his sleeve and a smile upon his lips and looked so rosy
and prosperous and careless, and especially while he didn't
attempt to narrow the margin which the bankers had left
on the value of the property in order to cover themselves,
all would be well and the time would pass pleasantly till
the arrival of the happy hour when he could begin to re-
sell his land and reduce the capital account.
He turned this thing over in his mind as he sat in his
pew at the old church on the hill, whilst the
through the exordium of the morning service.
curate ran
It was a
GIDEON FLEYCE.
rare old church in spite of the fearful process of renova-
tion it had undergone. Nothing could take away from
its gracious appearance when viewed from the outside.
Within, the old pews had long ago disappeared, and open
benches of light oak had taken their places. In one of
these Gideon sat. He had found out which pew had per-
tained to the Castle in olden times, and finding it in the
possession of a prosperous retired grocer, he bought it
for a large sum. He had it all to himself, though he had
furnished it in a generous manner suitable for contin-
gencies. The cushions ran the full length of the bench,
and so did the Turkey carpet on the floor, whilst hand-
somely bound Bibles, prayer-books, and hymn-books were
strewn about the shelves.
157
In
Just facing Gideon was a tablet, sacred to the memory
of Richard Montgomery, member of the Long Parliament.
Gideon had not at first liked close proximity to this testi-
mony of unquestionable antiquity established for his op-
ponent, contrasting' painfully with his own newness.
time, as things prospered with his canvass, he grew to be
pleased with this reminder of the greatness of the victory
he was about to achieve. Not only would he win for the
Liberal party a borough which had long been an append-
age of the enemy, but the man whom he was about to dis-
possess was a member of a family rooted in the county
for centuries. That he, single-handed, should achieve
such a triumph seemed to him a strong recommendation
for high favor with his party. They could not take him
into the Ministry yet, he admitted; but that would come
bye and bye, and it would find him wealthy, with a unique
country seat, and the means of providing himself with a
town house.
On the other side of the aisle in the front seat were half
a dozen old men of wonderful ages. They lived in the
almshouses in considerable terror of Knut, seeing that no
one about to leave his house could be sure that this was not
the very moment at which the dog might be taking his con-
stitutional, and might knock him over, even as he had
floored Mr. Dumfy. They had contracted a habit of cau-
tiously surveying the street before emerging, and this they
did the more particularly on Sunday,when they were dressed
in their best, in neat brown coats with fine brass buttons,
and a blue stock, which if need were dispensed with the
necessity of a collar. One or two of them had ear trump-
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
ets, which they lifted with strange persistency towards the
pulpit to catch the thin stream of commonplace which the
curates in turn ejected at a tremendous pressure, as if
the congregation before them were aflame with sin, and
they were putting the fire out.
Gideon often looked at these old gentlemen, and won-
dered what their past history might have been. They
were all tall men, and had been stalwart. Even now their
cheeks were rosy as a winter apple, and it was evident
they had not been driven to this place by stress of ill
health. Looking over at them Gideon's eye fell upon a
pew a little in the rear, in which sat three familiar figures.
There was Mr. Tandy at the head of the pew comfortably
dressed in black with gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose,
and a large prayer-book firmly held in both hands. Gid-
eon felt that it was worth something to have a man of
that kind in his service. He seemed to diffuse an atmo-
sphere of respectability for a considerable radius. It was
so far-reaching that it caught even Jack Bailey, the third
figure from the end of the pew, counting from that at
which Mr. Tandy sat.
Gideon could not make out what Jack should be doing
there. He knew very well why he (Gideon) should go to
church. It was the proper thing to do, and was expected
of him, not only as a candidate for the representation of
the borough, but as the owner of the Castle. Jack had
no such calls upon him, and, indeed, it was only within
the last week or two he had developed a tendency towards
taking part in the service. He had, with quite a touching
diffidence, one day asked Mr. Tandy for permission to sit
in his pew occasionally, a permission readily granted
since there was plenty of room, and Jack was a favorite
with Mr. Tandy, who was glad to see him taking this
turn, having the impression that when he lived in London
he was a little wild.
Jack was a credit to his early bringing up, as he stood
not quite so near the end of a pew as he might have done,
with a book in his hand, singing a great deal better than
Mr. Tandy did.
It was Napper who held the middle place and whose
presence seemed to draw Jack toward the upper end of
the pew in a manner which he, becoming suddenly con-
scious of, overcame by taking a long stride that landed
him at the remote end. He took several strides during
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
159
the course of a moderately short service, though he was
unconscious of any physical action by which he edged up
towards Miss Tandy till he trembled with sweet delight at
finding that his elbow touched hers with ever so slight an
impact. Napper did not seem to notice this recurring ac-
cident, perhaps because she had got used to it, as one in
time gets used to the regular ticking of a clock. But
Jack never failed to blush violently, and under pretence
of arranging a book or of turning to look back, he got
clear away to the other end.
Gideon noticed his presence with a general idea that he
was not after any good. There was some girl about,
probably Miss Nethersole; or perhaps he was a little
weary of his usual companions at the Blue Lion, and had
looked in to steep himself in the respectability of the
Parish Church. Of his real motive Gideon had not the
slightest suspicion. He had now in his own mind come
to regard it as a matter of course that Napper would be-
come his wife. He had not scen so much of her of late,
he believed because he had been exceptionally busy ; but
he was also conscious of some determined drawing off on
her part. When he had suggested a visit to the Castle
she had been busy, and when in his old manner he had
asked for advice upon some particular point, she had pro-
tested that the matter was one of which she knew nothing.
But this, if he thought of it at all, he put down to maid-
enly reserve, the exhibition of which all the more recom-
mended her to him. Of course, she could not expect to
look so high. She had been misled by his earlier manner,
when, not being in any way serious, he had been exces-
sively devoted. When she found him drawing off, she,
like the fine good-natured girl she was, drew back also.
Gideon liked her the better for this, and now, insensibly
soothed by the quietness of the place, broken only by the
thin, artificially pitched voice of the curate or by the
solemn notes of the organ, his thoughts took on a further
tenderness towards the girl. He felt that he was really
getting very fond of her, and for the moment grew im-
patient for the coming of the time when King Cophetua
might take the beggar maid by the hand. She was, he
thought, growing even more beautiful than ever. She
was certainly less lively, and had taken to look at things
through sad eyes which greatly puzzled him.
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CHAPTER XXIV.
Clouding Over.
THE fact is Napper was sick at heart with shame and
humiliation at the things going on in Saxton. It had all
come upon her as a surprise, a circumstance which at-
tested her youth and innocence. Mr. Goldfinch could
have enlightened her, but she didn't care for Mr. Gold-
finch, holding him to be a tiresome person who sold indif-
ferent tea, and devoted to gossip hours that would have
been better employed in selecting superior samples of
sugar. Napper had evolved from her own fancy a bril-
liant picture of Saxton asserting its birthright, and when
coarse and dirty hands thrust themselves forward and
daubed the canvas she was first indignant, then dazed, and
finally sorry, with that worst of sorrows in which is min-
gled a feeling of shame.
It was the fault originally of her nature and next of her
self-education, that she was accustomed to accept words
and phrases with their simple and literal meanings. Con-
fined within the narrow limits of a country town, with
little society beyond that of her father, whom she com-
pletely dominated, Napper's sympathy had gone out with
eager, widespread arms to welcome the Good and True.
She had known that politics formed a science, the object
of which was the amelioration of the lot of mankind.
What did people do in Parliament if they did not do
good? Conservatives and Liberals to Napper's untutored
mind were simply distinctive names for two parties equally
anxious to do good to their fellow-men. It was much the
same as if one had been christened Charles and the other
Henry.
The House of Commons was an assemblage of men of
conspicuous ability, either born to great wealth or, having
achieved it, patriotically devoting their leisure to the good
of the commonwealth. It is an odd indication of Napper's
fancy that she pictured to herself the House of Commons
filled by elderly gentlemen of benevolent aspect with
white beards, and many of them bald. When Gideon was
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
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introduced to her as a candidate for parliamentary honors,
she was conscious of a slight shock at his comparative
youthfulness. But, as she argued with herself, that was a
thing that would mend. Of course, being a young mem-
ber, Gideon if elected, would not take any prominent part
in the business of the House. He would sit and hear his
elders respectfully, seizing every opportunity of taking
counsel with them.
The House of Commons, as being the focus of all that
was actively good in the nation, had always possessed over
Napper a strong attraction. Thus when she found herself
in the company of Mr. Montgomery she availed herself of
the opportunity of talking about the place, and so acquired
bits of personal information that would seem abstruse to
ladies outside the parliamentary circle. She knew about
the terrace on which members walked, and pictured to
herself Gideon strolling up and down there drinking in
counsel from his elders. She knew that Aristotle conveyed
his valuable lessons whilst walking up and down, and per-
haps the terrace had been specially designed in imitation
of the promenade in the Lyceum at Athens.
Then there was the tea-room, a cozy place, as she im-
agined it, where members, refreshed and invigorated with
Bohea, talked matters over, and discussed their next move
for the public good. Her fancy had, in short, built itself
a lordly dwelling house, where members of Parliament
lived in the company of all the virtues.
So deeply rooted was this feeling of reverence for all
connected with the Legislature that it was some time be-
fore Gideon succeeded in breaking through the armor of
respect with which she had environed him. He did it at
last. But at worst, Napper thought that here was one
who had mistaken his vocation. It was highly creditable
that he should think that he could be a member of Parlia-
ment, and could join the unselfish, single-minded, patriotic
assembly at Westminster. We often make mistakes when
considering our own possibilities. Gideon had made a
grievous one, though perhaps if he succeeded in getting in-
to Parliament, he would in the course of time be influenced
by the atmosphere he was privileged to breathe, and
would by the time he did so grow white-bearded and bald-
headed, and be as unselfish, as honest, and as intelligent
as the rest.
Then came the contest, which Napper watched with
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
feelings settling down from bewilderment into shamed
despair. It pained her most to know that her father was
reputed to be the principal agent in working out the in-
famy that had fallen on the town. Where all was so bad,
so hopeless for the country, and so disgraceful to her na-
tive town, Napper felt that she would be selfish if she
dwelt too much on a matter personal to herself. She
ceased to mention the subject to her father, who saw with
pain the estrangement growing up between himself and the
girl who was more a companion than a child to him.
Mr. Tandy was overwhelmed with work, and had never
ten minutes to spare; but he would have gladly given
half an hour to Napper if she had proposed to go back to
the old dancing lessons, or to those essays in singing which,
painful even to Knut, Napper had always submitted to
with infectious merriment. But Napper had neither
heart to dance nor voice to sing now. Of course she didn't
sulk, and a stranger unaccustomed to the ordinary rela-
tions of father and daughter would have thought nothing
was lacking in her attention or affectionate respect. But
Mr. Tandy knew it, and felt it very deeply.
When the public houses were first thrown open, and
Napper walking about the town met some of her old
friends among the longshoremen, and other more indus-
trious members of the community, unduly elated and evi-
dently idling the time which they should have spent for
the support of their families, she stopped and talked to
them with grave voice and reproachful look. But they
explained that it was election time. The other side must
not get in on any account, and for their parts they were
prepared at whatever sacrifice to do their duty. Napper
recognizing the hopelessness of the case ceased to take
any active part in the struggle, and went through the
town as little as possible. In the afternoon she and Knut
went out for long strolls, through lanes where the hedge-
rows were beginning to open their eyes to the fact that
spring was at hand. Also she went down to the beach,
where Knut resumed with unimpaired energy his personal
difference with the sea, which even when the tide was
ebbing sent in an occasional wave that wet his fore-paws
and resulted in a torrent of indignant remonstrance and
command.
Jack Bailey would gladly have sacrificed the interests
of the Beacon to the opportunity of accompanying Napper
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163
on these excursions. He had, in fact, made advances in
that direction which surprised him by their modesty. But
Napper had put him aside in an unmistakable manner.
If she had reminded him that the interests of an import-
ant journal rested upon his shoulders, and that they were
neglected by absence from the office at particular hours,
Jack might have found means to overcome such arguments.
What was the Beacon or a whole coastline of beacons com-
pared with the delight of talking for an hour with Napper,
whilst he found occupation for Knut in throwing about
sticks which the dog tore to the last shred?
Napper liked Mr. Bailey's company well enough in its
way, and was encouraged thereto by the strong preference
shown for him by Knut. Knut plainly disliked Mr.
Dumfy, though not going the length of actively and forci-
bly hating him. Gideon he simply endured, it being no
particular business of his if his mistress found pleasure in
his company.
But for Jack he had suddenly conceived
that honest liking, the possibility of which was demon-
strated on his early acquaintance with Napper herself.
Next to Napper he plainly loved Jack better than any of
his acquaintances among mankind.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
100
This was a strong recommendation to Napper on Jack's
behalf, but it was not strong enough for her to be bothered
with Jack's company when she wanted her own.
"Thank you, Mr. Bailey," she had said when Jack had
proposed to accompany her, "I would rather go alone.”
There was no getting over that. It was exactly what
Napper meant, and Jack knew it when she spoke the
words. So he went down to the office, took off his coat,
had in a pint of stout, lit his pipe, and, inspired by those
ambrosial delights, proceeded to "scarify Montgomery."
All this was dark to Gideon, who was able on quite other
grounds to explain why Napper was silent and distraite.
It was because she was not sure of his intentions. Gideon
was convinced of this, and felt pleased with the thought of
how delighted she would be when the veil was removed.
That would be when more important calls of business were
disposed of, when he was member for Saxton, and his big
transactions were running smoothly and safely.
But what if disaster were to overtake him at the critical
moment; if, just as his hand were reached out to take the
prize, his arm should shrivel up? Long unaccustomed to
any difficulties in money matters and confident in his own
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GIDEON FLEYĊE.
resources, he had let this temporary pressure fall lightly
upon him.
It would be met somehow as other difficulties
had been met. But sitting here in his newly furnished pew,
and looking over at Napper, there suddenly came upon
him a fearful thought of the possibility of evil. It was
quite certain he would not win his election unless £3,000
in hard cash were forthcoming within the next ten days.
This was not a question in which credit could be con-
sidered. He saw, as if an abyss had suddenly opened be-
fore him, how all his credit depended upon this one thing.
His fortunes were being built up on the principle of a
row of bricks set edgewise without mortar. Being scien-
tifically placed, so long as no one gave a kick at either end
they would stand. But should he fail at Saxton he felt
it would be a blow that would utterly upset him and leave
him unable to cope with difficulties elsewhere that required
a cool hand and supple wrist.
164
Where should he turn for the help that must be forth-
coming immediately? He had withdrawn his eye from
the pew in which Napper sat, and leaning back in his seat
was wrestling with this thought. He did not notice that
the congregation had risen, and it was only the sound of
the organ that startled him from his reverie. In choirs and
places where they sing here followed the anthem, and Gid-
eon, with something of a scared mind, listened to the well-
trained choir as they sang: "I will arise and go to my Father."
It was a strange coincidence, and Gideon, though by no
means of a superstitious nature, thought there was some-
thing in it. After his last visit to Fulham road he had in
his business-like way put outside his calculations the pos-
sibility of any help from his father. He knew the old
man, and he knew that when he said if he was starving he
would not give him a penny, he meant what he said. But
after all that might be a mere ebullition of passion. He
could not be insensible to the advantage accruing to the
family if his son succeeded in forcing his way to an upper
place among the gentry.
Besides, as Gideon felt, he had two strings to his bow.
He should appeal to his father on the ground of affection
and family ties. That he felt was a cord of somewhat
feeble fibre. The other one, more to be relied upon, was
the undeniable security he could offer for a temporary
loan. And it would be well worth his while to pay what-
ever interest his father might demand.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
165
What followed of service or sermon Gideon had not the
slightest idea. He was turning over in his mind the
prospects of the step he had now decided to take. The
more he thought of it the better he liked it. His father
had abundance of spare cash which he would like to put
out to usury.
Gideon had seen it in his safe, a vision of
which, with its little packets of sovereigns, rose before
his mind, obscuring the pulpit, the pew in which Napper
sat, the tablet in the wall recording the births and deaths
and achievements of his early predecessors in the repre-
sentation of Saxton-shutting out everything. Why should
his father have wealth like that so easily accessible when
his son was in difficulties, even in danger of losing every-
thing? Gideon's eyes glistened with a new light as he
stared straight into the visionary safe. It was almost as
much his as his father's, and was at the present time no
good to anybody.
There was no time to be lost, and Gideon would go off
to town by the first train. He could get out at Fulham,
and be back by the last train, which slipped a carriage at
the Junction. He need not say anything to anyone of his
journey. It was purely business of his own, essentially a
family transaction. Why should anyone know even that
he had gone up to London? There seemed certainly less
need that anyone whose business it was to know should
be kept in ignorance. But Gideon was a little irritable
after his profound contemplation, indulged in whilst one
of the curates read out the Litany and the other twittered
a few commonplaces from the pulpit. He had not got
over the chill that came upon him when he saw, as in a
vision, the certain victory at Saxton snatched from him for
the temporary lack of a few thousand pounds, and he was
vexed with himself for the terror that had come upon him
when he thought of the slight thread upon which his for-
tunes hung.
If he had told the servants at the Castle that he was
going up to town, and would not be back till the last train,
it would have been accepted as a matter of course, even
cheerfully, as opening up unexpected prospect of unre-
stricted holiday. But Gideon snarled to himself with quite
unwonted humor that they would be wondering what he
was going for, perhaps guessing that he was going to beg
a loan from his father-a personage of whose very exist-
ence they were in happy ignorance.
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166
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
He thought he would make a hearty lunch, do without
dinner, and have placed in his study some things that
would do for supper when he came home at night. He
tried his best at the well-supplied luncheon table, but the
things went away untasted.
"Ope you ain't ill, sir," said Parker, the butler, who
had been recommended to Gideon on high authority, and
who had assumed somewhat magisterial authority in the
new house.
"No, I ain't ill," answered Gideon, turning upon the
faithful retainer a look of unexpected and unexplicable
ferocity that long lingered in his honest mind; "and if I
was ill and wanted you to know I would tell you. Now
have these things cleared away. I shall not take any din-
ner to-night. I've got some writing to do, and don't want
to be disturbed. Take into the study that chicken, some
bread, and a bottle of claret. When I want anything I'll
help myself, and if any one calls say I am not at home.
Keep all noise and interruption away from the study.
You can lock up at the usual time, and let the servants go
.to bed."
Gideon sat by the study fire for an hour, buried in deep
thought, which grew increasingly troubled. The very fact
that he had but yesterday made light of his troubles now
gave them quite exaggerated proportions. If his head
had been as cool as usual he might have seen half-a-dozen
ways of getting out of his difficulty preferable to that upon
which he was now determined. But the excitement of
the last week had begun to tell upon his health. He was,
without knowing it, a little feverish. He had eaten little
all day, and rarely drank. Parker noticed with surprise
that he should have asked for a bottle of claret, knowing
that his habitude was oftener to take water than to in-
dulge in even a single glass of wine. But Gideon had
thought he might come in tired, and a good draught of
claret would refresh him.
There was an up-train which passed the Junction at five
o'clock. He would catch that, be in town by half-past six,
see his father, get his business done, and be safely home
again before midnight without any of the prying gossips
of Saxton knowing that he had been out of his study.
He would walk to the Junction gladly, feeling the need
to work off in some way the excitement that possessed
him.
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His study was on the ground-floor, and facing it was the
shrubbery with a pathway leading down to a gate by which
he could reach the highway. The only point at which
any servants who might be about could see him would be
as he crossed the few feet of lawn before the study win-
dow, and walked across the carriage road, flanked on the
other side by the shrubbery.
It would take him an hour to walk to the Junction,
though he felt that in his present mood he would do it in
much less time. It was a fine afternoon, though gray and
chill. He would not even bother himself with an over-
coat. Taking up a thick, knobbed stick, which was his
constant companion in such walks as he found time to in-
dulge in, he softly opened the study window and stepped
out on to the grass. There was no one about, the servants
being on the other side of the Castle, engaged at the
moment in discussing their master and arguing a theory,
put forward by Parker, that he might be about to take to
secret drinking and was going to begin mildly with a bot-
tle of claret.
·
Gideon dropt the window softly, making sure that he
could open it again, and, sauntering across the road into
the shrubbery, entered the footpath. Once clear from
observation he set off at a swinging pace in the direction
of the railway station.
CHAPTER XXV.
The Prodigal Son.
THE bells were ringing for evening service as Gideon's
hansom drove along the Fulham road in the direction of
the bijou residence suitable for a bachelor of fortune. It
was close upon the last stroke, and the well-dressed throng
were hurrying forward with a pleasant bustle. It occurred
to Gideon as he watched them whether after all their
business was not preferable to his own. Why should he
be thus harassed and placed in the position of a beggar at
his father's door? This last consideration was one which
did not greatly afflict his soul-affecting him rather by
the consideration that after all he might get nothing out
of his father.
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GIDEON FLEYCE,
And what was it all for? He was happy enough so long
as he had been content to follow his father's business. He
was brim full of joy in the excitement of carrying out his
Napoleonic land policy. If he had only kept to the money-
making all would have been well. It was this drain of
carrying on the campaign in Saxton that was at the bot-
tom of his present troubles. But for that he could easily
have tided over the temporary period of difficulty, which
arose whenever it was necessary to find the interest on the
mortgages. He had spent a good deal of money and time
at Saxton, and what was it for?
He meant to have his money's worth out of the House,
not in the shape of gold, but in the way of social advance-
ment and gratification. But when the prize was won
would he after all enjoy it? He didn't care for dinner
parties in any of their aspects. He didn't drink wine.
Simple food agreed with him best, and as for conversation
as he had sampled it at O'Brien's dinner they might as
well have talked Greek.
Up to the present time what was certain was that he
was spending a lot of money in keeping Saxton in drink,
a thing which he abhorred, and providing means for that
young jackanapes Bailey to swagger round the town and
set himself up as a great authority. The paper was bleed-
ing him to the tune of 10 or £15 a week, and so far as
he could see all the advantage went to Jack. He would
stop this when the election was over, and Mr. Jack might
bundle back to his garret in London and his habitual un-
certainty about dinner.
All was black, or at least densely gray, which ever way
he viewed it. If he could have arranged with the cabman,
by giving him an extra sovereign, to drive him clear out
of the radius of Saxton and the whole business, he would
on the spur of the moment have produced the coin. But
he was in for it now, and shaking himself together, he de-
termined to go through with it. He would get this money
from his father; within ten days he would be member for
Saxton, and then he would begin to reap after all this pain-
ful sowing.
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He dismissed the cab at the corner of the quiet and
eminently respectable street which the bijou residence
fronted, having at its rear, within a few feet, the backs of
other houses. When Gideon was last at the House he
had given a thundering ran-tan at the knocker. Now he
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`GIDEON FLEYCE.
tapped modestly, waiting patiently for any sign of response.
He heard presently the shuffling of slippered feet along
the hall. The door opened as far as the chain would per-
mit, and there, framed in the aperture as formerly, he be-
held the engaging countenance of his parent.
"Ain't you early?" said the old gentleman, holding up
the exceedingly thin tallow candle which wobbled in the
not too capacious tin candlestick.
169
"It is me, father," said Gideon, with a cheerful effort
at a smile.
The look of slight annoyance on the old gentleman's
face with which he responded to what he supposed was
the too early call of an expected guest deepened into
blazing anger.
((
Oh, it's you, is it, what do you want?”
"Well, first I want to come in.”
"Then want'll be your master," said the old gentleman,
and proceeded to close the door. But Gideon had his foot
inside.
С.
Come, come, father," he said, "don't be so inhospit-
able. You would not turn your only son away when he
comes to see you on a Sunday night.
""
"He only comes to see me because he wants some-
thing," retorted the old man suspiciously.
"Yes, father, I do want something. I want your advice,
which I know I have neglected too long."
(6
Ah, that's your little game, is it! Come to me for ad-
vice, eh? I know what that means. It is usually written
out on a check. But come in. I think I'd like to see
how you look when you go away without the check.
Come along; here's this candle guttering away in a waste-
ful manner. I suppose you've wax, and three or four
burning at the same time. One does for your father, but
then he hasn't to go about among his relations on a Sun-
day night begging."
Thus pleasantly the old gentleman chirped as he led the
way to the room that served him for everything but a bed-
chamber. It was just the same as Gideon had seen it be-
fore, except that now it looked somewhat more gloomy by
the light of the solitary dip. There was a diminutive fire
in the grate made up on a principle long studied by the
Spider and brought to a high state of perfection. The
grate being filled with slack he let it burn only in the
centre, directing with the poker little bits on to the red
/
8
339
water
GIDEON FLEYCE.
170
heat as occasion required. This saved the slack and found
ན
1 him occupation during the long evening.
There was a scuttle nearly full of the fuel by the side of
the fireplace. On the grate Gideon saw a pan standing,
and even fancied, though of course this was but fresh
evidence of his fevered state of mind, that there was a
savory smell in the apartment as of meat being cooked.
This impression seemed to be supported by the circum-
stance that a cloth (originally intended for a towel, but
now adapted as a tablecloth suitable for a bachelor of
fortune) was spread upon the table.
On a chair by its side were some plates and a knife and
fork. The Spider had evidently been interrupted whilst
in the act of laying the festive board.
"Didn't know you dined so late, father," said Gideon,
determined to be agreeable.
0
1
"No, I suppose you didn't. There's not much you do
know of your father-what he does or how he lives.
What are you staring at? The safe? Yes, there it is,
and you know what's in it. I'll show it you again. It's
a pretty sight for you aristocrats, and I dare say makes
your mouth water.
""
The old gentleman took the key out of his breast pock-
et, and after fumbling some time with the lock, as if he
were not quite sure which way it turned, he pulled back the
heavy doors, and, holding the tallow candle over his head,
showed Gideon once more the neatly fastened rouleaux.
"There you are, sir. What d'ye think of that? Isn't
that better than your lords and ladies, and castles and
Houses of Commons, and grand carriages and prancing
horses? They all cost money; these cost nothing to
keep. Now what have you come for? Not to murder
your old father, I do hope, and to rob him of the earnings
of an honest life. What are you doing with that stick?
Put it down in the corner.'
""
"Don't be foolish, father," said Gideon, really angry at
this untimely jest, which the old man enjoyed himself, and
the more intensely as he saw how it annoyed his son.
"Oh, I'm not afraid of you, my boy, though a lad who
is ashamed of his father's name and calling would not
much mind putting him out of the way. See, I lock the
safe, but I leave the key in it. You've not put the stick
down yet," and the old gentleman made a fresh feint of
being in mortal terror.
"
GIDEON FLEYCE.
171
"You always will have your joke, father," said Gideon,
putting the stick down in the corner of the room. "I
don't think they are always in the best taste, but you must
be pretty lonely here, and the way you keep up your spir-
its is wonderful."
?
"Yes, I'm pretty merry when I'm by myself, and as I
was thinking of having a cheerful evening, perhaps you
will go as soon as you can. Now how much do you
want? How much, and when? I knew you would come
to me in the end.
""
Gideon had intended to lead up to the matter gently,
and to prove, as was not difficult, that the needed loan
was only temporary, that the security was undeniable, and
that there were no scruples in the matter of the interest.
But the old gentleman was so surprisingly business-like
there was no necessity for this circumlocution. He had
evidently made up his mind in advance to let Gideon
have the money, and the best move he could make was to
pacify him by acknowledging his remarkable prescience.
"You are a wonderful man, father," he said, clearing
away the crockery, and seating himself at the table.
"There's no coming over you, or beating you in taking
a long look ahead. The fact is, I did come round to talk
with you about money matters."
،،
Ah, ha!" cried the old gentleman, picking up a piece
of tallow that had dropped into the candlestick, and plac-
ing it near the wick, so that it might add to the thin
stream of nutriment. "I thought it was only a friendly
call, a sort of looking up your relations on a Sunday
night, when you had nothing else to do."
"I would have been glad to do it, father, often enough,
only you remember the last time I was here you forbade
me the house, turned me out, in fact."
“Precisely, and you wouldn't come now if you didn't
want to get something out of the old gentleman. Go on,
squeeze me. What am I good for but that? Here's
your lemon, squeeze it," and the facetious old gentle-
man, cocking his velvet cap a little on one side, threw
himself back in the chair and opened his arms wide in
supposed representation of a lemon.
It was a very dry one, and certainly did not look as if it
would repay the labor expended upon it. But to Gideon
the affair looked exceptionally hopeful.
"I am not going to squeeze you, or to ask you for any-
T72
•
GIDEO
GİDEON FLEYCE.
thing I am not quite willing to pay handsomely for. Thè
fact is, with all your securities in the bank and your gold
in the safe I'm quite as rich as you.”
"C
Only you haven't got any money to carry on your lit-
tle game at Saxton. You have just paid your interest on
the mortgages, and now you want your father to come
down handsomely and help you to corrupt the electors
of this precious borough. That's about it, isn't it?" and
the old gentleman, having abandoned his efforts after the
reproduction of the appearance of a lemon awaiting the
squeezer, leaned forward and looked into his son's face
with a malicious grin.
Gideon was considerably taken aback at this evidence
of perfect knowledge on the part of his parent of his mon-
etary position. He could not imagine how he had got
to know so much. Then he remembered it was part of
his father's stock-in-trade to keep machinery for winnow-
ing out the chaff from the corn when the combination was
presented to him by young gentlemen desiring loans of
money. He had evidently had this at work with respect
to his affairs.
"You are a regular sorcerer, father. It's no use trying
to keep anything from you. If you know so much you
will also know that my need is absolutely temporary, that
I am more than solvent, and that I can afford to pay you
good interest."
"Yes, I know all that, and I know that things are even
better than you think them. Within a year you'll begin
to work off your mortgages and be clear of them in five
years with the property at increasing value. If you and
me were in business together and knew of a case like
yours wouldn't we like to get hold of him and sink him
in loans and then take over the speculation ? I have
thought it over myself. I knew you would come to me
for help, and I did once think I would lend you money
on our usual terms, then put on the screw and draw off
every acre of land you hold. But that would take time;
in the meanwhile you would get this election I know.
have been into that just as I have into your other concerns,
and you are quite sure to win. Then you would go into
Parliament and have a nice time of it, I suppose, before
the screw began to work. But it would work in time and
grind you down, driving you out of the House and out of
the country. That would be a neat bit of vengeance,
I
{,
حله
A
1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
173
wouldn't it? That would pay you off for insulting your
father, his house and his business, rubbing his name off
your door as if it was a sign of the plague.
The old gentleman was working himself up into a vio-
lent passion, and Gideon began to think things were not
quite so promising as he had imagined. Suddenly the
Spider stopped short, changed his voice, and with it his
whole aspect. The malicious leer gave place to a benev-
olent smile. The fierce light in his eye died away into
something like a twinkle. And his harsh voice became
quite coaxing in its tone. Gideon was not unfamiliar with
this transformation. He had often seen his father look
thus upon some young sprig of nobility whose blood he
was sucking. That reminiscence was not reasuring. Still
his father must have a heart. He had evidently been
thinking the matter over and could only see it in one
light. He was very faithful to his family traditions, and
what was Gideon doing but raising the house on a new
and more glorious foundation?
"
"Come, Ikey," the old man continued in a soothing
tone, "Let us get to business. I daresay you are going
to church and perhaps your carriage is waiting for you.
How much is it you want? and when would you like to
have the cash?”
Gideon was quite touched by this sudden flash of affec-
tion breaking through the gloomy exterior of the old gen-
tleman's ill humor, a natural ill humor Gideon felt bound
to admit. He had thwarted the old man in his dearest
hopes. In a great measure he had done this unconscious-
ly, particularly in what seemed to be the deepest stroke
of all the changing of his name. He would try and
make it up with him now, and if he could only win over
his father to see his prospects in the light he viewed them
himself, they might all be happy yet, and, for even in a
gush of natural sentimental affection Gideon was not in-
sensible to the consideration, he would escape the danger
he had feared of his father's willing his property away
elsewhere.
"Well, father," he said, gulping down something like a
sob, "I must say you're uncommonly good, much better
than I expected or had any reason to hope for. It is a
trifle for you and me, and, as you seem to know very
well, I want it just to carry me over this election. I am
nipped a bit with little expenses down at the place."
•
A
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Little expenses!" the old gentleman repeated with a
swift but happily only temporary fading out of the benev
olent expression. 'Oh, well, we will call them little.”
Gideon saw he had made a mistake, and was still skat-
ing over thin ice.
174.
"They're not so much expenses as investments out of
which I shall get as much percentage as we used to make
in Carlton Street. But what I want just now is £3,000."
"Three thousand ducats,' as the old gentleman says in
the play where they heap abuse upon our race, despising
them as much as some of us do our own birth and name.
Three thousand ducats! My ducats, my son, and my son's
seat in Parliament, and his hobnobbing with dooks and
elbowing of earls and canoodling with countesses. By
the way, Ikey, why don't you ask some of your fine friends
to lend you this money. The Dook of Wellington might
have a trifle to spare or the Dook of Marlboro', or per-
haps the Prince of Wales might lend it you on your note
of hand."
The Spider here went off in a fit of laughter in which
the benevolence was burnt up, and left him a snarling old
man looking at Gideon with a malignant glance which
suggested that if he had at the moment his heart's desire
he would stick a pin into him.
"You will have your joke, father; but you have the
best reason to know that dukes and earls and their belong-
ings are about the most unlikely people in the world to
have any spare cash. I came to you, thinking first of all
you might like to help your son. Then I thought, though
you have retired from the business, you wouldn't mind a
little transaction where the security was good and the in-
terest not screwed down."
"Interest?" cried the old man, raising his dirty hands
with a gesture of horror. "Take interest from my own
flesh and blood! Is it possible that you could think so
badly of your old father, though after what you have done
it's plain enough nothing's too bad for him in your eyes.
Not a penny interest will I take. You shall have the
check and no questions asked either about security or in-
terest, or repayment. The time for that will rest with
yourself. Now, I will write you the check."
The Spider got up, and skipping lightly across the room
produced from a small drawer an old envelope which had
reached him through the post. He also brought over to
/
tex
GIDEON FLEYCE,
175
the table pen and ink, the latter contained in one of the
stone bottles in which the fluid is dispensed by penny-
worths. Laying the envelope on the table, he carefully
cut off the flap side and began to write on the other.
"I didn't get another checkbook after using the last
from Carlton Street," he explained. "I don't draw
many checks now, and what is the use of going and put-
ting your money out to waste in stamps. Four and two-
pence for the smallest book; and suppose there was a fire
in the place they might be burnt, and where's your remedy?
Besides, I think the four and twopence is quite as safe in
my pocket as in the Government's.
>"
He wrote slowly and carefully, the tallow candlestick
lighting up with grim effect his eager shrivelled face and
the gray unkempt hair, crowned by the black velvet skull
cap. The benevolence had faded out of his face again,
giving place to the earlier look of cruel maliciousness.
Doubtless this was due to the act of writing the check,
naturally distasteful to him even when he had made up his
mind to do a generous action.
"'Avn't got a stamp in your pocket, have you, Ikey? I
never carry them myself, but we must stamp the check.
""
Gideon took out his pocket-pook and handed a stamp
to his father, who greedily licked it, stuck it on the sheet of
paper, and wrote across in figures as Gideon could see
where he sat, "£3,000."
"There you are," he said, folding the document and
handing it over to Gideon, "and with your own receipt
stamp, too. Now, be happy, go and win your election,
take your seat amongst the nobles of the land, and forget
your old father."
"Never!" cried Gideon, meaning it with all his heart.
"I have been very wrong and thoughtless, but I never
meant all you thought I did in changing my name, and all
that. I dare say we shall be able to make it up now. You
will come down to Castle Fleyce, and see how proud I will
be to show my father to my friends, and tell them how
kind he always was to me, and is now, when I am in a
hole."
"Castle Fleyce!" the old gentleman cried, throwing
himself back in his chair, and laughing in a way that had
some of the melody of a hoarse crow. "Castle Fleyce!
Hee! hee! hee! But hadn't you better see the check's all
right. Your father's getting a bit old now, and not so
f
176
GIDEON FLEYCE.
sharp in business matters as he used to be. He may have
made it £5,000."
Gideon certainly would have liked to have looked at the
check when it was handed to him, and was about instinc-
tively to follow that impulse when the rush of genuine
emotion, occasioned by his father's unexpected generosity,
stopped him. He would not, even by so commonplace an
action, suggest the necessity of checking off his father.
He was putting the check away in his pocket-book, but
thus genially invited he held it and read
"If the person calling himself Gideon Fleyce were starving
in the gutter, and a pennyworth of bread would save his life,
I would not give him the penny, much less Three Thousand
Pounds.
""
It was duly signed and, as Gideon had seen, the stamp
was put on the corner and over it written "£3,000."
The color faded from Gideon's face as he read this in-
famous document, and a dangerous light came into his
eyes as he turned them upon his father, who was sitting
back in his arm-chair with his elbows on the supports, his
chin resting on his hands. He was eyeing Gideon with
the most intense delight, his lean body shaking with silent
laughter.
"What does this mean?" said Gideon, lapsing straight-
way into the snuffling speech that betokened the pro-
foundest depths of anger.
"It means,” cried the old man, springing up and speak-
ing with the same snuffle, "that you are a bigger fool than
I took you for. What! you think you can thwart your
father in his dearest hopes, insult and despise him, go
your way, which certainly leads to destruction, and then
when you are in a pickle you can come home and crawl
round your father with the hope of wheedling him out of
his hard-earned money? You are worse and more con-
temptible than I thought you. I did think you had some
little sense. Bah! I hate and despise you, and renounce
all kinship with you."
And the old man spat at his son.
Gideon had not spoken a word since he asked the ques-
tion, but stood with the same white face and set lip, look-
ing steadily at the infuriated old man, who in his rage.
danced about before him.
When this personal indignity was put upon him he looked
quickly round as if in search of something. If his stick
M
gideon fleyCE.
177
}
had been upon the table it is possible that in the bound-
less passion that possessed him he might have sealed the
family renunciation by knocking his father down. But
there was nothing on the table save a knife. Still in search
of something handy his eye fell upon the coal-scuttle al-
most filled with slack. This he took up with both his
hands, and before his father could quite realize the posi-
tion half the contents of the scuttle were thrown over him.
The rest Gideon, not quite knowing what he did, flung
on the fire and, violently pitching the coal scuttle into the
corner of the room, strode forth, pursued by his father,
who, if the matter had not something tragical in it,
would have looked ludicrous as he followed, spiuttering
and shaking his fist, alternately bewailing the loss of the
precious fuel and calling on the God of Abraham, the
God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, to curse this misbe-
gotten son.
Before Gideon quite realized where he was he found
himself walking at a tremendous pace westward up Ful-
ham Road. He had taken the turning to the right, coming
out of the street in which the bijou residence was situate,
and blind with wrath had not noticed that he was walking
in the wrong direction. The train he had proposed to
return by left Charing Cross at ten o'clock. There was
another at eight, and if on leaving his father's he had
got into a cab and driven rapidly to the station he might
have caught that and been home in good time. It was
too late to think of that now. The interview which he
had reckoned on as pleasantly extending till it was time
for him to leave to catch the ten o'clock train, had
come to an unexpectedly abrupt conclusion, and he had
nearly a couple of hours on his hands.
The cool air and rapid walking had brought him down
a little from the pitch to which he had risen when he
sought solace in the coal-scuttle, and now there came back
to him with fuller force the recollection that he had not
got the money, and that the support on which he had
been leaning with increasing confidence in its security
had suddenly given way, and (this was an additional ag-
gravation) had dropped him in the very moment when he
thought he had succeeded.
When he recalled the cunning malignity his father had
displayed, leading him up to the belief that he should
have the money, and then heaping on him contumely and
*
8*
J
2
#
par
GIDEON FLEYCE.
insult, his blood boiled again, his pulse beat fast, and
his fist clenched. If he could hold something in it and
strike his father, it would be a relief. The action of clos-
ing his hand and finding nothing in it reminded him of
the stick. He remembered how he had put it down in the
corner at his father's bidding. It was a good stout stick,
made out of an old hickory tree, cut down in the course
of the alterations at the Castle. He had had a gold band
put round it, with his name on, "Gideon Fleyce, Castle
Fleyce," and the date. Between his name and address
he had had a blank place left, sufficient to fill in "M.P."
when the time should come.
178
He didn't like to lose the stick, and above all, he hated
the notion that it was in his father's possession. He knew
what the old man would do with it. He would take off
the gold rim, melt it down, and add it to his store of gold,
which would be all the more precious to him, since he
would reflect that he had deprived his son of this morsel.
Gideon recalled the finesse with which the old gentleman.
got from him a receipt stamp wherewith to complete the
delusion about the check. Even in full enjoyment of his
revenge he would not spend a penny of his own money,
and Gideon knew the fact that he had got this penny.
worth out of his son would multiply his joy.
Gideon would have the stick, and perhaps if he once
got into the house again he might find some way of get-
ting the money. The old gentleman had had his joke,
and might, even at the eleventh hour, relent. At any
rate it was worth trying for. A drowning man wildly
looks round and clutches at a straw. He would rather
have a plank if there were one about. But he clutches at
what he can get, and Gideon began to be glad that he had
accidentally left behind his stick, so that he might have
an excuse for once more returning. To be near the
treasure in the safe was something.
He turned round and walked back to the bijou resi-
dence. Looking up it was as dark as if Death, represent-
ing himself as a bachelor of fortune, had secured the lease
and taken up his residence within the barred shutters and
down-drawn blinds. Gideon walked up and down once or
twice looking at the house and watching for any sign of
light or movement. Nothing came, as indeed it would
have been strange if it had, seeing that a tallow dip, of
which eighteen go to the pound, is not calculated to
*
GÍDEON FLEYCE.
*179
F
i
produce a light that would penetrate iron-bound shut-
ters.
Gideon at once expressed surprise that his father, having
all this cash so easily convertible, should dwell in the house
by himself without having the fear of thieves before his
eyes. But herein he did his father a fresh injustice. The
old gentleman, if he had not been born and bred a usurer,
would have made a living, and peradventure fame, as a
mechanic. He was full of ingenious devices, and these he
had worked out for his safety and the preservation of his
property.
The bijou residence, in spite of its innocent appearance,
was a sort of Trojan horse, introduced amongst un-
suspecting houses of the vicinity. A burglar entering it,
whether by door or window, would have been done to
death in various surprising but perfectly effectual ways.
The simplicity of the old gentleman was so remarkable
that no one suspected his infernal designs. When he
opened the front door he always just put the chain on, a
familiar device which the casual caller might imagine was
the full extent of his precautions.
An able-bodied burglar would have laughed to scorn
this old-fashioned precaution, and, setting his shoulder
against the door, would have dragged the socket out of the
staple. Whereupon there would have fallen upon his head
or shoulder, according as he more or less advanced, a heavy
steel blade fixed above the doorway, and supported in its
harmless position by a cord attached to the socket in which
the door chain was ordinarily fastened.
This the Spider called his guillotine, and was much at-
tached to it. Other contrivances, not quite so elaborate
but equally efficacious, defended the various shutters on
the ground-floor, while the door at the back of the house,
which gave out into a little yard overshadowed by the
backs of other houses, was practically a dummy. With the
consciousness of these things bristling about in all direc-
tions the Spider might sit under his own vine and fig tree
none daring to make him afraid.
Gideon knowing nothing of these things looked up and
down the house, and reflected on the possibility of getting
in, whether his father would let him or no. But first of
all he would try the ordinary means of approach. He didn't
doubt that after knocking at the door he would see once
more through the aperture the wrinkled face, the velvet
ере
D
心
​180
GIDEON FLEYCE.
skull cap, and the tallow candle held up aloft for the better
illumination. Then he would, as before, put his foot in-
side the door and parley with his parent, leaving the rest
to chance. He had a good hour to spare and might as
well employ it in that way as in any other.
18
CHAPTER XXVI.
貫
​Rehoboth.
REHOBOTH was not easy to find, even by the earnest seek-
er, unless he were furnished with very minute instructions.
As Mr. Dumfy had incidently mentioned to Gideon, the
temple was situate in Camden Town. It stood in a busy
street, but, as having little to do with things of this world,
or with mundane affairs of any kind beyond the weekly
offertory, it stood well back from the line of shops and
houses. On one side were the business premises of a coach-
builder, the proprietor's name and style being flaunted
forth in gold letters standing upon a bright green ground.
On the other side was a tailor's shop, where on Saturday
nights the gas flamed at its utmost. There were large
tickets on every article of dress proclaiming its astonishing
cheapness, a common peculiarity being that whatever
might be the number of shillings demanded the figure as
to the pence was always eleven. Moreover, whilst the
shillings were set forth in large letters, the elevenpence was
written so small that it was only on close inspection it could
be discerned. In fact it played on the price card the part
which Rehoboth held towards the buildings in the street.
It was of supreme relative importance; but of ineradicably
retiring habits.
Another noticeable thing about the tailor's shop was the
never-failing presence of a gentleman dressed in the height
of fashion, as fashion was interpreted by Mr. Solomons,
the tailor. His clothes were running to seed, though this
was due, perhaps, not more to old age than to constant ex-
posure. When it actually rained the walking gentleman
went inside, like one of the two figures in the barometer
house, who, when the weather is threatening, gives place
to his brother made up for wet weather. A marked pe-
-
1
•
4
^
2
GIDEON FLEYCE.
culiarity about this personage was that he never wore a
headpiece. In the depth of winter, as in the height of sum-
mer, he appeared bareheaded, either walking up and down
before the shop front, or standing at the door. He had
cards in his hands setting forth the wonderful goodness
and marvellous cheapness of the clothing to be purchased
at Mr. Solomons'. If he saw anyone who looked as if he
would presently be wanting a suit of clothes he approached
him, thrust a card in his hand, and seized the opportunity
to make a few observations on the general quality of Mr.
Solomons' stock-in-trade, and the advantageous terms on
which it might be dealt with if the present moment were
seized.
1-81
Why he should thus perambulate the pavement before
the premises without a hat was one of the mysteries of the
trade. It might be thought that his recommendation of
Mr. Solomons' infallibly fitting coats and marvellously
adapted trousers would have been equally efficacious if he
had addressed the desired customer with his hat on. He
might even have created a diversion by taking his hat off,
and thus addressed the passer-by with outward marks of
unwonted courtesy that might have been counted on to
move him.
p
Somehow or other, at some time or other, in some place
or other, there had been a man connected with the chief
clothing establishment of the street who had stood at the
door of his shop and made occasional excursions therefrom
bareheaded. He had prospered exceedingly, and in the
reckless way of generalizing which sometimes besets us,
it appeared to some aspirant in the trade that the whole
secret of his prosperity lay in the fact that he went out
bareheaded. Thus doubtless the practice sprung up, and
in Camden Town and other parts of London where cheap
ready-made clothing is in vogue, no establishment worth
its salt is without its bareheaded man.
Mr. Solomons' bareheaded man was a shining light in
Rehoboth. In fact-there need be no secret about it
here he was the proprietor of the place. Not finding it
convenient or desirable that it should be known that he
was a moneyed man, Mr. Selth had originally set up as an
agent for a mysterious proprietor, whose rents he received,
and for whom he acted with plenary power. At the out-
set this arrangement had not been successful. Rehoboth
had not proved a paying concern and what funds were
تم
+4
182
GIDÈON FLEYCE.
forthcoming had, as Mr. Selth held, been wrongfully
appropriated by the managing deacons. Accordingly
when he found a new tenant he took a fresh departure.
He joined the church himself, was even elected deacon,
and thus had direct control over the incomings, whilst his
spiritual welfare was cared for on Sunday, he sitting
practically pew-rent free.
Brother Selth approaching Rehoboth on the Sunday
morning or Sunday evening was scarcely recognizable as
the out-door man of the flourishing cheap clothing estab-
lishment hard by. The change was largely due to his
donning a hat on Sundays. It is astonishing what a dif-
ference it made in him. Of course in ordinary life we get
used to the change made in our acquaintances whom we
meet sometimes in the house and occasionally in the street
in the varied garb suited to the circumstances.
But if we
had a familiar friend, not being a blue-coat boy, whom we
were accustomed to see day after day, sun, rain or snow,
dressed for the street in every respect saving the wearing
of a hat, it would not be without a shock that we should
some day discover him crowned by the ordinary chimney-
pot.
Brother Selth's hat always looked new, which well it
might, seeing it came out only fifty-two times in the year,
and was carefully brushed and put away each week. To
meet him walking up the Camden Road with an umbrella
in his hand and hat on his head was quite startling. On
the other hand there was something familiar about his
aspect as he sat in his pew, clad in his overcoat, devoutly
taking part in the service of the chapel, and of course with
his hat off. It was a further peculiarity of this remarkable
man that on Sundays he not only wore a hat, but carried
an umbrella, wet or fine; and lastly, summer or winter he
wore his overcoat on a Sunday, sitting with it closely
buttoned up throughout the service, even though the
thermometer might be 80° in the shade.
Under its new aspect Rehoboth was going on in a
moderately prosperous way. The Rev. Josiah Waffle had
proved a great attraction. The chapel filled, the seat rents
were all paid, and the offertory, though not quite coming
up to that of the Tabernacle for example, was a promising
and improving feature. After some of his sermons, in
which Mr. Waffle had been able to paint the hereafter of
other people in exceptionally dismal colors, there was cast
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
183
hay
up as much as 9s. 7d. in the boxes at the door. Last Sun-
day, as the table above the box testified, there had only
been 3s. 3d., a circumstance which, taken in conjunction
with what we know of an early conversation Mr. Dumfy
held with his employer, incontestably proved that that
gentleman had not been in his place on the previous Sab-
bath.
This was the fact; but Mr. Dumfy was in his place now,
and the blood in the veins of Rehoboth seemed to move
with quickened life. Although Brother Selth was senior
deacon, and by virtue of that office sat at the little desk
underneath the pulpit from which the Rev. Mr. Waffle
liberally dispensed damnation, he always made a point of
retiring in favor of Mr. Dumfy, when that personage was
present. Taking it as a whole the congregation of Reho-
both was richer in spiritual grace than in worldly goods.
Mr. Dumfy, as the confidential clerk of an eminent finan-
cier, was a Triton among these minnows. He was gen-
erally understood to be a warm man, and if there was
any condition that was exceptionally attractive to Brother
Selth it was that a brother or a sister should be " warm,"
in the sense that somewhere or other he or she had large
possessions.
66
""
In respect of this belief affecting Brother Dumfy,
Brother Selth and the rest of the congregation walked by
faith. If Brother Dumfy were wealthy he was careful to
hide all proof thereof, doubtless not wishing to vaunt his
riches in the eyes of brethren whom Providence had not
blessed in equal measure. Even that little extra weekly
payment he had secured from Gideon on the alleged
account of Rehoboth was dispensed in secret, and, strange
to say, without any appreciable effect on the weekly col-
lection, which sometimes fell below three shillings.
It was characteristic of Brother Selth, who managed
this part of the business, that when he made up the slip
of paper that was stuck from Sunday to Sunday over the
offertory box, proclaiming the amount collected on the
previous Sabbath, he always made provisions for three
denominations of coin. From Sunday to Sundays. d.
stared the congregation in the face, the £ bearing up
bravely against its unrelieved desolation, and taking no
note of the fact that the weeks passed and resembled each
other to the extent that after the there was always a
dash, intimating that the amount last week had not run
riv
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184
to sovereigns. But who should say what might happen?
At any rate Brother Selth would be on the safe side,
ranging the full extent of the monetary alphabet. Besides,
it was likely to have a good effect upon the congregation,
bringing constantly before them the fact that in diaconal
circles it was regarded as by no means outside the range
of reasonable expectation that some week or other they
might run the amount of the offertory over twenty shil-
lings.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Brother Dumfy's business was to give out the hymns,
reading them verse by verse, after which the words were
taken up by the tuneful choir. Just now the Rev. Mr.
Waffle was reading and expounding one of the lessons.
The exposition stood towards the text in the relation
which Falstaff's mixture of sack held towards the comple-
ment of bread. Mr. Waffle was evidently of opinion that
the older apostles were all very well in their way, but it
would be better for a congregation living in these happy
times to have a great deal of Waffle, and very little of
Paul. So he read a few lines from Paul, apostle to the
church at Ephesus, and interpolated long passages from
Josiah, apostle to the church named Rehoboth.
This interlude gave Brother Dumfy an opportunity to
gaze round the chapel, in which he had not lately been,
owing to pressure of affairs at Saxton. It was a very
small place, and when filled did not hold more than one
hundred and fifty people. Brother Selth had bought it
cheap, the former landlord falling into difficulties in re-
spect of rates. Being a man of taste, he had "done it
up," painting the walls a lively maroon color, that being
a shade warranted to wear well and conceal the marks of
hands and heads, and had lavishly illuminated the win-
dows above the pulpit with a few panes of purple-stained
glass which made a nice contrast with the paint on the
walls.
Standing well back from the line of shops, Rehoboth
was approached by a gravelled walk running between a
grass glot, on which there grew here and there a few
straggling roots of grass, which came up very black in the
face, and early displayed predisposition towards wither-
ing. Half-a-dozen trees which had reached a good height
attested the comparative antiquity of the chapel. In the
early spring the trees diffidently put forth a few leaves,
wonderfully green and tender-looking. But they did not
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
185
live long, nor grow beyond their dwarfed estate. Ivy had
been planted by the wall of Mr. Solomons' cheap and
ready-made clothing establishment. But ivy, which will
grow almost anywhere in London, did not come to much
in this gloomy passage. It had assimilated soot in quite
a phenomenal manner, and very early in the spring the
young leaves as they came forth, went into mourning for
each other, and presently the short and doleful spell of
their lives was over.
Perhaps if you heard the Rev. Mr. Waffle, as he preached
his sermon, you might have gained some inkling of the
reason why the trees and grass and ivy should be thus
blighted. Mr. Waffle had very decided views on the ulti-
mate destination of people outside the walls of Rehoboth.
There had never been any hope for them from the first,
and this Sabbath, even more than a week ago, they were
hastening with quickened footsteps to the brink of the
bottomless pit into which they would surely fall with
shrieks and wails, which Mr. Waffle sometimes imitated
for the edification of his congregation. His sermon was,
to tell the truth, one suffocating whiff of fire and brim-
stone, and this passing out through the open chapel doors
in summer time, or stealing through the crevices of door
and window in winter, could not fail to have its effect upon
the innocent herbage and the struggling leaves on the
soot-begrimed trees.
But the congregation liked it, and Brother Selth par-
ticularly approved it since it kept the chapel unprecedent-
edly full.
If Mr. Waffle was right, and a man who perspired so
freely and who so little spared the pulpit cushion could
not be otherwise than right, heaven was to be found only
within the walls of Rehoboth. Therefore Rehoboth in
these times, rarely had more than a dozen seats unlet.
Everything was plain about Rehoboth, especially the
women kind. Mr. Waffle himself was no beauty, rather
running to cheek-bone, with pallid face, abundance of un-
kempt black hair, and a pair of glistening eyes that
flashed terribly as he discoursed on the sins of oth-
ers and the certainty of retribution. Mr. Waffle "en-
joyed bad health," as the chapelkeeper said, with some-
thing of pardonable pride, and as he stood up in the old
deal pulpit, fashioned something after the shape of a cof-
fin with the broad end uppermost, he suggested uncanny
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\GIDEON FLEYCE.
thoughts to the imaginative. That is he might have car-
ried such suggestion if imagination had formed any part
of the attributes of his listeners.
But that was doubtful. They were good plain people
who worked hard through the week, and liked to take
their religion strong on Sundays. The men were for the
most part a trifle dull-looking, and the peace and rest of
the Sabbath was evidently handicapped for them by the
awkward consciousness of being in their Sunday clothes.
The women were decidedly dowdy in appearance, the ma-
jority dressed in rusty black. Here and there was a back-
slider who illuminated the dead level with patches of blue
or purple or brick red, displayed in bonnet or shawl.
These were the objects of much wrestling in prayer and
many conversations over the tea
over the tea tables by the elder
¿
women.
All told, there were but five of these worldlings. Pris-
cilla Ann Twentyman, the one in the light blue bonnet
with neckshawl of purple-hued wool was engaged. But
no one could say when the engagement would find its
legitimate issue in matrimony. Sister Twentyman, Pris-
cilla's mother, was an obstacle in the way.
"The young
man," Brother Doke, was present in chapel on this par-
ticular Sabbath; but as usual Sister Twentyman inter-
posed her angular body between the two lovers.
Brother Doke was a mild young man not given to as-
serting his rights. He had now been engaged for seven
years, and was willing to marry. Sister Twentyman al-
ways whined when the subject was mentioned, as if she
had received a personal injury. She spoke at length,
though in a broken voice, of the ingratitude of children,
and so worked upon the feelings of the unfortunate young
man that he was glad to retire into private where he could
abuse himself for his lack of considerateness and all good
feeling. There were some who said that Priscilla never
would be married. Certainly she got every winter more
and more to resemble her mother in appearance, temper,
and even voice. But Brother Doke did not take note of
any of these things. He was there to be married when-
ever it was quite convenient to other parties, and in the
meantime he took Sister Twentyman out to penny read-
ings, cheap concerts, and morning and evening service at
Rehoboth. On these occasions Priscilla had incidentally,
but invariably, sat on the other side of her mother, and
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
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187
the old lady became the unconscious conductor of many
heart throbs that passed between the hapless couple.
Alas, poor, pallid Priscilla, and dumb, devoted Doke!
If you only had the courage some fine morning to lock in
the upper chamber this ogress that tramples on your timid
love, and makes a profit in the shape of votive offerings
and tickets for tea parties out of your respect for Priscilla's
mother, and were thereafter straightway to hie thee to
church or chapel, where you might be swiftly married, all
would be well. There would be some tearfulness when
you returned, unlocked the door, and made a clean breast
of your crime. The ogress would see as in a flash of light-
ning how her opportunity was gone; for there is a wide
difference even in so simple a mind as that of Brother
Doke's between a mother-in-law and the mother of her
with whom you "keep company." No more new caps
with gorgeous ribbons. No more gloves, black and a size
too large for convenience in pulling on. No more wild
moments at the Polytechnic, nor any more debauches at
Panoramas of the Holy Land with nuts and oranges, and,
peradventure, ever so small a drop of gin brought in a
case bottle and dispensed on returning home, perhaps not
without a view to certainty of invitation to enter if it be
known that the flask is in the pocket.
All this the mother of Priscilla would see. But it would.
be no use kicking against the pricks, and thenceforth
Brother Doke might become as much master of the sit-
uation as was possible to one of his retiring habits. But
it is not likely that this coup d'etat will ever disturb the
serenity of the household and many years may pass before
these mildewed lives are freed from the influence that
blights them. The gods don't love Priscilla's mother, and
she is likely to live to be very old.
It was known to the elders of the congregation that
Brother Dumfy on this particular night would not be able
to stay out the full measure of the service.
He had run
up to town, at great personal expense and much incon-
venience, to share in the privilege of worship at Rehoboth.
He must needs return by the eight o'clock train, business
of this world peremptorily calling him back to Saxton. He
would sit in his old place at the little red-cushioned desk
underneath the coffin-shaped pulpit, and go through the
service up to the threshold of the sermon. Then he would
retire, and Brother Selth walking boldly up with his hymn-
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188
GIDEON FLEYCE.
book held in his right hand as if it were one of the cards
attesting the immense advantages of Mr. Solomons' es-
tablishment, would take the vacant seat. But Brother
Dumfy had two hymns to give out, and this he did with
much unction.
Of course, there was at Rehoboth no trifling with Belial
in the shape of a harmonium. Even a tuning-fork was
dispensed with, everything in the musical line resting with
Brother Pysder, who, unaided by any other gift than the
vocal one with which an inscrutable Providence had en-
dowed him led the tuneful choir. Brother Pysder sat in
the background under the shade of the coffin, and it was
not till Brother Dumfy had read out the first verse that he
came forward and, laying his open tune-book on his
brother's desk, leaned his right arm thereupon, and with
his hymn-book held close to his eyes, raised the tune.
Throughout the week Brother Pysder was in a small
way of business in the butter, cheese, and bacon line. He
was volatile enough when behind his counter, hopping
here and there to meet the varied demands of ready-money
customers. But on Sundays he was wont to assume an
expression of stolidity, understood to be appropriate to
his responsible position. When standing in full view of
the congregation, pausing a moment before filling the
dumb chapel with melody, the result of his efforts to as-
sume a devotional aspect was to convey to his face the ap-
pearance of having been carved out of a turnip. It was
absolutely expressionless, and with great skill was kept so
throughout the singing of the hymn.
Brother Pysder, whose face was otherwise bare, culti-
vated a little goatee beard, which played an important
part in his ministrations. By long practice he had achieved
the art of singing without opening his mouth beyond the
slightest appearance of a crack, nor did he in any degree
visible to the congregation move his lips while singing.
But the action of the goatee beard bore testimony to the
physical effort, and gave an appearance of mobility to his
countenance otherwise lacking.
It was surprising, considering the size of the aperture,
what tremendous sounds Brother Pysder was able to emit.
He had evidently devoted a good deal of thought to his
avocation, and had evolved a practice which presented his
special gifts in the strongest light. It was his habit to
sing the first two lines of the verse at the loudest pitch of
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gideon fLEYCÊ.
189
his stentorian voice. Then the thunder ceased, and there
played through the building the soft lightning of female
voices. This was
This was "forty and peeaner," as Brother Pysder
explained at the church meeting at which the matter was
discussed, after the first experiment. The explanation
was accepted as satisfactory, and the style of singing
thenceforward was formally accepted at Rehoboth. Brother
Selth was inclined to think it worthily seconded the efforts
of the Rev. Mr. Waffle to keep the pews occupied.
Whether Brother Pysder himself took part in the piano
movement always remained a matter for controversy. But
since, whilst this part of the verse was being sung, his eye-
brows were observed to be uplifted, and the goatee was
clearly seen to move up and down with gentle motion,
there is reason to believe that at this point he sang falsetto.
Brother Dumfy might have solved this mystery if he had
had time to turn his thoughts to it. Brother Pysder leaned
upon his desk as he sung, and may be said to have warbled
in his ear. But Brother Dumfy's thoughts were occupied
with other things.
This was the occasion of his fortnightly visit to town,
and he was ordinarily accustomed to remain all night and
return to Saxton in the course of Monday. To-day, plead-
ing the exigencies of the election, he had made it known
that he must positively go down to Saxton by the eight
train. He had been at the morning service and would not
miss what measure was possible of the evening exercise.
He would sit in his place in full view of his brothers and
sisters with the tuneful Pysder on his left and the ener-
getic Waffle in the box above him. When the time came
he would slip out, pick up the small black bag he had de-
posited in the vestry, and wend his way to Charing Cross.
He had already taken an affectionate leave of Mrs. Dumfy,
who was now in the family pew, and had proposed to her-
self to enjoy to the full the ministrations of the place.
Brother Dumfy had occasion to think kindly of Saxton
and of events there. Since Gideon had blundered into his
encounter with Long Bill on the subject of the expendi-
ture of the flagstaff, he had refrained from interfering with
Brother Dumfy's cash, which more and more displayed an
adhesive tendency as it passed through the fingers of its
custodian. But whilst there is a silver lining to every
cloud, so boundaries of black cloud edge off every patch
of blue sky, whether broad or narrow.
Brother Dumfy
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
shared, with honest indignation, the grievance of the long-
shoremen that the election was being hurried forward in
a highly reprehensible manner. Before the Sabbath had
twice returned all would be over, accounts would be
squared up, and he knew sufficient of Gideon's nature to
foresee that after this burst of lavish expenditure there
would come a period of excessive economy, and a season
of prying into the disposition of petty cash.
Brother Dumfy's appetite had grown with what it fed
upon. He had made a good thing out of recent oppor-
tunities, but he felt he would like, if possible, to get one
great haul before opportunity was dead. He was, as it
was bruited about in the chapel, a warm man, much
warmer than even the wildest fancy pictured, warmer even
than Brother Selth, although he took high rank as the
proprietor of Rehoboth. But if this was being warm,
Brother Dumfy felt he would like to be hot, and he had
often turned over in his mind schemes for reaching that
happy condition.
2
→
However, what he had now to do was to get back to
Saxton, and when the Rev. Mr. Waffle laid his open book
on the uncushioned desk of the pulpit, and gave a thump
preparatory to announcing his text, Brother Dumfy, mo-
mentarily drooping his head on his hands to hide the eyes
that were homes of silent prayer, stole away with long
stride and soft footfall towards the vestry, where his small
handbag lay, and near it his faithful weather-worn um-
brella.
Bat
Though easily portable, the bag was a good deep one,
made of cowhide, and certainly big enough to hold
Brother Dumfy's overcoat. It seemed a strange way to
carry an overcoat. But we all have odd personal habits.
Opening the bag, Brother Dumfy took out his overcoat,
and perhaps when he came to close the bag and carry it
from the vestry in his hand, the foolishness of thus lum-
bering himself with useless luggage may have struck him.
There was in the vestry a small washstand which shut up
within its case, and which Brother Selth had bought cheap
at a sale. In the lid was set a bit of looking-glass, and
Brother Dumfy turning this up produced from the pocket
of his overcoat a small comb and brush, and carefully at-
tended to his curls. Then he put on his overcoat, and
taking his bag in one hand and the umbrella in the other
went out into the street by the vestry door.
1
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
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· 191
As he walked down Hampstead road with intent to get
the 'bus that passed Charing Cross, he might have felt,
if there had been anything like pride about him, that
Camden Town did not contain any more highly-respect-
able-looking man. The critical observer might have
taken exception to a trifle of spottiness about his hat,
and certain threadbare marks about his overcoat. But
these, while indicative of honest poverty, were not con-
flicting with utter respectability. "Poor but honest,"
was Brother Dumfy's own description of himself, and as
he deferentially took his seat in the 'bus dimly lighted
from the oil lamp over the door, that would have been
precisely the description applied to him by a casual
observer.
At Charing Cross Brother Dumfy had a little time to
spare, and seeing that by the bounty of Gideon he pos-
sessed a season ticket, he might have sat through a por-
tion of the Waffle discourse and still have caught his
train. But he always liked to be in time. Though there
was yet a quarter of an hour to spare, the train was
drawn up at the siding and Brother Dumfy, leisurely
walking down the platform, found a carriage that had
evidently been partially appropriated, for it held the bag-
gage of at least two passengers. Brother Dumfy took his
seat with his back to the engine and very near indeed to
the engine, for he had hit upon the first carriage.
After a few minutes the other passengers arrived and
took their seats. There were yet six minutes to spare,
and Brother Dumfy finding the prospect of an hour and a
half's journey before him thought he might as well stretch
his legs. There was no need to take his umbrella with
him and no fear of anyone, unless it was a collector of
curiosities, stealing it. It was a good, honest, antiquated
green gingham, with a metal handle cast in the shape of
a dog's head, and was probably as old as her gracious
Majesty. But the bag Brother Dumfy would not leave,
albeit it was empty. So taking it with him he went out
for a stroll on the platform.
It was well he did not go far, for the train was punctual
to a moment, and as the hand of the clock pointed to the
figure eight it steamed out of the station and away into
the dark night, past the little towns and villages with
their twinkling lights, and through the fields on which the
ghostly white mist hung low.
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Gideon flEYCE.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Marshes and the Moan of the Sea.
MIDNIGHT was striking as Gideon quickly issued from
the carriage that brought him down to the Junction. He
did not want to be seen by the polite station-master or
the deferential porters, who might know him as the rich
and popular candidate for Saxton, lavish with tips. So
he slipped out into the road, and made at the top of his
speed in the direction of Saxton. He had had a very bad
day altogether, and was physically, as well as mentally,
upset by something he had seen on the line coming down
trom London.
A fearful accident, memorable in the annals of railway
disaster, had happened, and Gideon had come almost in
contact with some of the brothers of the victims. The
train leaving Charing Cross two hours earlier than the
one he travelled by had fallen upon grievous mishap when
thirty miles on its way. At this portion of the road the
* line ascended with a somewhat steep incline for the dis-
tance of nearly two miles. A luggage train had preceded
the eight o'clock train, and if all had gone well was to
have shunted at Wenham to allow the passenger train to
go its way. But just before arriving at Wenham the
coupling-chain had broken midway in the luggage train,
and half the wagons having overcome the forward
impetus, first of all stood still, then moved backwards
at a pace the velocity of which increased at every yard.
Before they had gone a mile they were travelling at the
rate of thirty miles an hour, and still increasing their
pace.
The passenger train meanwhile dashed along with per-
fect confidence, induced by the assumption that the line
was clear at least as far as Wenham. When it had breasted
the incline for a little over a quarter of a mile the par-
alyzed engine-driver discovered sweeping down round the
curve the five heavily laden wagons. He reversed the
engine, and having done all that was possible, he and his
mate jumped off just before the shock came.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
193
The
It came nevertheless with a tremendous force.
engine leaped like a mad living thing on top of the rear-
most wagon, burying itself amidst the wreck of the wagon
beyond. It is probable the shock of the fearful collision
instantly killed the occupants in the carriages of the pas-
senger train nearest the engine. It would be well to
think so, since otherwise a more fearful fate than death
by dislocation of the neck or fracture of the ribs awaited
them. The wagons were loaded with petroleum oil, and
the barrels bursting open in the shock dashed their con-
tents over the engine, and far down the line of carriages.
The engine fire caught the inflammable substance, and in
a moment the whole of the front part of the train was
wrapt in fierce flames.
The fire was put out, and the charred remains had been
collected in a heap and decently covered before the mail
train by which Gideon traveled arrived at the spot. But
the scene told too graphically what had happened, and
Gideon, his nervous state increased by the worry of the
day and the fact that scarcely any food had passed his lips,
fancied he could smell burning flesh, from which he shrank
with almost hysterical terror.
Arrangements had been made to prevent the delay of
the mail train as much as possible. A train had been
sent up from the coast terminus, and the passengers in the
mail were conducted, with a little under half an hour's de-
lay, from one train to the other, and so pursued their
journey.
Gideon nearly lost his passage, being found huddled up
in the corner of a carriage, which he had had all to him-
self from Charing Cross. The guard and the porter helped
him round and past the wreck of the broken and burnt
train, and past a mound which, as they skirted it, looked
like a heap of rubbish with tarpauling spread over it.
Gideon knew instinctively that there lay the victims of
the tragedy, and he cowered in such abject terror that
the guard and porter, each putting a stalwart arm round
him, carried him into the train waiting on the other side.
Here some one gave him a drink of brandy, which he
hastily swallowed, and was well enough not only to pursue
his journey, but when he arrived at the Junction to get
out and set forth on his lonely walk to Saxton.
The night was not always dark. There were thick
clouds in the sky, but there was also a wild wind overhead,
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194
which swept them onward after a fashion that gave the
moon many chances. It was nearly full moon, and the
light that shines by night would have done verv well if
left to itself as it testified whenever it got a chance of ap-
pearing in patches of the clear sky. Then fields and roads
were flooded in the bright light. But presently up came
a bank of dark cloud, and Gideon was floundering along
through the muddy roads in almost total darkness.
DEON
GIDEON FLEYCE.
It was a cold night, but he did not seem to notice it or,
indeed to be aware of the quickly succeeding changes of
light and darkness. He knew the road pretty well, having
often driven along it. In any case it was not difficult to
follow. Having once set his face towards Saxton there
was no danger of going astray, since the highway was a
long lane that had no turning till it reached the top of the
hill from which the lights of Saxton, at such early hours
as it had lights to show, might be seen twinkling below.
There was a sign post at the four cross-roads, one of
which led by a steep descent to the marshes, beyond the
loneliness of which moaned the sea. Gideon had never
been down there, but he had looked out on the great
waste sometimes, and had shuddered when he thought
what it would be on a dark, cold night for one who wan-
dered there without friends and without hope in the world.
He was not an imaginative man, and when he had looked
out on the marshes he had shuddered simply with that feel-
ing with which plumpness revolts from anything physi-
cally unpleasant.
It was Napper, who had, in a few words, drawn the pic-
ture of the hopeless man stumbling on amid this loneliness,
looking out herself the while with troubled tearful eyes,
as if she could see the despairing man, and acutely felt her
helplessness to rescue him. Gideon had at the time
thought that it would be uncommonly unpleasant, wet to
the feet, and ruinous to the nether garments. And then
supposing after wandering about all night he escaped
tumbling into the sea, or getting up to the armpits in slush,
he must needs lie down. And what a horrible mess his
clothes would be in from head to foot.
As Gideon walked rapidly along in the middle of the
road with his hat thrust back on his head and the moon-
light falling on his face, he would scarcely have been rec-
ognized in Saxton. All the pleasant, rosy plumpness of
the man seemed to have withered at a touch. He looked
GIDEON. FLEYCE.
195
older and haggard. His lips were drawn down and his
eyes burned with quite unwonted brilliancy. If the doctor
had felt his pulse, and held his hot hand in his own for a
moment, he would have said he was on the verge of an at-
tack of fever. Gideon was not in a humor to analyze his
own feelings. All he knew was that hitherto life had been
very pleasant with him and increasingly prosperous.
Everything had gone well, and he had had no care beyond
anxiety as to the fit of a coat or the sustained brilliancy of
the nap of his hat. Now, in a moment, in the twinkling
of an eye, the whole thing had changed. The sun had
gone down, and black night night covered the earth.
He cursed himself for his stupidity in allowing things to
run their own course uncontrolled for so long a time. If
he had spent a few hundreds less; if he had not paid cash
when bills would have been equally acceptable, or if he
had recognized the imminence of ruin before ruin had
gathered all its forces and threatened to topple over and
crush him, he would not be as he was at that moment.
Things were worse then than they had been at this time
yesterday, and they would be worse still at this time to-
morrow. He was not a penny richer now than he had
been when he started for London in the morning, and he
was by so many hours nearer the crisis. It did him good
to curse himself, rousing him from the stupor into which
he had fallen, partly under the influence of the unaccus-
tomed brandy, and partly because he was dead beat.
When he reached the four cross-roads at the top of the
hill he stopped and looked away to the right, down the
dark lane at the end of which he knew the marshes were,
and beyond them the sca. The wind was blowing inland,
and he could hear the low thunder of the surf upon the
shore. He was thoroughly wretched in mind and body,
and there came to him a soothing sense of the ineffable
peace and rest that was to be had down in the marshes.
In his fevered state, with his stomach empty, his heart full,
and his mind disordered, he saw nothing but shame and
defeat in the coming days. He who had been accustomed
to play Napoleon would be scoffed at as an adventurer who
had failed.
Much of this was a fevered fantasy. Things were not so
bad as they seemed regarded from the gloomy depths of
Gideon's mind. He was not accustomed to being crossed,
and had gone down at the first stroke of ill-fortune. He
**
momy
GIDEON FLEYCE.
196
might still get the £3,000; but if he didn't what would be
the worst? He would certainly lose his election, but his
land schemes were as sound now as they had been at any
time. A little retrenchment in his personal expenses, a
little patience, and a little assistance, which many people
were interested in furnishing, would put him all right.
This is perhaps how Gideon might have seen the matter
if he had gone home, gone to bed, had a long sleep, and
lived till the morning. But whilst it is all very well for us,
discussing these things from our comfortable chairs, and
out of the profundity of our orderly, well-spent lives, it
was different to Gideon standing alone by the finger-post
on this wild March night, with the clouds above him scud-
ding past as if they too were glad to get clear of a man
whom fortune had deserted. Gideon's fancy, taking a
fresh turn, pictured the finger-post as a gallows, and he
shrank affrighted from underneath the extended beam
where he had been standing. There came back to him
the thought of the dinner party which O'Brien was sup-
posed to give, and the Judge's description of his brother
on the bench who was so fond of hanging people. He
struggled desperately against this thought, which was not
pleasant company in the circumstances.
But it constantly
came back, and would not be dismissed.
He walked away from the finger-post and stood irreso-
lutely at the head of the road leading to Saxton. Still on
his right hand was the lane leading down to the marshes,
with the soothing sound of muffled thunder beyond.
What a deal of trouble it would have saved him if he had
only caught the eight o'clock train! What he feared most
was that people would turn against him, and speak ill of
him as a man who had failed. He liked to walk about
with his head held up and to think that people were say-
ing: "There goes Gideon Fleyce, an immensely wealthy
man, who made his money by a grand coup in land, got into
Parliament, and is hand-in-glove with all the big wigs."
The means by which this was to be accomplished formed
a consideration that did not greatly trouble him. Of course
the thing should be done by the legitimate business, and
above all things by keeping inside the pale of the law.
But Gideon knew well enough that when a man is as suc-
cessful as he had counted upon being, the world would not
too closely question the source of his money getting. He
yearned for success and prosperity, of both of which he had '
1
1
'
1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
197
hitherto enjoyed his full share. It was an atmosphere in
which he blossomed, and in which, more especially under
the guidance of Napper, quite unexpected good qualities
had begun to sprout.
Now he felt all was over, and within a week he would
have to leave Saxton, abandon Castle Fleyce, and go back
to his dim life in Carlton Street. Anything was better than
that. If he had only caught the eight o'clock train the
matter would have been settled without his raising a finger
to hasten its conclusion. It could not be very pleasant to
be burnt to cinders in a railway accident. But, as he found
himself arguing with strange minuteness and personal in-
terest, the passengers must have been killed first or ren-
dered insensible by the shock, and of what happened after-
wards they neither knew nor felt anything.
•
If he went down to the marshes it would not be greatly
different. People would suppose he had lost his way, and
perhaps might, as they would have done in the case of a
railway accident, say what a pity it was that such a brilliant
career was thus cut short by a fatal accident. All the
country would ring with his name, and no one would know
how he actually stood on the brink of failure.
And how tired he was and how sick at heart, and how
petulantly impatient with the laws of life.
But on the other hand there were the long hours that
must elapse before the end came, the hateful slush, the
marrow-piercing cold, the darkness, the loneliness, and
perhaps after all the failure in this too. He had his star
like Napoleon. He had thought it would blaze over the
Austerlitz of his election to Parliament. But that was over
and, if he even tried to make an end of himself and his
troubles, he would surely fail again. There flashed before
his mind the picture of a crowd of people carrying into
Castle Fleyce the insensible form of a man covered with
mud ("Just as if I had fallen down drunk," he said to him-
self) who should be put to bed and brought to with re-
storatives in time to learn that all was over with his great
schemes, that the election had been lost, and the mortgages
had foreclosed.
If he was go-
This settled the controversy in his mind.
ing to do anything it should not be in that way. He
turned and walked rapidly down the hill in the direction
of Castle Fleyce. There was nobody about and no chance
of his being seen. He would get back through the shrub-
す
​S
porn or d
A
***
GIDEON FLEYCE.
198
bery and into the study without anyone being the wiser.
Then if he pleased he might go out of the world in a
gentleman-like way with the pistol at his head. Though
-again arguing it out in the oddly logical way in which
he had discussed things at the finger-post-that would be
a very different thing from taking the wrong turning, los-
ing his way among the marshes, being found after many
days, and brought home amid every manifestation of
sorrow and respect for a man whose promising career had
been thus tragically cut short. To commit suicide would
be the most successful way in the world to advertise his
failure and would not do any good beyond gratifying his
momentary passion for the rest of oblivion. He would go
to bed now, and perhaps sleep on it.
As he approached within a mile of Castle Fleyce he saw.
down the road a figure which struck him as being familiar,
and which as it drew a few paces nearer he recognized.
It was Mr. Tandy with his hands behind his back stroll-
ing up the road. This was not a habit of that gentleman,
nor it had not been one for many years. When he was a
younger man and was sometimes borne down by the press-
ure of overwork he would break out into the country in
the coolness and stillness of the night, a roving tendency
which probably found its hereditary development in Nap-
per's long country excursions, though these, as better be-
fitted a young lady, were accomplished in the day time.
On this particular Sunday Mr. Tandy had recurred to
the earlier habit. He was tired and in low spirits, the
combined result of his enduring exertions in Gideon's be-
half and of Napper's estrangement. When Napper had
kissed him and gone to bed Mr. Tandy had sat by the fire
for an hour thinking over many things. Then he had got
up meaning to go to bed. Suddenly there came upon
him the desire to go out into the cool night air and the
darkness. So he buttoned up his coat, whistled for Knut
and went forth, walking slowly and thinking deeply.
Knut saw the stranger in the distance before Mr. Tandy,
and it was the rigid attitude of attention assumed by the
dog that cuased his master to lift his eyes and look along
the road. At first it struck him that this was Gideon ;
but he dismissed the idea as impossible. The man was
standing still and in the broad moonlight. Mr. Tandy
could even see that he had his hat well back on his head
and that his trowsers were turned up almost to the knee.
L
GIDEON FLEYCE.
199
>
"It's some tramp," he said to himself, and took a firmer
hold of his stick.
As he looked he beheld the stranger suddenly scale the
gate against which he stood and disappear behind the
hedge. As an officer of the law, a resident in Saxton, and
a householder himself, Mr. Tandy thought this was a thing
to be looked into. Quickening his pace, and sending Knut
on before him, he got up to the gate and saw the man
skulking along by the hedge in the direction of the plan-
tation which skirted it on the other side and gave access
to Castle Fleyce.
me
16
"Hallo!" he shouted, but the man made no answer, ex-
cept such as was conveyed by boldly leaving the shadow
of the hedge and taking to his heels across the field.
Gideon thought he could reach the plantation before
Mr. Tandy could get up to him. Once there he would
make his way into the house, and be comfortably seated in
his study, supposing this meddlesome old fool were to go
the length of knocking up the household with reports of
a strange man lurking about the premises. But he had
counted without Knut. Mr. Tandy seeing the man throw
off all disguise and bolt was convinced either that he was
bent upon evil, or that he had done evil. In either case
he felt it his duty to secure him.
"Hi! Knut," he cried, pointing to the receding figure
of the proprietor of Castle Fleyce desperately making for
his stronghold, "after him!"
At the word Knut bounded off, and Gideon hearing hist
cry and looking back saw the dog bounding over the short
grass. In two minutes he would be upon him. It was too
ridiculous to be fighting with the dog of his legal agent,
and besides the consequences might be unpleasant. Gid-
eon had a vague notion that dogs of any kind invariably
flew at one's throat. At best he knew that Knut would
hold him, by whatever convenient place he managed to
set his teeth in, till his master came out.
"Lie down! Good old dog, lie down," he said, turning
and facing Knut, who, recognizing his voice and perceiving
there must be some mistake, abandoned his earlier pur-
pose, and turning back proceeded slowly and with a de-
jected air to acquaint his master.
It was undoubtedly a great disappointment to the dog.
The chevying of sheep was forbidden to him under heavy
penalties, the greatest of all being the temporary loss of
#
gideon fleyCE.
Napper's favor. Here had something come to him quitė
unexpectedly, and as he might have said had he been
a French poodle pour combler de bonheur. For just when
he was thinking of turning into his lonely couch on the
mat at the foot of the stairs, his master in a never-to-be-
before remembered way had started up and proposed a
walk. Knut would hardly believe his senses when they
realized what was in store for him. After having thor-
oughly enjoyed the out, running backwards and forwards,
and making five miles for every one covered by his master,
his superlative benefactor, with an agility far beyond his
years, climbs a gate, takes him into a field, shows him a
man, and not only permits him to chevy him, but com-
mands him to do so. And then after all that the man
should turn out to be Gideon Fleyce, the proprietor of
the neighboring castle, the prospective member of Parlia-
ment for the borough, and, worse than all in the present
circumstances, a person whom he had seen in his master's
house evidently on friendly terms, and one whom Napper
frequently talked to. No wonder that, Knut walking back
to rejoin his master, drooped his head and flung back his
ears, whilst the bushy tail, wont on the slightest occasion to
wave its flossy fringe ecstatically, now hung despondingly.
"Is that you, Tandy?" Gideon shouted. "What the
doose do you mean by setting your dog on me? I thought
you were some tramp.”
"Mr. Fleyce!" Mr. Tandy cried. "God bless my soul !
What an odd thing; I thought you were a tramp.”
"Well, I have been on the tramp," said Gideon, deter-
mined to put a pleasant face on an awkward incident.
"I didn't feel inclined to go to bed, and after supper
turned out for a bit of a stroll."
200
"So did I. Precisely my case; only I am afraid I gave
you a bit of a start," he added, looking anxiously at
Gideon's pale face, ghastly in the moonlight, and his dis-
ordered clothes, his boots covered with mud, and his
trousers splashed to the knees. "You look quite scared,
and no wonder. I should have been the same myself to
have a man chasing me with a dog. Only you got over
the gate, and making for the Hall, I thought you were up
to no good."
"You are very kind to look after us by night as well as
by day. This is a near cut to the Castle. I was just
turning in, and now I will say good-night."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
LEYCE.
201
noon.
"Shall I walk with
"No, I know my way."
But it seemed that if he had at any time known it he
had now forgotten it. Getting into the plantation he
hurriedly and vaguely felt his way, thinking he was mak-
ing for the Castle. Presently he discovered he was skirt-
ing the road, and a dash to the left brought him out at the
back of the Castle. There was no danger of his being
seen, and getting on the turf he made his way round to
the study window. This he opened without difficulty, and
found the room apparently as he had left it, with the
chicken and claret on the table. If he had not been so
tired and exhausted he would have noticed that there was
a bright fire burning in the hearth, which seemed strange
considering no one had been in since he left in the after-
you ?"
Gideon drank a tumbler of claret, ate a bit of bread,
and toyed with a slice of the fowl, but he had no appetite
and felt he should find no sleep. In this, however, he
was mistaken. He had scarcely stretched himself on the
bed when all the weariness and fatigue of the day came
upon him, and, as it were with a great wave, swept him
into oblivion.
O
CHAPTER XXVIII.
By the Firelight.
THE moonlight falling upon Gideon as he tramped
heavily along the muddy roads to Saxton essayed in vain.
to peep in through the shuttered windows of the bijou resi-
dence suitable for a gentleman of fortune and situate off
the Fulham Road. The moonlight wouldn't have minded
the elaborate contrivances attached to the window shut-
ters, and designed for the surprise of possible burglars,
and would cheerily have run the gauntlet of the guillotine
arrangements of the front door. As to the back door,
that was secured by bar and bolt, and was made as much
as possible like unto the wall. An ordinary bachelor of
fortune might have retained for himself the privilege of
walking out in sunny days on the small pleasure ground
1
9*
袋
​}
*202
GIDEON FLEYCE.
twelve feet by ten, which lay in the rear of the premises.
The Spider despised such recreative joys, and the back
yard was accordingly yielded up to the pleasure of spar-
rows and growth of weeds, which sprung up through the
gravel, threatening to obliterate all trace of it.
What the sparrows found there it was hard to guess.
Some people, more particularly in winter weather, put
out crumbs for the delectation of the sparrows.
That
was a thought that had never occurred to the Spider, and
if it had he could not have conveniently carried it out,
seeing that the door was screwed up.
But the sparrows
came all the same, twittering about the bare bleak garden
ground, and perhaps wondering what it was for-which,
indeed, was a thought not absent from the mind of the
proprietor, who regarded it as a waste of valuable build-
ing ground almost enough of itself to bring a judgment
on the house.
A
U
The moonlight was not so strong in London as over the
long white road, and the dark cool fields it illuminated for
Gideon's guidance. The wind was not so fresh in the town
as in the country, and in addition to the regular agglom-
eration of cloud there was the ordinary contribution of
smoke from the mighty kingdom which for the most part
had retired to rest. It was past midnight here as it was
with Gideon trudging along the road with his hat on the
back of his head, and those mud-stained garments which
at any other time would have caused him poignant dis-
tress.
But there were moments when the moonlight, if it could
only have stormed the barricade of the shutter, might
have lit up some of the rooms in the bijou residence, and
discovered what was in them. As for the upper stories it
would not have found much besides dust.
The old gen-
tleman had not gone in largely for furniture, and what he
had possessed himself of he had for the most part left be-
hind in Carlton street, debiting it at cost price to his only
Therefore, when, long-failing a tenant for the house
whose suitability for bachelors of fortune was persistently
decried by that class, he came to reside in it himself he
was not met by the necessity for lavish expense claimed by
porters, furniture removers, and other harpies, who gather
round a dismantled household.
son.
Since people of weak nerves would not have cared to
be in these upper rooms at midnight, their footsteps '
GIDEON FLEYCE.
203-
1
muffled by the thick carpet of dust, and only the moon-
light (supposing it could have got in) to light them. Even
the knowledge that down on the ground-floor was the live-
ly old gentleman, who was sole tenant, would not have al
together removed the feeling of unpleasantness. The
rooms smelt so musty, and looked so desolate, and had
such strange echoes when their stillness was disturbed by
the slightest sound, that even persons of ordinarily strong
nerves would have felt a little creeping of the skin and a
general desire to get down stairs, into the company of the
old gentleman, though on this particular night he could
not reasonably be expected to be found in a good temper.
So, on the whole, it was just as well for the moonlight
that it could not get in, and after a while it gave up the
quest, passing on down the street, and leaving the bijou
residence in dark shadow.
It would be supposed with increased certainty that even
if you got in by the front door in a single piece, fortui-
tously evading the separative tendencies of the old gentle-
man's master-piece, you would find everything dark, and
everybody gone to bed. Such a conclusion would have
demonstrated afresh the danger of hasty generalizing.
There was no light up-stairs, no light in the hall, utter
darkness in the little crib at the back of the dining-room
originally designed for a lavatory, but now utilized as a
place of repose where through summer and winter nights
the old gentleman stretched his lively body, slept the
sleep of the just, and dreamed alternately that he was be-
ing robbed and that he had discovered a gold mine. But
in the front room, where the safe is, and where we had the
honor of first making the proprietor's acquaintance, there
were both light and company.
The illumination was not much, and was almost as fitful
as the moonlight. It came from the rusty grate, and was
the generous legacy of light and warmth which Gideon
had inadvertently left behind when he emptied the coal
scuttle in the grate. That procedure had been very criti-
cal, and had long seemed to promise disaster. When
Gideon had departed, and after the old gentleman had
danced off a little surplus energy and a good deal of slack,
he had gone down on his knees and peered through the
bars to discover whether there yet was left anything of
the fire. It had been, after its manner, exceedingly low
when Gideon had performed this ruthless action. Now it
<
to
43 77
**
I
**
GIDEON FLEYCE.
seemed out altogether, and the old gentleman gave it up
for a bad job.
As he reflected, there are few evil things without some
concurrent compensation of good. In the pan which
Gideon had noted standing in the grate was a fresh supply
of that compound which the Spider proudly denominated,
"scouse." It had been his intent in due time dexterously
and delicately to draw the fire together so that sufficient
heat might be forthcoming to warm the compound. But
since there was no fire how could it be done, and no man,
however ravenous his appetite, would be inclined to eat
cold scouse.
At least if such there were it was not for
the Spider to encourage irregularities.
No fire, no supper. There it was, as anyone might see,
ready with even ostentatious liberality. There was the
cloth spread, the plates handy, the knife and fork dis-
played, and if by any untoward accident entirely beyond
control, the fire had gone out, who was to blame, and what
measure of reproach might be heaped upon the head of
the intending host? Perhaps if he had promptly taken
the slack off from the top of the fire with a shovel, he
might have rescued the dim flame from extinction. With
the use of a chip of wood this would have been a certain
success. But chips were one half-penny a bundle, and,
owing to the progress of education and the consequent
drain upon that class of boys engaged in making them,
were growing increasingly smaller in bulk.
"The will must go for the deed, to-night,” said the
Spider to himself, almost gaily, as he knelt down, and
drawing the scuttle towards him, picked up bit by bit the
slack that had become scattered over the floor as the
shower descended upon him. He was not without dis-
concerted suspicion that some waste had taken place in
respect of particles concealed about his clothing, and even
in the scanty locks of hair that struggled out below his
skull cap.
But he did his best to grapple with this and
other sources of waste, and in the end, with the exception
of the overloaded grate, he had pretty well rescued the
precious dust.
204
Now, at the solemn hour when we look in, what time
Gideon is standing under the finger-post at the four cross-
roads and shuddering at its likeness to the gallows, the
fire, secretly and maliciously burning in the centre, had
taken full possession of the grate, and burned gloriously
GIDEON FLEYCE.
M
205
-not quite so gloriously as probably an hour ago, but
still sufficient to cast a warm glow over the hearth, and
from time to time, as "little knubby bits" fell in from the
back, to flame up with a sudden light that filled the re-
motest corner of the room. In the fuller light that fell
upon the near radius of the fireplace was discernible a
shadowy figure sitting in the chair into which the old gen-
tleman had dropped trembling with passion and choking
with coal dust, when Gideon stamped out of the room.
It must be the old gentleman himself, though it is pass-
ing strange that he should sit up so late, being constitu-
tionally of early habits in this respect, and, more than ever
of late, recognizing his ability to save the slack by going
early to bed. In a moment of gay inspiration, the old
gentleman had composed a poem on the subject which at
the approach of the hour of separation he was never tired
of repeating to Mr. Dumfy, and which never failed to ex-
cite the tribute of laughter from that gentleman. It ran
thus:-
Early to bed, lie on your back,
Saves in a year a ton of good slack.
Since he had the bed-clothes duly paid for and doing
nothing, he might as well use them, and they kept him
warm without wasteful expenditure, which was not the
case in respect of the slack fire, howsoe'er tended.
After mentioning the surprise at finding the old gentle-
man up at this time of night, comes the still greater marvel
that he should sit and see the fire burning in this unpre-
cedented manner, and take no steps to check it. There
had been other waste, for it was clear that the solitary dip
in the tin candlestick on the table at his elbow had burned
down into its socket. And this was only Sunday night,
whereas its last flicker was not due till Wednesday at bed-
time. It must have been out some time, though there was
palpable in the close atmosphere of the room the odor of
the departed wick.
Still the old gentleman sat there, apparently buried in
deep thought. Perhaps he was touched with some tender
memories of the past, when Gideon played about his knee,
a fresh, bright boy, with rosy cheeks, and laughing eyes,
and loving caresses. Why should he have been so hard
with him in a moment of dire distress? It would have
been nothing to him to have laid his hand on the £3,000
ngh
*F***
* 206
gideon fleyCE.
asked for as a temporary loan. He knew the security was
safe, and perhaps if the firelight had happened to flash up
at the moment it might have brightened up a glow of
pride pervading the withered face, as he thought how, in
his gigantic speculation, his only son had not been un-
worthy of him. It was well planned, and boldly carried
out-perhaps a little too boldly, since Gideon's means of
handling ready cash had not proved quite equal to the
strain upon them. If he had had a father, or even a friend,
to come forward just now and help him over the next
month or so, the last milestone in the long highway to
wealth and honor would have been passed, and the prize
would have been in his grasp.
Why should he have been so harsh with the son of his
loins, who stood to him even as Benjamin and Joseph
stood towards their father, Jacob? Israel had many sons;
but whilst his heart was large enough for all, it yearned
with unspeakable affection for Joseph and Benjamin.
The old gentleman of late years had returned to full
union with that Church he had never entirely left. It was
just possible that this was the result of fresh obstinacy and
contrariness towards his son. Gideon had formally left
the Church of his fathers and had joined the Christian
community. His father therefore would be more faithful
in his attendances at the synagogue, and more punctual
in the payment of his dues. He had brought out again
the old book, in which was written in Hebrew characters
the marvellous story of God's dealings with His race.
He had been reading it last night. It was up on the
shelf there now, almost in reach of his hand if he cared
to stretch it.
- X
He could not fail to remember, if his thoughts were
really turned in this direction, how when taking it down
and spreading it open on the table before him to make the
most of the ultimate inch of Saturday's candle, he had
thought to himself with a sneer that Gideon would scarcely
be able to profit by the book even if he were inclined to
read it. His wife Rachael had taught the boy the tongue
which Israel speaks by whatever dark waters the people
may sit. Almost as soon as he could lisp he had learned at
her knee the portent of the strange characters spread out
before him. But when the mother died the father had not
found time to carry on the lessons nor thought it worth
while to spend money in having them completed. So'
34
**
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Gideon, in the course of time, forgot what little he had
learned, and did not seem to feel the loss.
207
فیلم
But the old gentleman could read Hebrew as well as
English, and sometimes in his solitude read out aloud, in
a croning voice, passages from the old book. On the night
before he had, by chance, been reading the story of Joseph.
He had begun at the beginning when the news is brought
to the father by the wicked brethren.
'And Jacob rent his clothes and put sackcloth upon his
loins, and mourned for his son many days. And all his
sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him, but he
refused to be comforted, and he said, 'for I will go down.
into the grave unto my son mourning.' Thus his father
wept for him.”
And thus the old man, sitting in his lonely room-calcu-
lating even as he read how long the candle would last-felt
unwonted moisture in his eyes, and began to think with
strange tenderness of the son whom he had driven from
his door, when a little while ago he had called to see him.
The old man had read on rapidly, skipping passages, till
he came to the verses where the father sits mourning over
Joseph, or clings with miserly affection to Benjamin when
he is claimed by the strange ruler in Egypt. To the world
this is the story of Joseph and his Brethren. To the Spider
it was the story of Israel and his Sons. He had read it
often before, but never as now. It was all new to him,
with fresh lights and awakened interest.
He had read aloud with a broken voice how "they told
him saying Joseph is yet alive, and he is governor over all
the land of Egypt; and Jacob's heart fainted for he believed
them not. And they told him all the words of Joseph
which he had said unto them, and when he saw the wagons
which Joseph had sent to carry him to Egypt Israel said,
It is enough! Joseph my son is yet alive, I will go and see
"""
him before I die.'
If Gideon could have come in at that moment a recon-
ciliation might have been effected. But this was not to be,
and the opportunity was gone when the candle flickered
out and the Spider awoke to the fact that he had left sev-
eral things undone which he must now accomplish in the
dark, because he had permitted this unaccustomed weak-
ness to overcome him.
All this had happened last night. And now everything
was too late. Gideon had insulted him, even assaulted
H
at a
Y
*
5
GIDEON FLEYCE.
IDEON
him; but who was the earlier aggressor? His son had
come to him in trouble, if not in contrition. And what
had he done? He had befooled him, had even spat upon
him, and was Gideon a dog that he could tamely submit?
He might have refused his prayer without contumely;
but why refuse it all? There in the shade which the flick-
ering firelight fitfully illumined stood the safe, in which
there was something more than the £3,000 Gideon had
asked for, the bulk in gold as he had maliciously shown
his son, and besides this, in a snug recess at the back, was
a pile of bank notes as thick as the old Hebrew Bible.
Yet it was hard to forgive and impossible to forget.
Gideon had wounded him sorely. It was as if the treachery
had been slowly and deliberately worked out, and then
flashed upon him at a time when he was both powerless
and unsuspecting. From the day he took the lad into the
office till the hour at which he himself had walked out,
having relinquished the business to his son, Gideon's ca-
reer had been full of promise. He was assiduous in busi-
ness, bringing to it a fresher mind and bolder and more
energetic nature than those his father had worn out at the
task of money-getting. He had promised to extend to an
illimitable measure the fame of the house the Spider had
founded. There were already great houses in Israel whose
names were familiar words on all continents, and whose
nod shook the Bourse. Why should not the little dingy
house in Carlton street blossom into a second Rothschilds?
They, and others only second to them, did not begin from
greater opportunities.
It might have been so, and he fondly hoped, as he watched
the promising growth of his lad, that it would be so. Be-
lieving this he had deliberately stepped aside out of the
way dear to his soul, and the only pathway of his life, in
order that no old-fashioned notions of his own might stand
in the way of Gideon's brilliant and successful advance.
For a year all had gone well, and the picture that illu-
mined his mind and uplifted his hopes grew clearer in out-
line, and stronger in color. Then the Evil One had come
and tempted Gideon, drawing him aside from his father's
work and possessing him with a fatal hankering for the
flesh-pots of Egypt.
The Spider did not, though this was not to be gathered
from his conversation, object to the great land speculation.
Towards this his soul secretly kindled, and if that had been,
2
✔
201
GIDEON FLEYCE.
•
all all would have been well. He would have grumbled,
and might even have charged a stiff percentage on the
loan. But he would certainly not have sent his son empty
away.
What he could not stand, and what made him grind
his teeth with impotent rage, was the notion that a son of
his should go crawling and fawning at the door of the
Gentile of rank and fashion, and beg to be let in on what-
soever terms.
This grievously smote the prejudices and animosities of
the old man's nature. In the first place, it seemed to im-
ply that Gideon was ashamed of his origin, his race, and
his father. The new departure had been immediately pre-
ceded by Gideon's changing his name, an act which above
all searched the soul of the old Israelite. Beyond these
incidental circumstances, he honestly despised birth and
rank, which he was chiefly accustomed to see suppliant for
money loans in Carlton Street.
If it came to a question of birth, what were these Gen-
tiles compared with him? His house might be humble
enough now, but its annals were traced with more or less
clearness back to the epoch of captivity. She who had be-
come the mother of his race had been among the virgins
who sat down by the waters of Babylon and wept for their
far-off home and the dimmed splendors of the Temple.
To have his son scraping acquaintance with haughty
purse-proud English people who had not even come over
with the Conqueror, and could not, therefore, boast that
they had persecuted the Jews when Isaac lived at York,
was more than he could bear, and perhaps if we could
have caught the expression of his face as the firelight fit-
fully played upon it, we might have seen the old look that
accompanied the snarl.
Finally all this cost money. If Gideon had been con-
tent to live in Carlton Street and creep along in the old
style till he was in a position to pay off his mortgages, it
would not have been so bad if thereafter he had blossomed
forth in butterfly form. But on each alternate Sunday
Mr. Dumfy, as he ate his scouse and drank his pint of
four-half, regaled the ear of his host with stories, scarcely
exaggerated, of Gideon's lavish expenditure.
It was torture to the old man to hear this; and yet as
children, sitting by the firelight or clinging to each other
in the dark, like to hear ghost stories that chill their very
marrow, so he listened to every detail of Gideon's iniquity.
*
J
210
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!!
GIDEON FLEYCE.
He knew all about the public-house taps flowing with ale
and porter. He heard more than was true of great fees
paid to Napper's father, and be sure he was informed of
Napper's designs on a marriageable man who was actually
owner of Castle Fleyce, and prospective possessor of the
property of a millionaire father, who lived in dirt and ob-
scurity somewhere in London.
Mr. Dumfy, who was a great artist, well knew the im-
pressive effect of this last bit of color. He therefore re-
served it for particular occasions, and the net result was
that the Spider had constantly in his mind the picture of
Gideon waiting for his death, gloating over the prospects.
of his coming into his large possession, and luring on a
designing girl with promises of illimitable wealth when
the old man was out of the way.
This was running into an evil groove of thought, away
from the moment when the old hard steel glittering eyes
might have had their keenness dimmed at the thought of
Israel's yearnings after his long-lost son, and his joyful
haste to go forth to meet him. It was sad, and black,
and hopeless, and the sadder for sitting in the bare and
squalid room, from which even the tallow candle in the tin
stick had fled.
When we come to think of it, there is small wonder that
the old man should sit thus in fixed and mournful medi-
tation. It was his own fault, but which of us can help his
idiosyncrasies? As the twig is bent so will the tree be in-
clined. The Spider had been bent in his particular way
by the previous training of father, grandfather, and great-
grandfather. Far back through musty corridors of time
might be seen young and old steadily and feverishly work-
ing at money getting.
One not so far back in the corridor (it was the Spider's
father) went about his task with a dirty sack over his
shoulder, two hats rim to rim in his hand, and three more
on his head. He was not a dignified, but rather a dirty
looking person. Yet he found what he wanted, and when
the sack fell off his bowed shoulders, and the hats were
put down for the last time, and when he turned his face to
the wall, the Spider had been able to watch his last mo-
ments with the filial affection born of the certainty that
he had put out at usury in safe hands a
sum that
could not be a penny less than £3,000. This had come
to the Spider, and see what he had made? Should this
GIDEON FLEYCE.
211
aggregate of the hard, and more or less strictly honest,
work of two generations, go to a fellow like Gideon,
who would give £3 for a man's vote, and smilingly bid
the borough come and drink at his expense?
It was after all small wonder that the old gentleman
should sit in fixed and mournful meditation. The fire-
light, rising into flame as the little bits of slack on the
black rim that surrounded the crater crumbled and fell in,
flashed a momentary light into the corners of the room.
Anon it left all in shade, save what was rescued by the
steady glow that fell on the hearth and warmed the old
gentleman's slippered feet. When the flashes came they fell
upon the rusty velvet skull cap and the old gray coat that
seemed never the worse for wear, perhaps because its ear-
liest known condition was hopeless. The room was ab-
solutely still. Not even a mouse scampering across the
boards disturbed the silence. If the old gentleman had
fallen asleep in his chair, and was given to breathing
heavily, the sound must have been heard in any part of
the room. Perhaps when the next flash came with a slight
rustling noise of the falling slack, he would wake with a
start, gather his old coat around him, and creep steadily
to bed, anguished with the thought that sleep had unac-
countably overcome him and had led to this wicked waste
of fire and candle.
But he was evidently not asleep, for as the last flash of
firelight showed, his eyes were wide open, and fixed with
eager glance upon that part of the room in which, for the
most part in the shadow, the safe stood.
The expression on his face, though curiously fixed,
made it nonsense to suppose he was asleep.
If he were
asleep he must be dreaming, or even he may have the
nightmare. Who knows but what, tempted by the pres-
ence of the food in the pan, he may have taken some with
consequences that any outsider might have anticipated?
It was cooked it is true, being the remnants of his mid-
day meal prepared on an exceptionally bountiful scale in
anticipation of an evening meal. But cold meat and pota-
toes, taken late at night by a gentleman well advanced in
years, and unaccustomed to eat anything after a frugal
five o'clock tea, could not fail to have its certain effect.
Let us lift up the lid of the pan and peer in. No; there
is the precious compound evidently untouched, a great
deal of potato, a very little meat, and a large bone, which
GIDEON FLEYCE.
has a juicy, nutritive appearance wholly inconsistent with
fact. If we had been here at one o'clock in the day we
would have seen this same bone in the old gentleman's
dirty fingers, and when the Spider once got a bone between
his teeth he was not accustomed to leave much meat for
those who came after. It was a mere matter of form to
return it to the mess. But it added a completeness to
the compound, and when splashed about with potato, gave
an air of toothsome liberality to the meal which was other-
wise lacking.
Without troubling to lift the lid of the pan we might
have seen by a glance at the table that the old gentleman
had fallen asleep supperless. There was the dingy cloth
obscuring one end of the still dingier table, even as Gid-
eon had discovered it when he entered. There was the
plate as clean as crockery ever was in the bijou residence.
There was the bread uncut, and difficult to cut now, for
the knife was gone, only the three-pronged steel fork ly-
ing by the side of the plate.
It was a curious knife, valuable in its way, and the Spi-
der before sinking into contemplation very likely put it
in a safe place. It had been in its time a dagger, and
knew the grasp of an eminently respectable member of the
nobility of Genoa. The Spider's information did not par-
ticularly run in the direction of bric-a-brac. But seeing
the knife lying exposed for sale in a cellar window in the
Commercial Road, he had gone in and bought it. When his
solitary specimen of English table cutlery had broken off
at the hilt, he had got on for some time by the expedient
of sticking a cork on the broken stem of the handle. But
this gave him very little hold. Then he bethought him
of his old bargain in the Commercial Road, cleaned it up,
and used it at his daily meal. It didn't cut very well, but
had a good sharp dagger point, and gave a splendid grip
at the handle.
In his genial way he used to joke Mr. Dumfy about the
splendor of his state, eating his supper with a knife like
that.
"There's many a man at the West End would give you
the finest supper in the world if you would let him eat his
with that knife, Mr. Dumfy," he had been used to say
when he saw his guest critically eyeing the measure of
four-half or somewhat ostentatiously probing about in the
sea of potato for a morsel of meat.
嘴
​GIDEON FLEYĊE.
*
213
7 3
"It's very 'andsome, sir, and I dessay worth a lot, but
when it comes to eating your supper, especially if the
meat's a little stringy, I would as lief have one of them
black-handled things as me and the Misses eats our meals
'with in our own 'umble way."
Evidently the Spider had not eaten his supper, and
since it was not that it must have been something else
that had disagreed with him. At times, when the light
fell upon his face, it seemed that he was glowering with
unfeigned hate and horrible fury. But in the fuller light,
or perhaps in the varying movement of his mind, this
phase passed away, and was supplanted by another ex-
pression.
There was upon his face now a look of fierce and al-
most malignant joy, which, taken in conjunction with his
steady gaze, suggested that he was staring at something
that pleased him beyond measure. The thin lips were
parted and distorted with a smile not pleasing to look
upon, yet, catching again the look of strange and almost
fiendish joy which the firelight lit up in his countenance,
it was evident he was not thinking kindly of any person.
It did not seem that there was anything in his interview
with his son to account for his present frame of mind.
There was, of course, the pitfall into which he had led
Gideon, with the added depth dug by his getting out of
him the receipt stamp which he was careful to spoil.
But this was a slight cause to bring about this remarka-
ble effect.
Following the unvarying gaze of the old gentleman, it
was clear that his eyes were fixed upon the safe, though
he never blinked nor moved his head when sometimes the
light, flashing forth from the grate, played over the safe
and momentarily dying out, left it in the gloom. When
once the attention was drawn towards the expression on
the face of the old gentleman, you would discover your
mistake in supposing it had changed with the dancing
firelight. The aspect of the room changed with the shift-
ing light, but the old gentleman's face was always the
same, ever staring with steady regard towards the safe
and always with this same look of malignant joy.
Were there things in the room that only he could see?
Were there travelling ghosts about, and were they playing
some pranks that tickled the old gentleman's midriff, and
brought about his look of hideous mirth? It could hardly
5
fazi
#
*
214
have been an ordinary farce, or anything simply funny,
which the old gentleman saw. If he were of that curious
kind of humanity which finds food for mirth in horrible
tragedy, that would supply, or rather suggest, an explana-
tion of his attitude and of the expression on his sallow and
dirt-stained face.
Gideon FLEYCE.
O
But to human eyesight there was nothing in the room
between him and the safe. As for the safe, it seemed pretty
much as it had been left when Gideon quitted the house.
The door was partly open, and the key was in it. Perhaps
what the old gentleman was staring at in this horribly fixed
manner was the odd condition of the key. Either the flick-
ering light distorted it or, as a matter of fact, it was bent
downwards in the lock as if some heavy body hanging on
to the bow had, after a desperate struggle, been dragged
away.
This might have been, and possibly was, a delusion
created by the firelight, which has long been known to
give birth to a series of eccentric fancies. There was,
however, scarcely any room for delusion as to some other
things which come to be noticed when we are attracted by
the discovery of the old gentleman, whose lively disposition
made it on ordinary occasions impossible for him to sit
still a moment, now remaining in a fixed position. The
firelight flickered about the figure in the armchair, running
up and down the right arm as it rested on the elbow, and
passed upward to the extended hand. There it showed a
strange thing. The hand was firmly clenched, and between
the fingers was held the lappel of a coat. This, it seemed,
had been snatched by a sudden wrench from the garment
and, quite clearly when the firelight flamed forth, were visi-
ble the jagged ends where the rent had been made, whilst
the bony fingers of the small dirty hand held the cloth as
in a vice.
Something else the firelight played upon, something of
metal which might have remained hidden but for occasional
flashes on steel facets. This was the handle of the Genoese
knife which had been lying on the table when Gideon en-
tered, and which he had for a moment taken up and bal-
anced in his hand, absently looking upon it as if he were
thinking of something else than the metal on the haft.
The surmise ventured upon just now that the old gentle-
man had put the knife away in a safe place turned out to
be quite correct. He had put it in his breast, doubtless
GIDEON FLEYCE.
f
215
intending to lay it aside in some cupboard when by-and-
by he should get up and go to bed.
Another strange effect of the firelight, and not the least,
was that it seemed he had thrust the knife straight in.up
to the hilt. Else how could it stand out at right angles
with the old brown coat, and so give fuller opportunity
for the firelight to play about the bright places on the haft,
where daily use had rubbed off the dust of ages?
CHAPTER XXIX.
An Unexpected Meeting.
THE morning broke bright and fair, after the manner of
mornings without reference to what may have taken place
on the previous night. That is not their affair. Let the
night keep its own secrets and if need be bury its own
secrets. The morning will have nothing to do with them.
All sorts of evil things may have taken place during the
dark hours of the night. The more reason that the morn-
ing should present itself with an innocent smile and a fresh-
ness wholly incompatible with guilt.
After its night-long struggle with the clouds the wind
had finally triumphed, had blown them all away inland or
out to sea, anywhere away from Saxton. It was cold, of
course; March does not pretend anything else. Still there
was a breath of spring in the air, and Knut gambolled
about in ecstatic delight. No one to look at that dog
would suppose for a moment that he had been out the
greater part of the night, and had nearly nipped by the
calf of the leg the proprietor of the neighboring chateau.
Nor for the matter of that would any one have suspected
Mr. Tandy of nocturnal rambling He had come down to
his breakfast at his usual hour, had sat opposite Napper
and the coffee urn in his accustomed way, and had there-
after appeared at his office at the ordinary time.
Breakfast was not the lively meal it used to be. There
was nothing like open rupture or even constant coldness
between Napper and her father. To casual observers she
was just the same, careful for all his comforts, interested
in all his topics, and as pleasant a companion as man
}
SE
~
GIDEON FLEYCE.
might desire to see at his breakfast-table. Only the guilty
breast of Mr. Tandy told him that there was a change, and
that Napper was angry with him, which was not true.
Napper was sorry not angry, and there are times when we
would rather those we love were angry with us than sorry.
216
It was not for Napper to judge her father. That she
honestly felt, and daily fought against tendencies in the
contrary direction. But he was not quite the same to her
that he had been when she trained his elephantine move、
ments in the mazes of the giddy waltz, or taught him to
uplift his hippopotamic voice in ordered melody. Napper.
resisted all temptations to judge. But she could not help
feeling, and she felt that it was wrong for her father not
only to associate with people who were buying votes for
money or beer, but worse still to take an active part in the
enterprise.
-
All the misery and degradation being wrought in the
borough had within the last few days been brought to a
head by an incident which had greatly heightened the ex-
citement and rancor of the contested election. Long Bill
had come to an untimely end. It had been proudly thought
down at the beach that Long Bill was proof against any
accumulation of spirituous liquor.
"You might put him in a spirit vat for twenty-four hours
and he'd come out wiping his lips, and asking if ye 'ad a
quart of small beer 'andy.'
Thus, with an inflection of honest emotion in his voice,
spoke Round Tommy, the dead hero's companion in many
a sturdy bout. But Long Bill had succumbed, and after a
manner that will make his fate ever memorable. What
with constantly moving round the flagstaff at the Blue
Lion, and describing circles that invariably led him to the
tap-room, Long Bill had become a little disordered in
mind and body. He began to talk a little wildly, and on
one occasion was observed carefully wheeling a barrow of
old rope up and down High Street. The next discovery
was of Long Bill pendent in the stables attached to the
Blue Lion. He had been cut down with remarkable
promptitude, but he had taken rope enough, and had
hanged himself.
All this was bad, but there was worse to follow. An in-
quest was held, and by some chance, unforeseen at the
time, it was packed with adherents of the Conservativę
cause. These good citizens, remembering Long Bill's
7"
jann
1 +
GIDEON FLEYCE.
}
217
strenuous exertions on the other side, were not inclined to
extend to him the privilege of insanity. It was in vain
that Mr. Tandy, who had taken up the cause with great
zest, brought forward witnesses who testified to the strange-
ness of deceased's conduct during the past week. The
jury were a little shaken at the testimony given on oath of
Long Bill's having been seen wheeling about a heavily-
laden barrow. It was felt that if he really had come to do
a hard day's work it could scarcely be whilst in his or-
dinary condition of mind. But political animosity pre-
vailed. Verdict of felo-de-se was brought in, and in fulfil-
ment of the barbarous law which then existed, Long Bill
was buried at midnight in unconsecrated ground.
Probably it was no great matter to Long Bill where he
was laid to rest after his battle of life was done, and his
long and faithful watch for the ship that never came in
had reached a close. To Gideon it was, at first sight, the
loss of various money payments and much miscellaneous
drink. His majority would be one the less, since Long
Bill could not make his cross on the ballot paper and ex-
ercise the right of the free-born Englishman, who is also
a householder and has paid his rates. It was as if he had,
regardless of expense, freighted a ship, and just when she
was approaching the harbor and his reward seemed forth-
coming, she had gone down carrying everything with her.
Long Bill had gone down, and regarded as an invest-
ment he was a dead loss. But Gideon was keen enough
to seize his opportunity in the harsh verdict of the coroner's
jury, and had made the most of it. He had appeared on
the scene at midnight when the funeral took place, had in
fact, dressed in deep mourning and with a long band of
crape drooping from his hat, headed the procession which
followed Long Bill to the grave.
"This is worth fifty votes to us," he had said to Mr.
Tandy as the two stood aside watching the heaving, angry
crowd, who at one time threatened to make a dash at the
coffin, dig a grave in consecrated ground, and compel the
rector to recite over the six feet two of Long Bill's stiff
humanity that service which was right, though he had not
cared to claim much spiritual comfort from the church
whilst alive. Gideon did not want to create a riot. Every-
thing that was desirable to be done had been accomplished,
and by his personal interposition the sorry business ended
amid hoots and howls for the jury, groans for poor inno-
3
IO
**
218
GIDEON › FLEYCE.
cent Mr. Montgomery, and cheers for the Liberal candi-
date. Gideon's conduct on this occasion was in due time
recorded in the press, and was calculated to secure for him
the approval of all right-thinking people.
Long Bill was no favorite of Napper's. If a week ago
she had been asked to declare her opinion of him, it would
have gone hard against him as an idle good-for-nothing
fellow, who hung about the bench with his hands in his
pockets by day, drank more than was good for him at night,
and had pushed to the farthest limits the opportunities
opened to him by election times. But now she saw in him a
victim of the system which permitted such things to go on,
and tried hard, but not altogether successfully, to keep back
the thought that her father was in some respects responsible
for Long Bill's melancholy end and his shameful burial.
Therefore, Napper had not cared to extend the break-
fast hour, and when it was decently over, and her father
had shut himself up in his office Knut was observed mak-
ing a dash up the street and round the block of houses,
which the neighbors knew preluded an excursion on the
part of his mistress.
-
Napper used to find a familiar walk up the hill, past the
ruined Castle and beyond the wood, where the wild flow-
ers came earliest, and where the birds first woke with the
glad surprise that spring had come again. Now she had
come to hate that way, and carefully avoided it. She had
once taken great pride in the alterations of the Castle,
feeling a just satisfaction at the knowledge that, owing to
her, these had been carried out without injury to the grave
beauty of the structure. Except that there was something
beside the ruin Castle was as beautiful now as when
Gideon's eyes had first lighted up with the thought that
he would connect himself and his name with the old place.
Napper could not bear the man or his place, and when
she walked she bore away to the bleaker side, where the
Downs looked over on the marshes, on to the far-off waste
that was the sea.
Knut was not at all particular, and would go anywhere
so that he had Napper to revolve round as the moving
object of his desperate rushing to and fro. Napper got
rid of her troubles when out of Saxton, and walked along
with her head well up, a glow on her cheeks, and a great
desire in her heart to laugh and be merry. Just now she
was cut off from opportunities for cheerful conversation.
gideon fleyCE.
*
219
1
All her idols had been detected with feet of clay, at which
she could no longer sit. In this sad case she found much
comfort in the company of Knut, and with him out in the
- fields where the grass was turning to a brighter green, and
where the hedges and trees were beginning to wake up
to the new life that would last a whole summer, Napper
was herself again.
*
"Why don't you have a vote, Knut?" she said. "I do
believe that if you had you would give `it honestly, which
would be quite a strange thing in these parts. One thing
I am certain of, you would not sell it for beer, though
what might happen if you were offered a bone for your
vote and interest I daren't guess. Water for you, pure
water for you, otherwise mixed with a little milk. Then
you don't care for money. You don't fawn on people for
what you can get out of them. You have a wonderful eye
for what Mr. Carlyle calls the Good and the True, which
by the way accounts for your strong affection for me.
Moreover, you have a wholesome tendency to take a bite
out of whatever for the moment represents the False and
the Base. You cannot do much, my poor old dog, but
every little helps. I'm sure your notion is that if you
take a bite here and a bite there out of the legs of mean
people, you will in time reduce the average going about.
I dismiss that unworthy suspicion about the bone, and
declare that if you had a vote you would give it to the best
man regardless of bribes. Perhaps there might be some
difficulty in informing you on political questions. On
Foreign Policy I'm sure you would go about blindly.
But it does not seem to me that that would make much
difference as compared with those who have the franchise
now. I wonder what Long Bill thought of the Concor-
dat, or what are Round Tommy's views on the Treaty of
Berlin? I am sure I don't know anything about them
myself. I am not quite certain that the Concordat, what-
ever it may be, has anything to do with us just now. But
that is just the position of more than one-half of the men
who will say next week whether Mr. Fleyce is to be our
member, or whether Mr. Montgomery shall continue to
represent us. I declare I would rather Mr. Montgomery
kept his place. He at least has been brought up as a gen-
tleman, and though he is very stupid and his chief notion
of going to Parliament is to make himself comfortable,
his position assures him against the necessity of pretend
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
ing so much and telling quite so many lies as Mr. Fleyce
seems to have to do. Which would you vote for, Knut,
supposing you were on the register?”
Knut had listened to the earlier portion of these re-
marks with lively interest. He had barked his approval, and
had found other means of expression of the perfect con-
cord of feeling on these points as on others. But instead
of waiting to answer this crucial question he had pricked
up his ears and bounded off at the top of his speed, and
was presently returning the salutation of Mr. Jack Bailey,
whom he had discovered walking down the road.
Now this, if everyone had known it, was a most pecu-
liar concurrence of place and time for Jack to find him-
selt in. A very short time ago, in fact when Knut was
making that desperate dash which preluded the appear-
ance of Miss Tandy, Jack had by the merest chance, been
standing within the portico of the Town Hall apparently
absorbed in profound study of a list of the polling places
proclaimed under the hand of the Mayor of Saxton. This
could not have conveyed to Jack's mind much information
that was novel. The document had been out for some
days, and a copy of it had, in fact, appeared in the Saxton
Beacon, and Jack had written a brief editorial calling atten-
tion to the localities and urging Liberal electors to make
preparations for an early appearance. Moreover, Jack
had been here long enough to enable him, if he had acute-
ly felt the desire, to learn off the list by heart.
Still he stood at gaze, in no way like Joshua's sun at
Ajalon except in respect of absolute fixity. It was so far
fortunate that Jack should have happened to be there just
now that he chanced to see Knut dash out and recognized
the signal of Miss Tandy's approach. Being on friendly
terms with the young lady it might have been supposed
that when, presently, she herself appeared and began to
walk down the street in the direction of the Town Hall
Jack would have advanced to meet her, and offer some re-
marks upon the weather. But Jack had not forgotten the
result of an earlier endeavor of that kind. He was too
high-spirited to place himself in a position where repulse.
might be repeated. He stood till he saw Napper well
advanced along the street which had its only exit on the
high road that presently led over the Downs, and then tak-
ing a narrow lane that bisected the town, led up to the
church, and so away into the country he disappeared.
2 (
But th
1
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
Napper, if she had been aware of this strategic retreat,
and strange as it may appear to some young ladies, she
really knew nothing, would have regarded it with distinct
approval. Here was Jack, whilst engaged in the pursuit
of his ordinary avocations, suddenly and unexpectedly ap-
proached by a young lady whom he madly loved but who
wholly disregarded his passion. Was it for him to throw
himself in her way and plaintively endeavor to induce her
to reconsider her position? Miss Tandy, if the case had
been put to her, would have emphatically answered in the
negative. She liked the spirit of the youth who declared
that
If she be not fair to me,
What care I how fair she be?
$
221
That was the proper and manly way to look at circum-
stances in which Jack unhappily found himself, and when
being thus inexplicably caught he turned and walked
rapidly away, careful to avoid an encounter that might
have brought him humiliation, he did a very proper
thing.
CHAPTER XXX.
Editorial Cares.
ALL this made it the more remarkable that at this very
moment, here in this remote place, Jack should have been
discovered right in the pathway of destruction, which ad-
vanced towards him with a pretty smile and kindly look
of recognition. His strategic retreat had, by strange mis-
chance, brought him right within the enemy's lines.
Napper happened to be in the mood to welcome Jack.
She had not seen him lately, which, though it is not pleas-
ant to say so, was a point in his favor. Besides, it was a
different thing meeting him in this chance way, without
the preliminary of request, formally made, that he might
accompany her and Knut on an excursion. Then, having
to make the choice, and her new sorrow being fresh upon
her, making her a little petulant, she had said "No!" a
monosyllable that smote Jack with a sudden pain that
could not have been excelled by a lash falling across his
shoulders.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
GIDEO
Now, he and she, in the oddest way in the world, met in
a country lane on a bright, spring morning, at a moment
when Napper's spirits had been raised by fresh air and
exercise, and when she had actually been driven for lack
of other companion to talk to Knut.
Jack, who looked unaccountably guilty at first, was
quick to see this, and soon recovered his equanimity.
((
Why, Mr. Bailey, who would have thought of meeting
you here?" she cried, holding out to Jack a little gloved
hand which he had great difficulty in returning to its owner.
Possession he felt was nine points of the law; but on
reflection he decided to be honest. There were penalties
in the present case besides those which the law assigns to
highway robbery. If he began by holding Miss Napper's
hand longer than the usages of society warranted,` she
would take fright at the outset, and there would be a
sudden end to the encounter which had so fortunately
opened.
"I dare say you were not thinking of me, Miss Tandy,"
said Jack, a little ruefully. "That would be too much to
hope for. The fact is, Monday's an idle day with me, or
comparatively idle. I'm always working; but you see in
our profession one need not always have his tools in his
hand."
"Now that's very convenient.
Yours must be an ex-
cellent profession for a man who does not love work. If
we found old Tom Nollekins, who does up our garden,
standing with his hands in his pockets, intently gazing on
a sunflower, we should think he was idling, and would
be quite sure of it if we found him lying on his back on a
hot summer day gazing up at the sky. But, of course,
you might do either of these things without imputation on
your industry. Perhaps now I am interrupting the incu-
bation, is that the word? of a leading article. I dare say
at the moment I saw you you were just tripping up Lord
Beaconsfield, and my unfortunate choice of this road for a
walk may have led to a further postponement of his fall.
So Knut and I will go our way, and leave you to struggle
with Apollyon."
"Indeed, I was not doing anything of the kind. What
I mean is that when people work as tremendously with
their brain as I do, they must take a little exercise. Ac-
cordingly on Monday I make it a point of going out for a
stroll.'
GIDEON FLEYCE.
$
"You must have been a good long walk this morning-
as far as Felton at least, and that way round out of the town
is a good twelve miles."
(C
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t
Quite, I should think," said Jack, blushing with 'the
consciousness of recent racing up the narrow and steep
back-way out of the town, and scrambling over the road,
the run across the field, and the fortuitous deliverance out
upon the highway which led to Felton, and thence by the
Gatesand road which approached the town by the other
side. "But I'm not a bit tired. In fact, when I was at
college I was a don at walking or running, and thought
nothing of my twenty-five miles a day. It's rather fortu-
nate for me I met you. I wanted to ask your opinion about
the Beacon generally, and if you don't mind I'll stroll along
with you a bit."
On Avon's banks the wan wild-goose
Maketh its weird woe-cry;
But never more on Avon's bank
Walk my one love and I.
*
223
Napper, as it happened, did not greatly mind. Moreover,
if she had done so, Jack had overcome possible hesitancy
by adroitly turning round some moments earlier, and walk-
ing back along the path on which he had been descried by
Knut. Napper had been for a moment or two walking by
his side, and knew no reason in the world why she should
object to the proposed company.
"How do you like the Beacon, Miss Tandy?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I only read a portion of it, and
that just now is very limited. I never look at anything
about the election of which I am sick and ashamed. This
gives me more time to study other parts of the paper. I
see you have found a poct who scems to possess in a large
measure the attribute of sorrow which is the common
property of the poetic soul. I suppose he's a local genius?"
Jack Bailey had recently acquired, or perhaps regained,
a habit of blushing. He felt an attack of his weakness
now, having a painful consciousness of a little verseling
that had appeared in the last number. It was called "Wan
and One,” and thus its tuneful numbers coursed :
On Avon's banks there flits a ghost
Forever and for aye:
The wan Wraith of the welded hearts
Of my One Love and I.
M
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224
GİDEON FLEYCE.
"Yes, most country papers have their poets' corner," he
said, evading the direct question. "What do you think of
our contributor's Wan and One?"
"I thought it quite too-too," said Napper, laughing.
"What does the poet mean by the asterisks in the middle.
Is that some other verses you left out because they were
so bad?"
"No; it was printed just as it came in. I fancy that is
a device meant to excite the imagination. Between the
first verse and the last you must picture the history of a
broken heart. There is the happy meeting by the river,
then comes, perhaps, a false friend, a misunderstanding,
possibly death. The two are parted. The river rolls on
darkly, everything around is the same but those two stand
apart forevermore. You will find the same idea in Jean
Ingelow's "Divided," though there the idea is worked out
in a more elaborate, and perhaps some people may think
a more common-place fashion. In this little poem I fancy
the idea of the poet is to gain his effect by bold abrupt
touches. In poetry there is the Turneresque style, just as
in painting. If you get a little thing of Meissonnier's there
it is complete, with every detail worked out. You may go
over it with a microscope, and find nothing lacking. With
Turner it is, of course, different. A splash here, and a
blur there, and you have his picture. Turner, if I may say
so, makes a lavish use of asterisks in his pictures."
"Your poet finds a sympathetic editor," said Napper,
looking at him curiously and beginning to suspect the
truth.
"If that is the case, I assure you it is an exception. As
a rule I am held in detestation as presumptously exacting.
I believe I have made more enemies since I took to editing
this wretched little sheet than ever I did in the preceding
twenty-three years of a well-spent life. I have often heard
it said that everyone thinks he or she can write for a news-
paper; now I know it. Next to the amazing unsuitability
of what they send in is the illimitable acrimony with which
they pursue you for not printing their stuff."
"Then I suppose this poet has some hold upon you, and
you are obliged to print what he sends you?" Napper
asked innocently, but with more malice in her heart than
usually found lodgment there.
"You are a little hard, upon our poet, Miss Tandy. You
should see the labors of some of his competitors. But it
C.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
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225
C
is the prose contributions that give me most trouble. It
is really astounding to see what a fool an ordinary able
and shrewd man makes of himself when he becomes pos-
sessed with the idea that he can write. I dare say many
could if they would be content to write in their ordinary
style, as they might to an habitual correspondent. But
the notion of writing for print inflates them in a most ridi-
culous manner. There's our friend Fleyce for example,
a man I don't like, I freely own, but who's not without
common-sense and shrewdness. Yet he thinks he can
write as well as any of those newspaper fellows,' and is,
I know, secretly convinced that if he were not too busy
with other affairs he would soon show Saxton what good
writing is. In fact he has found time partly to make the
demonstration, and that is one of the things I wanted to
ask you about. You know he went to the funeral of Long
Bill, which was well enough in its way as a smart elec-
tioneering dodge. But when he got home he was, or
thought he was, so deeply impressed by the scene that he
felt that no other hand but his could tune it. We had a
fellow there to do it, but on Sunday morning, before
church-time, I got a letter from Fleyce enclosing me a lot
of manuscript. He'd been sitting up all night, and sent
me an account of the affair which, as he says, is likely to
make a little stir. I'll just read you a bit of it if you don't
mind."
"I certainly don't care to hear anything of or from Mr.
Fleyce."
"Don't you really!" cried Jack, with a sudden illumi-
nation of his face, over which had gathered a dark gloom
as he thought of Gideon's prose production. "Then it's
all over—I mean, there was nothing in it?"
Nothing in what, Mr. Bailey?" Napper asked, looking
him full in the face with an expression of simple enquiry
which Jack, with a great throb of his heart, knew was
genuine. He, of course, like Mr. Dumfy and his friends,
had noted the intimacy of the proprietor of Castle Fleyce
with Miss Tandy. He was quite right in supposing that
Gideon meant business, and though he felt that no woman
worthy of his (Jack Bailey's) deepest affections could love
a man like Fleyce, yet he knew there were other considera-
tions which sometimes brought about marriages.
Of late, as he also knew, this intimacy had ceased. Nap-
per went no more to the Castle, nor any more brought
10*
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F
GIDEON FLEYCE.
anguish to the souls of the six young men of Saxton and
its neighborhood by being discovered taking country walks
with Gideon, or being driven by him in his phaeton. Of
course that might have been a mere episode in the regular
advance towards matrimony. It may have been a line of
asterisks leading up to other conclusions than that pictured
in the poem.
But when Napper looked like this and
spoke in this natural voice Jack knew that there had been
a mistake somewhere, and felt that his way had suddenly
grown clearer.
(C
226
Oh, nothing, you know, quite nothing. I was think
ing at the time of your supposed interest in Mr. Fleyce's
candidature. You used to go about with him and show
him the places and introduce him to the electors."
"I didn't quite know that that was my mission," said
Napper, walking a little more resolutely and with a shade
of annoyance on her face. "I was a foolish girl and
thought people meant what they said, and were what they
represented themselves to be. I thought Mr. Fleyce was
coming here to make people freer from prejudice and from
other bonds, and perhaps I showed an undesirably warm
interest in his prospects. But that only proves how igno-
rant I am, and what comes of people meddling in affairs
of which they know nothing. We need not discuss the
matter, Mr. Bailey, only I am sorry to know that people
in the town should have thought I went too far."
"Too far!" cried the unhappy Jack, who felt he was
always putting his foot in it. "On the contrary not far
enough-I mean you did exactly what was right. But I
was going to read you this picturesque article of Mr.
Fleyce's, which has nothing to do with the election, at
least not directly. You will remember his address to the
electors. That was a pretty fine specimen of prose. This
is in another manner, and, I think, excels it. I won't im-
pose the introduction on you, but here we are at the grave,
which we have reached with the procession whose sin-
uous length snakelike, has extended the full length of the
main street of our ancient borough.' It is headed 'The
Scene at the Grave,' and I think you will like it.”
Jack read on in an impressive voice the following beau-
tiful passage:—
"The news had spread like wildfire, and
the air was thick with the breath of hundreds. The still-
ness of the night was broken by the fall of some sere leaf,
the rustle of some sparrow in the hedge, the creak of the
<
مک
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GIDEON
GIDEON FLEYCE.
}
227
heavy gate as it groans lazily swinging on its hinges, the
murmur of the ever-growing crowd, and the sharp click,
click, of the navvy's spade as it snatches the soil from its
bosom. The sight is weird and ghastly. Click, click, un-
der the dim hazy light of the lantern. Click, click, as the
clammy, clarty clod gives way. Click, click, as the sob of
a broken heart falls choking on the weed. The dewy-
darkness of the night shows up against the flashing hel-
mets of the police arranged in simple cordon round the
grave. The road is just like watered silk, with here a
streak of gritty flint and there a brimming pool; and as the
purple-bearded clouds roll away from the light of the
Heaven, the Moon's lambent beams play lonely on the
watery way. The stream was moaning incessantly. Around
the fringe of stunted trees is breathing a dark and sicken-
ing scene. Exerything is orderly and quiet. The hearse
is resting in the portico until the men have done. Mid-
night is nearing, and the grave is barely half its rightful
depth. Impatiently the heaving crowd of spectators
swings heavily forward. The coffin is borne on the
shoulders of the men, and the body is lowered on the web.
Never a service was read, and never an anthem was sung.
The voice of indignation is rising in the breast, the crowd
sweeps on as if to wrest from its chill embrace the body of
the one they loved in life, and from whom in death the
verdict of a jury will not part them. The Hon. gentleman
who stands for this ancient borough in the Liberal inter-
est now spoke a few timely words, urging the surging
multitude to let all the guilt of the night rest with the
other side, and not smirch the principles of civil and reli-
gious liberty with riot, however richly deserved. The
crowd swayed respondent to the tongue of true eloquence.
The heart is pent, and the hand is held back, and a hush
falls on the mass of life among the dead bathed in the
mournful glory of the waning lamp. The sod thuds heavy
on the coffin lid, a ridging bank of clay rears low to mark
the spot. They linger for a time as if a spell had bound
them to the grave, or gather into groups, or guiltily steal
away, brushing their hands in the hedge, brimful of
tears.'"
**
{
P
है
O
J
GIDEON FLEYCE.
CHAPTER XXXI.
The Sun Gone Down.
"THERE, Miss Tandy, what do you think of that?" said
Jack when he had made an end of reading.
"I think it's very funny. Isn't it a little like Ossian? I
never read the book, but I have seen occasional quotations
from it."
"It's all very well for you to be amused at it, but it's a
different matter for me," said Jack, sternly facing his edi-
torial responsibilities. "I have my reputation to consider,
and my position in the journalistic world. I couldn't re-
main editor of a paper which contained stuff of that sort.
What I've got to think of is whether I'll have the row now
or next week."
"And how do you divide the contingency?"
(6
"Well, I may either at once return the manuscript to
Fleyce, telling him I cannot insert it, or may take no no-
tice of it, and let him make the discovery when the paper
comes out on Thursday. That would be the ordinary
way, as an editor is not bound to hold communication
on the matter of rejected contributions even with his pro-
prietor."
“Isn't he, really? I have more and more admiration for
your profession. Still, I think if I were in your place I
should take the former course, as being the more straight-
forward-I mean the more direct."
"Thank you, Miss Tandy," Jack replied with a sudden
fervor that appeared to his companion altogether dispro-
portionate to the service rendered. "I shall take your
advice, and as soon as I get back to the office I will return
the manuscript to Mr. Fleyce with a note explaining that
I had already had arrangements made for reporting the
proceedings. There will be a tremendous flare-up, and I
expect I'll have to go."
"Go where?"
"Back to London, to see what I can pick up there. But
for one thing I should be glad to get out of this place, with,
its country ale and its heavy people. I feel I am losing
an
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
229L
myself, spoiling my opportunities, which ought to lead me
to better things."
-
"I am glad to hear you say that, Mr, Bailey," said Nap-
per, with kindly voice and look. Any aspiration after
better things immediately interested her, and she had al-
ways fancied there was much good in this harum-scarum
youth, with his vast views, his large talk, and his incon-
stant habits of industry. "It is always a bad sign for
young men if they are satisfied with what they are doing.
That sounds like a moral maxim, and comes well from
me, talking to one who is so much cleverer and has seen
so much more of the world."
"I hope you will say more of the same sort,” said Jack,
with a well-defined notion that he would be content to be
lectured all his life by this particular teacher.
(6
"Thank you, I have not got a miscellaneous stock of
wise sayings like that. It just occurred to me at the mo-
ment, and what I mean is that if you feel some disgust at
these associations which you seem to group under the
head of country ale, it is a good and hopeful sign.
""
"There is one thing," Jack remarked, beginning to talk
a little rapidly, "that has kept me here so long."
"What is it?" said Napper gently, with a bewitching
intonation of sympathy in her voice. She thought she
knew only too well. She had heard something from Cap-
tain O'Brien of Jack's struggles in London, of his lonely
and gallant fight with the hosts that bar the portals of
journalism against unbefriended youth. Captain O'Brien
had touched very little on the Fleet Street bar episodes,
but, wishing to interest the young lady in his protégé,
had spoken at large on his straitened means and his con-
stant struggle.
Napper thought of him now going back to the old bat-
tle ground to begin over again the weary fight. Where
would he sleep, and how would he eat with such slender
resources as he might have scraped together whilst living
in the purple and fine linen of Gideon's service? When
his store of ready money was exhausted would he walk
the streets all night as Dr. Johnson had done, and would
hę finally choke himself in a ravenous encounter with an
unaccustomed bone as Savage did?
Any human sorrow touched the heart of Napper, mak-
ing its way with swift incisive movement through her
habitually self-possessed manner. When the sorrow came
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
230
by self-sacrifice for conscience sake, the feeling of sym-
pathy was the quicker and the more tender. Jack, she
knew, was pretty comfortably off at Saxton. He had
plenty of money for his modest needs, was popular in the
place, and was autocratic at the office. After that struggle
over the shirt sleeves and the pewter flagon, Gideon had
retreated and left the field in the possession of the young
hero. All this he was giving up for conscience sake, be-
cause he didn't think it consonant with his duties to find
a place in the paper he edited for the windy rhetoric of
his employer. It was like a non-juror going forth from
home and all means of livelihood, preferring poverty to
concessions which his conscience could not approve.
"What is it? Tell me everything," she repeated, laying
her hand on his arm, and looking into his face with a
sweet pleading that would have stormed the Torres Vedras
of a stonier heart.
Alas! poor hapless Jack. It made a sudden and igno-
minious end of him, whose heart was not stony, and who
had long surrendered its citadel to the unconscious be-
sieger. With a quick movement he captured the little
hand that lay trembling on his arm, and carrying it to his
lips covered it with passionate kisses.
This of course was merely designed as the commence-
ment of a familiar scene, enacted with minor alteration
from the earliest ages. When Jacob met Rachael at the
well and drew water for her, that was the beginning of a
happy ending. A veil is drawn over what followed, but it
is reasonable to suppose that there was something else.
Thus, had things happened to turn out otherwise, it would
have been with Jack Bailey. His kissing of Napper's
glove was in his own mind the counterpart of Jacob's
drawing the water for Rachael. Doubtless Rachael, look-
ing shyly interested in the unwonted action of the stranger,
flashed from soft black eyes the signal that all was well,
and that if Jacob had anything more to say or do tending
in kindly directions he might go on. Indeed he did, for*
we read that "Jacob kissed Rachael," a further attention
which she demurely accepted.
Napper's eyes flashed, but not quite after the fashion.
we have imagined Rachael's to shine. Jack saw the fire
and began to think there was a mistake somewhere. But
he didn't go any further in his self-abasement than to sup.
pose he had been a little hasty, and had omitted certain
#1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
231
Y
preliminaries, gratifying to maiden reserve, and proper to
be observed before the young man seizes the maiden's
hand and proceeds to act towards it much after the man-
ner that Napper, a moment earlier, had been picturing to
herself Savage dealt with the fatally delayed bone.
"There, Ñapper, darling," said Jack, dropping her
hand, but not dropping his glance from the crimson face
and flashing eyes that blazed in heart-crushing indigna-
tion before him. "You know now what I mean.'
"I do not know what you mean, Mr. Bailey,” cried
Napper, retreating beyond arms' length of the youth.
"But if you mean to be rude I am exceedingly sorry for
it, and if you please will leave you here."
She had turned with a quick movement, and was off in
the direction of town before Jack had quite realized the
force of her words. Once spoken, their meaning was un-
mistakeable, and resistance could not long be maintained
even by the pitiful desperate hope Jack spoke to his heart,
that he might be mistaken, and that things were not so
bad as they looked. With some girls all this might be a
flush of outraged modesty, not necessarily simulated.
Jack had certainly been a little abrupt. Suddenly to drop
from the altitude of literary disquisition to kissing a girl's
hand was a long way.
When he came to look at matters in the chilled mood
that followed on the thunder of his attack and the light-
ning of her repulse, he thought he had been a little hasty.
If Napper's mind had been prepared for such an outburst
by long meditation, as his own had been, it would have
been a different thing. Five minutes ago-and what a
boundless space of time five minutes was-Jack had not
taken these circumstances into account. He was always
thinking of Napper. Night or day the thought of her did
not leave his mind, and she would have been at least
pleased to know how much the shrine was purified by this
constant presence. What was familiar to Jack must, he
had anxiously come to think, be known also to Napper.
Interpreting her thoughts and actions by his own it.
was small wonder that, when he had led up to the critical
point and she had responded with that gentle touch on
his arm, and that tender glance through dew-dimmed
eyes, he should have fallen headlong into the pit. It was,
if poor Jack had only known it, a natural love for man-
kind that moved Napper, and that is a sadly different
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
232
thing from love for a particular man. Jack had made a
mistake, an irremediable mistake, he felt certain. But if
Napper was lost to him, indeed had never been found,
he must not entirely forfeit her good opinion and let her
leave him with the shock of this rude attack unmitigated.
She had not been gone five minutes before these reflec-
tions and a hundred others had passed through the mind
of Jack. She was beginning to descend the path which
led over the Downs into the town, with Knut scampering
round her. Happy, enviable Knut! who lived daily in
her presence, and was not unfrequently fondled under the
very eyes of hopeless men.
Jack looked with blurred eyes over the Downs. Be-
yond the grassy slope the blue sea with a ship going
home under full sail, and between him and the sea this
straight lithe figure walking steadily forward, and swiftly
disappearing. Poor, miserable, hopeless Jack! It
seemed as if the sun were going down behind the horizon,
and that thereafter for all time there would be only black
night for him, with peradventure such mournful light as
might come from the clouds of memory, that brood above
the setting sun and dwell in heaven half the night. He
might forever keep with him the memory of Napper's
beauty, of her purity of mind and thought, of her high
disdain of all that was mean and ignoble, of her quick
sympathy with all that was good, and of her tender lov-
ing kindness even with some that was bad. In particular
Jack felt an insane delight in the knowledge that he had
called her “darling" within her hearing. It was no new
term in this application. But hitherto it was only to
himself that Jack, with his heart full of love, had mur-
mured the word. Now he had spoken it out, and in
some odd, illogical way, it seemed to give him a posses-
sion in her.
All this was sorrowful: but Jack felt that he had this
advantage over the ordinary arrangements of nature, that
if his sun was indeed sinking over the horizon, he might
with no great effort overtake it, and at least temporarily
keep it company. Things were very bad, but it would
have been worse if even for an hour he left Napper in the
mood he had seen her in when she turned her proud face
from him.
Napper presently heard his rapid footsteps behind her,,
and when they came quite close she stopped and con-
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
2331
fronted him. There was no notion in her mind of
running away. She had turned and walked off on the
first impulse of the annoyance and insult she had suffered.
But she felt perfectly capable of taking care of herself and
when she heard Jack following she stopped and looked
round precisely as she would have done had she been
walking alone in ordinary circumstances and heard some
one hurrying up behind her.
"Miss Tandy," said Jack, taking off his hat and stand-
ing bare-headed, "I wish to beg your pardon. I have in
the most abominable manner spoiled your walk, and as I
may not see you again I just wished to say this, and to
hope that you will forgive me, and try and think no more
of what has passed to-day. I have made a fool of myself,
a recollection that will be hard enough for me to bear;
but what I said, or rather what I did, was on a sudden
impulse and altogether under a misapprehension. I hope
you will say you forgive me, and will try and believe
that I at least meant honestly and well.”
"I do believe it, Mr. Bailey," Napper said, holding
out her hand without the slightest apprehension of dan-
ger of its undergoing a repetition of former sufferance.
"I do believe it, and I am verry sorry.”
Jack took the hand and behaved exceeding well. He
didn't even return the warm pressure which Napper, in
her inexperience, and having a habitude of submitting to
impulses, had given to his. He touched it respectfully
and released it gently. Napper's self-possession, under
what were certainly embarrassing circumstances, helped
him to regain his. The instincts of a gentleman, which
underlay a manner somewhat maimed by the boisterous
companionship of Fleet Street, came out on this critical
occasion, and he bore himself with a brave and courtly
dignity that Napper noted as something quite new.
"Then, since I am forgiven, Miss Tandy," he said, still
remaining uncovered, “I shall venture to ask a favor.
When we met I was going into town and you were going
out for your morning walk. Will you permit me to go
my way whilst you give Knut that run which he is so
anxious for?"
(C
Certainly, Mr. Bailey. I think I should like to have
my walk. Good morning."
"Good bye," said Jack, with a graceful courtesy and a
gallant effort not to seem sad.
234
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
So Napper went her way inland, Knut frisking about
in great joy at the new turn affairs had taken, whilst Jack,
turning his face to the sea, walked rapidly into the town,
and shutting himself up in his editorial sanctorum
remained for a quarter of an hour in a state of limp and
abject misery, a relapse from the high condition into
which he had been nerved by the contemplation of Nap-
per's excellence and his own unworthiness.
Then he rose, despatched the printers' boy for a pint of
stout, which being brought in a pewter measure, he sat
down to his desk, took off his coat, lit his pipe, and pro-
ceeded to indite a few lines to his esteemed proprietor.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Breaking it Gently.
THE humble house in Camden Town, to which Mr.
Dumfy had once made touching reference when in con-
versation with Gideon, will be found in the Directory as
No. 15 Pelton Street. Pelton Street was some thirty houses
long, all two stories high, all with little gardens in front
enclosed by iron railings, in various conditions ranging
from dilapidation to trimness, and nearly all eminently
respectable in look.
Mr. Dumfy's neighbors were on the whole above him
in the social scale, or at least in the money scale. The
houses were rented at thirty pounds a year, which, when
you come to add rates, represents a fact prohibitory to
Mr. Dumfy. But the house had been taken with a view
to an arrangement by which a lodger or lodgers should
pay the rent. There was a front parlor and “two bed
rooms at the disposal of two gentlemen (brothers or other-
wise) engaged in the city during the day. Cleanliness
given and required.”
This stipulation in the Dumfy advertisement is perhaps
accountable for its frequent appearance in the daily news-
papers. Cleanliness is admitted on high authority to
hold the next place to godliness. But Mr. Waffle was
sometimes disturbed by a suspicion that in the case of
Mrs. Dumfy the relative positions were reversed.
GIDEON FLÊYCE.
ASUS
235
"If Sister Dumfy thought of people's immortal souls as
much as she thinks of the sole that perisheth and cer-
tainly is prone to bring mud into the apartment, it would
be well."
This sardonic remark was wrung from the pastor on an
occasion when, paying a visit of consolation and comfort,
he had been vigorously reproached by Mrs. Dumfy for
disregarding the mat at the door and soiling the spotless
floor of her kitchen.
Mrs. Dumfy was always dusting, or washing, or polishing,
so that her house became a somewhat painful model of
cleanliness.
"You might eat your dinner off my kitchen floor," she
was accustomed to say with worldly pride, and a total
disregard of the circumstance that no one in their senses
would desire to have their meals so served.
Her habits were somewhat aggressive, it must be ad-
mitted, and greatly militated against the lodging business.
The locality was convenient enough for young men,
whether brothers or otherwise, who spent their day in the
city. A fair proportion were willing enough to submit to
the requirements of cleanliness; but Mrs. Dumfy was a
little exigent, and relations entered upon with some prom-
ise of a favorable conclusion were often abruptly closed
either by the lodger stamping out of the house with the
agonized declaration that he "could stand this no longer,"
or by the appearance of Mrs. Dumfy at the door, re-
proachfully holding on a shovel the last clod of earth
which, brought indoors, had broken the back of her pa-
tience. With the clod came the request that the young
gentlemen would "suit themselves elsewhere.*
1
""
On the Monday morning following Sunday, when we saw
the good lady placidly seated in the pew at Rehoboth, she
was having what she called a "turn out." This was a mat-
ter of such frequent occurrence as scarcely to call for re-
mark here, save that there was just now the exceptional
occasion that on the previous Saturday two young gentle-
men from the city, who had proved undesirable tenants,
had departed, and now Mrs. Dumfy was, as she said, tidy-
ing up.
If the young gentlemen from the city had been carried
out in coffins, having died of small-pox, cholera, or other
malignant disease, Mrs. Dumfy's procedure could hardly
have been more exhaustive. All the windows were opened
O
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236
GIDEON FLEYCE.
to their utmost capacity. The beds were turned down, the
carpets were up, a vigorous sweeping had been going on
since daybreak, and two gentlemen who stood at the door
knocking were detained for some time by the circum-
stance that at the moment of their arrival Mrs. Dumfy was
in the backyard struggling violently with a carpet from
which, with the assistance of the green-grocer's boy, she
was vainly endeavoring to extract some proof of dust.
It was a part of Mrs. Dumfy's pleasure that she did all the
work of the house herself. "To have a slatternly servant,"
as she said, “making dirt all over the house she never
would." She had once tried a compromise in the person
of a charwom in, but had never repeated the experiment.
A little wiry wɔman, it seemed as if nearly every morsel
of flesh had been dusted or scoured off her. She looked
frail, but was certainly strong enough to do what lay to
her hand, and should have brought a blush of shame to
the brow of the green-grocer's boy by comparison of the
vigorous way in which she dealt with the carpet, and the
deprecatory minner in which he handled it.
This youth was a constant terror to her whilst he re-
mained in the neighborhood of the premises. Of course
he never entered the house, being admitted by the back
door, by which portal he departed on the receipt of four-
pence. But Mrs. Dumfy was always haunted by the sus-
picion that he cherished dark designs, and sometimes
when Mr. Dumfy was away she awoke in the dead of the
night in a cold perspiration, having dreamed that the
green-grocer's boy had got in, walked all over the house
with his boots on, and had laid himself full length on the
chintz-covered sofa in the parlor.
One of the two gentlemen at the front door, bringing
his eye to the level of the keyhole, perceived through the
narrow corridor Mrs. Dumfy at the other end engaged
with the green-grocer's boy. Satisfied with this evidence
that there was some one at home, and that there would
presently be a response at the front door, they possessed
their souls in patience, and occupied the interval in glanc-
ing up and down the street, from many windows of which
they were already the object of regard. The parlor win-
dow being on the level with the street was closed lest
peradventure dust might enter, disturbed by passing feet.
In the window was a card announcing "Apartments."
Perhaps the two callers were city gentlemen (brothers or
1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
237
otherwise) seeking apartments, and prepared on their
part to meet reasonable requirements in the matter of
cleanliness.
They certainly did not look like the ordinary type of
city gentlemen. One was tall and thin, with a pale cadav-
erous face in which gleamed two large black eyes, and
whose black hair fell at a greater length over his shoulders
than is the habit in the city. The other was short and
stout, with a ruddy face, inclined to be blotchy, and with
prominent eyes of the gooseberry order. He was much
more like a city man, insomuch that he had a brisk busi-
ness air, and regarded every passer-by with curious intent,
as if he were considering whether the errand he had at
heart would be promoted by addressing him.
"Gracious me! Brother Waffle and Brother Selth!"
said Mrs. Dumfy, when a fresh assault on the door knock-
er succeeded in attracting her attention. "Who'd ha'
thought o' seeing you on a Monday afternoon, and with
the house all up and not a mat down anywhere. Perhaps
you won't mind me asking you in to-day as you wouldn't
be very comfortable.”
"We've come to speak to you, Sister Dumfy, on a little
matter that I fear will necessitate our intruding on your
household convenience.”
"Yes, Sister Dumfy," chimed in Brother Selth, who had
cast over his accustomed briskness of manner a sort of
pall of cotton-velvet, "we've a little word to say about a
matter of great moment.'
""
“Oh dear! oh dear!" wailed Mrs. Dumfy, who was
not wont to control her feelings on these occasions, "then
please to scrape your boots, and don't come in till I fetch
a mat."
Whereupon she turned off and presently reappeared
with a door-mat, anxiously watching the brethren as they
made diligent use of it. Brother Selth was so vigorous in
his performance as to overstep the mark, and to extract
from Mrs. Dumfy a despairing groan at the prospect of
the mud he was kicking out over the oilcloth, only that
morning washed and bees-waxed.
"Sister Dumfy," said the Rev. Mr. Waffle, when the
party were seated in the little parlor, "something has hap-
pened in our little community; and Brother Selth and
me talking it over, came to the conclusion it was our
duty to come and break it gently to you.”
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238
GIDEON FLEYCE.
}
"You haven't heard anything?" said Brother Selth,
eagerly, fearful lest they might have been forestalled.
"
No," replied Mrs. Dumfy, with a scared look, peering
round her with a dim apprehension that a bucket of water
had been kicked over somewhere. "I haven't been out
this morning, and there's been no one near the place ex-
cept that green-grocer's boy, and he hasn't been in the
house to my knowledge, though no one can say what he'd
do if my back was turned for a moment."
И
"Ah!" said Mr. Selth, drawing in a deep breath of
satisfaction, and rubbing his knees with a large content.
"Yes," Mr. Waffle continued, raising his eyes to the
ceiling. "It is a lamentable occurrence. The like of it
has never before disturbed the peace of Rehoboth.
""
"Dear me !" said Mrs. Dumfy, with quick sympathy.
"Don't tell me that horrid waterpipe's bust again and
messed the whole place about!”
"Worse than that," groaned Brother Selth.
"Much worse," echoed Brother Waffle.
"A pipe can
be mended and the flow of liquid stopped; but there is
some things as can't never be mended once they're broke.
When the silvery cord is snapped and the golden link a
broken, you can't do nothing to set them right again."
"I was once," said Brother Selth, who, however mourn-
ful might have been the errand to which he attuned his
voice, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, “I was
once in the days of sin, at a theyater, and remember one
of the Adycamps coming in to the General-the Earl of
Essex, I think he was-and he says, 'My lord, the dook's
wownded.' What, wownded?' says the Earl. Ay,
wownded,' says the Adycamp. 'Not mortially wownded?"
says the Earl. Ay, mor-ti-al-ly wownded,' says the Ady
camp."
(
This last line Brother Selth gave with great dramatic
force, making much of the syllables in mortially, and plac-
ing his hand over his eyes and turning away his head as if
he could not bear the contemplation of the scene con-
jured up.
Mrs. Dumfy looked from the one to the other with
startled gaze.
"What d'ye mean, Brother Waffle and Brother Selth?"
she said sharply. "If there's anything happened at the
chapel that I oughter know, just out with it, and don't be
making these mysteries."
1
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239
gideon flexçE.
1
"I don't myself, quite follow Brother Selth," said Mr.
Waffle.
"It's a hallegory, brother," Mr. Selth explained, a little
snappishly, feeling confident that as compared with the
pastor's procedure, his own notion of breaking the news
was much more subtle and effective.
"Oh, it's an allegory. Very well; but you see Sister
Dumfy is a little agitated, and doesn't quite follow it."
"No, that I don't," said Mrs. Dumfy, querulously, with
her hand at. her heart. "I don't know what you are going
to break, but the fall can't be much worse than what you're
saying and looking now."
"Ah!" sighed Brother Selth, continuing his gentle rub-
bing of his knees, and gazing round at the furniture with
a critically sympathizing look, as if he were an undertaker,
and had come to measure the various articles for coffins.
It was Brother Waffle's business to talk, and if he thought
he could do it better Brother Selth was not going to cross
him.
"Be calm, good Sister Dumfy, and prepare yourself for
a blow that falls on all of us sooner or later. But the
wounded back maketh a contrite heart.”
Mrs. Dumfy sat rigidly upright, looking from one to the
other of her visitors. They were evidently very much in
earnest, and there had come home to her a swift inspiration
of the nature of their news. This unwonted call, these sad
looks, this talk of the broken bowl and the mortal wounds,
could mean only one thing. Mr. Dumfy had not always
been a good husband to her. But now there came upon
her a sudden sinking of the heart, a whirring noise in the
head, and the thought that she should never see him
again
"You've not heard anything from Brother Dumfy this.
morning?" Mr. Waffle asked, whilst Brother Selth, with
his head on one side, and his gooseberry eyes growing in-
creasingly goggled, heaved another sigh.
"No, I've not; have you?" Mrs. Dumfy asked in the
same sharp tone.
"In the midst of life we are in death," Brother Selth cut
in, bursting with desire to be the first to convey the news,
and yet feeling the necessity of yielding something to Mr.
Waffle's clerical position. Here to-day and gone to-mor-
row. Life's worse, Sister Dumfy, even than last year's cut
in trousers. That may come up again, but when once
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240
GIDEON FLEYCE.
you're dead you're gone, and your place knows you no
more.'
Mrs. Dumfy lifted up her voice and wept long before
Brother Selth had come to the conclusion of this homily,
which he pursued with the greater unction as he watched
its effect.
"What is it, Brother Waffle?" she said through her sobs,
instinctively turning away from the blotched face and oily
head of hair on her right.
"It's a railway accident," said Mr. Waffle, who, being of
a finer tissue than Brother Selth, had not been unconscious
of a feeling of disgust as he watched that individual, who,
with his hands crossed over his well-rounded contour, was
ogling the ceiling in a manner apparently understood by
himself as expressive of the deepest sympathy, and mean-
while sighing like a seal. "A railway accident, my sister
and we were not altogether without expectation that the
Lord had watched over his sheep from our little fold, and
that something might have happened to prevent his going
by that particular train. We just did look to find him here,
but very faintly.
"Very!" said Brother Selth, determined not to be
hustled out of the conversation.
"I've never seed or heard anything of him," Mrs. Dumfy
wailed, "since he was settin' under the pulpit last night,
and then went to the vestry for his bag. He told me at
tea time he was agoing from Charing Cross at eight o'clock
and wouldn't be home for a fortnight owing to the election
coming on. Oh, dear, dear, dear! I felt sure something
was wrong when I opened the door and seed Brother
Selth with his hat on and this a Monday.”
"A very dreadful business," said Mr. Waffle. "Afore
coming here we telegraphed to Saxton to know if he had
arrived, but he had not been seen or heard of there.”
"And then we talked the matter over," Brother Selth
said, shooting in again. "I saw it in the paper this morn-
ing, and leaving the shop and the customers by I went
over to Brother Waffle's. We knowed he'd ha' gone down
in that train, and Į says to Brother Waffle, 'If he's not ar-
rived safe he's in it, so we'll telegraph; and telegraph we
did, getting it all in for a shillin', and there's the answer
from Mr. Landy."
""
Brother Selth produced the telegram, and having first
spread it out on his knee as if it were a sample of
{
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Gideon Fleyce.
241
trousering, handed it to the widow. It was from Mr.
Tandy, Mr. Landy" being a mere trifling with the
orthography of proper names not uncommon in telegrapic
communications. The purport of the message was clear
enough.
"Your message passed on to me. Dumfy did not
arrive last night, nor is anything known of him this
morning."
Mrs. Dumfy felt that this was her husband's death
warrant, and she broke forth into fresh wailing that found
the heart of Mr. Waffle behind its encrustation of Reho-
bothism.
"I've got the paper here if you'd like to see the particu-
lars," said Brother Selth, laboriously tugging in his tail
pockets.
(6
'No, no," said Brother Waffle, quickly holding up his
hand to guard the broken-down woman from this fresh
anguish. "Sister Dumfy won't care to see that now.
But I think we must go down to the scene and identify
our dear departed. Perhaps, Brother Selth, your business
avocations would make it inconvenient for you to accom-
pany us."
((
Yes, that's true," said Brother Selth, casting anew his
dismal glance upon the ceiling, and meanwhile rapidly
turning over in his mind the circumstance that on these
painful occasions the railway companies are only too
liberal in their facilities for the gratuitous movements of
friends of the victims of disaster. He would certainly
get a railway journey free, and would have the further
enjoyment of that odd luxury which some kind of people
find in the company of mourners, and in an atmosphere
exhilarated by calamity. "There'll be a nice difference in
the takings to-day, I know; but dooty's dooty, friend-
ship's friendship, and brotherhood is not to be a broken
reed that crumbles up just when you want to lean upon it.
I'll go with our sister and brother here and wisit the silent
tomb."
So it was settled, and the three went down the line by
which less than twenty-four hours earlier Mr. Dumfy had
travelled with his head full of schemes for additional con-
tributions from petty cash, and by which Gideon had gone,
desperate and despairing.
Before drawing down the blind and shutting up the
house Mrs. Dumfy had put on a black dress, and gone
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
rooting about in old boxes for a bit of crape wherewith
to deck her green widowhood. She found on the spot
many sisters in sorrow, for the catastrophe had claimed a
series of victims. If she had been in the mood for observ-
ing, she would have noticed that whilst the wealthier had
come to the scene in such attire as the news had found
them in, women of the poorer class, like herself, had been
punctilious in putting on whatever of black they pos-
sessed, and in hastily tacking on to their bonnets forlorn
bits of crape.
It
In all there were fifteen parcels made up, and laid out
in the station room, whither they had been carried.
was a piteous scene, and the air was full of lamentation,
for the fresh sorrow had been added to the anguish of the
bereaved. Who could tell, looking on these charred and
blackened faces, which had been the husband, the wife,
the son, though to know was all the world to the man or
the woman who with various show of sorrow-some by
loudly weeping, others tearless and silent, looking out on
the bloomless world with stony faces-had come to claim
their dead.
242
Ind
Even to the physical sense, the atmosphere of the charnel
house was sickening. But Brother Selth thoroughly en-
joyed himself. There was nothing of the vulture about
him, and he was even unfeignedly sorry that Sister Dumfy
and the rest should be sad. But into his narrow life there
rarely came flashes of excitement. If one had now fallen
upon him, and if as a friend of one of the victims he was
treated with distinguished consideration by the railway
officials, who can blame him if he were inclined to make
the most of his opportunity, or that he bustled hither and
thither with a well-meant heartiness that involuntarily
suggested to the able-bodied mourner the fierce delight
that would underlay the exercise of choking him?
It was he who, going hither and thither, careful that no
germ of emotion should be lost, came upon conclusive
evidence of poor Dumfy's doom. In the station-master's
office were spread out a collection of debris from the fire,
charred tin trunks, bits of burned portmanteaus, singed
travelling rugs and other relics of the impedimenta of the
crowd of railway passengers. Amongst this, partly muti-
lated, wholly discolored but clearly recognizable, was the
metal handle of Mr. Dumfy's umbrella. The old ging-,
ham had melted like a snowflake on a river. The anti-
новира
GIDEON FLEYCE.
quated thick whalebone ribs had opened for the last time,
and the stick was in ashes. But here was the sturdy metal
knob, all that was left of Brother Dumfy-all but the
parcel in the adjoining room, though which parcel was he,
poor lean little Mrs. Dumfy felt with bitter anguish could
not be told. There was no mistaking the umbrella handle,
and Mrs. Dumfy, going back with red eyes to her lonely
home, reproached herself for the many times she had
fallen upon her husband and berated him for alleged delin-
quencies at the door-mat.
SK
243
"If he'd only come back to-night," she moaned as she
threw herself on the chair in the fireless kitchen, "he might
step over all the mats, and walk through the house in the
muddiest boots he could make."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Notice to Quit.
It was high noon when Gideon awoke after the mid-
night walk which closed the perturbed Sabbath day.
Probably he would not have wakened then but for the
interposition of the butler, who had communicated the
alarm to the other servants. Mr. Parker felt a personal
interest in the condition of his master since there could be
nothing so detrimental to the prospects of a butler whose
tastes ran with small, quiet families than that anything
dreadful should have happened to Gideon in the night.
Of course, it would not in any measure be his fault. But
small, quiet families are inclined to take narrow views of
things, and among their prejudices is one against a butler,
however quiet and respectable himself, who had left a
family owing to painful circumstances connected with a
sudden termination of the existence of its head.
Therefore, when Mr. Parker turned up at frequent in-
tervals outside Gideon's door, coughed in an ostentatious
manner, rattled the handle, and at once bending down and
feigning to have heard his master call, cried "Yessir ?”
through the keyhole, he was not wholly influenced by con-
sideration for his employer. He had been told not to dis-
turb Gideon, and lifelong instincts warned him not to
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244
GIDEON FLEYCE:
disobey orders thus peremptorily given. But there was
nothing said against rattling the handle of the door, or
even letting fall outside the butler's tray and breaking
three tumblers, which to do him justice he had carefully
selected as being alreadý cracked.
This demonstration having no effect upon the sleeper it
was decided after a council of war, held in the house-
keeper's room, that it was the duty of Mr. Parker deter-
minedly to rattle at the handle of the door till he either
received an answer or till, by the prolonged silence inside,
he was justified in having the door broken open.
He rattled Gideon out of a sound sleep in which he was
enjoying by anticipation the delights of being introduced
to the House of Commons by whatever distinguished
members might be induced to undertake the task. Gideon
heard the thundering cheers from the Liberal party which
hailed the victory that had wrested from Tory possession
a borough hitherto regarded as impregnable. The cheer-
ing was so incessant that he could not catch a word of the
oath administered to him by Sir Erskine May. He grew
increasingly troubled at the uproar; which finally woke
him, and he became aware of the fact that the sound which
in his dream had seemed an enthusiastic burst of cheering,
was Mr. Parker rattling at the handle of his door.
When Gideon rose and dressed he was conscious of a
tremendous appetite, and when he had satisfied it at the
breakfast table, things took on a roseate hue in cheerful
contrast with the murky clouds of yesterday. The fever
that had been coming upon him was routed during the
sound and, until morning, dreamless sleep he had enjoyed.
He arose a new man, and looking out upon the world,
which yesterday he was ready to leave by way of the
marshes, he saw it was not, after all, so bad.
Even in the moment in which he had come upon Mr.
Tandy in the road there had occurred to him an idea of a
way out of his difficulty. Mr. Tandy was pretty well off
himself. But, in any case, as the trustee and solicitor of
many well-to-do families, he would have the command of
a sufficiency of loose cash to meet Gideon's present needs.
It would not do for him to disclose to Mr. Tandy the exact
state of his affairs, and why should he? The accommoda-
tion he required was quite temporary.
If he could get an
advance for twelve months for the £3,000 it would be even
more time than he should need for its repayment.
there are
A
GIDEON FLEYCE.
245
There was a little difficulty about the security, seeing
that every rood of land he possessed was already mort-
gaged. But that was a private transaction with his banker
in London. It was no use troubling Mr. Tandy with all
those particulars. It was not quite the thing, and might
have an ugly look if it ever came out in the light of day.
He could not properly effect a second mortgage on his
property without making full disclosure of earlier trans-
actions in the same direction. But full disclosure meant
taking Mr. Tandy into his confidence, and showing him on
what a delicately built fabric of foundation his fortunes
rested. He need not tell Mr. Tandy too much, or indeed
anything. Perhaps he would not even want a mortgage
executed. If he did, it could be done well enough, and no
one be any the wiser.
$
He lost no time in seeking Mr. Tandy, and found that
gentleman eminently accessible on the point submitted.
But he must have the thing done in due form, and took
instructions from Gideon for drawing up the mortgage
deed. With this duly executed there would be no diffi-
culty about the money, and Mr. Tandy, recognizing the
urgency of the case, undertook that the £3,000 should be
placed to Gideon's credit in time for him to satisfy the just
aspirations of the free and independent electors.
Gideon did not quite like Mr. Tandy's insistance on the
deed. He knew that if the law took cognizance of the
transaction it would regard it with a prejudiced eye. But
there was no help for it, and there was no danger. Mr.
Tandy was a sensible man and kept his own counsel.
would have the £3,000, and the election was safe.
He
With his spirits elated by this deliverance from trouble,
and with a face once more rosy and beaming as of yore,
Gideon walked the streets of Saxton, and received the
homage of its inhabitants. Never was there such a popu-
lar candidate. The children ran after him huzzaing at
his heels. Gideon did not particularly like children, but
he knew what was expected of him and beamed upon the
youngsters in a way that moved their mothers' hearts, and
gained him powerful friends in every household. He
generally had a bag of highly-colored sweetmeats which
he judiciously distributed. Beyond this, as he sometimes.
explained with a look of genuine regret, he could not go
at present. But he so managed to emphasize this limita-
tion of time that visions of future benefactions swam
A
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246
GIDEON FLEYCE.
before the eyes of frugal housewives, new birth of those
dreams of parcels of tea, hundredweights of coal, and
flannel petticoats noted as having their birth at an early
stage of the canvass.
Captain O'Brien had now taken up his quarters in the
town and didn't propose to leave till the election was
over. From first to last he had been down a good deal,
and had had many interviews both with Gideon and Mr.
Tandy. But, in accordance with his tactics he had not
appeared to take any active personal part in the cam-
paign. He didn't speak at the meetings nor visit the
electors; but in his room at the Blue Lion he held all the
strings that made the show dance and, as Gideon admitted,
he was thoroughly earning the handsome fee by which his
services had been retained. Just now he was exception-
ally busy with preparations for the great fête that was to
take place at Castle Fleyce on Friday, when all the Liberal
gentry, from the Lord-Lieutenant downward, were to rally
round the Liberal candidate, eat his cold fowl and ham,
and drink his iced champagne.
This had been Gideon's idea, and O'Brien had rather
shrunk from it at first, as impossible or at least full of
difficulty. But the Napoleonic manner had had its way.
Gideon had stubbornly stood by his proposal, and O'Brien,
commencing to work without much expectation of suc-
cess, found to his surprise that difficulties vanished, and
that the meeting promised to be a great success and an
enormous impetus to Gideon's cause at the poll.
As he walked with Gideon through the town he saw
afresh how well the candidate had worked the lower strata
of the electors. The longshoremen were with him to a
man, and more enthusiastically than ever since his appear-
ance at the otherwise unhonored grave of Long Bill. But
Gideon's future career would be all the easier and more
in accordance with his plans if he could get in not only
by a substantial majority, but with the favor alike of the
longshoremen and the county families. Many of the
guests bidden to the feast on Friday were not clectors on
the borough register. But they bore names which in the
borough as through the county were held in high respect,
and Gideon shrewdly calculated upon the effect of their
being found hobnobbing with him at his baronial resi-
dence on the hill.
Gideon was in such good humor with himself and' the
want the
"
GIDEON FLEYCE.
world, that he had been only momentarily discomposed
by the receipt of the letter which Jack Bailey had written
him on his return to the office. The communication was
not lengthy. Indeed, Gideon thought it was insolently
It did no more than present to Mr. Gideon Fleyce
the compliments of the Editor of the Beacon, who much
regretted his inability to use Mr. Fleyce's contribution,
having already made arrangements for reporting the
occurrence dealt with.
curt.
"What does this insolent cub mean?" he had said, in
flaming wrath, tossing the letter across to O'Brien, who
sat with him at breakfast.
247
I
"I suppose he means what he says," O'Brien remarked
quietly. "You see, these things have to be arranged for
beforehand, and have to be done in a particular way.
must say I think it is highly creditable that he should
make no distinction in your favor, and you as the pro-
prietor ought to take the same view."
"O, I ought, ought I?" Gideon snarled. "Well, I'll tell
you what I did. I was at the trouble to write an account
of the funeral which I think you will say when you see
it-for you shall see it in print, and in the Beacon too—
that it's about as pretty a thing as ever you read. It
came upon me like a flash. I sat up half the night to
write it, and now a young cub who takes my money and
eats my bread tells me he won't print it in my own paper,
for which I pay ten or fifteen pounds every week to make
up the deficiencies. We'll see about that."
Gideon had meant immediately after breakfast to go
down to the office of the Beacon, see Jack, and have this
out with him. But on reflection he decided he would
write. He hadn't forgotten his former interview with
this terrible youth. He had a nervous objection to
scenes, and felt his inability to cope with the imper-
turbable insolence and ready tongue of his editor. But
he could write to him, and this he did in peremptory
form, insisting upon the publication of the article exactly
as it was written.
The messenger who took the letter down to the office
brought it back enclosed with a few lines from Jack, who
begged to return Mr. Fleyce's impertinent letter, and
trusted he would spare him any further communication.
At the same time Mr. J. Bellamy (formerly Devenport)
Bailey begged Mr. Fleyce to accept his resignation of a
219
£
*
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*
*
248
GIDEON FLEYCE.
position which was rendered intolerable by the interference
of Plutocratic vulgarity.
Gideon didn't know what might be the precise meaning
of Plutocratic vulgarity, the penning of which phrase had
given Jack much comfort. But he had a shrewd suspicion
that it was not intended to be complimentary, and after a
fashion inherited from his father, he literally danced about
the room with rage. After having jumped off some of his
heat he sat down, enclosed a check for a month's salary,
and bade Jack begone on the spot. Jack acknowledged
the receipt, but intimated that a sense of duty would com-
pel him to carry through an issue of the journal which he
had already got well in hand. Thereafter he would leave
the concern to the literary direction of Mr. Gideon Fleyce.
This Gideon perceived with unabated rage was a clear
advantage left to the enemy. His treasured prose would
not be published in the forthcoming issue of the Beacon,
and a week later would have lost some of its freshness.
Still, in his position, on the very threshold of the election,
he could not take those active steps which suggested them-
selves to his mind, and may be summoned up in the pro-
position, "Turn him out neck and crop." Jack was a per-
sonal favorite in the borough, and besides an open scandal
would be made much of by the enemy. He must needs
accept the terms offered. But he would get rid of this
graceless scamp with the appearance of Thursday's paper,
and would be careful when making selection of a successor
to obtain one with a finer literary taste, a truer appreciation
of good writing, and a juster view of his relations towards
the man who paid his wages.
Thus Gideon thrust this awkward business out of his
mind and went buzzing about the town as busy as a bee,
or perhaps, in view of his bright new clothes and shiny hat,
a blue bottle-fly would be the more exact imagery.
In the meantime, whilst the proprietor of the Beacon was
thus enjoying himself, and innocently employing his time,
it is with profound regret that I have to record other pro-
cedure on the part of the editor of that influential organ.
Jack had long dropped out of the truly dignified and really
noble frame of mind in which he had bade farewell to Nap-
per. He felt that everything was over with him, that a
sudden end had been made of his dream of fighting his way
up Parnassus with this fair helpmate at his side. His old
spirit of reckless mischief revived, and it occurred to him
GIDEON FLLYCE.
249
>
that before he finally closed his account with Gideon Fleyce
he might strike a blow at ignorant presumption, and
(though, of course, this was quite a secondary considera-
tion) gratify his personal objection to the man with whom
a cruel fate had yoked his high spirit.
Of course there would be a row. He was not sure that
there might not be even legal proceedings; but what did
it matter? People might shake their heads, and perhaps
even Napper whilst in public would look grave. But he
knew that when their faces were turned away they would
laugh and secretly enjoy the joke. If they didn't, again
what matter? Jack felt he didn't care a fillip for the wide
world and all that therein is. He would have his jest for
his own enjoyment, and if people didn't see it, or seeing
it didn't like it, they might leave it alone.
Jack was in a desperately savage mood, and even his
bottled stout tasted flat. But when presently he sat down
to write, covering sheet after sheet with hand-writing rather
rapid than readable, his brow cleared, and a peaceful ex-
pression stole over his youthful face. He was evidently
satisfied with his work, and had found in it that surcease
from pain and restlessness for which honest labor is ever
the best panacea.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A Parting Shot.
THE secret was out on Thursday morning, and if what
Jack had desired to create was a sensation he should have
been fully gratified. The Beacon, though not desirable as
a commercial property, had always been widely read since
Jack's slashing articles on local affairs had illuminated its
pages. The population of Saxton dashed down to its pen-
nies with reckless haste on Thursday morning, and eagerly
scanned the Beacon to see what friend and neighbor had
been most lately seared by its lambent flame. But owing
partly to the fact that the population of Saxton was limi-
ted, and that the support in the advertising columns was
not overwhelming, the weekly accounts of the paper when
made up showed that disheartening result which Gideon
had already bemoaned.
II*
3
When the
250
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Under any circumstances, to pay £10 a week for the
privilege of owning a newspaper, into whose inner office
he dared hardly venture for fear of this young cub in his
shirt sleeves, was a poor compensation for the ordinary
ills of life. But to pay £10 a week, balance of profit
and loss on the current week's account, for such a num-
ber as that now published, was a circumstance quite suf-
ficient to account for these saltatory movements
which Gideon performed in the room humorously
called his study, whither the Beacon was brought to him
wet from the mighty press.
Gideon was by no means the first who had seen the
paper. The town was ablaze with its reflected light long
before the proprietor of Castle Fleyce had thought it
worth while to look upon the sheet to see "what the
young cub had been at this week." He had approached
it with a certain feeling of relief borne in upon him by
the reflection that this was the last opportunity Mr. Jack
Bailey would have of airing his conceits at his expense;
to which privilege was added a certain extravagant sum for
weekly wage.
"You may go back to your pot-houses in Fleet Street,
my good youth," he said, smiling softly to himself as
he took up the Beacon, and confounded Parker for not
drying it.
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Gideon had a curiously composite nature, in which
there was some leaven of a good-natured sort. If his
business was prospering, and if he had no particular cause
for complaint with a man, he rather liked him, and would
on slight pressure give him a check. His was not the
good nature that would put itself out in any way to serve
man or woman. It oozed out exclusively in the form of
checks, which in truth, when legally drawn, and there is a
balance at the bankers, is by no means a mode to depre-
ciate, nor even to abuse, as being too common. But Gideon
did this because he had a good deal of money and did not
miss the check. It was the easiest thing he could do, and
it always gave him the notion of being a commercial transt
action. If you want a suit of clothes or a joint of mea-
you can not in the ordinary way get it by doing a kind
action to your tailor or your butcher. What they require
is a check or so much coin of the realm. Thus, when
Gideon gave anybody any money, whatever their notibn
may have been, his clearly was that it was for value either
GIDEON FLEYCE,
251
received or to be received at some future time, in some at
present, perhaps, indefinite manner.
He had cheerfully enough paid Jack his weekly checks
till what he called "the cheek" of the youth offended
him, and raised in his heart a feeling of animosity. Jack
evidently distrusted him, and it was his ambition to be
liked and thought a good deal of by the class of whom, in
his limited experience, Jack was a distinguished example.
He had borne with him as long as it seemed possible to
win him over. But when the youth showed himself un-
purchasable, taking his money as a by no means overrated
recompense for brilliant work accomplished, Gideon grew
to hate him and felt this morning, even as he was smiling,
that he reserved for Jack quite an exceptionally active
animosity.
Perhaps the truth is Gideon didn't like anyone who was
superior to him in some of those particular departments
in which he himself hoped to attain perfection. If he had
analyzed his feelings he would have found this was at the
bottom of his personal dislike for that admirable man
Parker. Parker was only a butler. But there were many
things in which he was Gideon's superior. He was not
the rose, but he had lived near it; and the subtle aroma
of good society floated round him as he moved about
with silent footfall, and bending down confidently he con-
sulted guests as to their preference for 'ock or sherry
with their soup. He didn't like Parker, suspecting that
he was always finding him out in some bêtise, and snig-
gered at him in the sanctuary of the butler's pantry. But
at least he could bully Parker, and that estimable indi-
vidual, who knew on which side his bread was buttered,
was mute under his reproaches.
"Whereas this young cub," said Gideon, opening the
paper with a flick, his brow clouding over at the thought
of J. Bailey, "sneers at me to my face, looks over his nose
at me with supercilious air when I venture in my own
house to make any remark about politics or literature, and
when I look in on him and mildly say a word about his
nasty pipe and his perpetual porter, orders me out of the
room, rent for which I pay."
Gideon, holding the paper at arm's length, as if it were
as detestable to him as its editor, glanced scornfully
over the sheet from which he had at one time hoped
so much. He was looking for something, and here in
* W
P
252
the inner sheet, stuck amongst some paragraphs in small
type was what he searched for. At least there was the
heading "Funeral of Long Bill. Exciting Proceedings."
But the young cub had been as good as his growl.
Gideon had up to now cherished a fond hope that after
all Jack might hold out the olive branch and attempt to
mollify him by printing his beautiful account of the
scene at the grave. Gideon would have liked this the
more as he did not mean on any terms to make it up
with Jack, and if he had against his inclination printed the
masterpiece it would have been all to the good, and Jack
would have left his employment with the added anguish
of having sacrificed his feelings in vain. But here was
the dull prosaic account in hackneyed reporting style,
simply stating that there was a crowd and some demon-
stration against the harsh verdict and brutality of the pro-
cedure that attached to it. What a chance lost! But
Gideon remembered that even if Jack had relented he
would not have been able to insert the article seeing that
he had returned the manuscript.
"I'll
"It shall go in next week," he said to himself.
have it worked in somehow."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
❤
At least Jack could not have missed the political signifi-
cance of the event. Even he, with so little appreciation
of his work, would see the opening for a slashing article
in which the Blues would be held up to the scorn of the
world for permitting their political rancor to follow to his
tomb the blameless Bill.
Gideon turned to the leader page, and was attracted, as
Saxton had been from an early hour of the morning, by
an article prominently printed and boldly headed, “A Re-
cantation and an Apology." It was rather longer than
Jack's ordinary deliverances on political events, and was
inspired with a tone of gravity foreign to his habitude.
Gideon standing still, and with a look on his face that
could scarcely have been of a more petrified order if he
had seen the Wan Wraith, whose apparition had been re-
corded in a previous issue of the Beacon, steadily read
through the article.
When he came to the end the condition of petrifaction
ceased as suddenly as it had set in, and it was then he com-
menced those saltatory movements round the room al-
ready referred to.
"The infernal cub!" he hissed between his clenched
Jon
GIDEON FLEYCE.
teeth, as he crushed the paper with his hands, and wrung
it, as if it were Jack's neck. "The impudent hound! I'll
have the law for this. Here's a pretty return for my hav-
ing picked him up out of the gutter. What the devil does
O'Brien mean by planting a skulking, low-lived imposter
like this upon me? I'll make O'Brien responsible for
this!"
253
Even in his wrath he gladly seized upon some opening
by which personal collision with Jack might be avoided.
If he could just have Jack's head put in a bag, so that its
owner could neither scorch him with his bitter sentences,
nor scourge him with his contemptuous glances, there
would be great satisfaction in wringing his neck, even as
he still nervously twisted the hapless newspaper. But he
feared Jack as much as he hated him, and he looked for-
ward with unalloyed joy to the opportunity of rating
O'Brien. He must have it out with some one. O'Brien
was in his pay, even as Jack had been; only he was get-
ting a great deal more. Besides, he was of more languid
manner than Jack, and never turned upon him with bitter
retort.
O'Brien was staying at the Castle; and would even now
be in the breakfast room. Thither Gideon rushed with
hasty stride, with face as red as a turkey-cock, and the
mangled paper in his hand.
"Have you seen this?" he shouted, with an angry
snuffle, and shaking the paper at O'Brien as if it were a
stick and he a dog,
O'Brien was sitting at the table with a copy of the Beacon
open before him, and was at the moment reading the article
with perplexed face. He looked up with a surprised air
as Gideon thus broke in upon him, and a slight flush ap-
peared on his cheek as he heard the tone of enquiry and
saw the threatening gesture. But Gideon was not the kind
of a man who had the power of easily offending him, and
he answered quietly :
"Yes, I am just reading it, and can't quite make it out.
I suppose it is some stupid joke."
"Joke!" Gideon screamed. "You call it a joke! I'll
tell you what, I don't. I call it an infernal impertinence,
and I'm not quite sure that it is not a conspiracy. You
brought this fellow down here, O'Brien,- and I shall want
an explanation from you of this affair.
"What do you mean?" O'Brien asked, in a way that if
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254
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GIDE
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Gideon had not been beside himself with passion would
have warned him of rocks ahead.
"I mean that there's all sorts of things going on at elec-
tion time. We don't know who we are to trust. There's
influences at work that an honest man like myself don't
understand and can't be prepared to fight against. There's
Montgomery's finger in this pie, as plain as a pikestaff, and
I don't know who else's."
"Mr. Fleyce,” said O'Brien, rising, the quietude of his
manner and speech forming a striking contrast with Gid-
eon's, who was prancing round the room, whilst his voice
sometimes rose to a shriek and then sank to a snuffle that
had a hiss in it, "you have perhaps some right to be angry,
but none to make insinuations of this kind, the meaning
of which I cannot pretend to misunderstand. I have done
some work for you for which you have, I admit, paid hand-
somely. But that does not entitle you to address me in
this manner, nor does it permit me to remain here another
hour. I shall use the room you have placed at my disposal
just so long as will enable me to make up my accounts to
this morning, after which I must refuse to hold further in-
tercourse with you."
"Confound it, O'Brien," Gideon cried, clutching him by
the arm as he stalked past him, "don't you go and desert
Of course I didn't mean anything against you."
He was whining now, not being constitutionally heroic
when resolutely faced.
me.
"I may as well give up the whole thing if you go. This
blow is enough to knock a fellow out of time altogether.
I will apologize or do anything you like if you'll look over
the little burst which didn't mean anything. Upon my
word, I'm just beside myself. I don't think a man who
meant well ever was treated as I've been, what with one
thing and another, some of which you don't know about.
Now, O'Brien, sit down, like a good fellow and help me
out of this hobble."
O'Brien had suffered himself to be led back to the
table, reflecting that Gideon really was in a hole, and he
had been badly treated by a young fellow whom he had
introduced. After all, Gideon was sure to think meanly
of most people, and what he thought was no matter.
"That's all very well, Fleyce,” he said. "You may have
your troubles, but it's a bad thing to go flashing round
these horrible insinuations. If you had any sense you
GIDEON FLEYCE,
255
would see that it is a prank of that wild Irishman. I must
say I didn't think he would go this length. It's awkward, and
may be damaging being so confoundedly well put, if you
will excuse my saying so. But it's no use dashing round
the room like a colt in a paddock, and venting your anger
on the paper and your friends. Let us look the thing
calmly in the face, and see what is to be done. First of
all let us read the article quietly down, and see what we
can say about it in a brief paragraph, which should be
got out at once."
$
Captain O'Brien leaned back in his chair, holding the
paper well before his face, lest he should betray a smile,
and slowly read down the article which had fallen like a
thunderbolt on Saxton. It began with a brief resumé of
the political situation in the borough. It lightly sketched
the long connection of the Montgomery family with Sax-
ton, touched upon the arrival of "a financial gentleman
from London," and modestly referred to its own efforts in
his behalf.
"But," the writer went on to say, "the lapse of time,
and the growth of experience have convinced us of our
initial error. We have supported the Liberal candidate
under the impression that his cause was one in which was
bound up the prosperity of Saxton and the glory of an
empire in some quarter or other of which the sun is al-
ways visible.
After a painful conflict in our own mind
we have found that we were mistaken, and the first duty
which follows upon such discovery is to make acknowledg-
ment of error. We were lured by the high-sounding prin-
ciples of Liberalism spoken with trumpet tongue from
Midlothian. We saw in them the purifier of our national
politics, and the vindicator of England's freedom, not
only from incompetence at home and from plotters in for-
eign politics, but from bloodguiltiness. Under this con-
viction we honestly and to the best of our ability threw
our influence into the scale in support of the Liberal can-
didate. We have been wrong from first to last, and we
take no shame to ourselves if here we make recantation
and apology..
"We wish to utter no harsh words with respect to the
gentleman who has honored this borough with his candi-
dature. That he should still remain in the Liberal camp
we do not wonder at since the exigencies of private busi-
ness have hitherto prevented him from acquiring that
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
measure of education and information-of course we
speak of political education-that would enable him to
form a useful judgment in the matter. It is probable that
he is a Liberal chiefly because Mr. Montgomery is a Con-
servative, and that it is unusual for two gentlemen to run
in opposition on the same lines. We are sure that to the
full extent of his limited capacity he means well; but we
cannot deny that our own conversion to Conservative
principles has been hastened by the study brought im-
mediately under our eye of the poverty of the materials
that suffice to make a Liberal candidate. We have no
quarrel with Mr. Gideon Fleyce, but rather a feeling of
the profoundest sympathy and the mournfullest good-
will. We have travelled together in the same leaking
boat, and contemplating the happiness of our own escape
we could wish it had been shared by him. It is not too
late now for him to retire from a ridiculous position. The
privilege of candid friendship enables us to tell him that
he has no political aptitude, no social position, and no
fuller education than would enable him to pass the earlier
standards of the Board School. His ambition to lift him-
self in the social scale is commendable. But it is for Sax-
con to say whether it will bend its back for him to clamber
up by. We trust not. Our hope is, we admit, in some
sense selfish, since if he were to succeed in his ambitious
projects we should carry with us to the end the saddening
conviction that we had done something to bring about so
lamentable a result.
"This is not personally a pleasing position for us to as-
sume, but since we have erred we will not shrink from
baring our back to the lash. Before the Beacon is again
lit up the issue will have been decided, and this is our
last word on a contest that will be memorable in local an-
nals. Let Saxton be true to itself, true to those Consti-
tutional principles that have made Britain great; true to
those associations which bind ancient towns to old fami-
lies, and true to the instincts of gentlemen, which will lead
them involuntarily to turn their backs upon the London
money-lender and stretch out their hands to a neighbor
and a gentleman.”
'This is very bad, too malicious to be a good joke,"
said Captain O'Brien, throwing down the paper.
"Malicious!" cried Gideon, starting off again in his
mad patrolling of the room. He had been quiet whilst
para a
GIDEON FLEYCE.
257
O'Brien had been reading, and now blazed away as if he
were an automaton and had been freshly wound up.
"Malicious! I call it abominable. Penal servitude would
be too good for him. I'm going into the town, and I shall call
at the police-station and have the fellow arrested at once.
"Nonsense, my dear Fleyce; you cannot do any such
thing. You may presently, if you like, make out that it is
a libel. But, absurd as are our libel laws, you cannot walk
out of your own house and turn a country policeman upon
a man who has written something against you, using the
constabulary as if it were a private hose. What you must
do is to get out with the least possible delay a special edi-
tion of the paper, explaining in the fewest possible words
the meaning of the sorry joke. You might also stick a
placard out on the walls."
"Couldn't you fix it on the other side," said Gideon,
with grateful recollection of his success in the matter of
the funeral of Long Bill.
"Well, perhaps we might; all is fair in love and war.
I'll draw up something hinting, not to put it too plainly,
that our opponents in the desperation of their cause, have
stooped to this expedient, have entered our camp, suborned
one of our captains, and sprung this mine under us. Yes,
I think that won't be a bad move. I'll come with you
down to the office and we'll get it in type, only you must
give up your notion of raising the constabulary.
Very well, but I'll tell you what, I'll stop the check."
"You had better make haste about it then. Jack is not the
boy to let a check grow creased in his waistcoat pocket."
And so it turned out. Gideon bursting in upon the
bank with instructions to stop the check he had in a mo-
ment of hectic generosity sent to Jack in payment of a
month's salary, was blandly informed that it had been
cashed two days ago. Not only had Jack spoiled the
Egyptians, but he had successfully crossed the Red Sea.
He had packed up his things and cleared out of his lodg-
ings on the previous night, and Gideon, left lamenting in
High Street, grew terrible in his threats of what he would
have done to him had he only been able to lay his hand on
his collar. Failing that, all Pharaoh, floundering in the
Red Sea, could do was to hurry forward the printing
presses, and Saxton was presently placarded with a sting-
ing denunciation of the perfidy of "the other side," who
had wrought this evil thing.
"
I.
1
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258
◇
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"
CHAPTER XXXV.
And Belshazzar the King Gave a Great Feast.
GIDEON standing bareheaded in the porch at Castle
Fleyce waiting to welcome to the ancestral home of the
Fleyces the Right Hon. the Earl of Bowbyes, Lord-Lieu-
tenant of the county, and, therefore, the immediate re-
presentative of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, was
a pleasant sight. All the country side was alive with peo-
ple turned out to see the gentry go by to the great fête at
Castle Fleyce. Saxton was aflame with the colors of the
Liberal candidate. For this momentous occasion enthusi-
astic supporters had determined to risk legal consequences,
and flags floated from the tall admiral before the Blue
Lion, that monument of the phenomenal industry of Long
Bill, to which some of his comrades were inclined to trace
his early death, and therefrom draw a moral that more
than ever convinced them work was a mistake.
Gideon did not know about the flags, otherwise with his
keen sense of what the law would say of anything openly
flouted to its defiance, he would have prohibited the dis-
play. But he had too much on his mind up at the Castle
to pay a visit to Saxton, where his friends, delirious with
the sure delight of victory, did what they pleased.
The Earl of Bowbyes (well known in the House during
the Parliament of 1868 as Lord Henry Bayley) had thrown
himself into the fray on behalf of the Liberal candidate
with an enthusiasm checked only by due consideration of
his official position. Of course, a Lord-Lieutenant could
not do anything in the way of electioneering. This had
been distinctly stipulated, and everybody knew through
the Beacon and other sources of information that this great
gathering at the Castle had nothing to do with politics.
The fact was, here was a gentleman of high personal char-
acter, great charm of manner, and much wealth, who had
recently become resident in the neighborhood. What
could be kinder, or more in accordance with custom, than
that the surrounding country gentry should take the'op-
portunity of paying their respects to him in his new house?,
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​GIDEON FLEYCE.
259
That his guests on this particular day should all be
Liberals was a pure accident. It was well known that
politics would be strictly tabooed at the luncheon, and that
if any speeches were made they would simply be of a per-
sonal and friendly character.
Lord Bowbyes whilst in the Commons had been a strong
party man. He had, whenever occasion offered, and some-
times when it did not, smitten the Conservatives hip and
thigh. Even now in the calmer atmosphere of the House
of Lords, he was wont to bring on occasional thunder-
storms. During the long reign of the other party he had
been reminded of this little circumstance in more ways
than one. Now the gage of battle was thrown down, and
upon the events of the next few days would depend the
continuance of the Conservative party in office. If every
man did what lay to his hand, everything that was possi-
ble to be done would be accomplished. Within the radius
of Lord Bowbyes' influence Saxton was the most hopeful
battle-ground. No one hitherto had thought of taking it
out of the grasp of the Montgomeries, and now if this fel-
low from London was inclined to try conclusions at his
own expense, it certainly behooved all good Liberals to
lend him their countenance.
Thus, when Sir Henry Gilbert wrote a few lines to his
Lordship commending Gideon to his
his patronage, he
promptly seized the cue and generously interpreted the
instructions. He had called on Gideon immediately, ask-
ed him to dine at Bowbyes, and when Gideon sent out the
invitations to what he modestly called "a house warm-
ing," Lord Bowbyes not only accepted for himself but let
everybody know he was going, and "supposed he would
meet them there."
J
Quite in a casual way his Lordship drove through Sax-
ton on his way to the fête. Everybody knew where he
was going, and in those quarters where Gideon's strength
lay his drive resembled a royal progress. Some one sug-
gested taking the horses out of the drag, and drawing his
Lordship up the hill in triumph. But the longshoremen
looked coldly upon this project.
"There's a pretty good rise on that 'ill," Round Tommy
remarked sententiously, "and this ere sort o' stage coach
comes 'evvy."
They might have saved themselves discussion on the
point, for of course Lord Bowbyes would not have per-
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
mitted any such thing. It was quite by chance he went
round through Saxton on a visit to his old friend Fleyce,
and he could not have anything like a political demon-
260
stration.
So the four gallant bays breasted the hill at a trot, and
swept in grand style up the drive, at the further end of
which was discovered Gideon hatless and radiant, with a
white camelia in his coat and across his waistcoat a stout
gold chain of greater massivity than is customarily in fa-
vor with gentlemen of non-semetic origin.
But that was a mere trifle, chiefly noted as forming a
contrast to the exceptional good style of his tailoring.
He looked better too, without his hat, a tendency to early
baldness lending an air of great intellectuality to his fore-
head.
"Very good of your Lordship," said Gideon, as Lord
Bowbyes clambered off the drag with the combination of
caution and agility that pertains to well-preserved fifty.
"Not at all, Fleyce, not at all. Only too glad to come
to your charming place."
Gideon's blood coursed through his veins with new de-
light at this familiar and friendly address. He was no
longer a Peri at the gates of Paradise, looking with greedy
eyes on the joys disclosed within. He was actually inside
the gates, with an English peer not coming with starched
manner, and holding every one at arm's length, but one
who actually clapped him on the shoulder, called him
'Fleyce," and spoke admiringly of his "place."
Paradise is a big place with various circles, and it was
something to be in this outside one. But this was noth-
ing to what would come in time, after that triumphal
march up
the floor of the House of Commons when Gid-
eon should lay at the feet of a grateful party the prize
that was already within his grasp.
"I have taken the liberty of bringing Boscobel with me,
if, indeed," his Lordship added, turning with a gracious
look towards his companion on the box, "that be precise-
ly the way of putting it. A man who is a welcome guest
whenever he can find time to go is a prize even at Castle
Fleyce."
"Most happy to see any friend of your Lordship's," said
Gideon, bowing to the gentleman who was descending
from the box with a caution that contrasted with the light-
ness of Lord Bowbyes' descent.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
261
"I wish the fellow who invented these confounded
drags was condemned to live to be seventy and then pass
two years getting up and down them," observed Mr. Bos-
cobel, who had stared at Gideon but taken no other notice
of his effusive welcome.
"You should have gone inside," suggested Lord Bow-
byes, "though I thought a young fellow like you was fas-
cinated with driving.
"Yes, it's all very well when you're up there. But I
think no well-appointed drag ought to be without a lift.”
“Oh, very well; when we leave to go home you shall
be got out of a first floor window. How do you do,
O'Brien, you're looking quite fresh with life in the coun-
try, and perhaps won't be inclined to go back to the pave-
ment of Pall Mall."
"Shan't I?" said O'Brien, who had come to the door
as the drag drew up, "stop till I get the chance. The
country is all very well for a day or two, but give me the
shady side of Pell Mell. That is quite rural enough for
me.'
"
"And me, too,” cried Boscobel, who had distinguished
O'Brien by extending the two forefingers of a fleshy and
wrinkled hand. "The only time the country's worth liv-
ing in is when it is a passable imitation of town."
"Thank you, Boscobel," said Lord Bowbyes, "your
frankness is always charming, and I only hope we make
Bowbyes such a colorable imitation as you love. When
you come down again I will have a few hansoms driving
constantly past your window. I'll get a news-boy or two
to shout the evening papers, a real policeman to stand
where he is least likely to be wanted, and anything else
you can suggest shall at least be aimed at."
"Humph!" growled Boscobel, who liked to have the
monopoly of anything approaching humor, and was never
so much vexed as when other people sparkled, however
faintly. "I suppose this thing's going to be a bore. Noth-
ing I hate so much as these heavy meals in the middle of
the day, where all sorts of people crowd to eat more than
is good before dinner and drink more than is safe so soon
after breakfast. Besides the champagne offered at this
time of the day to a miscellaneous throng is dubious."
"I will answer for the chainpagne," said O'Brien, “and
as for the company, why the more mixed it is the more
chance you will have of making yourself agreeable."
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
Gideon had gone on with Lord Bowbyes into the draw-
ing-room-a purely accidental occurrence, and having no.
reference whatever to Mr. Boscobel's audible and genial
observations on the kind of entertainment to which he had
come. He had known all about Gideon before he had left
Bowbyes, and was prepared to scowl upon him as an up-
start, a disposition to which he was the more drawn since
he himself, though now received in the high places of so-
ciety, had one time found occasion to fight his way thither.
He was an immense favorite at dinner parties and house
parties, commending himself to those present by saying, in
a smart way, disagreeable things of those who were absent.
He was not at this time in Parliament, having reached the
final conclusion of a most remarkable tour of constituen-
cies. From first to last he had been in Parliament twenty-
five years, and had never represented a constituency a
second time. In the House he sat on the Liberal benches,
and whenever he wooed a constituency it was under the
Liberal flag. But as soon as his seat was obtained he ran'
up the death's head and cross bones of the Independent
Member, issued to himself letters of marque, and set out
on a roving commission, firing with charming impartiality
on every ship he came across, particularly if it were a
small one and did not carry guns.
It would perhaps be harsh to say he had never done any
service to his country since he first sat in Parliament. But
if he had he carefully concealed all traces of it. He left to
others the cares and responsibility of legislation. His was
the pleasing duty of finding fault. Nature had gifted him
with some wit, and he had carefully cultivated a crusty
disposition. His style of humor was akin to that of an
omnibus conductor. It was rough and sometimes irresist-
ible in spite of its coarseness; often poor, but always per-
sonal. He cared for no man's feelings and he prided him-
self on his perfect independence from party trammels.
This gave him many advantages over ordinary men. When
he rose in the House no one knew which side he was going
to take, though the odds were rather against his own.
The House of Commons, which desires above all things
to be amused and has a strong leaven of liking for verbal
horse-play, encouraged him with its laughter and applause,
and when at last he had reached the end of all the consti-
tuencies there was much serious questioning as to how the
House was to get on without him.
++
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
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263
In truth it got on very well and society gained what the
political world lost. Boscobel, though he sneered at the
joys of the country, was highly appreciative of sunny
quarters at a pleasant house, and no man visited more.
There was, it is true, an uneasy consciousness on the
part of the host that when he went on to the next
house he would abuse and scoff at the hospitality he was
then enjoying, just as he had sneered at that of the house
he had lately left. But "it was Boscobel's way," and no-
body minded it. He was a great catch at a house party,
and, knowing his own value, liberally fixed his price.
The secret of Boscobel's being was selfishness. He had
fought for his own hand all through life, at first having
had to suffer the ostracism that accompanies the sordid
cares of poverty. Then, when money came to him and so-
ciety permitted its doors to be unlocked by the golden key,
it found that the new comer had a pleasing way of saying
disagreeable things about one's friends, and he was wel-,
comed with both hands. He knew what they wanted him
for, and guessed what they thought of him; but on the
whole he had the better of the bargain. He was set on
high at their feasts, had the snuggest rooms in their
houses, and was himself competed for as if he were a
duke.
This suited him admirably, and the unformulated bar-
gain between himself and his entertainers was scrupulously
fulfilled. Nobody attempted to define it, but to all intents
and purposes it was something like that upon which Sir
Geoffrey Hudson was admitted to the Court of Charles
the Second. He was good company and said rude things
without those disagreeable consequences that would have
followed in the case of ordinary personages.
No one,
whatever might have been their secret longing, would have
ventured to put Boscobel into a pie and bring him to table,
as befel Sir Geoffrey. Other times, other manners. Bos-
cobel had his run of great houses, was cheered by the
laughter that followed his sometimes pointed utterances,
lived in purple and fine linen, and had a shrewd notion
that whilst many people hated him many more despised
him. Between this fate and that of Sir Geoffrey Hudson
some people would prefer the presentation in the pie.
Boscobel would not. He had made his own terms upon
which he would live with the world and found them suf-
ficiently profitable.
O
264
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Pettit-Philpott here?" he asked standing at the door
and surveying the scene. The guests, who numbered be-
tween fifty and sixty of the best people in the county,
had formed an irregular lane through which Lord
Bowbyes, with his left hand lightly touching Gideon's en-
tranced elbow, strolled, making cheery salutations. "I
don't see Pettit-Philpott," he added with a chuckle, as
O'Brien, who felt himself in the position of master of the
ceremonies, looked about the room to see that things were
going on happily.
"No; but he's coming.'
"I thought he would when he heard Bowbyes would be
here, and the Finlays, the Spofforths, the Sackrees and the
Rolfs. If ever there was a toad born into this world with
two legs and the faculty of articulate speech it's Philpott.
I heard him three weeks ago talking to Gilbert about this
man you have all taken up, pumping him as to his stand-
ing with the party, and the length to which they were
likely to stand by him. Gilbert, who would swear Pilcher
was handsome, or Rowell honest if he were backing either
as a candidate for a likely place, cracked your man up
ridiculously. I could see Philpott was coming round this
way. He would hear Bowbyes was sure to turn up, and I
expect he will come scraping round as if he had never
abused the fellow for a low money-lending tout."
""
CC
'I never knew him go so far as that," said O'Brien, “but
certainly he was slow to be moved. This little business
here to-day is all Fleyce's own devising. There is a good
deal more in him than you think, and probably Gilbert,
when he gets him in the House, won't find him so easy to
whip as he reckons. But before this was thought of I saw
Philpott and spoke to him about the interests of the party,
and said it would be a good thing, as his people have been
down here so long, if he would take Fleyce up a bit. He
would have nothing to do with him then, as I could not
say much in reply to his questions as to who else had gone
in for him. Now, it's all right in that direction, and he'll
certainly be here."
"I believe Philpott never gets up in the morning with-
out considering whether he would not advance his own in^
terest more by staying in bed. He is," exclaimed this
pure patriot with a glow of indignation mantling his wrin-
kled face, “absolutely the most selfish man I ever met
in political life. He weighs everything and measures it in
GIDEON FLEYCE.
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265
the one scale, all marked and stamped 'Pettit-Philpott.'
If he had lived in the time of the flood, and Noah had
asked him into the ark he would have stood by to the last
moment waiting to see if on the whole he could not make
more by paddling his own canoe, He calls himself a Lib-
eral, but you mark my words, as soon as he gets what he's
fighting for and is made a peer he will go over to the To-
ries. He has been a Liberal because he thought there
were more plums in the pie. The result of his calculation
is to show that on the whole it is more gentlemanly to be a
Tory."
"It is bluer blood and all that sort of thing," said
O'Brien.
S
"What Gladstone sees in Philpott passes my compre-
hension," Boscobel continued, not noticing the remark of
his companion, a habitual conversational chime with him.
"There's many a man on the back benches who has more
experience of Parliamentary life than this heavy, plodd-
ing, pretentious clod. But the difficulty is, I suppose, to
get rid of a man when you have once got him in tow."
"Yes, somehow or other Philpott got a seat on the
Treasury Bench; then when there was a new Ministry he
had to be provided for. He's a poor speaker, and when in
office bumptious; but a wonderfully shrewd man when it
comes to be a question of what is good for his own interest."
"As a rule I don't like prophesying when things are so
close; but I don't mind forecasting Philpott's horoscope.
If Dizzy's bowled out, which is not nearly so unlikely as
some people who live in London think, and Gladstone
comes in with a majority, one of the first men he'll hear
from is Philpott. He'll write him a letter congratulating
him on his great victory, and reminding him of the con-
tinued fidelity of a certain old colleague. Gladstone will
send him an ordinary acknowledgment. Philpott will
return to the siege and suggest that perhaps long
service might be rewarded by something better than an
under-secretaryship. Gladstone who, with all his verbos-
ity, is one of the hardest men in the world to draw, will
fence him off. Then Philpott will cause to be dropped in
Gladstone's ear the hint that, failing at least an under-sec-
retaryship, a peerage would not be unacceptable. Glad-
stone, who hates the peers, and likes to choke them with
mediocrity of this sort, will jump at the offer, and Philpott
will go to the other House."
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GIDEON Fleyce.
"All very pretty and precise. I'll make a note of it,
and have it ready to confound you with supposing it does
"">
not come true.'
"Then add this to your notes," Boscobel continued.
"As soon as Philpott becomes Baron Pettit he will go
clean over to the enemy. It's all very well for peers of
ancient lineage like Lord Primrose to go out and out for
Liberalism. It won't do for a new peer. When Philpott
once gets his patent of the peerage he will know there is
no more for him to look for from Gladstone, and he will
túrn and bite the hand over which yesterday he fawned.
It will be his game to assimilate with the traditions of the
House, which are all Tory. The other side will, of course,
make much of him as one who has been a colleague of the
Ministry, and who is now shot out of their orbit by reason
of that velocity at which they race to destruction. They
will egg my Lord Pettit on for a month or two till they
get him lost body and soul to the Liberal party, and then,
when he has irrevocably cast off his old friends and bene-
factors, they will let him see the scorn which, after all,
English gentlemen must feel for a character of this sort.
"What has Philpott done to you, Boscobel? Has he
taken your corner seat at the club? or interfered with the
quietude of your rubber? or left the door open upon you?
or talked when you had a little story to tell?”
But Boscobel was gone before O'Brien's short catechism
was finished. He had been talking, not for the sake of
O'Brien, a mere hanger-on in society, well known it is
true, but penniless. He hated Philpott partly for his suc-
cesses, and it pleased him to foretell fearsome things of
him.
-
Besides, Lord Bowbyes was at the other end of the room
still talking to that caddish money-lender, and though
Boscobel had nothing of the cad or the snob in his charac-
ter, if he did by chance find himself in a room with fifty
people of whom one was a peer and the rest commoners,
he preferred to be seen in the company of the peer.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
267
}
CHAPTER XXXVI.
"The Proudest Day of My Life."
It was a very cheerful company, especially now that the
Lord-Lieutenant had arrived. There was an uneasy sus-
picion in the minds of a good many present that they
might, as they put it, after all be sold. They hated
Fleyce instinctively. What did a fellow like that mean by
coming into the sacred precincts of the county, leasing
perhaps the oldest building in it, and by means of lavish
expenditure of money turn it into a really tasteful habita-
tion?
They had said nothing when the original proprietor had
let the Castle go to ruin and had planted John Ploughman
and his turnips in the court-yard. A man whose ancestry
was undoubted might do as he liked with his own. Be-
sides, the ruin was picturesque, and above all Gertrayke,
who owned it, belonged to one of the best county families.
This fellow had nothing but money to recommend him,
and though the county families were not insensible to the
charms of money—as indeed was shown by their flocking
to Castle Fleyce and warmly shaking hands with its es-
teemed proprietor-they didn't like it in other people's
bags, especially when the other person was a new man
from town.
The news that the Lord-Lieutenant was going to the
luncheon had been diligently spread, and at first dubiously
received. Then it came about that there were reports of
men who had met Lord Bowbyes and having cautiously
started the subject had been met with a hearty confirma-
tion of the statement, and an even boisterous command
that they also must go. That was all very well. But
Bowbyes, whilst willing to do a service to his party by
taking up this fellow, might be inclined to do it vicariously.
At the last moment he might find affairs of State that would
prevent him putting in an appearance, and there they
would be.
It was a comfort at the outset that there were a good
many others in the same boat, and content was fully
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268
GIDEON FLEYCE.
†
realized when, looking out from the drawing-room window
over the fair scene spread out before them, they saw wind-
ing through the highroad among the meadows the unmis-
takable Bowbyes team.
As often happens, the revulsion of feeling when a possi-
ble disappointment is transformed into positive accom-
plishment of desire, led even to an exceptional exaltation
of feeling. Here was not only the Lord-Lieutenant, but
he was walking about arm-in-arm with the host. A rumor
had gone round that the elderly gentleman, who was star-
ing at everybody else in such a rude way, was the famous
Boscobel. Everyone knew his name. Some had met him at
dinner, or at snug-house parties. These, desirous to shine
before their neighbors, advanced to Boscobel with easy
step, smiling face, and outstretched hand. Whereto the
genial wit replied with a freezing stare of enquiry, and the
most frigid and temporary touch of his fingers.
He was at this time of the day usually in a bad
temper. On this occasion his normal condition was ag-
gravated by half-a-dozen incidents. There was the climb-
ing up and down the drag, the prospect of seeing people
eat when he was not hungry, the contact with a miscel-
laneous crowd, and the ridiculous perversity of Bowbyes,
who was absolutely making court to a fellow like this
Fleyce, when he, Boscobel, was in the room.
Presently he had snarled a clear space of several feet
around him, as a man might do who swung a pair of clubs.
His ill humor, like other appetites, grew with what it fed
upon, and if he had had his own carriage at hand he would
certainly have ordered it and left the place in a pet. Than
which it was impossible to imagine a more dreadful pun-
ishment for those left behind.
Pettit-Philpott arrived in due time, very nervous and
possessed in accentuated form with that apprehension of
being taken in which had disturbed the equanimity of the
other guests.
He felt that even in such a case he would
have little to reproach himself with. Nothing could exceed
the carefulness of the enquiry he had made. An anxious
housewife going down to a favorite watering place with a
melancholy foreboding that she and her brood would in-
fallibly land in apartments where there had been the scarlet
fever, measles, or smallpox, could not have been more care-
ful in her reconnoissance, than was Philpott in his investi-
gation how far it was safe for him to be found a guest at
W
GIDEON FLEYCE.
269
*
Castle Fleyce. He had anxiously come to the conclusion
that it was all right, and earnestly hoped it might be. But
who could tell? and what a dreadful thing it would be for a
man who might soon be a Minister if he became entangled
with inconvenient acquaintances?
Why should he bother himself? There were in the world,
and even within the circle of his acquaintance, enough of
absolutely safe people with whom he might spend whatever
time he had for visiting. But then, he answered himself,
this was a speculation, and if it turned out well the profit
would be great in due proportion with the risk. He must,
especially just now, show no hesitation in assisting his
party. Gilbert had written to him asking him to take
Fleyce up.
O'Brien had been at him on the same point,
and he was not sure how far O'Brien was within the inner
counsels of his party. He had heard of him dining in
Harley Street, and, as he said to himself with bitter re-
collection of shortcomings that had affected himself, din-
ners were not so frequent in that quarter that one would
be asked unless he were a special favorite. Then, again,
there was Bowbyes, who at Quarter Sessions had stayed
behind purposely to tell him he must go. All this looked
very well, but when there was at stake so precious a thing
as the personal prospects of Pettit-Philpott, it was not easy
to avoid anxiety as to possible accidents.
The first thing the anxious eye of the right hon. gentle-
man lighted upon was Bowbyes in a circle of the very best
people of the county, with Gideon at his right hand, and
he in the highest good humor. The thing was evidently
safe. The clouds cleared from the massive Philpott brow,
as they clear on an April day when the sun bursts forth.
"Bowbyes, how are you?" he cried in a cheery voice,
wringing the hand of the noble lord. "Mr. Fleyce, I am
perfectly delighted to have been able to get here. I have
my own borough to look up, you know. But nothing
would have prevented my coming to-day if I could have
crawled on foot or been lifted into my carriage."
"The first way of getting along would have been more
in your way," said Boscobel, who had drawn up to the
group when he saw Philpott joining it.
(6
Ah, Boscobel! you here, and as genial as ever.
I had
a letter from a friend who was staying with you at Dun-
robin on Saturday week. He told me what a pleasant
time you all had.”
*
1
270
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Had we?" Boscobel growled. "I don't remember
that aspect of the entertainment. It struck me as being
the dullest lot I ever herded with."
"How are things looking in Scotland?" asked Lord
Bowbyes. "Did you hear anything at Dunrobin?"
"Yes. I heard that Gladstone, if he sits in the next
Parliament at all, will be member for Leeds. There is
something disgusting about a half-mad politician like that
going to storm Midlothian. He might as well turn Buc-
cleugh out of his own Park. There will be a good deal of
ranting and roaring of the mob, but that does not mean
votes, and when it comes to the polling you will see that
family influence will have its proper effect. The Scotch are
a canny people, and if they get an entertainment free they
will have it of course. They cannot hear Gladstone every
day. I never trust a mob.”
"Well, you are an authority on the value of a row by a
mob," said Philpott. "You know what it is yourself.
You've heard it on the house-tops when the mob has been
in the street, and you have been executing strategic move-
ments around the chimney pots."
This reference to a well-known episode in Boscobel's
wide experience of the humor of constituencies was a very
bold stroke for Philpott. He went on the principle of
never saying nasty things to a man's face, being careful to
make up the average when a man's back was turned. But
he and Boscobel were long-established enemies. He knew
that the keen eyes of the old man saw right through him,
with all his meannesses and selfish aspirations. He would
have been exceedingly glad to have cried a truce with so
ready a tongue. He had tried that before, and Boscobel
had, by way of response, been more than usually rude.
He had pretended not to hear the little reference to the
alleged propensity for a certain kind of locomotion with
which Boscobel had genially opened the conversation.
But he had heard it and it stung him bitterly. He knew
from it that there was between now and the last time they
had met no change in Boscobel's feeling towards him,
and always calculating, generally with great shrewdness,
he had come to the conclusion to throw away the scabbarb.
No one would take seriously what Boscobel might say, if
only he received the darts smilingly, and even appeared,
to invite them by reprisals.
((
Yes, I know a mob," said Boscobel, turning fiercely
GIDEON FLEYCE.
271
Куй
upon his assailant.
"I know what its roar is like, having
sometimes pricked its hide, and sometimes been tossed by
its horns. That comes of not mincing my words and
smiling my smile to my company. There are some men
for whom mobs have too mighty a contempt to take the
trouble to turn and rend them."
"Mr. Boscobel, I want you to see my orchids, if you
don't mind," said Gideon. "I hear you are a great judge,
and I should esteem it a favor to have your opinion.'
Gideon was growing a little nervous at this encounter,
which was looking serious, and threatened to spoil the
serenity of the day.
"You must let me join you," said Lord Bowbyes. "I
want to see your hothouses; I hear they are very ingeni-
ously worked into the ruined walls."
""
Boscobel graciously permitted himself to be led off,
"like a bear with its keeper," as Philpott whispered in
the ear of Mr. Greydrake, on whom he immediately fast-
ened himself as being the next most important man in the
company after the Lord-Lieutenant.
Luncheon was served at two o'clock and was, like every-
thing else, save the contention of Boscobel and Philpott,
a great success. O'Brien had looked after this, and, as he
sometimes modestly said, if Heaven had varied the level
of his mediocrity with any gift, it was a capacity for the
arrangement of a luncheon or a dinner.
Even Boscobel was consoled by the delicate attention
paid him. He was put to sit next to Lord Bowbyes,
whilst Philpott was assigned a seat lower down on the
same side of the table, quite out of his sight. He was ac-
customed to say that he was a man of no prejudices, but
if he had one it ran in the direction of detestation of see-
ing men guzzling. He himself having reached an age at
which temperance and regularity in habits of daily life
had become a necessity to its prolongation, was accus-
tomed to eat a light breakfast, take a mutton chop for his
luncheon, and reserve his accumulated gastronomic force
for his eight o'clock dinner.
At eight o'clock gentlemen dined; people eating at any
other hour of the day guzzled. That was the way Mr.
Boscobel was accustomed to treat the distinction between
the hour at which he ate and the habits of his fellow-men.
But here, served before him on a silver dish, were two
matchless chops, grilled to a turn, and free from the abom-
D
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​GIDEON FLEYCE.
272
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ination of gravy. Gravy was one of Boscobel's exceed-
ingly few prejudices. He called it "mush," a generic
term applied by him to sauces of all kinds. He had been
known to leave a house abruptly because on the second
night the servant had brought him a spoonful of gravy
with his cut of saddle of mutton. Once he didn't mind.
It was ignorance. But to do it a second time was either
deliberate insult or gross carelessness. He could submit
to neither, so left the table and house. This was talked
of as one of his "charming eccentricities," and had its
practical use in securing him from this particular annoyance.
Now here were two chops, served hot and dry, and close
at his hand was a decanter of his favorite claret at perfect
temperature. Boscobel didn't know what anxious mo-
ments O'Brien had spent in the accomplishment of this
little surprise. He felt it was quite right that things
should be as they turned out. But he had certainly not
expected them at a place like this.
"He's just the sort of fellow to ask for a second spoon-
ful of gravy," he but a moment ago said to himself, glar-
ing upon the innocent host with a sudden accession of
disgust and indignation.
But since his luncheon was as it should be, and Bow-
byes seemed determined to make a fuss of this fellow, and
as he had put down that crawling sycophant, Philpott, the
good man relaxed, ate both his chops, drank more than
half the claret, and began to sparkle in his best manner,
which was exceedingly good.
To Gideon, sitting at the head of the table, the scene
was the fairest he had ever beheld, and the company the
most delightful. At his right hand an Earl, a direct rep-
resentative of the Crown. On his left the richest land-
owner in the county. Close by, talking to him sometimes,
and even listening to his remarks, was one of the most fa-
mous wits of the day, and down the table on either hand
were some of the best people in the county.
He felt very happy, and even grateful to Lord Bowbyes,
to whom, with characteristic forgetfulness of all O'Brien's
assiduous labor, he attributed everything that was suc-
cessful in the day.
"What do you intend to do when you get into Parlia-
ment, Mr. Fleyce?" Lord Bowbyes asked, turning to his,
host with a pleasant smile. "Have you, like the late
General Trochu, a plan?"
GIDEON FLEYCE.
273
"Or are you like the late Mrs. Glasse?" Boscobel inter-
posed, never missing an opportunity of giving a genial turn
to conversation. "Are you inclined to catch your hare be-
fore making consequential arrangements?"
"That's not a bad principle in average cases,' Lord
Bowbyes said; "but this case is a little out of the average. -
We don't talk politics here, and only learn from what we
call in the House the usual sources of information of the
possibilities of an election down at Saxton. But one can-
not be deaf and blind to evidences that Fleyce is to-day as
certain to be the member for Saxton, as the poll is certain
to be declared on Monday night."
"Your Lordship is very good," Gideon simpered, "but
Mr. Boscobel is right. We mustn't make too sure.
"Very well, you can put it that way. At the same time,
whilst it is in my mind, I would advise you to take up some
subject when you go into Parliament. Make it your own,
and bring it in year after year, if necessary, till either you
get it passed, or have talked a generation of members into
the grave, and followed them yourself.”
"Fellows that do that always make themselves a bore,”
Boscobel said. "Look at Sir Waterford Wilson, with his
temperance nuisance, and old Solemnity Nethergate, with
his Convent Institutions, and those Home Rule fellows,
and half-a-dozen others, who get hold of a hobby and ride
it in one door and out at the next every session.'
""
"You might add to your list the Corn Law Resolution,
and the Church Rates, and the Reform bill and half-a-
dozen others, which have been begun that way and been
carried through. Of course I don't mean our friend Fleyce
to start a big topic like one of these, at least not at present.
But I remember when I was leaving college old Pam had a
chat with me about going into Parliament and gave me the
advice I am now giving Fleyce. 'Get some subject,' he
said, however remote its possibilities. Make it your own,
and bring it in year after year. If it is for a Railway to the
Moon it is better than nothing, and you can surely find
something better than that.''
""
""
"Then take up perambulators," Boscobel said. "Bring
in a bill to make it penal for a perambulator to be wheeled
on the pavement. There's no other country in the world
where a man going along the street is in danger of having
his shins barked by a three-wheeled conveyance."
"Wouldn't that be a little dangerous?" Gideon asked.
。
12*
GIDEON FLEYCE.
""l
During my canvass I always found it worth while to pay
my court in the nursery."
a
'Yes, that's where Boscobel failed. He never gave
woman her true place as a political power. No man who
brought in a bill for the suppression or even the regulation
of perambulators would sit a second time for any constit-
uency. But there is one thing seriously worth the at-
tention of any young member, and that is the ringing of
church bells."
"Wouldn't that set the clergy against you?" Gideon
asked.
"I suppose it might. But think of the enormous sup-
port it would bring you. I suppose in thickly populated
places one church bell blights the existence of five hundred
persons. That is a pretty good leverage to work upon, and
there is nothing to be said on the other side. Bells, of
course, are all very well on a village church, though since
watches and clocks have come in they have no practical
use anywhere. In towns they are simply intolerable. If
you took the matter up seriously it would not be at all dif-
ficult to establish a score of cases where murder or man-
slaughter has been committed. When any of us are ill we
can have our door knockers muffled, the bells unhung, and
the roadway laid down with straw. But we cannot stop
the church bell from clanging morn, noon or night, ten
doors off."
"It's very kind of your Lordship to take such an interest
in my Parliamentary career. I will certainly think of the
bells. Would you propose to prohibit them absolutely?"
(6
No; you needn't do that. Take a leaf out of Sir Water-
ford's book. Go on the local option principle. That will
do the work quite as effectually, and with less appearance
of high-handedness."
"Scratch a Radical and you'll find a tyrant, especially if
the Radical happens to be born heir to a peerage," with
which gentle gibe at his host of Bowbyes Boscobel centered
his attention upon his second chop.
Belshazzar the King, when he made a great feast to a
thousand of his lords, and drank wine before them, was
not more brimful of happiness than Gideon. He had cast
care behind him, and felt that he might look round on the
walls without apprehension of seeing come forth the fingers
of a man's hand, tracing the fearsive legend-MENE MENE'
TEKEL UPHARSIN.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
fre
275
"
Of course, there were to be no toasts nor any conversa-
tion about politics held above a whisper. But, as Lord
Bowbyes presently said, standing up and holding a brim-
ming wine-glass in his hand, they could not separate from
so pleasing a host without wishing health and prosperity
to the house under whose roof they sat, nor would his
Lordship be satisfied with anything less than three-times-
three, which the guests, warmed with wine and encouraged
by the boundless kindliness of Lord Bowbyes, gave with a
fine heartiness through which was plainly heard the
stentorian voice of Philpott.
Gideon had thought it just possible that something of
this kind might take place, and in the secret recesses of
his study had prepared a worthy response. Happily, the
kind words of Lord Bowbyes and the uproarious cheers
of his distinguished guests so profoundly affected him
that they hustled out of his brain all recollection of the
well-balanced sentences. He rose to his feet and stood
silent for a moment, with an awkward consciousness that
his eyes were full of moisture, and that he could not com-
mand his voice. All that he could remember of his speech
was a phrase perhaps not altogether unfamiliar.
'My lord and gentlemen," he said, "this is the proudest
day of my life.”
With faltering voice he wandered round and round this
declaration, making it over and over again, and finally sat
down with a strong sense that he had made an ass of him-
self; whereas, as Lord Bowbyes testified with his natural
kindness of heart and his habitual readiness to say the
right thing at the right moment, nothing could be more
creditable than this little display of genuine emotion.
Lord Bowbyes went off soon after luncheon, carrying
Boscobel with him. Pettit-Philpott soon followed. In
the chill which follows upon the sunset his delicate con-
stitution' was liable to catch cold, and Philpott never ran
risks of that kind. Others, gladdened by the good cheer
and in the friendliest mood, stayed awhile and smoked
Gideon's cigars, which were as good as his wine.
But one
by one they departed, and Gideon, standing at the porch,
bid them farewell. Many of them dropped a word in his
ear of hearty good wishes for his success on Monday, the
day the poll was to be taken, and on the evening of which,
unless all human calculation were out of joint, he would
be M. P. for Saxton.
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276
GIDEON FLEYCE.
He lingered in the porch when the last guest had gone,
thinking how sweet was life after all, and how bright the
future. The place seemed quiet and deserted now the last
carriage had rolled away, and the echo of its wheels had
ceased to hum through the glad country lanes.
As he stood and mused he saw two men step out,
apparently from behind a tree in the lawn that faced the
house. They were strangers, evidently town bred. Prob-
ably they had strayed in the Park and lost their way.
They made straight for the part where Gideon-stood look-
ing at them enquiringly. He was not in a mood to grumble
with anybody, but, of course, he could not have strangers
prowling around the inner recesses of his Park. The men
walked up to him with a business air, and one said:
"Mr. Gideon Fleyce, I believe?"
"That's my name," Gideon answered.
"Did you want
to see me?"
((
Yes," said the stranger, coming unpleasantly near,
whilst the other one closed up on the other side.
"I have
come on business, I am afraid of an unpleasant kind.”
'What is it?" Gideon faltered, his cheek growing as
pale as ashes. He made a movement to withdraw, which
the others, apparently without noticing it, followed up.
"L
1
"We have a warrant to arrest you on a charge of wilful
murder. You had better not say anything just now, and
we will try to make things as quict as possible."
"Murder!" Gideon cried with horror-stricken face.
"Who's dead?"
"Oh! come now," said the stranger abruptly. "It's
your father, you know. It's a nasty business, and you'd
better take time before you say anything. You must come
to London by the next train.'
"1
They took him, one by each arm, and led him into the
house, he walking as docilely as a child, but with a dazed
look as if the rough hand of the detective had at its touch
broken the machinery of his reason.
1
GIDEON FLEYCE.
277
CHAPTER XXXVII.
In the Spider's Parlor.
The head is wondrous heavy, mither,
The well is wondrous deep;
A keen penknife sticks in my heart,
A word I donnae speik.
THE bijou residence, in the quiet street off Fulham Road,
frowned upon the neighborhood all through that bright
Monday morning when Gideon, after his long sleep, awoke
to freshened life and brighter hope. At no time of at-
tractive exterior, for the bachelor of fortune now in pos-
session was not given to wasting his money on paint, the
bijou residence looked a trifle more dingy by reason of the
circumstance that the shutters were closed in the room on
the ground floor. People who lived opposite had occasion-
ally caught glimpses of the bachelor of fortune attired in
a rusty skull-cap and a musty dressing-gown, as we have
seen him on the occasions when he has been entertaining
Gideon or his old and faithful servitor, Mr. Dumfy.
Those who cared to look might daily see him at dusk as
he drew near the window to catch the last gleams of day-
light, which the setting sun was giving away gratuitously.
Half an hour, or even ten minutes, saved at this time of
the day made a good deal of difference in the life of a
candle. The old gentleman in his leisure moments had
worked out a sum which really gave surprising results,
and encouraged him to make the very most of the dying
day.
He had been seen at the window on Sunday night. He
had sat there until the brief twilight had faded into dark-
ness, till fires were stirred and lights flashed from the
houses near, and people turned with kindly welcome to
the night which made it possible for them to be so snug
under the lamplight and in the cheerful glow of the fire,
which toned down all hard lines. When it came to pass
there was no appreciable difference between the interior
of the room with the shutters closed and barred, and the
room as it seemed with the great wall of night silently
dropped before the window of the bijou residence, the
7
GIDEON FLEYCE.
278
shutters were drawn, with all their mysterious mechanism
arranged for the more gratifying reception of possible
burglars.
Gideon had seen how tightly they shut when he boiled
with angry passion as he walked up and down outside
wondering what were the best means by which he might
obtain readmittance. Closed then, they remained closed.
They were fast closed when the morning broke, and the
sun, still chilly, but bright with promise of the spring,
came out and bathed the streets in its light.
Noon rang out from one of the churches whither Gideon
had watched the pleased women troop on Sunday night.
The afternoon deepened into dusk. The postman went
his rounds, though he had nothing for the bijou residence,
where correspondence was on the whole deprecated as in-
volving expenditure in postage stamps. The muffin-man
went round clanging his bell, suggesting to some murder-
ous thoughts, and to others cosy meals surreptitiously in-
troduced between luncheon and dinner. Night fell on
the quietening street. Lights twinkled from the many
windows. Fires were stirred again; dinner was set forth;
cheerful groups gathered round the fireside, and once
more the scene darkened, the lights going out one by one
from the many windows, and the street seemed steeped in
sleep as well as in darkness.
ww
Morning broke once more, and still its rays beat in vain
upon the shutters of the bijou residence. All the routine
of life went on as before, except that people living near
began to take note of the curious aspect of the bijou resi-
dence. Had the bachelor of fortune gone away for change
of air, how sorely needed none but those who breathed the
fetid atmosphere of the always closed house could know?
Was he tired of his lonely life, and had he ridden o'er the
downs, either by himself or with promiscuously invited
companions, to seek a bride?
The Misses Chante at No. 32 opposite began to take a
fresh interest in the bijou residence when this thought
suggested itself. They had visions of the funny little
gentleman with the skull-cap coming home quite trans-
mogrified, scraped and washed, decently dressed and lead-
ing by the hand a buxom bride. She must of course be
of a certain age; still she might be nice. The old gentle-
man was reputed to be fabulously wealthy. Perhaps he
would give partics, and the bijou residence would blossom
1
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279
forth and become quite a scene of attraction. Even if
they did not get invited they might sit at the window and
watch the guests arrive, and wonder who they were, and
pass frank opinions upon their dresses.
A difficulty in arriving at precise conclusions in the
matter was that nobody knew the old gentleman's name.
It did not appear in any directories. The Spider knew by
experience that such publication brought begging letters,
tradesmen's circulars and even unsolicited visits. There-
fore there was no use in looking through the marriage an-
nouncements in yesterday's Times, for they did not know
what name to seek. They must wait till the bride and
bridegroom came home.
Waiting grew more and more a dreary and uneasy task.
It began to be rumored that the milkman calling on Tues-
day with the supply of milk dirccted for delivery twice a
week, had failed to make himself heard. On Wednesday
the ancient beldame who twice a week charred for the
bachelor of fortune, appeared at the appointed hour with
her bucket and floor-rag and broom. But no answer was
vouchsafed to her single knock, whilst natural curiosity,
endeavoring to satisfy itself by inspection through the
keyhole, was foiled by a simple device on the part of the
old gentleman, who had pasted a piece of brown paper
across the orifice on the inner side.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
The old lady was willing to testify that such a thing had
never happened before. As for the old gentleman going
away for a holiday, she scouted the idea, and was posi-
tively rude to young Miss Chante who, seeing her on the
doorstep, had inveigled her across, and incidentally ad-
vanced the marriage theory. The old lady, who was par-
taking of refreshment at the time, nearly choked with
untimeous laughter, and when she recovered pursued the
young Miss Chante with gibes for thinking of such a
thing.
The policeman on the beat was consulted on the mat-
ter, and created a profound impression by standing in the
middle of the street so that he might get a full view of
the premises. The result of several moments' silent med-
itation was the arrival at the conclusion that "the place
was fastened up," of which fact he made a note in a large
pocket-book, produced with much solemnity, and written
in with considerable difficulty. He reported the circum-
stance at the office, where there was a disposition to re-
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280
GIDEON FLEYCE.
gard it seriously. Enquiries were made in which the
milkman and the charwoman figured as principal witness-
es, and it was settled that if by Thursday morning no sign
of life within manifested itself, the representatives of the
law would enter the house and snatch its secret from it, if
secret there were.
On Thursday morning the bijou residence still frowned
in the old way at the impertinent curiosity of the street.
The shutters remained barred and the stillness unbroken.
Nobody knew where to go in search of the friends or re-
lations of the bachelor of fortune. But the police armed
themselves with the necessary authority, and amid thrill-
ing excitement an officer from Scotland Yard rapped at
the front door. It was a bold knock, that might have
waked the dead if any slept within these tomb-like walls.
But there was no answer nor was any made to successive
thunderings at the knocker.
Then the locksmith came forward and set to work. It
was not an easy task, for, as he found, no ordinary me-
chanic had fashioned the lock. Finesse failing, force was
called into play. A ram was borrowed from a street pav-
ior, and half a dozen police manning it began to beat
upon the portals of the bijou residence.
Bolts nor bars could long withstand this, and presently
the door was battered in. As it fell there swooped down
from the top a long iron blade so sharp that it cut some
depth into the wooden ram on which it fell. In the ordi-
nary course of things it would have fallen on the head of
one of the policemen supposing he had been attempting
to enter by forcing the door with his own weight. As it
was it hurt no one; but the little incident suggested cau-
tion in further advance.
There were no more doors to force open, at least not as
far as present enquiry went. The door of the room on
the ground floor, at the window of which the old gentle-
man had daily been seen, was opened, giving vent to a
decidedly unpleasant flavor. Turning on their bulls'-eyes
the police entered, and were received by the bachelor of
fortune himself, though his appearance was not calculated
to make the visit a pleasant one. He was still sitting in
the chair in which we saw him on Sunday night, and was
now even a less agreeable object for contemplation.
The first human instinct on the part of the visitors was
to unbar the shutters and let in fresh air and light on this
>
281
GIDEON FLEYCE.
charnel house with its ghastly occupant. It was felt to be
a delicate matter to tamper with the shutters.
But they
were safely opened, and the sunlight streaming in made it
more than ever desirable to throw a sheet over what re-
mained of the merry old gentleman, with the haft of the
knife sticking out from his chest like a note of exclama-
tion.
Things looked very serious indeed, and messengers
were despatched to Scotland Yard for higher authority
and supremer intelligence. These likewise were greatly
puzzled when they arrived on the scene. There was the
safe unlocked, and so far as could be seen untouched.
Yet it seemed that the existing condition of things had
not been arrived at without a struggle. The key was in
the lock, but it was bent downwards as if some heavỳ
weight had hung upon it and had been dragged off by
main force. Inside were the rouleaux of gold-countless
gold it seemed to the astonished policemen. No rough
hand had been laid upon them. They stood in ordered
row. Nor were any of the papers touched. In truth ex-
cept for this distortion of the key it would seem that the
safe had not even been approached by the hand that drove
the knife up to the hilt in the heart of the old gentleman.
Nor was there any other sign of disorder in any other
part of the room.
J
The police did not see what we fancied we saw in the
firelight on Sunday night, the gleam of demoniac delight
with which the old gentleman looking in the direction of
the safe had fared forth to another and we hope a better
world. Otherwise they might have made a great deal of
it. No man living or dead could sit for four nights and
four days in the same position, and to tell the truth, when
visitors arrived they found the old gentleman huddled up
on one side of the chair, having toppled over from his ear-
lier position.
When Pompeii was dug out they found in the passage
of one of the houses the skeleton of a man with ten pieces
of gold in one hand and a key in the other.
There were
no bijou residences in Pompeii, for ground rent was low
and they built in roomy fashion. But, doubtless, this was
an elderly bachelor of fortune who, when the crash came,
had made a dash at his safe, clutched a handful of gold for
present necessities and secured the key, so that presently,
when danger was over, and he might come back again, he
282
GIDEON FLEYCE.
would find all safe. Why hadn't our old gentleman made
some such move? The ashes that wrecked Pompeii were
not more deadly than what had chanced to him. But in
his case the catastrophe must have been more sudden.
At any rate, he sat in his chair with his gold untouched,
and his key in the safe. Here also were the remains of
the stew, mouldy now, and mouldy the bread, and very
sour the four-half, all untouched.
Groping round the room in search of some clue to this
great mystery the police laid swift hands upon a hand-
some stick that stood in the corner of the room. There
was a silver plate upon it, a little dulled perhaps by rea-
son of having kept company with the old gentleman four
nights and four days under these sad circumstances. But
plainly discernible on it was the legend, "Gideon Fleyce,
Castle Fleyce."
This was a clue followed up with more success than
sometimes attends similar able and intelligent efforts. It
was not nearly so difficult to find out Gideon Fleyce as it
was to discover traces of his respected and now ever-to-be-
lamented parent.
Gideon was as fond of directories as
his father disliked them. His several addresses appeared
in the Court Guide, and before an hour had elapsed the
police were on his track. They found much that was
surprisingly encouraging, and what at the outset seemed
to promise to be a case that would be sure to bring down
upon them the reproaches of a self-sufficient Press, now
literally led along a high road that went straight up to the
porch of Castle Fleyce where Gideon stood smiling fare-
well to his guests.
The two strangers who had presented themselves be-
hind the trees were by no means so unfamiliar with the
place as Gideon was with them. They had been down in
Saxton at least eighteen hours, and when an intelligent
police officer has a clue and eighteen hours to follow it up
in, he is not long in making a case, particularly when it
has been quite clear from the first. They knew all about
Gideon's secret visit to London on the night of the mur-
der. They chased him to Charing Cross both on his ar-
rival and departure. They saw the guard who had helped
to carry him in his prostrate condition past the victims of
the railway accident. Working both in London and at
Saxton, putting this and that together with remarkable
ability and celerity, they might, if there had been any at-
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
283
tempt at flight, have arrested Gideon on Friday morning.
But there was no particular hurry, and some fresh evidence
sought in London was not yet completed.
The two police officers were told off to watch the cas-
tle and its elated proprietor. So well had they done their
work that not a whisper of their true errand was heard in
Saxton. A suspicion was beginning to grow in the local
mind that they were agents on the lookout for bribery
cases, though whether instructed by the Liberal candidate
or the Conservative none could tell. This was a delusion
they did not care to dispute, but rather encouraged.
Gideon, driven in his own brougham, with one stranger
inside and another on the box, was already far on his way
to London before a whiff of this new sensation reached
Saxton. Saxton, indeed, already had as much as it could
comfortably digest in the stories of the magnificent fête at
the Castle, of the unequaled splendor of the company, of
the distinguished favor shown by the Lord Lieutenant to
the host, and of the certainty that, as far as the election
was concerned, all was over now, except the shouting that
would hail Gideon Fleyce member for Saxton.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Depression at the Dog and Duck.
THAT Something serious had happened was borne in
upon the servants at Castle Fleyce, as they stood at door
or window, and saw their master drive away with this
strange escort. Since the hand of the officer of the law
had been laid upon his shoulder, and the word "MURDER”
had been spoken in his ear, Gideon had not said a word.
Mr. Pritchett, the officer from Scotland Yard, was con-
scious that his opportunities of making the business pleas-
ing to the person chiefly concerned were exceedingly lim-
ited. Still he did his best. This was not one of those or-
dinary cases in which a man merely kicks his wife to death,
or slays another in a drunken brawl. It was an affair of
the highest society. His prisoner was a man who, if not
a member of Parliament, was a candidate for Parliamen-
tary honors, and who, as Mr. Pritchett had respectfully
2
2
*
GIDEON FLEYCE.
284
beheld with his own eyes, had that very day entertained
the Lord Lieutenant of the county. That such a man
should commit murder was by no means a marvel. Crime,
Mr. Pritchett knew, was not a luxury confined to the
lower classes. He had had one or two big cases before,
but nothing nearly so good as this, and being a man of some
sensibility, he entertained a feeling of personal obligation
towards Gideon. He knew this would be the great event
of the day, and that the conduct of "that intelligent officer,
Mr. Pritchett," would live in the fierce light that beats
upon a sensational case.
Therefore, it hehooved him to treat Gideon with con-
sideration, and nothing could exceed the deference of his
manner when he asked him if he would like any little
thing put up for the journey. Gideon shook his head
wearily, but said nothing. Therefore, Mr. Pritchett took
upon himself to request Mr. Parker to put up a change of
linen for his master, who, he said, was going to town on
particular business, and might be absent a day or two.
-
Mr. Parker did as he was bidden, though with a surly
air. His master took no notice of him as he came and
went, nor made any reply to his varied enquiries as to or-
ders. Something was wrong, Mr. Parker shrewdly sus-
pected, and the return of the carriage from the Junction
was uneasily awaited.
-
"It's murder, that's what it is," said the coachman, who
felt his exceptional importance at being the only man who
knew anything about it.
He was not to be wheedled into any further disclosures,
a circumstance highly to his credit, as he really knew
nothing more. He had got this much out of his compan-
ion on the box. It was, however, enough for the house-
hold, who felt the immediate necessity of sitting down and
having a good meal. They ranged themselves in the din-
ing-room where late had gathered Gideon's guests, and in
corners of which there must surely yet have lingered echoes
of Lord Bowbye's pleasant voice, and of Gideon's protesta-
tions that this was the proudest day of his life.
It is hard to say to what kind of master domestic servants
of modern days would be faithful in adversity. But there
is no difficulty in concluding that it would not be to one
newly rich. Gideon paid his servants good wages, and
they lived as they pleased and that was extravagantly.
With the exception of Mr. Parker, whom he exceedingly
GIDEON FLEYCE.
285
disliked, he was not unreasonable in his demands for ser-
vice, or unkind in his personal intercourse with those who
rendered it. Yet now, whilst he, suddenly snatched from
near approach to the pinnacle of his desire was, as their
imagination fed by the "Police News" pictured, manacled
hand and foot, they gathered round his table, drank his
choice wines, hacked his costly meat, smoked his cigars
(though some would have preferred the humble pipe),
and, later, when general hilarity prevailed the women
pelted the half tipsy men with the flowers that decked the
long glittering table.
Finally, they bundled the table on one side, and Thomas,
the head footman, producing a flute blew out entrancing
music, to which they danced. Thomas was not true to
time, and a little shaky as to tune. But amid the present
good humor these shortcomings were overlooked, and as
Mary, the housekeeper, put it, they "kep it up" till four
o'clock in the morning.
It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and these
worthy people were wise to make the best of Gideon's mis-
fortune.
It was all over the town the next morning, falling like a
thunderbolt from a clear sky. It was all very well for the
servants up at the Castle to hold high revelry. Their
wages for a month were safe, and in the meantime there
were many pickings to be had out of the dislocated house-
hold. But it was different in Saxton, where the particular
moment chosen for the falling of the thunderbolt was ex-
ceedingly inconvenient.
"Ef it had only come a Tucsday," Round Tommy ob-
served, "it would a bin different."
Possibly owing to his circular shape, Round Tommy
was the centre of a circle of dolorous longshoremen, who
on the morning following the fête day stood and gazed on
the melancholy occan. It could not be on any other
ground, for he was not given to lead conversation, nor
used to hold groups of his fellow men in rapt attention
upon his words. But with a certain mathematical instinct
the longshoremen grouped themselves round Tommy as
the spokes of a wheel are ranged round the axle.
No one had spoken much, for there is a sorrow too deep
for words. The cloud that had fallen upon these amphib-
ious laborers in the vineyard was the certainty that they
would not get the £3, which had almost rested within the
***
A
£
}
A
286
GIDEON FLEYCE.
palm of their horny hands. Had the transaction been
complete, all would have been well, for when a longshore-
man's hand had closed over three golden sovereigns it did
not open again, save to dispense the treasure in beer and
tobacoo. But there was the rub. On this very night they
were to have received their money; the persons who were
to have dispensed it had been named; and every man
knew where he was to go for his pay. Sunday, it had been
tacitly arranged, they would devote to steadily drinking
the money, and on Monday it would be their proud privi-
lege to exercise that suffrage which the Constitution has
conferred upon its sons.
1
Immediately after the fearful rumor ran through the
town that Mr. Fleyce had been "took up on the charge of
wilful murder," the longshoremen had with one accord and
with quickened footsteps gone over to Mr. Tandy's to see
how the land lay. They found it lay hard abeam, was but-
tressed about with jagged rocks, and that a gale of wind
was blowing right down on it. They would be shipwrecked
as sure as they were standing there. Mr. Tandy had told
them plainly he had no authority to pay any money on ac-
count of Mr. Fleyce, for whom he no longer acted as agent,
and whose candidature he believed would be immediately
withdrawn.
That was not the bitterest drop in the cup. They were
quite certain of Gideon's three pounds, and many of them
had so shrewdly worked that they had almost to a certainty
secured three pounds from the other side, thus balancing
any guilt there might be in the transaction and leaving
them perfectly untrammeled to vote for the man of their
choice. Now not only would they lose Gideon's three
pounds, but also its problematical supplement from the
other side.
This was conduct not to be borne in quietness by men
of independent minds, and it would have gone hard with
Gideon if he had passed the pier down by the shore and
faced his whilom supporters. They had been humbugged
and disgracefully defrauded. That Gideon might be hanged
was the general aspiration, and many, ignorant of recent
changes in the law, announced their intention of going to
see him "dance on nothing.
""
In higher circles of society the feeling of resentment
against the wretched man, though less coarsely expressed,
was not less vindictive. Mr. Goldfinch from his elevated
GIDEON FLEYCE.
L
287
desk did not disguise his early conviction, now assured be-
yond chance of contradiction, that Gideon was "a bad lot."
He had seen a good many elections in his time, but never
one conducted on the principles adopted by "that man.'
Mr. Firminger had all along suspected Gideon; the reti-
cence he had hitherto observed being the more commenda-
ble in a gentleman accustomed to come down sharp upon
the block. Mr. Burnap said nothing, but spent an hour
in going through his accounts. They showed a balance
of between £70 and £80 still owing by the proprietor of
Castle Fleyce. The general account might be said to bal-
ance this, though Mr. Burnap took a melancholy pleasure
in making out his bill.
The news affected Mr. Griggs in a way that may seem
peculiar, but was familiar enough in his household. As
Mrs. Griggs said, "everythink went to his nose, whether
burial or christening." In less metaphorical language,
the truth may be stated that whenever quickened by emo-
tion, whether of joy or sorrow, Mr. Griggs immediately
developed an aggravation of the perpetual cold in his
head. Now, having taken in a stock of pocket-handker-
chiefs, he went snuffling up and down High Street, be-
wailing the common calamity and his own share in it.
Mr. Griggs was known to be pretty well-to-do, and it was
well understood that he had turned over several hundred
pounds in his business connections with Gideon. This
had led to sundry visits, ostensibly casual, but really evilly
designed on the part of the Vicar and other persons ac-
customed to hunt up charitable subscriptions. As well as
the cold in his head would permit, Mr. Griggs now made
it clear that he had lost a good deal of money by Gideon,
and how he was to get through the next year was more
than he could tell.
hehehe
""
As for the other side they at first suspected a trap. But
as the news came down from London that Fleyce had
really been up at Bow Street, amazement melted into de-
light. Of course, having been nominated, Gideon's name
would be submitted at the ballot-box; but they knew Sax-
ton well enough to feel assured that he would not have
any dangerous following.
Mr. Montgomery, who had taken the work of the elec-
tion a good deal into his own hands since roused by the
spectacle of Gideon's triumphant advance, knew exactly
how things stood in respect to payment. Whether he got
$
J
7
238
in by eighty votes or eight hundred was a matter of small
moment to him, so that he were Member for Saxton. No
money had been paid by Gideon, and he now determined
none should be paid by him. He was certain to poll
enough to carry him through, and in addition to saving
the money, no inconsiderable matter, he would have the
advantage of being free from possible charges of bribery.
Accordingly when Mr. Smith, in fulfilling an engage-
ment made two days previously, appeared at the Hall to
take final instructions as to the channel by which a large
sum of gold was to reach him at six o'clock, Mr. Mont-
gomery met his enquiries with an angry stare.
"
"Is it really possible, Mr. Smith, that after our long
connection you can suppose that I would be a party to
any such transaction as you hint at? It is, I am sorry to
say, impossible. I cannot misunderstand your meaning,
and I beg you will not misunderstand mine. I paid no
money to gain my family seat at the last election, and I
will pay none now.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
""
""
"That is quite true, sir, at last election," Mr. Smith said,
with puzzled hesitation, "but there was no opposition
then.
"That I will beg you to believe, has nothing to do with
the question. Then, as now, purity of election is a prin-
ciple for which I should always contend and by which I
shall certainly stand. If there has been promise of any-
thing otherwise given in my name I have known nothing
about it, and I request you will let my views be known."
"But, sir," said Mr. Smith, trembling at the prospect of
a hundred angry longshoremen and an indefinite number
of other honest tradesmen to whom he had by nods and
winks, squeezes of the hands, and numerous digs in the
ribs, promised little sums of money.
There, that will do, Mr. Smith. The matter is not one
to be discussed. I beg you will make known my views if,
as indeed I am sorry to think is the case, it be necessary
that any distinct statement should be made thereupon.”
Mr. Smith went home a stricken man, judiciously took
to his bed, and did not appear in public till the election
was over. But Saxton knew, or instinctively guessed, how
things would be up at the Hall, now that they were thus
at the Castle, and a feeling of profound depression reigned
alike in the cosy smoke-room at the Bluc Lion and by the
sanded floor of the Dog and Duck, where erstwhile Mr.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
289
Dumfy, now dead and gone, had been wont to lord it in
the reflected light of Gideon's glory.
It was very miserable for everybody, and there was
general agreement in the Dog and Duck in the observa-
tion wrung from Round Tommy, after paying out of his
own pocket for his fifth pint, "Them as is out of it is
best off."
If Mr. Dumfy, to whom reference was here plainly
made, had lived, what would he have thought of his
employer? Doubtless the events of the last few days
would have confirmed his natural inclination to work
apart from Gideon, and he would have felt it due to the
position of a deacon of the church at Rehoboth imme-
diately and publicly to wash his hands of all connection
with the guilty man. But all that could be found of Mr.
Dumfy had been laid in the long trench where were
buried the remains of the victims of the railway disaster,
and Mrs. Dumfy was making her moan in the little house
in Camden Town, the grim and shining spotlessness of
which seemed to make grief colder, and sorrow harder to
bear.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Election.
O'BRIEN heard of the tragedy at Castle Fleyce within an
hour after the thunderbolt fell. Gideon, awaking out of
his stupor when he reached the railway station, and realiz-
ing, as it seemed, for the first time, that he was actually
on his way to London in the custody of two police offi-
cers, scribbled a few lines to O'Brien, and despatched
them by the coachman. They did not come to much and
would have left O'Brien in bewildered doubt, but for the
supplementary information of the coachman.
"Dear O'Brien," the note ran, "they are taking me to
London on a charge. For God's sake come down.—Yours,
G. Fleyce."
It was curious that in this hurried scrawl Gideon seemed
to shrink from even mentioning the charge on which he
had been arrested. Moreover there was an absence of
information in other parts of the note that might have
13
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0
ཟླ་
**
290
""
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"down
defeated its purpose. Who "they" were, and where
was, were points as shadowy as the charge.
But the faithful coachman had some slight information,
and was able to piece together bits of conjecture that
made the narrative sufficient for O'Brien to follow up
the trail, and he was at Bow street by the train following
that by which Gideon had travelled.
He was shocked to hear of the death of the Spider, and
indignant at the charge against Gideon. Gideon did not
stand in his highest favor, but to hold him guilty of mur-
der, the victim being his own father, were lower depths
of vice that, according to his estimation, Gideon's nature
could plumb. But he was staggered by the evidence
given before the magistrate, which even at this prelimi-
nary stage, seemed to forge link by link a chain that
bound Gideon fast to the dead body that had filled with
its silent presence the darkened room of the bijou resi-
dence at Fulham.
O'Brien knew perhaps better than anyone else the pre-
cise relations of Gideon with his father. He knew how
incensed the old man was with his son. He learned now
for the first time of Gideon's pecuniary embarrassment,
and as the story was pieced together, in none the less con-
vincing way because some witnesses were unwilling to do
harm to the man who stood in the dock with drooping
figure and whitened face, his faith was subject to cruel
shocks.
Gideon's secret departure from Saxton; his visit to his.
father, which the prisoner did not deny; his return; the
desperate attempt to evade recognition by Mr. Tandy, and
the proof of guilt in other ways disclosed by his attempt
to raise money by fraudulent representations, all went to
make up a story which it would be exceedingly difficult
to pull to pieces.
O'Brien could not do much in London pending the
trial, for Gideon now stood fully committed, but he went
down to Saxton, and acted there with an amount of energy
that surprised some people. He bundled Mr. Parker and
the rest of the servants off the premises with a month's
wages in their hands, and the effective hint that he knew
more of their goings on than met the eye. There was at
first some disposition to stand out for a month's board
wages, but on consideration this was abandoned and the
servants straightway departed. O'Brien put everything
GIDEON FLEYCE.
291
under lock and key, sealing them with the family seal of
the O'Briens, who had once been kings in Ireland.
In carrying out the raid amongst the servants, he had
made an exception in favor of the gardener, a decent
Saxton man, whose wife lived down in the town. He
installed man and wife in the Castle, pulled down the
blinds, and left it in its solitary grandeur a type of the
wreck of Gideon's fortunes.
The election had taken place in due time, and as every
one will remember, the result formed not the least
remarkable episode in the surprising election of 1880.
Mr. Montgomery was returned by a majority of 200, but
his poll was only 236. The longshoremen had at first
stood angrily aloof from an election conducted on such
principles. But there was good reason to believe, though
this is a secret very properly locked in the ballot-box, that
the 36 who voted for Gideon were longshoremen, mindful
of former bounties, and wrathful with the man who had
so meanly taken advantage of circumstances to defraud
them.
It is thought that if the election had taken place a day
or two later Gideon might have been elected. It was only
on Monday afternoon that the longshoremen, gloomily
discussing matters at the Dog and Duck, had it suddenly
borne in upon them that there was a way by which they
might pay off "that old Montgomery." In the first flush
of honest indignation, when on Saturday night they real-
ized the fact that they would get nothing from either can-
didate, they resolved that they would stand on one side
and not soil their hands with an election carried on as
this was.
This view was taken largely by other electors, and it
was only the better class of tradesmen, like Mr. Griggs,
Mr. Burnap, Mr. Goldfinch, and Mr. Firminger, who had
determined, now that Mr. Montgomery was certain to get
in (and especially as they had been so grossly deceived as
to the moral character of Gideon), to cast their votes for
their old representative and neighbor. These and a few
personal friends made up the total of 236 which formed
the majority, and it is pleasing to know that there were
so many good men in the town. The longshoremen, and
others who felt the bitterness of their lot, could easily
have swamped this handful of true men, and triumphantly
carried Gideon's election if they had only thought of it a
K
O
GIDEON FLEYCE.
292
little sooner. But their cooler judgment obscured by in-
dignation, this view of the situation did not cross their
minds till three o'clock had rung out from the old church
tower.
At that hour not a single vote had been polled for Gid-
eon. All the ready money he had poured into the town;
all the liquor with which he had swilled the streets; all
the well-paid labor he had found for bread-winners, had
gone for nothing. Saxton was a highly moral town, and
none in it were inclined to give their vote for a man who
had not only murdered his father but had omitted to pay
free and independent electors the stipulated £3 each for
their votes.
It was Round Tommy, upon whom had first flashed the
thought of the splendid revenge that was open to them.
All day long Tommy had felt a certain indistinct and un-
accustomed feeling in his head, "buzzing about like a
honey bee," as he subsequently described it in the fre-
quent narrations with which he attempted to fix the re-
markable phenomenon on the memory of his contempo-
raries. At first he naturally enough thought it was the
effect of the previous night's boose.
"It was, and it wasn't," to quote from the authentic
narrative. "I were a bit headachy and heavy about the
eyes like, and didn't care to work.
That, of course, looked like the drop of beer the night
afore.
""
Gig
"But," he continued, "I was a bothered by somethin' as
seemed a coming into my yed and then went out."
-
At last it came and stayed, and Round Tommy ex-
plained to the quickening intelligence of the company at
the Dog and Duck how they might do a great stroke of
business. Let them go and vote in a batch for Gideon.
That would pay off that Skinflint Montgomery. Then
what would follow?
Why, this yere Fleyce would be hung, there would be
another vacancy, and consequently another election, and
it would be their game to see as they got down a right
sort of person, who would go it as Gideon had done; but
who wouldn't wind up by murdering his father.
Or, at least, would not be so far lost to all sense of what
was due to the electors as to be found out before he had
paid the vote money.
Considering how much of time and labor the incubation
GIDEON FLEYCE.
293
of this thought had cost Round Tommy, it was surprising
how quickly it was taken up by the company at the Dog
and Duck. They saw it in a moment, and, only waiting
to drink another pint, dispersed in search of their fellow-
electors. Round Tommy himself, as being the most pa-
triarchal and respectable member of the society, undertook
to call upon Mr. Tandy, and "put him in 'art a bit," as he
said. But as soon as Round Tommy, with many mysteri-
ous winks and shrugs, and some futile attempts to dig
Mr. Tandy in the ribs, had explained his errand,, he found
himself standing outside the office with the door shut in
his face. How he got out he never knew.
"P'r'aps you was rowled, Tommy," said Bill Shark,
the wit of the company at the Dog and Duck. "P'r'aps
you was rowled out like a 'ogsed.”
But the time was not well chosen for joking. Other
emissaries had been scarcely more fortunate than Round
Tommy. They had got together a man here and a man
there, but without organization and with something less
than forty minutes to spare, thirty-six was the total they
could bring to the poll, and Mr. Montgomery was declared
duly elected.
CHAPTER XL.
In the Dock,
THE days went their ordinary course outside the little
plot of earth bounded by the gray walls of Newgate. The
sun rose and set. It was fine weather or it rained. It was
warm for the season or was cold. People were born, mar-
ried and died. People that Gideon knew very well got up
half an hour earlier or later in the morning as they pleased,
breakfasted according to their taste, went out for a walk or
a drive in the Park, or made calls, or read, or wrote, as
they pleased. They ordered their own dinners, or dined
with a friend, and from the bountiful list of things to eat
and drink made their selections.
Inside these few roods of land, this mere speck in the
heart of the City of London, life was lived under quite
other conditions. Gideon had to get up when he was
called, and was sent to bed whether he was sleepy or not.
**
*
+
294
GIDEON FLEYCE.
He might leave the prison fare supplied to him, but that
was the only choice he had in the matter of his meals. He
was no longer a man, and scarcely a machine, though his
legs carried him hither and thither as he moved within the
circumscribed area allotted to him, and his blood ran its
due course through his veins. For him, his sole connec-
tion with the world was that he
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks and stones and trees.
It was a swift and sudden change from the life he had
led, it seemed but yesterday. The sudden fall had dazed
him, as if he had literally tumbled from some height and
been stunned. He was like him whom he had once fondly
regarded at his prototype in other respects than that in-
dicated by the autocratic declaration with respect to the
Alps. He was a man of destiny," and had his star."
So lately it had flamed high in the heavens, paling the
light of those around it. Suddenly and swiftly it had gone
out, falling into abyssmal darkness.
(6
(6
It was no use crying after a fallen star, and all Gideon
hoped or looked for now was that he might quickly tum-
ble after it and be no more seen. The mood that had
come upon him on that memorable Sunday night when
walking home from Cold Harbor Junction returned to
him with increased force, and took full possession of his
mind. Mr. Tandy had been to see him once. O'Brien
had visited him several times. He felt some flash of light
return to him at the sight of O'Brien, but when he was
gone darkness fell again.
He didn't particularly like being hung, and if he had
had his choice he would have gone out of life in some
other way.
But this also was being settled for him, and
he acquiesced. He knew that all was lost, even honor.
This last was not a commodity he had jealously guarded.
The kind of honor he had sought was that which one man
pays to another by outward and visible sign of doffing
cap or clapping hands. He had enjoyed a great deal of
this within the last twelve months. But it was all over
now. He had tumbled in the gutter, and the crowd 'had
left him or remained only to jeer.
He would not talk much with O'Brien on the charge
against him, impatiently dismissing the theme when his
GIDEON FLEYCE.
295
}
visitor brought it forward with intent to assist in the de-
fence.
"It's no matter," he said, pettishly. "They've got up
a wonderful case against me, and I don't see where it's go-
ing to break down.'
"
He had asked how the election had gone at Saxton, and
had been told of his poll of 36. He had heard that the
mortgages had foreclosed, and that if he stepped out of
prison a free man he would not have a penny, a condition
of life he did not care to face.
Once, after a long silence, he had asked what Napper
said about it.
'She believes you are as innocent as I am," O'Brien
said. "She's a splendid girl, and is quite confident you
will get off."
Gideon didn't say anything, but when his visitor had
gone he threw himself on his pallet and sobbed bitterly.
It seemed to him now that everything else had gone there
was left for his sole possession a barren, hopeless love of
Napper. It had probably been growing a long time and
silently spread its roots in his mind and heart, while he
was serenely thinking that when he had won his seat in
Parliament and furnished his house in town then he would
come to the attorney's daughter and tell her that all these
things were hers.
He had been so certain of her answer that he had
scarcely concerned himself with the silent irresistible
growth of this quite new and usually unprofitable sense of
love. To him his affection for Napper was like an invest-
ment in consols. The capital and interest were quite safe,
and there was no need to keep it always in mind as he
would have done had the security been more risky.
But the Bank of England had boken. The State was
suddenly merged in bankruptcy, and the return he had
looked for with a certainty that had the effect of diinish-
ing its apparent value was absolutely and irretrievably lost.
Now he knew how deep this love had grown, how much
a part of his life had become this thought of a day when
he should have Napper always with him, and how she
would grace his life with the abounding beauty and purity
of her own. He felt that he really could be a good and
honest man with her to guide and counsel him. By-and-
by this would have come to pass. When he had made his
position, and had nothing more to gain by those methods
•
&
+4
M
296
GIDEON FLEYCE.
of progression favored by the family through many gene-
rations, it would be easy to be good or honest not only in
act but in thought.
#
"To-morrow" he would close his account with all kinds
of meanness and pettiness, and would lift up his head into
that purer atmosphere that Napper breathed, and which
had for him a power of attraction that proved he was not
wholly bad.
To-morrow had come, and it found him in Newgate.
Several more morrows dawned. How many he did not
know. He was tired of life, and kept no count of time.
One day he stood in the dock. He knew that a hun-
dred pairs of eyes were greedily fixed upon him. The
voice of the crowd filled his ears, and sometimes when,
during the adjournments, the windows were opened to air
the court, he heard, as he passed down the steps, the mur-
mur of the multitude outside who came day by day in vain
endeavor to get into the court, and failing that, stared
hour after hour at the dull, gray walls, and caught eagerly
at such gleams of information as the telegraph boys, run-
ning out of the court with messages for the evening
papers, were able to convey.
Gideon had a strange sensation that he was a spectator
at the scene, and that it was some one else who was being
tried for his life. He seemed to see things as through an
eyelet-hole in a rarée-show, such as he had looked upon
years ago when he was a child—or was it in this life at all,
not in some previous stage of existence? He called to
mind the condition of absorbing interest which, with his
face pressed eagerly against the frame-work of the show,
he had beheld some moving scene. He did not remember
what, only there came back to him the sense of mysterious
silence about the motion of the figures, and the idea that
they were a long way off, out of the range of sound.
It was with some curious assimilation of this idea that,
perched high up in the dock he looked down on the place
beneath where counsel strove for Somebody's body, as he
instinctively felt. Presently he began to get thoroughly
interested in the case which, as the trial went on, and the
evidence lengthened out he felt was pressing very hard
upon the prisoner. He listened with breathless interest
to the speech of the counsel for the prosecution, and when
he sat down beseeching the jury-hypocritically as Gid-
eon thought-if they had any doubt to bestow the benefit
GIDEON FLEYCE.
297
of it upon the prisoner, he found himself thanking Heaven
he was not in the prisoner's place.
Such a web had this man in wig and gown wound
around the accused, tying it tighter and tighter, till he
seemed to deliver him bound into the hands of the hang-
man with all the preliminary ceremony of ligature ac-
complished.
Gideon was thinking over this terrible indictment when
he awoke with a start at the sound of a familiar voice.
He thought he was back in Castle Fleyce, and instinctive-
ly began to scowl as he thought he saw that confounded
fellow prowling around for orders.
He looked up, and there in the witness box was Mr.
Parker, the most respectable of butlers, with a look on his
face which plainly said to all who might regard him (and
some of those swell people on the bench might be in want
of a handy and well-recommended man out of livery):
"It is the greatest pain to me to come forward and give
evidence against this poor misguided man. He was not
a gentleman, I know. I always felt some slight degrada-
tion in his service; but he was rich, paid well and regular,
and there were perquisites. If I could save him I would,
as indeed I always feel it my duty to do my best for my
employer; but public duty before everything. I will tell
the truth, though the shelves in the pantry fall."
This may or may not have been the precise current of
Mr. Parker's cogitations during the brief moments he
stood with eyes drooping while the Crier was looking up
the Testament on which he was to be sworn.
His narrative was a much more simple thing. He told
how on the day the murder was believed to have been
committed. his master had come home from church in a
moody and perturbed state of mind; how he had sent his
food away untouched; how he had ordered his supper to
be laid in the library; and what precise instructions he
had given that he was not to be disturbed.
Mr. Parker had seen him half an hour later with cheek
resting on his hand; "looking orful," Mr. Parker added,
with a slight shudder as if the reminiscence were too much
for him.
An hour later Mr. Parker had looked again, and the
chair was empty. He had gone about softly, listening,
but there was no sound. He had waited another hour,
had timidly knocked, and, receiving no response, had
0
13*
the
→
GIDEON FLEYCE.
298
gently turned the handle and peeped in. The place was
Mr.
empty, the food untouched, and the fire going out.
Parker had stirred the fire and replenished it. He knew
that his master had not gone out by any of the doors, and
even found traces of his departure by the window.
At first it had occurred to Mr. Parker to fasten the
window, but he remembered his strict injunctions were
not to enter the room at all, and if things were all right it
would be awkward for him to have bolted his master out.
So he left things as they were, and sitting up, praise-
worthily in the public interest, had seen his master creep
in by the window, and found him in bed the next morn-
ing, as reported.
And did you shut the door, Mr. Parker, after having
taken in the fowl and claret, and left your master there?"
demanded Mr. Phillipine Brown, the eminent counsel
whom O'Brien had engaged for the defence.
Mr. Parker was quite delighted to converse with so
pleasant-spoken a gentleman. Just the man he would
like to serve. Perhaps he had a vacancy or might even
make one for a butler of prepossessing appearance, long
experience, and recommended by some high families.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Parker, deferentially returning the
counsel's pleasant smile, and flicking off an imaginary
crumb from the desk before him.
"And, I suppose it was kept closed till you opened it in
the manner you have already so clearly described?"
(6
Quite so, sir," said Mr. Parker, nodding his absolute
approval of this suggestion.
(6
Then, sir," said Mr. Phillipine Brown, dropping his
voice to sterner tones, and leaning forward to fix the wit-
ness with his terrible eye, "how did you manage to see
your master sitting in the arm-chair by the fire with this
expression on his face which you have described as
orful?" "
"Why, sir, I saw him quite plain."
"You saw him quite plain, and how could you see him?
Can you see through an oak door? Don't trifle with the
jury.
>>
I was stooping down, and-and-"
((
O! you were stooping down, and-and-there was a
key-hole, perhaps?"
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Parker, feeling that his chances of
a comfortable situation were entirely gone.
2
1
•
GIDEON FLEYCE.
C
299 2
"And I suppose," Mr. Phillipine Brown thundered,
"that after spying upon your master through the key-
hole, you prowled about for the rest of the night, imagin-
ing all kinds of evil things, and expecting nothing
less than to see your master bring home a dead body in a
sack, and bury it under the hearthstone ?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Parker was trembling so that, as he subsequently
confided to the cook, "you could a knocked him down
with a napkin." Had he been pressed he would, at the
moment, have admitted that he had himself committed
the murder the jury were sworn to investigate.
"You may go, sir," said Mr. Phillipine Brown, in tones
of infinite contempt, casting upon the unhappy man a
withering glance that completed his abasement.
Mr. Parker was gladly disappearing when Mr. Brown,
suddenly rising and beckoning him back with an impe-
rious, "Stay a moment, sir!" said:
"When you were peering about the key-hole did you
chance to notice what kind of a coat your master was
wearing?"
"Yes, sir, a black coat, sir.”
""
'Very well, sir, you know the coat?" Mr. Phillipine.
Brown continued, assuming something of his blander
tone.
“Did you see it the next morning?'
"I didn't look.”
"No, I can't say as I do," Mr. Parker feebly answered.
He was getting off a few minutes ago, and none could
say where rash confession of knowledge might now lead
him.
((
'O, you didn't look as you were in the room, your
favorite mode of observation being through the key-hole?
Well now, you say you saw your master return home in
the morning. Had he then the same coat on that he wore
when you observed him through the key-hole?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You don't know?" thundered Mr. Phillipine Brown.
"Mind what you are at, sir. Remember you are on your
oath. Now listen to me. You saw your master with a
coat on that may have been black or may not.”
"He says it was black," interposed Mr. Landpole, the
counsel for the Crown.
"-Which may have been black," repeated Mr. Phillip-
2.
CAT
2
300
ine Brown, without noticing the interruption, "and you
saw him return in the early morning. Now what do you
mean by saying you don't know what kind of a coat he
then
"Because, sir," answered Parker, "he had on an over-
coat,
..
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"
Very well, he wore an overcoat. Now you may go,
as possibly you have some appointment at a key-
hole."
•
After Mr. Parker came the station-master at Cold Har-
bor Junction, who proved the sale to Gideon of a return
ticket to London on this particular night. He was not
able to speak of his return, but there were forthcoming
the guard who had helped to conduct him from carriage
to carriage over the scene of the accident on the main
line, and the porter at the Junction who had asked Gid-
eon whether he should get him a carriage, and had been
roughly answered in the negative.
That no link should be wanting in the chain, there was
also forthcoming the cabman who drove him to the bijou
residence at Fulham, and who had noticed that as he left
the cab he carried a stick. The finding of the stick was
described by an intelligent police officer, and it being pro-
duced in court was gazed upon with intense interest by the
crowded audience.
Mr. Phillipine Brown was up again smiling genially upon
the police officer who had first entered the room where the
Spider sat weaving webs no more.
"There was no mark on the stick, I think you said? No
stain or mark of a struggle?”
"No, sir; it was exactly as if a gentleman calling had
placed his stick in the corner of the room and gone away
and forgotten it."
"Just so, sir. Now, about this safe. You say it was
open?"
"Yes, sir."
“And nothing in it touched?'
"As far as I know there was nothing touched. It looked
perfectly in order."
""
"You say you found in the right hand of the deceased
a piece of cloth which you produce?"
1
"Yes, sir."
"What color should you call that?" said Mr. Brown,
pointing to the fragment which was handed to the witness,
gideon fleyce.
301
having been already put in evidence. "What did it look
like when you saw it first?”
،،
"It was very dirty, sir, and we had some trouble to get
it out of the hand of the old gentleman. That's what makes
it tore a bit in the shreds. It's hard to say what it is now,
being too dirty, but I should say it was black cloth.”
"Good cloth should you say, such as a gentleman would
have his coat made of?”
"
"Well, I'm no judge of that, sir, but I should say it was.'
The silent witness was handed to the jury, who curious-
ly examined it. It was evidently the lappel of a coat
wrenched off by a sudden jerk, but so discolored by the
grime of the old gentleman's hand and the accumulated
dust it had received, and so crushed and torn that it was
difficult to make out anything useful with respect to it.
"Now, you've had some experience with struggling men,
I suppose, Mr. Potts," said Mr. Phillipine Brown, cheer-
ily. "You've had a man by the coat collar occasionally.
Does it strike you as being a probable thing that a well-
made coat such as the prisoner would wear would tear off
in this way in whatever desperate struggle?"
"It might and it might not," Mr. Potts answered cau-
tiously, remembering his oath. "It might be an old coat,
and then it would come away."
"Exactly, but you don't suppose Mr. Gideon Fleyce
would go about with a coat in the rotten condition you
describe?"
"The witness didn't say anything about rottenness," said
Mr. Landpole, "and besides his opinion on this matter is
not evidence."
The Judge ruled against Mr. Phillipine Brown, which
was a matter of small moment to him. He knew very well
what was evidence and what was not. But he felt he had
gained his point in impregnating the mind of the jury with
the opinion that a gentleman of the irreproachable dress
of Mr. Gideon Fleyce was not likely to go about in a coat
from which you might pluck pieces as if it were cotton
wool.
Unhappily for Mr. Phillipine Brown, the prosecution
had in reserve evidence on this point which it was most
difficult to get over. A diligent search had been made in
Gideon's wardrobes without bringing to light any garment
with a piece snatched out from the front. Of this failure
Mr. Phillipine Brown had made good usc.
pbur.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
302
It was met in re-examination by the suggestion that Gid-
eon after his return had had plenty of time to destroy this
damning evidence. Indeed, he need not have waited to get
home, and might have disposed of the coat anywhere be-
tween the bijou residence at Fulham and the lordly Castle
at Saxton. Mr. Phillipine Brown had inadvertently erred
in bringing out the fact that when Gideon returned home
he was wearing an overcoat. He had seen this in a mo-
ment and immediately dropped the subject. But it was
also seen by the other side, and Mr. Landpole, when he
came to address the jury, boldly advanced the theory that
Gideon, trusted to his overcoat, had made away with the
torn morning coat somewhere between London and Sax-
ton.
1
The strong point the prosecution made on this incident
was the production of a waistcoat of the same material as
the coat. Experts were placed in the box with the waist-
coat and the fragment from the coat before them, who
proved in a manner beyond the power of Mr. Phillipine
Brown to shake, that the stuff was the same.
This was felt by the crowded court to settle the case.
After it the evidence of Mr. Tandy, which had formed a
principal feature in the examination before the magistrate,
paled in interest. Nevertheless it all went to swell the
growing tide of demonstration which connected the pris-
oner in the dock with the ghostly figure seated in the chair
at the bijou residence, holding in hand a piece of the coat
of the man who slew him.
Mr. Tandy was evidently an unwilling witness, which
made all the more weighty the description dragged out of
him by Mr. Landpole of Gideon's attempt to evade his
notice when he met him on the Sunday night; of his
strategic movement across the field; of his anger when
detected by the dog, and of his refusal to accept Mr.
Tandy's company for the rest of his journey home.
Mr. Tandy further gave evidence of Gideon's visit to
him, and of the negotiation for a loan. Other witnesses
were forthcoming to show that Gideon's estate was al-
ready mortgaged to the full extent, and that his repre-
sentations to Mr. Tandy were fraudulent. These testified
to his financial position, and supplied material for the
telling passage in the speech of Mr. Landpole, where he
described Gideon as "in desperate straits for monev,
clutching at the prize his ambition had urged him to
"GIDEON FLEYCÉ.
2
303
reach after, making an appeal to his father to help him,
and when that was refused raising a murderous hand to
strike him.”
Mr. Landpole would not even give the prisoner the
benefit of the supposition that the act was unpremeditated.
It was, he insisted, planned to the slightest detail, even to
the fowl and claret he was to enjoy in the solitude of his
chamber after he had done the murder.
Mr. Landpole made a good deal of the fowl and claret,
and it being then half-past one the thought suggested
luncheon to the Judge, and at this point an adjournment
took place.
Gideon was led away, the audience keeping their seats,
sipping their sherry and eating their sandwiches. To the
latter the speech of Mr. Landpole had added a condiment
which, had they only known what was coming, might have
saved them the trouble of using mustard or salt. It was
certain the prisoner would be convicted, and there would
be none of that really distressing doubt which sometimes
attends occasions of this kind, and modifies the satisfac-
tion with which the shadow of the gallows has invested it.
When Mr. Landpole came back, wiping his lips, to re-
sume his address, the cords were tighter drawn, and the
more imaginative of the audience fancied they saw the
Judge putting out his hand to feel if the black cap were
within reach.
The cross-examination by Mr. Phillipine Brown and the
evidence he brought forward all bore upon the absence of
motive. If Gideon had done this thing what was the
prize he had claimed for himself? There was the gold un-
touched, and all the securities tallied with the list found
in a small book in the old gentleman's handwriting. Why
should he have done this thing?
Q
Mr. Landpole was ready with the reason why. En-.
quiries made had failed to bring to light any will made by
the old gentleman. In the event of his dying intestate
Gideon would of course come in for the whole of the
property. That seemed to Mr. Landpole reason enough.
and so it seemed to the jury and to the crowd in the
court.
Gideon listened attentively to the speech with a strange
feeling of interest in some unfortunate around whom the
toils were being drawn, raised his hand at this passage
and looked as if he were going to speak. He took a sheet
t
How
304
GIDEON FLEYCE.
of paper, one of several which lay untouched before him,
and seemed as if he were about to break through his
habitude of taciturnity and make some communication to
his counsel. But after a moment he threw down the
pencil and resumed his earlier attitude of passive indiffer-
ence, now and then varied by a flash of interest, as he
listened to the counsel discussing the case of some poor
man whom he seemed to know.
It was a tough uphill task Mr. Phillipine Brown had
undertaken. But he liked uphill tasks. They had made
his fortune in earlier days, and now kept it at high-water
mark. He was quite ready with explanation of the whole
affair. Nothing was more simple or more natural than
that the prisoner had on this night visited his father. It
was quite possible that he had done so with the object of
asking for a temporary loan. On that point Mr. Phillipine
Brown was not quite certain, and he had, he might men-
tion, received singularly little assistance from the prisoner,
who, proud with the consciousness of his own innocence,
persistently refused to consult with the solicitor, "deter-
mined," said Mr. Phillipine Brown, with a side look at the
prisoner, and half apprehensive that he might get up and
disclaim all knowledge of the heroic determination, “re-
solved, from the moment he saw the jury in that box, that
to a body of men so keenly intelligent and so sternly up-
right he would leave the case, confident of a triumphant
acquittal."
Mr. Brown would not say that was a desirable course to
take, or one worthy of imitation. But he could not with-
hold admiration for a man who could, in such circum-
stances, coolly and boldly take such a course.
But to return to the events of this memorable Sunday
night.
The prisoner had undoubtedly called to see his father.
Had had his interview and had quitted the house probably
in some access of passion or indignation, seeing that he
had left behind him the stick without which it was proba-
ble no suspicion would have been attracted towards him,
What had taken place after he had left-probably at a time
when far gone on his journey home? It was impossible
to believe that the situation of the unfortunate deceased
and the opportunities it supplied for crime were not known
in quarters where they might be expected. The house had
been entered by some means at a later hour. There had
GIDEON FLEYCE.
305
evidently been two men, perhaps three, engaged. Possibly
one went in and entered the room, and the others remained
in ambush outside. There was a parley with the old
man, a struggle, an attempted robbery, an accomplished
murder.
"What was the meaning," Mr. Phillipine Brown asked,
lowering his tone to a solemn whisper, and fixing the
foreman with his flaming eye, what was the meaning of
this key in the lock, distorted as they had seen it in the
court? Who had done that? The prisoner at the bar?
Why? Did he not know how the key might be used?”
What had happened was quite clear to the mind of Mr.
Phillipine Brown. The old man had received his death
blow as he sat in the chair; had clutch edat the murderer,
who, wrenching himself away, had left a piece of his coat
in the death grasp. The bloody work accomplished, the
accomplices had gathered in the room to discuss the booty.
There had been, as often happened in these cases, a quar-
rel. One attempting to open the safe had been set upon
by the others. A struggle had followed, and, fearful that
the noise had attracted attention outside, they had fled,
leaving the safe untouched.
66
This, Mr. Phillipine Brown admitted, was a theory; but
so was the case for the prosecution. One was, he submit-
ted, as good as another, whilst his, he pleaded with out-
stretched hands, with a tremor in his voice and a tear
in his eye, should make the other kick the beam, since
with it was weighed the precious burden of a human
life.
<<
'Ingenious, but not a leg to stand upon," was the ver-
dict of the gowned and wigged jury outside the box,
where the twelve men sat apart borne down by their grave
responsibility.
Whatever the men in the box might say, the jury out-
side, whether in wig or bonnet, stuff gown or black coat,
had made up their minds to the verdict.
Q
3
306
7
t
GIDEON FLEYCE.
1
CHAPTER XLI.
Out of the Dock,
ALL this had taken several days; but one day was like
another to Gideon, and it seemed all within the illimitable
twenty-four hours when he became conscious of a hush,
heard the low voice of the Judge and knew that he was
summing up the evidence. Strange to say, he had never
looked at him before nor asked his name. A sudden
thought flashed through his mind, and his memory went
back to a day-it seemed two or three centuries ago—
when O'Brien had given the club dinner, and he had list-
ened to the genial voice of the new judge as he discussed
his colleagues on the Bench.
He looked up and saw that the man into whose hands
his life had now been delivered was Mr. Justice Dawkins.
He had seen him riding in the Row and knew him again,
though his face seemed smaller, girt about by the great
gray wig.
It was growing late in the afternoon, and the dim light
of the fading day fell upon the gray walls of which he
caught glimpses through the barred windows. Why should
the windows be thus jealously guarded? he thought to
himself. There was no hope of any hapless prisoner
scrambling through, and surely no one outside would want
to get in. The reflectors facing the window caught what-
ever light there was, and flung it down upon the blue
cloth-covered desk at which counsel had stood and fought
for his body. The leaders had gone now. They had done
their task and earned their fees. They could afford to
wait until the evening papers came out, to learn the fate
of the man whose cause had engrossed so much of
their time. Moments were guineas to them, and, having
finished their work, they passed out of the heated court.
Gideon felt that, with the exception of the Judge, he
was the only person in the court who had room to sit
without being uncomfortably crowded. The dock, at least,
was roomy enough, and the policemen who sat on either
side of him had no need to press upon him. Also, there
мак
GIDEON FLEYCE.
307-
was room enough for the elderly, pleasant-looking man
who sat in a sort of pulpit, at one end of the dock, and
who was placidly turning over a book which might have
contained a week's household account, but was probably a
record of the day's doings in the gaol.
When Gideon turned his back to the crowded court to
face the jury, this pleasant-looking old gentleman was
right in front, and had for him a strange fascination. He
was like a deacon or a church-warden, or any responsible
person of eminently respectable appearance. That, al-
most within arm's reach of him, there was a human crea-
ture on trial for his life, whose fate would be settled with-
in an hour or two, was a matter that seemed of emphati-
cally no account to him. That his column of figures should
add up right, and that his entries were made without a
blot, was to him at the moment the matter of the supre-
mest interest.
Gideon, going back to the frame of mind in which he
had been steeped till momentarily awakened by the dis-
covery that Justice Dawkins was trying him, was much
struck with this stony indifference on the part of the
officials. They had their work to do, and it must be handed
in at given periods whether the prisoner in the dock went
free or was handed over to the executioner.
There was another gentleman who sat under the Judge,
and was busy writing all through the trial.
He pored
over his papers as if he were in his own office, and the
principal transaction of the day were the sale of a few hun-
dred bales of cotton. In the body of the court the interest
was keen enough, and Gideon gathered some vague con-
sciousness of the existence of the throng that from carly
morn till night waited outside the court for some chance
that might gain them admission.
If the leaders engaged in the case did not feel it suf-
ficiently interesting to await the end, it was otherwise with
many scores of their junior brethren. These, looking won-
drous wise in wig and gown, filled every scat usually al-
lotted to them, and overflowed into the gangways, filching
a seat, whenever it was possible, from the outside public.
They watched the case with unflagging interest, discussing
its bearings in voice loud enough for Gideon to know
their opinion, the while they stared at him in the dock as
if they were engaged to produce his portrait and were not
permitted to take notes in court.
R
GIDEON FLEYCE.
308
Just opposite Gideon, close by the seat, at the moment
vacant, where the gilt sword of justice hung, was a portly
gentleman in a bluish gown, and wearing a gold chain.
He was some city dignitary, and made the most of his op-
portunity of securing a good seat where he might look on
at the great drama of which all men spoke. Gideon noticed
the alacrity with which he disappeared at luncheon time,
the tardiness of his return, and the regularity with which
he slept half an hour every afternoon by way of comple-
ment of his luncheon and preparation for his dinner.
Gideon had thought that from his place he could survey
the full limits of the court and see all the faces that crowded
it. But when, irritated beyond measure by the loud tick
of the clock behind, he turned to look at it, he beheld more
faces in the balconies that bulged out from the back of the
dock, and were filled with men and women leaning over
and greedily staring at him, counting the hairs of his head,
it seemed. This was worse than all. He had learned to
face the cruel eyes that stared upon him with hungry
curiosity from all parts of the court in front of the dock.
But to know that always behind him were these two
crowded balconies, with people staring right down upon
his head, added a fresh sting to the bitterness of his daily
death.
The voice of the Judge delivering the charge had by its
monotonous flow put the sheriff-and-alderman on the
judgment-seat asleep for the second time. He had had his
after-luncheon nap, and had waked up; but now he was
off again, and Gideon could scarcely wonder. With his
right hand resting on the red volume in which he had
taken the notes, and with his face turned towards the jury,
the Judge went on resistlessly through the mass of evi-
dence. He spoke with a low voice and with slow intona、
tion. As it went on it seemed to his soothed senses as if
some one were reading aloud in the next room.
After two hours of it the people in the body of the court
began to yawn, and Gideon felt the greatest difficulty in
repressing a yawn himself. What a wealth of detail, and
how tiresome its iteration! They had heard it all before
from witnesses and from counsel. To Gideon it was an
old story—at least much of it was. Whether it was all
true, who shall say? That was the question which the
Judge, now reaching the close of his summing-up, was re-
minding the jury was for them to settle. How courteous
GIDEON FLEYCE.
309
{
he was to the jury and how obliging! Could he read any
other portion of the evidence to them? If so, pray let the
jury not be afraid of troubling him.
But the jury had heard enough, and gratefully saw the
approaching moment when this low, monotonous voice
should cease.
Gideon watched them as the Judge drew near the end;
but there was not much to be gained from scrutiny of their
countenances, even by a man who in his Napoleonic days
had prided himself on his ability to read character at a
glance. Twelve ordinary men drawn by lot out of the sea
of life outside, and brought hither to settle whether a fel-
low-creature should live or die. The responsibility was
terrible. That they felt it, was told by their sad and
troubled looks. If anything was to be gained, it was not
hopeful for the prisoner who scanned their countenances.
The Judge ceased. The jury left their box. His lord-
ship retired behind the curtained doorway at the back of
the bench, and a policeman touched Gideon on the
shoulder and beckoned him below. How long he waited
there he could not tell. If the succession of days through
which the trial had lasted seemed twenty-four hours, this
waiting down below seemed twenty-four years.
At length he was touched on the shoulder again, and
knew he had to walk up the steps, back into the light of
day, among his fellow-men-for the last time, he felt with
a desperate certainty.
The jury had settled themselves in the box. The Judge
was attentive. The crowd in the court stared with fresh
interest at the prisoner, though after awhile their glance
was distracted towards the jury-box, and they too were
wondering what message these twelve men brought back,,
whether of life or death.
The gentleman in wig and gown, who had been busily
making up his accounts at the table under the Judge's
seat, had now put aside his book, and was calling over
the names of the jury.
Only twelve names and as many low responses, but to
one man in court never were twelve names so long in the
recitation.
Then there was the slow formula through which the
fateful question was put
66
Guilty, or not guilty?"
The answer faltered on the lips of the foreman-
Madaga
D
st
特設
​+
Afte
*
310
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Guilty!"
It was what Gideon had expected ever since he had
heard the speech of the counsel for the prosecution, who
had woven together a story so dovetailed at every point,
that it was hopeless to look to break it. Strange enough,
the only time he had permitted himself to think that an-
other issue might result was during the long moments
when the jury were answering to their names before de-
livering the verdict. At this last moment hope gave a
desperate throb. But it was over now, and once more
Gideon felt a strange sort of gladness.
"Had he anything to say why sentence should not be
pronounced upon him?"
Yes; he would say something now, though he had never
spoken the word before. Napper would read what had
been said through all these days, or would at least hear of
it. She might believe what he was going to say, and that
was all he cared for. For the rest, he knew that a terrible
and impassable wall was built up between him and the
mercy of mankind.
"My Lord," he said, in a clear voice, "the jury have
returned the only verdict possible for them. I have my-
self been amazed at the case woven against me. I am not
sorry to have an end made of it; but, my Lord, I shall die
innocent. I did not do this deed."
The women in court having devoured all their sand-
wiches, drank all their sherry, and enjoyed the trial to the
utmost, now broke forth into sobs. For the moment the
crowded court, which had all along been against Gideon,
wavered. His words were so few, so simple, they seemed
to carry conviction to the minds of those that heard them.
It was evident they carried none to the mind of the
Judge, who, in unshaken voice, but looking ghastly un-
der the shadow of the black cap, did what was left for him
to do.
Then Gideon was led away between the two warders.
Napper did hear, and believed. When she read of the
prisoner walking out of human sight with a gaoler at
either hand, she said it reminded her of a passage in Keats'
translation of one of Boccaccio's stories where the poet
with bold imagining writes of a doomed man—
1
So the two brothers and their murdered man
Rode towards Florence.
3
на три куль
GIDEON FLEÝCE,
"That used to sadly puzzle me once, seeing that the
man was yet alive," she said to Mr. Tandy; but I see it
all now.
""
311
"Do you, my dear?" Mr. Tandy answered gently.
He felt there were many things dark to him that were
clear enough to Napper. He was thinking just now not
of difficult passages in poetry, but of the sudden and ab-
sorbing interest in Gideon displayed by Napper. He had
seen Gideon's intention to marry Napper. Was it pos-
sible that Napper could have loved him? He thought
not, but he was greatly puzzled.
"Do you, my dear?" he repeated in a low voice and
with distracted air.
م
CHAPTER XLII.
"It was Mr. Dumfy."
It was spring time in Saxton now; and whilst Gideon
sat in the narrow cell thinking, not without some dull kind
of satisfaction, that his life was drawing to a close, the
flowers were springing up by hedgerow and in wood, the
trees were clad in fresher foliage, and the sea, taking on a
bluer tint, laughed among the pebbles on the beach for joy
that summer was at hand.
Saxton was a very lovely place in spring, and in other
years Napper had been one of the gladdest, prettiest things
alive within a far-stretching circle of the country side.
She knew which tree came out the very first, and days be-
fore it was due paid visits to it, watching the thickening
buds. When the big lime tree, sheltering the side of the
road leading up to Dimwood, began to speckle itself all
over with tiny leaves, then Napper knew that spring had
come. And so did Knut, who madly chased imaginary
lost sheep, darting about the field with his tail in the air,
and his heels spurring the turf as he had often seen the
young colts do.
But Knut clearly perceived that something had gone
wrong this year. Here were the violets and the prim-
roses, the thicker grass and its fresher color, with the trees
everywhere brightening from brown to green. Splendid
O
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312
GIDEON FLEYCE.
times for a scamper over the close turf, sniffing the sweet
air that came from over the sea! But, somehow or other,
Napper did not do her duty. Once or twice they had been
out for a little run, and Knut had just arrived at the con-
clusion that things were all right. But thereafter for
whole days, with the sun shining and the warm south wind
playing with the baby leaves, Napper stayed at home, or
went no further than her household errands carried her
through the town.
Also Knut very rarely heard her laugh, and he could
not call to mind any recent occasion when she had at-
tempted to hide herself from him. This was a game Knut
entered into with a zest superior even to that displayed by
his mistress. Sometimes, at an epoch that appeared to him
fixed in the last century, whilst his attention was diverted
by a bird on a low twig-something moving in the hedge
or fence a quarter of a mile across the Downs, which re-
quired instant investigation-Napper had made away with
herself down some narrow lane or behind some tree, and
so given Knut several moments of anxious search. These
were followed by peals of musical laughter from Napper
when at last she was discovered, and joyous barking on
the part of Knut, who had really been frightened at the
thought that some of those young men whom he had ob-
served bounding the horizon whenever Napper took her
walks abroad, had basely availed themselves of his tempo-
rary absence to abduct his mistress.
But that was all over now. Indeed, on the few occasions
when they had got out for a run, Knut had ostentatiously
scampered off, or made believe to have found something
of profoundly engrossing attraction in the hedge, all the
time keeping one eye on Napper. But she never made
any move towards hiding herself, and Knut, with ears
hung down and tail dropped, gave up the game and
walked despondent at her heels.
It was natural that Napper, whose heart was tender
enough to feel whatever of woe or human suffering she
became conscious of, should be deeply touched by the ca-
lamity that had befallen Gideon.
But she had been smitten by a quicker and an acuter
pang. She felt, with that confidence which in women
sometimes supersedes proof or the process of conviction,
that Gideon was innocent. She had believed that judge
and jury would find this out, and, though anxious, had
#
GIDEON FLEYCE.
313
awaited the issue of the trial with confidence. When the
verdict was given and she gathered from her father that
there was no hope, an indignant horror took possession
of her, and was with her day and night. It was a horrible
thing, the butchery of an old man. But that an innocent
man should be taken, solemnly tried, and deliberately con-
demned to death, touched her with a sharper pang.
Since Gideon's arrest she and her father had returned
to their older relationship. She never was very far from
him, though he sadly said to himself that she was, and that
there would never more be the times for him when Napper
would be his companion and playmate. But when trouble.
came Napper was at his side again, and the two were no
longer twain.
They were sitting together on this bright morning,
Mr. Tandy with his newspaper, and Napper with a copy
of the "Diary and Memoirs of Princess Metternich."
O'Brien had got it for her from Leipsic. He had read it
when in Germany in the autumn, and had talked about
it to Napper, as he talked a good deal.
Knut, indeed, who had early taken the Captain into his
favor, was inclined on consideration to dispossess him,
having some faint notion that he had something to do with
the altered manner of his mistress. The Captain was a
good deal about the house, much more than to Knut
seemed absolutely necessary for the business in hand.
When he found that Napper could not only read German
but speak it a little, he, under pretence of advancing her
studies, conversed with her in that language. It was hard
enough for Knut to gather the meaning of the stranger
when he spoke in his own tongue. But a man jabbering
on in this guttural fashion was wholly incomprehensible,
and, therefore, could mean only mischief.
66
'Papa, put that newspaper down and listen to this a
moment. This is what the Princess writes about her hus-
band: 'Clement works a great deal. I was with him for
a moment, and, if I could have my own way, should al-
ways be leaning over his shoulder, to see how he writes
his despatches-it is wonderfully entrancing. In the
evening he talked in the most interesting manner over the
events of the day, and continued the conversation when
we were alone. What a wonderful man he is! God pre-
serve him to me and to the world!' Isn't that a delight-
ful way for a wife to write about her husband?"
2
14
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と
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Yes," said Mr. Tandy; "but I daresay they had not
been married very long at that time."
"That's a very nasty remark, and I won't satisfy your
curiosity on the point, though you may have the book to
look for yourself. Do you know that it gives me quite a
new notion of married life? I never thought of it in that
way before,"
314
"And now you have, I suppose you will get married
right off?”
"That's a little sudden, and I have not got quite so far;
but if marriage really is anything like that it cannot be so
bad. Why, papa, it is very like you and me! I like to
talk with you and help you with your work if I can, and
often, when I see how you manage things for other peo-
ple, think what a wonderful man he is; and every night
and morning, and oftener too, I say 'God preserve him to
me and to the world!'"
Napper had laid her book down and gone over to her
father's chair, and as she spoke she smoothed his cheek
with her soft hands, and, folding her arms round his neck,
kissed him.
This was the spectacle which hapless Captain O'Brien
was privileged to behold as he entered by the open door
of the dining-room. It was, he had thought, a very pleas-
ant thing to have the run of the house, call in as he
passed on whatever trivial errand, and find Napper by her-
self and ready for a conversation. It was true that it
nearly always was on a melancholy subject. Napper was
consumed by the desire to do something to help Gideon,
and was ever at O'Brien for news of the latest phase of
the case, in the hope that she might see some way of do-
ing something, however trifling, either to help Gideon in
his trouble or to make it a little easier to bear.
This privilege was all very well in its way, but it was a
big price to pay for the discomfort of being witness to
such a scene. He had stood at the door long enough to
hear Napper's last words, hesitating between the impulse
to withdraw and the impetus of entering. He would have
liked to get away and call again at some more convenient
season. But, in accordance with the instincts of a bold
nature, he settled the matter by going forward and trying
to look as if he had seen nothing.
In this endeavor he was assisted much more by Napper
than by Mr Tandy, who ought to have known better.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
315
VI
My girl was reading me a bit out of that book you
brought her," Mr. Tandy said, looking as conscious as if
he had been caught kissing somebody else's daughter. "It
seems a very nice family book."
"Yes, it is a charming work," said O'Brien, picking up
the open volume which Napper had laid down.
Napper had, after the manner of less perfect young
ladies, marked the passage that had attracted her atten-
tion, and Captain O'Brien naturally read it through.
"A charming picture this of married life," he observed.
"That's exactly what Napper was saying," Mr. Tandy
cried, desirous by any means to turn the conversation into
a channel remote from parental relations.
Captain O'Brien looked at Napper as if it were her turn
now to say something.
"Have you heard anything fresh of Mr. Fleyce?" she
asked, with a most distracting blush, called up by the ex-
treme maladroitness of her father.
،،
No," said O'Brien; "I am afraid we shall not hear
from him or see him any more to any good purpose."
"Then you give up all hope?" Mr. Tandy asked.
"Yes; there was no recommendation to mercy from the
jury, and it is not quite clear on what grounds you can
move. You cannot plead insanity, and it would be non-
sense getting up a petition on the general ground of the
unpleasantness of hanging a man.
"That may be your view of the case, Captain O'Brien,"
said Napper, turning upon him a flashing glance which
he contrasted painfully with the way he had seen her
look at her father a short ten minutes ago. "It seems to
me there is the best of all grounds to go upon; and that
is, if they hang Mr. Fleyce there will be two murders done
instead of one.'
""
"Yes, Miss Tandy," said O'Brien meekly; "that is your
view, I know, and I am more and more inclined to share it.
But here's the verdict of the jury against us; and if you
read the charge of the judge, or heard it as I did, you
would know there is no assistance to be looked for in that
quarter."
"We can ask for a postponement for a month or six
weeks for the chance of something turning up that the
truth may come out."
"Quite so, my dear," said Mr. Tandy, who perhaps
stood more in awe of this young Portia than did the gal-
}
4
316
·GIDEON FLEYCE.
lant Captain, who, though he had never been in battle,
had faced an Irish constituency.
"But don't you see,
you must have some particular reason to urge, such as
some fresh evidence forthcoming, or something turned up
since the trial, which, if it had been known, might have
influenced the mind of the jury; and we have nothing of
the sort."
"Haven't we, Captain O'Brien?" Napper asked, turn-
ing sharply upon the retired officer.
..
Nothing; except that when I saw Gideon after the
trial he incidentally mentioned that his father had made
a will leaving his money to charitable institutions, except,
I believe, some small legacy to Mr. Dumfy. But I don't
know there is anything particular in that.'
"I differ from you there," said Mr. Tandy.
"That is a
very important statement, and certainly ought to have
come out at the trial."
"How do you make it out?”
("
Why, don't you see, if Gideon did this thing he meant
either to rob his father or to come into possession of his
money. He certainly didn't rob him, for, as was shown at
the trial, all the money is in the safe, and if he knew he
was disinherited he would also know that he had nothing
to gain by his father's death.”
"Oh, why didn't this come out at the trial?" Napper
cried.
"Well, Fleyce didn't mention it before, and of course
no one could guess at such a thing. But if Mr. Tandy
thinks there is anything in it, we might see about working
it out."
(C
"The first thing to do," said Mr. Tandy, "is to find the
will. There would be no objection to your searching for
it among the papers at Fulham. I will make application
to the Solicitor to the Treasury, and of course they can
send some one with you."
"Now, Captain O'Brien," said Napper in her earnest
manner, will you go up to town at once and see about
this? Papa, you can go, too.
There's no time to be lost,
and there is something else I want to say.
my mind a long time. I have struggled
because I am not sure that it is not wicked. If it is I only
know I am trying to do right."
It has been in
against it hard
"What is it, Napper? You can speak to us without fear
of being misjudged," said Mr. Tandy.
GIDEON FLEYĊEFLEYC
317
.
"Well, I am not only sure, as you know, that Mr.
Fleyce did not do this horrible thing, but I feel I know
who did."
Napper, as she spoke, hung down her head, and with
nervous fingers played with the buckle of her belt.
Captain O'Brien looked at her steadily; he thought he
knew what was coming. Mr. Tandy was absolutely in the
dark.
"Who, Napper?" he asked, in a frightened tone.
"It was Mr. Dumfy," Napper said in a whisper, as if
she felt she might be doing wrong to an innocent man,
and, whilst bound in her conscience to make the accusa-
tion, would not have it noised abroad.
"Why," cried Mr. Tandy, feeling a load removed from
his mind, "Dumfy's dead and buried! You know he was
in the railway accident.”
"Do you know that?" Napper asked quietly. "When
this thought came into my mind I read all I could find
about the accident. I studied the evidence given at the in-
quest, and I have asked questions wherever there was any
chance of learning anything, and I don't find there is any
proof that Mr. Dumfy was in the train at all.”
"You are quite right, Miss Tandy. I have a strange
feeling on this matter myself, but have not seen anything
that could be done without raising false hopes. Now you
have spoken, I will say that there is at least no proof of
Mr. Dumfy's death.'
>>
"Mr. Dumfy is alive now," said Napper, in a decided
voice, as if she had met him somewhere on the previous
day. "He's hiding somewhere and ought to be found."
"Does anybody know where he lived?" O'Brien asked.
Mr. Tandy did, having had to hold occasional corres-
pondence with him; and as the two men went up to town
to obtain permission to go through the Spider's papers in
search of the will, the more they talked the stronger be-
came their conviction that Napper was right. There was
very little they could seize hold of. It was a vague sus-
picion which had certainly floated through the mind of
Captain O'Brien, but the chief support was the emphatic
declaration of Napper. They were like men groping their
way without any clear conception whither it led. Mr.
Tandy, whose legal mind was only impressed by legal
proof, was not quite so sure as O'Brien of Gideon's inno-
cence. Still he wished very much, since Napper was so
B
$
318
GIDEON FLEYCE.
distressed, that things might turn out more happily than
at present they promised to do.
To this vaguely benevolent feeling O'Brien added a
pretty firm conviction of Gideon's innocence and a grow-
ing suspicion of Dumfy's guilt. Since Napper had so em-
phatically denounced Dumfy, O'Brien felt his suspicions
blossom into conviction.
It is astonishing what a marked effect unblenching as-
sertion makes on the minds of men in doubt, but willing
to believe.
Still, when one looked at it in that light, it was very dif-
ficult to say why Dumfy should have done this deed. If
robbery had been his aim, why had he not robbed? Where
was he now, and by what remarkable coincidence had he
controlled affairs, so that the relics of his umbrella should
be discovered amid the wreck of the burnt carriage, whilst
he himself was at the time peacefully engaged in the pur-
suit of murder, and had afterwards got clear away?
Mr. Tandy put it in that way, and O'Brien felt a little
staggered. Still he had always had a dim suspicion of
Dumfy. It had been confirmed in a most marvellous way
by Napper, who, with something of the light of a proph-
etess in her eye, had unflinchingly pointed an accusing
finger at Gideon's clerk.
"At any rate," said O'Brien, "there'll be no harm in
making a few enquiries about him, looking up where he
lives."
"If there is anything in your suspicions," said Mr.
Tandy, that would spoil everything. I know where Mrs.
Dumfy lives. I have, indeed, been to her house about
some money matters for Fleyce. She seems a nice, tidy
woman, and has her house a little painfully clean. It stood
in the way of her taking lodgers; and I expect, now that a
few shillings a week will be of supreme importance to her,
she will have to put up with an occasional speck of dirt.
"If she takes lodgers, the thing might be managed easily
enough. Let's put in some one of quiet and inoffensive
manners, with instructions to keep his eyes open, and if
Dumfy's anywhere about, you may be sure he will be in
communication with his home."
رو
"Well, if you like," said Mr. Tandy dubiously; "it
might be done, though I confess I don't think much of
the scheme. Dumfy's dead and cremated, that I am cer-
tain of."
GIDEON FLEYCE.
319
"You were not so certain just now, when we were talk-
ing with Miss Napper," O'Brien remarked a little spite-
fully. "In any case, this is a matter of life and death. If
we can save Fleyce from a shameful death, we ought to
spare no effort in the matter. Do you know any one we
could put in at Mrs. Dumfy's?"
"No, I can't think of any one at the moment; but I'll
turn it over in my mind."
"And, in the meantime, the day is coming on when it,
will be too late to do anything. I know a fellow that
would do to a T, if I could catch him, and that is Jack
Bailey. He's a shrewd fellow, and would go in for a
business like this for what he would regard as the fun
of the thing."
$
"Have you heard from him since he left Saxton ?”
"Never a word or line; but I know his happy hunting
grounds, unless they have suddenly been changed, and I
will look him up this very night."
The business at the Home Office prospered. No objec-
tion was made to Captain O'Brien, in company with a clerk
from the office of the Solicitor to the Treasury, going
through the Spider's papers in search of the will, or of
some document that might lead to its discovery.
This done, O'Brien went on the trail of Jack, whom he
hunted from place to place along the rendezvous of Fleet
Street, and at last ran him to earth in a little public-house
up an entry, the proprietors of which enjoyed a special
license to keep open during the night for the convenience
of printers. Jack was not a printer, but, as being distantly
connected with the business, he took advantage of the hos-
pitality of the "Forme."
"I am a feeder, you know," he said, when O'Brien lightly
touched upon the incongruity of his presence at the
"Forme." (6
It's no use there being printers, unless there
are writers. They run the machine; I feed it."
"If you'd feed more and drink less, my dear Jack, it
would be better for you," said O'Brien, distressed to see
the ravages unrequited love and incessant whiskey had
made on Jack in so short a time.
Jack was delighted to undertake the task allotted to
him. O'Brien had caught him just in the nick of time,
when there was stealing over him one of those waves of re-
morse for his broken life and lost opportunities that some-
times whelmed him. He would have done anything in the
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320
GIDEON FLEYCE.
way of honest work, being at that moment a little maudlin
with his long night's exercise. And this was a sort of oc-
cupation that suited him admirably. As far as he under-
stood, he was to occupy lodgings rent free, have an allow-
ance for his board, and keep his eye on a widow with whom
he had to ingratiate himself. As far as that went, he felt
every confidence in his powers. There were some people
young and proud who had scorned him; but others had
not been proof against his personal charms and acquire-
ments.
Jack was of a sanguine disposition, and foolishly im-
agined for himself the typical widow, coy and debonnaire,
whose regard for her departed hushand was soothed by the
possession of his wealth, and the prospect of his suc-
cessor.
Strange things come to a man from unexpected avenues ;
and Jack, swaggering home to his squalid lodgings over
Waterloo Bridge, would not undertake to say what might
not come of this new adventure.
CHAPTER XLIII.
The Loiterer on the Doorstep.
It was something of a shock to Jack when he realized
the fact that the person who opened the door, when he
called to make enquiries about lodgings in Camden Town,
was the widow with whose fate and fortune he had already
linked his own. The more Jack had thought over this
matter, the more clearly he had seen his way to a happy
settlement. His powerful and well-trained imagination
had invested Mrs. Dumfy with all kinds of comforts, in-
cluding a moderate covering of fat, and had even fixed her
age. She was thirty-three, he knew. She was plump,
petite, well-favored, and well off. Of course she was a
little old for him ; but that was a matter he must overlook..
A young Irishman, with his fortune to make, and some un-
successful efforts behind him, is not inclined too narrowly
to criticize detail of this kind.
So much engrossed was Jack with this castle in Camden
Town, that he temporarily forgot the real object of his un-
T
GIDEON FLEYCE.
321
dertaking, and was not disturbed with the apprehension
that, even should the widow prove all his fancy painted
her, her husband might turn up; and though, if he did,
there was every prospect of his being shortly afterwards
turned off, it could not be pleasant in such circumstances
to marry his widow. But Jack was of a reckless disposi-
tion; and when he built a castle, whether in Spain or
Camden Town, he moved right into it, took in all his be-
longings, breathed its atmosphere, and never thought of
rent-day.
When Mrs. Dumſy opened the door to the caller she was
a trifle more than usually unprepossessing in appearance.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and Jack had dis-
turbed her in the middle of the consecrated task of pol-
ishing the stumpy legs of the sofa in the best and only
parlor. When Mrs. Dumfy polished the legs of a sofa, or
of any other article of furniture, she put her whole soul
into the furniture paste. She had a notion that continued
friction, carried on at the greatest velocity possible, and
persevered in for a certain number of minutes—a space of
time described by herself "as long as her back would hold”
was absolutely necessary to obtain the desired result.
She polished the legs of a sofa as an Indian rubs sticks to
get a fire, or did rub them when Fenimore Cooper was
alive. Stopping short of a certain measure of friction the
fire might not be kindled, and the labor had all to be gone
through again. On this principle Mrs. Dumfy polished
her furniture, and it was Jack's misfortune that he hap-
pened to knock at the door when she was something like
midway through the process.
She might have stopped to finish it, and let the caller
wait; but she knew that, in such circumstances, men had
a habit of rubbing their feet on the steps, or perhaps
leaning against the railings of the door. Callers were to
be got rid of with the least possible delay. So with a
petulant groan Mrs. Dumfy left the half-polished limb,
and, with a duster thrown over her shoulder, and a rag
smelling vilely of furniture paste in her right hand, she
confronted the cavalier who had a moment earlier walked
down the street glowing with anticipation.
""
"Good morning, madam," said Jack, not quite sure of
the status of the lady. "I see you have apartments to let.
Two months ago, whilst her husband was still alive, and
some small source of weekly income assured, Mrs. Dumfy
14*
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​322
would have snapped forth an uncompromising reply at the
young man who had interrupted her in the polishing of
the leg of a sofa, would have shut the door and so made
an end of the negotiation. The old impulse came upon
her strongly now; but things were different. The house
was her own, or had been her husband's, and so she re-
mained in undisturbed possession. But beyond that, and
some few hundred pounds in the bank, she had nothing to
live upon.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Fortunately, Jack, in anticipation of the buxom widow.
he had imagined for himself, had been most careful of his
dress. In that one withering glance in which she en-
veloped him, Mrs. Dumfy noted that his clothes were
brushed, that his boots were speckless, and his linen white.
She must have some one as a lodger, and it was not certain
that she would get any one better than this.
"Will you come in?" she said to Jack, with a profound
sigh. Life was very hard for her that she must needs
take in strangers like this.
(l
Brush your feet," she added quickly, Jack showing a
disposition to walk straight forward.
"Yes, it is a little muddy," said Jack, feeling the desir-
ability of conciliating the household, and regardless of the
fact that there had been no rain for a week. He brushed
his feet diligently and walked into the little parlor, where
the mahogany chairs and the prized though squat sofa
might on emergency have served the turn of mirrors, and
did display, as Jack moved about, blurred reflections of his
manly form.
How nearly he was failing on the very threshold of his
task Jack never knew. Mrs. Murgatroyd, who rented a
room in Charlotte Street, and with whom Mrs. Dumfy used
to exchange a tea once a month, was the confidante of this
crisis.
"He walked over two mats and wiped his boots under
the Rev. Mr. Stubbins," Mrs. Dumfy told Mrs. Murgatroyd,
who received the information with a proper expression
of horror.
This merely meant that Jack, having diligently wiped
his boots on the door-mat, dispensed with two other mats
which lay in the short passage to the parlor, and being in
the room and seeing framed on the wall an engraving of a
man with a fat face and a white necktie, walked up to look
at it.
•
GIDEON FLEYCE.
323
"Most interesting face," he said; "a divine, I presume?"
Mrs. Dumfy's soul was sad within her as she saw Jack's
boots moving about on the carpet, and called to mind the
two mats over which he had walked. But needs must
where poverty drives. Jack was a pleasant-faced youth,
looked clean, and finally overcame objection by surmising
that he "could have his tub in the morning."
Mrs. Dumfy was inclined to take him literally, and,
whilst not objecting to clean habits, descanted on the diffi-
culty of getting a tub upstairs and down. But Jack, in
further explanation, said he would bring his own bath
with him, which with his books formed his sole portable
property.
So it was all settled, and Jack forthwith became an in-
mate of the bereaved Dumfy household, renting the front
parlor and the top bedroom at the back of the house,
overlooking the little yard, and beyond that the Mews,
from which through his open window in early morning
there came the frequent odor of damp straw and other
stableyard delicacies.
It was rather a depressing passage in Jack's life. It
had been no slight shock to find for the imagined debon-.
naire widow this meagre female, with characterless and
complaining eyes of light blue set above high cheek bones.
But Jack was rich in the possession of a happy disposition.
With the exception of some slight grief for Napper, he,
as he said, never cried over spilt milk. Of course he had
been very foolish in these imaginings about a non-exist-
ent widow. He had no right to expect what he had done;
and when his castle faded into thin air, and for all wreck
left behind the angular, cross-grained, sad-visaged Mrs.
Dumfy, he laughed at himself and began to remember that
his mission to Camden Town was of quite another kind.
A good-tempered, easy-going, merry-hearted youth, he
completely ingratiated himself with his landlady. He even
made her laugh sometimes; and though perhaps she was
a little less attractive at such times than ordinarily, Jack
enjoyed his triumph, as all men are pleased with themselves
when they have done something difficult of attainment and
beyond the reach of ordinary people.
Perhaps never since Mrs. Dumfy had brought broom
and duster into this house had its spotless walls echoed
to this curious sound that was her laughter. She had
never known anyone like Jack. Rehoboth and its con-
324
O
GIDEON FLEYCE.
gregation were not given to laughter; and the late Mr.
Dumfy, though he sometimes shone at convivial meetings
down at Saxton, was, to tell the truth, a little grumpy at
home. But here was this young fellow, always ready for
a joke, never out of temper, and moderately cleanly in his
habits.
It is true he objected, when he came in from town, to
take his boots off on the first door-mat and put on his slip-
pers then and there. Mrs. Dumfy had, the first time he
went out, placed his slippers in readiness on the mat.
Jack, not noticing them, had walked in and had positively
been in the room for an hour with his boots on before
Mrs. Dumfy discovered the disaster and brought in the
slippers from the door-mat. Even in this matter he fell in
with her humor to a marvellous extent, and she began to
look for his coming with pleased delight, only shaken by
tremors least he might bring in flake of mud or speck of
dust.
Jack was understood to be something in the city; but
he spent a good deal of his evenings at home, and was
glad to have Mrs. Dumfy to talk with him. The conver-
sation, Jack felt, had a tendency to monotony of level, be-
ing on Mrs. Dumfy's side largely made up of narratives of
iniquity on the part of the butcher's boy, the milkman, and
the emissary from the grocer, who, Mrs. Dumfy felt quite
sure, before they called at No. 48, spent a good deal of
valuable time in getting their boots muddy or greasing
their hands preparatory to touching the knocker or the
handle of the door.
When Jack gently led her to talk of the departed Dumfy
the effect was not encouraging.
"The old lady's waterworks are in good order," as Jack
put it to O'Brien when reporting on his mission. She
wept copiously, though from her artless narrative Jack was
not able to discover any reasonable cause of regret for the
demise of that estimable person, Mr. Dumfy. He seemed to
have been selfish and overbearing. He lived on the best the
household afforded, and if any fragments remained Mrs.
Dumfy might bring her basket and gather them up. One
basket would serve, and it need not be of large dimen-
sions.
The faithful woman wept at his name like a beaten dog
will lick the hand that has held the stick. Jack watched
her narrowly and came to believe in her thoroughly.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
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1
"She s as right as ninepence," he reported to O'Brien.
"The old lady hasn't a soul above furniture paste. She
has certainly not seen or heard anything of Dumfy as yet,
and if he's alive and prowling about he's not made any
signal to her."
66
I'm afraid it's a hopeless game," O'Brien said; "but
keep your eyes and ears open, Jack; we've not much time
now. In a fortnight we can rest from our labors.”
It was on the fifth night of his residence with the widow
that Jack was dining with O'Brien, and thus reported him-
self. In the course of the week Mr. Tandy was coming
up and they were to make the search for the will. O'Brien
sadly felt that thereafter he was at the end of his tether.
Failing there, and Jack's mission failing, as it seemed cer-
tain to do, there was an end of all hope for Gideon, in
whose innocence he more than ever believed.
Jack left early and walked back to his lodgings, think-
ing with an amused smile that Mrs. Dumfy, who evidently
relished his company, would have been a little lonely.
It was a dark night for the time of the year, and the long-
delayed rain was plainly coming. As Jack walked up the
street, his thoughts turned sadly back to the days in Sax-
ton, he plainly saw on the doorstep of No. 48 a figure in a
long surtout which by some quick process instantly
brought his mind back to Mr. Dumfy. He had only just
turned the corner of the street when he saw the figure, at
too great a distance in such a light to make out the face.
But he thought the man stooped at the shoulders, and he
was certain that he had no hat on.
When Jack caught sight of him he was raising himself
up as if he had been looking through the key-hole.
Otherwise, if Jack was mistaken in that notion, the man
had just quitted the house, or was standing on the door-
step previously to leaving. Probably hearing Jack's foot-
fall in the lonely street, the man left the steps and moved
off with a rapid gliding step that made Jack's heart palpi-
tate with a dread recognition.
Jack was young and lithe, and he made after the stranger
like a grayhound slipped from the leash. He seemed to be
at the end of the street before an ordinary human being
could have got round the corner. But there was not a soul
within sight. The stranger, whoever he was, had the ad-
vantage that No. 48 was a few days off a street that bi-
sected it. Behind the house were the Mews, a thorough-
0
GIDEON FLEYCE.
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326
fare by which the man might have doubled and so got off.
He might have followed Fenton Street straight through,
or he might have taken one of the many turnings by
which, in turn, Fenton Street was bisected.
Mrs. Dumfy's street was silent and empty, while Fenton
Street, as leading into Hampstead Road, was moderately
well peopled. Men went to and fro upon their business,
and none whom Jack examined showed any trace of hav-
ing just scampered off at full speed from the doorstep of a
reputed widow. There was nothing to be seen here; and
Jack turned back and walked rapidly to the house, deter-
mined to get to the bottom of the mystery before he went
to sleep.
Before knocking at Mrs. Dumfy's he stood for a moment
and regarded the house. The gas was on in the hall, and also
in the front parlor, which he tenanted, though here it was
evidently turned down to the lowest point. Mrs. Dumfy,
he knew, was sitting up for him. She had a growing trust
in him, but there was one point on which she would not
give way. That involved the putting out of the gas the
last thing at night. Jack had promised to do this, and
Mrs. Dumfy had belief in his good intentions. But she
could not sleep in her bed without having been assured by
fleshly contact that the gas was turned off at the meter.
This was one thing that habitually brought Jack home
earlier than was convenient or agreeable. He knew his
residence here was only a matter of a few more days,
and, like the good-hearted fellow he was, he wished to
give the old lady, as he was accustomed to call her, not
that she was particularly aged, as little inconvenience as
possible.
Mrs. Dumfy opened the door when he knocked; and
except that she was a little cross at being kept up till
nearly ten o'clock at night, with the gas recklessly burn-
ing in the hall and on about the size of a bean in the
parlor, she looked much the same as usual.
"A'nt you a little late?" she asked, with a tear in her
voice.
"A little late?" Jack said, affecting a lightness of heart
he did not feel. "Fact is, if you only knew it, I am very
early. We dined early, as my friend was going to the
theatre, and I came straight up."
"I don't know what people mean by getting their dinner
at tea time," Mrs. Dumfy said querulously. "I know such
th
GIDEON FLEYCE.
327
2
nonsense should never enter my house, with all the wash-
ing to be done when you ought to be going to bed."
"Had any visitors to-night, Mrs. Dumfy?" Jack asked,
with well contrived suddenness.
"Visitors at this time of night!" cried Mrs. Dumfy,
with an expression of angered surprise, which if not true
was well invented. "I should think not."
(6
'No, of course not," said Jack. "Don't know what
made me ask you. Perhaps, as you were lonely, Mrs.
Murgatroyd might have looked in.'
""
Mrs. Murgatroyd is in bed long ago, like all decent
people. Besides," Mrs. Dumfy added sharply-for there
had once been a mistake to her disadvantage in this matter
"It's my turn to go to her next. She was here to tea
last Friday.”
(C
‘Ah, well, we'll go to bed now," said Jack; and taking
his candle he went up to h's room.
Presently, when Mrs. Dumfy had put out the gas, which
she lost no time in doing, Jack blew out his candle, stole
softly down stairs, unbarred the shutters of the parlor win-
dow, and sitting well back, so that he could command a
view of the street immediately facing the house, whilst
he should himself be invisible, sat and watched.
He sat in the dark for an hour, intently gazing forth.
Sometimes an approaching footfall made him breathe
quicker; but, as it came boldly on, he knew it did not be-
long to the man he had seen on the steps. By-and-by the
policeman passed on his carefully regulated round, or a
man went by hurrying homewards.
Duty was all very well; but two hours sitting in the
dark with the senses intently stretched, goes a long way
towards satisfying aspiration in that direction. At mid-
night Jack felt he had done enough for the night, at least
in this part of the house. But he would keep his ears
open through the night. If this was Dumfy prowling
around he would certainly enter the house at night, and
Jack meant to receive him with open arms.
To which end he left his bedroom door ajar, threw him-
self on the bed half undressed, and whilst thinking over
these matters, into which the figure of Napper constantly
floated and disappeared below the horizon as he had seen
her disappear down the hill leading into Saxton, Jack fell
into a sound sleep.
328
GIDEON FLEYCE.
CHAPTER XLIV.
A Basket of Roses.
As to what may have happened within, or in the imme-
diate proximity of No. 48 in the dead watches of the night,
Jack would not have been a valuable witness. He was too
young and hearty to make a first-class detective. The most
touching and convincing proof of his love for Napper was
to be found in the fact that regularly, for a fortnight after
his dismissal, he had lain awake so much as two hours at a
time after going to bed, resolving to think no more about
her. His gaping wound was closing up a little now. By-
and-by it would be healed, and Jack would have been sorry
to think it should leave no abiding scar.
Still it was a bad sign that, lying down on his bed half
undressed, and with thoughts of Napper flitting through
the shades where he was pursuing the dead and buried
Dumfy, he should not have been able to keep awake; or
that, falling asleep, he should have slept so soundly that
when he woke the sun was shining into the room.
Jack made haste to visit O'Brien and report the adven-
ture of the previous night. He found the Captain had
visitors with him at his chambers. Mr. Tandy was there;
and, with a great throb of his patched-up heart, Jack dis-
covered Napper.
It was a dreadfully awkward thing for him he felt; and
if Napper had been as embarrassed as he, even Mr. Tandy,
not usually acute in these things, would have had his sus-
picions aroused. But Napper greeted Jack as if she had
never met him on the Downs, or walked away from him
towards the setting sun, with which, as he thought, the
hopes of his life were sinking. She was too much en-
grossed with the great sorrow of the new murder that was
to be done, to think of a matter that had made so slight
an impression upon her as Jack's protestation of love.
She had come up now to see Gideon. He had asked for
her; and when O'Brien had told her she had frankly and
eagerly said she would go.
O'Brien had had fewer opportunities of watching Gid
GIDEON FLEYCE.
329
con with Napper than Mr. Tandy had enjoyed, and it had
never occurred to him to guess at what Mr. Tandy thought
he knew for certainty. He had observed that Gideon took
pleasure in Napper's company. But that did not occur to
him as a remarkable thing. Nothing was more natural to
his mind than that every one should desire so to spend as
much of this fleeting existence as Napper would spare to
them.
Mr. Tandy, with this fuller knowledge, had hesitated a
little about the proposed visit to the condemned man. He
did not know what painful discoveries Napper might
make, and he was still puzzled by the girl's almost enthu-
siastic devotion to the cause of Gideon. Mr. Tandy was
a good man and an able solicitor, and perhaps, therefore,
had a hankering after the concrete. If Napper was thus
deeply moved by the pending fate of Gideon, it could only
be for Gideon's personal sake.
The notion of any one being so profoundly concerned
simply for the sake of what was right was, of course, not
altogether foreign to Mr. Tandy's mind. But it did not
habitually occur to him.
Napper had said she would go, and there was an end-of
it. All that remained for Mr. Tandy was to bring her up
to town, after having made with the authorities of New-
gate the necessary arrangements for the visit.
Napper looked more bewitching than usual in the sad-
colored dress she had put on, and with this new look of
sorrow on her face. Up to the moment Jack had flashed
upon her the unexpected fire of his love, the look most
familiar to him on her face was one of merriment. Jack
always amused her, and a bright smile, the meaning of
which the hapless youth had mistaken, ever lighted up her
face as he approached. Now she smiled when she held
out her hand to him; but there was a serious sweetness in
the smile, bewitching in its way, of course, but also new.
Jack, whose mind had recently been running on widows,
could not resist the thought that here was a fair young
widow bravely bearing up against the loneliness and dark-
ness of her new estate.
When Jack entered Napper had a heap of roses on her
lap, which she had been daintily arranging in a basket.
She was not sure that Gideon cared for flowers, at least
when he was free and prosperous. But now surely he
would be glad to have this basket of flowers, and Napper
*AP
R
1
I
330
GIDEON. FLEYCE.
did not doubt that they who had him in charge would
grant the small boon of permitting him to have the flowers.
She had heard of a convict who had tamed a mouse he
had caught in his cell, and taught it to run up his sleeve
and nestle at his throat. The warder, discovering the pet
playmate, had killed it, and the convict had knocked the
warder down. Whereat Napper, not usually eulogistic of
brawls, had greatly rejoiced. But the mouse was a differ-
ent thing, and possibly against the orders of the prison.
There could be no harm in taking a basket of flowers to
a man condemned to die.
She was arguing this at the moment Jack entered. Mr.
Tandy, afraid of a disappointment, had hinted at the pos-
sibility of refusal. Captain O'Brien, appealed to by
Napper to say whether he thought it possible any one
could refuse admission to the roses, had, in obedience to
a slavish tendency daily growing upon him, given the
answer she wished.
"God bless her!" the Captain said to himself, looking
down upon her as she bent over the basket and arranged
the flowers. (6
Newgate has not in its history had an op-
portunity of seeing so fair and sweet a flower. There's
nothing in the basket so good."
Jack's news wholly electrified and greatly elated the
company. Mr. Tandy was cautious as usual, and dwelt on
the insufficiency of Jack's opportunity of seeing the
stranger.
،،
"
'It might have been a tramp,” he said, or some one
casually passing. Or it might have been a neighbor; and
as to the running away, that's not at all clear. Three
doors further on is Fenton Street, and the man passing
by may simply have turned a corner in the ordinary way,
Mr. Bailey's heated imagination lending him wings.'
But Napper, with her delightful air of conviction, was
sure it was Mr. Dumfy. The process by which this con-
clusion was arrived at was exceedingly simple. She had
made up her mind that Dumfy had murdered the Spider.
He had then run away and hidden himself for awhile.
Now he was going back to his lair in the dead of night, as
she had read hunted animals do.
""
Of course there were a few discrepancies in this theory.
Mr. Dumfy had not been hunted, and there was absolutely
no evidence to connect him with the murder. Still when
a young lady has made up her mind as to the premises,
GIDEON FLEYCE.
331
$
conclusions follow with great rapidity and irreproachable
neatness of adjustment.
Napper vividly realized the misery and anguish the
wretched man must have undergone. The little detail
Jack mentioned of his having no hat on, lent outline and
color to her fancy. She straightway divested Mr. Dumfy
of his boots and stockings. He had sold all his possible-
to-be-disposed-of garments to buy him bread, and thus,
wan and half-clothed, unshaven, hungry, and hunted, she
saw him in her mind's eye prowling the streets at night,
and hovering about his once happy home.
As a matter of fact this was the picture of an able
tramp she had one winter afternoon seen walking into
Saxton, and to whom she had given half a crown, which,
in company with a handful of other coins of more or less
value, had been found tied up in a dirty pocket-handker-
chief when twenty minutes later he was seized by the
police, who recognized in him an old and accomplished
vagrant. But Napper had in not less degree than Jack
the faculty of vividly realizing scenes and personages, and
she was even conscious of her feeling against Mr. Dumfy
being modified by sorrow for his low estate.
It was arranged that Jack was to dine early, go straight
home and spend the evening in his rooms, and watch for
the return of the loiterer on the doorstep. Jack himself
announced his intention of retiring to his bed-room under
pressure of headache, since he could not very well sit up
with his gas down, and darkness was necessary to watch
the street, himself being unobserved.
"If
"We've no time to lose, Jack," said O'Brien. any-
thing's to be found in this way it had better turn up soon.
To-morrow Mr. Tandy and I have an engagement with a
clerk from the Home Office to go through the old man's
papers in search of the will. If we find that, and it turns
out as Gideon says, there will be some good grounds for
petitioning for a postponement of the sentence. But of
course a much better thing would be to find Dumfy, and
that I hope you will do to-night."
Jack would have liked to go with them as far as New-
gate; not that he had any desire, or indeed opportunity,
of seeing Gideon. But if he spent another hour in Nap-
per's company, under the safe conditions of having her
father and O'Brien at hand, it would be pleasant. But he
was not invited to join them. So, taking his leave, and
***
32
332
Gideon fLEYCE.
subsequently hanging about the house, he had the satis
faction of seeing them go out, enter a four-wheeler (No.
9087, figures ever afterwards sacred in Jack's mind), and
drive off for Newgate.
It was a cruel thing, Jack felt, as he walked towards
Fleet Street, that this chance should to-day have befallen
him. He had ever been the sport of fortune; and now,
when he was getting all right, and had lived down his
great sorrow, Napper had come again, and he was plunged
deeper than ever into the abyss of hopeless love. As he
wrote down in his diary, rather fancying the sentence and
thinking that at some time he might use it in print:
"The
kindly hand of Time had bound up the wound, and rosy
fingers had ruthlessly torn the bandages off."
It was shortly after this that there appeared in the
Poet's Corner of the Beacon the following lines :
THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT.
Oh, trees that waved above us,
Have you no tongue to tell
Of the words he said
As I bowed my head
On a breast I loved too well?
Oh, birds that carolled round us
Ón that peaceful summer's eve,
Did you not hear him tell me
That he would ne'er deceive?
Say to me 'twas but a dream
Imagined in my brain;
That I never knew,
Never learnt to rue,
That love ever bringeth pain.
Oh, birds! oh, trees! I'll b ess you
If you teach me to believe
He never, never told me
That he would ne'er deceive.
The verse was signed "Leonore," and the writing,
though apparently in a female hand, lacked something of
natural flow. It may have been all right; but on the
other hand, Jack, we know, was given to break forth in
verse when he thought much of Napper, and the assump-
tion of female authorship may have been a little device to
hide his identity.
However it be, the coincidence was striking, and Jack
GIDEON FLEYCE.
333
certainly had a copy of the poetry cut out, and carried it
in his pocket-book till the following October, when he
heard something that made him burn the extract, and a
considerable mass of manuscript the contents of which are
not known.
It was well for Jack he had the excitement of a first
night's watch upon him. He had not been to Fleet Street
since he had undertaken his new mission. Now, feeling a
little shaky, the old hankering after gin and bitters stole
over him, and there came back the old yearning for the
clasp of feverish and not over cleanly hands, which he
was sure to meet with after a few days' absence in any of
his places of call from Ludgate to Temple Bar.
He passed a pleasant afternoon, though its engagements
did not leave him very hungry for his dinner, and fortui-
tously he had no need to simulate headache when he got
home just before dusk.
"I do hope," said Mrs. Dumfy, anxiously, "you haven't
got a lighted pipe in your pocket, have you, Mr. Bai-
ley?"
*
No," said Jack, guiltily conscious of the fumes of to-
bacco. "Fact is I sat next to a man on the 'bus who was
smoking a pipe. I'm going to lie down on the sofa a bit,
and shall save your gas. Been working hard all day, and
get rested in the dark. A little tired, but I daresay I'll
come and have a chat with you before you go to bed.
Haven't seen you lately, don't you know."
CHAPTER XLV.
Absalom.
MRS. DUMFY-who, if the melancholy truth must be
told, had sometimes noticed in connection with the smell
of tobacco-smoke about the late Mr. Dumfy's clothes, a
slight incoherency of speech on the part of that gentle-
man, arrived at the conclusion that Jack had been drink-
ing. This was quite true. In the course of the afternoon
spent in Fleet Street, Jack had gone through a good deal
of the dual labor known in the locality as "standing
drinks." Jack, who was always first in duties of this kind,
+
j
334
GIDEON FLEYCE.
paid for "a round," and then the round paid for him. It
will be easily seen that with a party of seven or eight, a
good many gins and bitters, merging into whiskies and
sodas, may be consumed in a summer afternoon.
But it was not the first time Jack had similarly occu-
pied himself, and many other recommendations to the
comradeship that cultivated a little literature on a good
deal of whiskey, was the fact that he was not easily
knocked over. He felt he was all right now as he shut
the door, turned down the gas, pulled back the curtains,
and recommenced his watch.
He was wide awake, and eager for the fray. It was
half-past eight, an hour and a half earlier than when he
had seen the loiterer on the previous night. But he could
not tell how long he might have been there. The danger
now was that, in addition to being a thin-weasoned female,
Mrs. Dumfy might be a consummate actress, and had been
fooling this clever young man of the world.
If that were
so, she would give the signal when Dumfy turned up
again, and he would be off like a stag that smells some-
thing in the wind.
If she were moving about, he would know. He opened
the door, and listened at the head of the stairs.
It was a
cellar kitchen, and he could hear Mrs. Dumfy bustling
about cleaning pans. He left the door ajar, and sat at
the window, himself hidden from observation. It was a
much lighter night than when he had watched there last.
The rain had cleaned the street, and sweetened the air
even in this town within a town. Nevertheless, night had
fallen, the lamps were lit, and lights twinkled from the
windows opposite.
Jack had been sitting patiently for half an hour, grate-
fully thinking that if his present task were ended, he
would soon be quiet and in peace. He was tired of it
* now the excitement and the novelty had worn away, and
left only the bare and loveless house with its unlovely
mistress. Even now he would like above all things a pipe
of tobacco. Yet what wailing and moaning there would
be supposing he were to light up, and the odor of the fra-
grant weed stealing downward into the kitchen, where
Mrs. Dumfy was still clattering with the pots, should
reach her pinched apology for a nose!
1
Jack sometimes thought that if he had a little money to
spare he would like to go out one day when London mud
♦
GIDEON FLEYCE..
335-
was at its thickest, revel in the roadways, then come
home, walk straight into the parlor, and tramp upstairs
with his boots on. The excitement would be severe, but
it really might do this ridiculous old woman good, and he
would finally present her with a half-sovereign to cover
all possible damages.
Whilst thus musing he had been looking down the
street in the direction in which the loiterer had disap-
peared on the previous night. Turning his eyes away for
a moment and looking at the house opposite, he saw in
the shadow a man looking across at Mrs. Dumfy's house.
He was standing quite motionless.
It was the same man, Jack knew, for he saw he had no
hat on, unless a something he held in his right hand,
which in the distance and in this light looked like a brown
paper parcel, was a billycock hat. He was now staring
steadfastly at Mrs. Dumfy's, and Jack had a queer notion
that he was looking straight at him. He sat rigid, not
moving a muscle, lest he should frighten the man off
before his time. He felt that the man must see him,
and know that his eyes were fixed upon him. Jack
himself felt spell-bound, and thought the man must be in
the same condition.
That it was not so, and that the stranger was totally
unconscious of being observed, appeared from the fact
that after looking up and down the street he softly crossed
the roadway and made towards the door.
There was not a moment to lose. Jack gently drew
back from the window, kicked off his slippers, which he
now regarded as providentially worn, and stole along
the hall to the front door. He must make haste, but
his motion must be noiseless. The man was as fleet
as a hare, and had a way of disappearing which would
make it very uncomfortable to be on his track in stocking
feet.
The gas light in the hall was fixed by the staircase,
designed a double debt to pay, lighting both the stairway
and the hall, and failing to do either effectually. It was
quite light enough for Jack to put his hand on the catch
of the door, without fumbling for it. Gripping it firmly
he pulled back the latch, opened the door, and almost fell
over the man on the doorstep, who was in the same atti-
tude in which he thought he had seen him on the previous
night with his eye at the keyhole.
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
336
The man's head being nearest to his hand, Jack seized
him by the hair, and held on with all his might.
"What are you at?" cried the man in a whining voice.
"What am I at? Where's your hat?" Jack asked in a
stern, accusatory tone.
It perhaps was not the most heinous offence that this
man might have to answer for, that he should go about
without his hat. But Jack was a little excited and began
with this by way of opening the indictment.
"It's come
"Now you just let go," the man whined.
to a nice thing if a respectable man can't call upon his
friends without some one leapin' out upon him through
the front door like a panter. You just let go my 'air, or
it'll be worse for you.
3.
Jack did as he was bidden; but he released his hold
upon the man's hair only to fasten it upon his collar,
which he found considerably less greasy. There was a
mistake somewhere, it was clear. The man was not Dumfy,
but he might be an emissary of the fugitive, and Jack was
not going to sit up two nights for nothing.
Well, as you are going to call, you might as well
come in. Here's Mrs. Dumfy, who will perhaps be glad
to see you."
"Oh, dear me, Brother Dyas!" said Mrs. Dumfy,
appearing on the scene, attracted by the noise and the
scuffling on the doorstep. "What's the matter? Is it the
water's got through this time and swamped the chapel?
and me left my books there and best hassock."
"It's nothing to do with the chapel, Sister Dumfy,”
growled the harried deacon, inclined to assume the offen-
sive now there was a witness at hand. "This may be a
respec'able house for all I know. But they ain't all
respec❜able people in it. Jumpin' out on one through the
front door like a panter or a dromydairy."
Mrs. Dumfy, being somewhat at a loss to understand
the episode, had taken refuge in tears, which she wiped
away with her apron, and then diligently wrung out
imaginary moisture from the corner.
((
'Upon my honor I am sorry if there's been a mistake
anywhere," said Jack, trying hard to laugh; "but you
see, old fellow, if you come prowling around here every
night, peering through keyholes, how am I to know 'who
you are ?"
"How are you to know who I are?" Brother Dyas
L
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​GIDEON FLEYCE.
337
snarled. Well, to begin with, I'm not Habsalom to be
caught by the 'air in that way. What d'ye mean by yer
every night,' and yer keyholes'-jumpin' out on a hin-
nercent man like a boa-constricter ?"
(C
It is impossible with the limited sources of type to con-
vey any impression of the withering tone of intensified
rage with which Brother Dyas introduced these references,
which were reminiscences of an Easter Monday visit to the
Zoological Gardens.
"Dear! dear! Brother Dyas," moaned Mrs. Dumfy;
"and I suppose you hadn't time to rub your feet on the
mat."
They had now got into the parlor, and Jack, having lit
the gas, was trying to look apologetically at the infuriate
deacon, in imminent danger of further incensing him by
untimely laughter. Feeling now safe, and seeing that
Jack was not mad, and was inclined to excuse himself,
Brother Dyas fumed and glared, every particular pimple
on his face ablaze with wrath.
<<
“Brush my feet on your mat !" he cried, turning angrily
on the weeping widow, and apparently finding much com-
fort in repeating the last words addressed to him. Why,
I hadn't time to lift myself up after tying my shoe before
this 'ere young jackanapes jumped out upon me like a
tiger on his peray.”
(6
Come, old man," said Jack, "don't bear malice. You
see, if you will come at this time of night to tie your shoe-
strings on the doorsteps of lone widows you mustn't be
hard on those who make mistakes."
Mistake, was it?" Brother Dyas sneered. "Perhaps
you'll find it a mistake that'll cost you somethin' 'ot. I'll
have the law on yer. I'll have the question settled once
for all whether peaceful citizens is to go about their reg'lar
business, paying wisits to their friends, and whether young
stuck-up jackanapeses is to leap out upon them through
front doors like—like a panter," Brother Dyas added, after
brief hesitation, and, feeling that he had exhausted his
stock of zoological similes, going back for safety to the
original one.
"Well, perhaps I'd better leave you," said Jack. "You
called to see Mrs. Dumfy, and here she is, a little damp
about the cheeks, but otherwise hearty. I hope you'll
make yourself comfortable in my room. Sorry I haven't
anything to offer you."
15
14
338
O
GIDEON FLEYCE.
3
"Oh, you've offered me enough," said Brother Dyas, walk-
ing up to Jack and putting his mottled face unpleasantly
ciose. "I've seen enough of you for one night, and as
I've been made more free with than welcome I'll go.
Good-night, Sister Dumfy. I did come thinking to spend
a quiet hour and a half in conversation, ghostly and other-
wise. I may have got here a matter of a pork pie," Brother
Dyas added viciously, jerking out a brown paper parcel he
had carried in his left hand, and which had become a little
battered in the encounter on the steps. "It may be a
pork pie or it may be a 'eap of ruings. It's not usual, in
this country at least, for pork pies to be jumped out upon
from front doors like a kengeroo. It may be the thing
where kengeroos grow; it's not the ticket here, young
man. But that's neither here nor there. I'll call again
some other time, Mrs. Dumfy, when you have treated your
'ouse like the man who was possessed of a devil was
treated. He was turned out, young man,” he said, turn-
ing fiercely upon Jack. "I mention of it because you may
not know. Young good-for-nothings, who pass their time
in jumpin' out from front doors on hinnercent passers-by,
arn't likely to read the Book. I bid you good-night,
Sister Dumfy. P'r'aps I'll call again when you arsk me,
p'r'aps I won't. And as for you, young man, if there's
lor to be had we'll see whether people as pay their rates
can't walk the streets o' nights without other people who
p'r'aps ain't got any rates to pay, nor money to pay 'em
with, springin' out on them like the pelican of the wilder-
ness, spilin' their 'air and mashin' their supper.”
With these few remarks Brother Dyas strode forth
angrily, tugging at his hair with intent to bring it into
something like order, and carrying with him the wreck of
the pie which he had hoped to bring to light under quite
different circumstances. Jack threw himself on the sofa
and shrieked with laughter, whilst Mrs. Dumfy continued
to weep, alternately bewailing the indignity done to
Brother Dyas, and the damage sustained from his not
having had time to use the door-mat.
As for Brother Dyas, he walked home in a state of mind
not wholly befitting a deacon. There was more in this
evening call and propitiatory pork pie than met the eye.
On the day when Brother Dyas had visited the widow in
her affliction, self-commissioned with Brother Selth to
break the news of Mr. Dumfy's shocking death, there had
отдано да поставить
GIDEON FLEYCE.
339
Jo
occurred to him the notion that he and she might, as he
put it, sit in the same pew. He had quite an exaggerated
conception of the wealth of our dear brother departed.
Mr. Dumfy lived in his own house and had a few hundreds
in the bank, which certainly was well for a man in his
position, though perhaps not too much for a man with his
opportunities. But, somehow or other, he had lived in the
odor of the sanctity of riches. He had always been re-
garded as a warm man,” and Rehoboth looked up to him
accordingly.
"(
Brother Dyas was conscious of uncertainty as to the pre-
cise amount of his wealth. He was not going to sell him-
self and his fine head of hair for a trifle. He would worm
out of Sister Dumfy her precise position, and would be
guided accordingly.
He had opened the campaign at Rehoboth, where he
had overwhelmed the widow with attentions. Now that
Brother Dumfy was gone, he occupied the seat under the
pulpit, and more than once, in the eyes of the whole con-
gregation, had stepped down and presented the open
hymn-book to the widow to save her the trouble of finding
the place-"A givin' it just like a card from the tailor's
shop," Miss Griffen, in the back pew, had giggled.
ปี
He had looked after her comfort in other ways. Only
last Sunday night she had found a cushion at the back of
the pew, and had reason to know, before she left, that it
had been placed there by the friendly hand of Brother Dyas.
She was very grateful for these attentions; and when
the senior deacon and agent for the anonymous proprietor
of the chapel had said he would call upon her, she, with
quite unusual empressement, said she hoped he would.
Brother Dyas's opportunities of social intercourse were
bounded by the exigencies of the shop. The establishment
did not close before eight o'clock in the summer time, and
up to the last moment Brother Dyas might have been
found outside with the circulars in his hand, and every
passer-by who looked likely to want a pair of ready-made
trousers or a slop-coat, had one affectionately pressed upon
him. On the previous night he had been detained beyond
the usual time, and after making his way to Mrs. Dumfy's,
and reconnoitered, had come to the conclusion that per-
haps it was a little late to call, and had quietly walked
home by Fenton Street, without the slightest idea of the
excitement he had created in Jack's mind.
4
GIDEON FLEYCE.
To-night he had left at eight o'clock sharp, and had en
route purchased the propitiatory pork pie, intending to
bring it out with the ingratiatory manner with which he
produced a circular, and invite the widow to sup with him.
That would seem homely; and shortly, perhaps, when her
heart was cheered by the highly-spiced meat, and her soul
comforted with the substantial pie-crust, she might be led
to drop a few words of desired information.
All this had been spoiled by this "young jackanapes
leaping out upon a person through the door like a cammy-
leppard," said Brother Dyas, angrily, as he stamped into
his lonely bed-room, and, opening the brown paper parcel,
anxiously endeavored to rearrange the battered pork pie.
340
•
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Search for the Will.
THE bijou residence in Fulham had been shut up ever
since the day when there was carried out in a strong box
all that was left of the merry old gentleman. On that day
in particular, and for several days after, the quict street
was peopled with a throng that came and stood opposite
the bijou residence, and stared at its dismal front. Many
of those who formed the crowd were evidently not bach-
elors of fortune, and none of them had any apparent inten-
tion of renting the house. If it had occurred to them they
would doubtless have been ready to assume anxiety to suc-
ceed the old gentleman in his tenancy, since that would
have given them the right to enter the house, walk through
its rooms, and stand under the very ceiling that witnessed
the tragedy. "Cards to view" would have been eagerly
sought, supposing they had been available.
But there was no present intention of reletting the
house. Things were altogether in a state of considerable
confusion. If the old gentleman could have settled the
difficulty by taking his riches with him (whithersoever he
had gone) it would have been some comfort. As it was, it
seemed that the Crown would be benefited by the unre-
mitted labors of the Spider working from youth to age.
Gideon was the only relative, who in ordinary circum-
1
341
GIDEON FLEYCE.
stances, since there was every reason to believe the old
gentleman died intestate, would have come in for the
wealth. But, as we know, Gideon was not in ordinary cir-
cumstances, but rather in Newgate, and the day was draw-
ing nigh when he too should fare forth, and in some far-off
country father and son would meet once more.
The Solicitor to the Treasury had had the full run of the
old gentleman's papers and possessions. He had looked
for the will, not in immediate connection with the trial,
since no point had been raised bearing upon the document,
but with the object of settling the question of the Spider's
intestacy, and the consequent distribution of his wealth.
He had found nothing; had reported the old gentleman
as dying intestate; and in due course, when Gideon had
been hurried off the scene, the Crown would blandly step
in and gracefully appropriate everything.
Nevertheless, when urgent application was made on be-
half of the prisoner that his friends might make a search,
no objection was offered, and no restriction put upon in-
vestigation, beyond the passive presence of a Treasury
clerk.
"Poof, how the place stinks!" said O'Brien, as they
entered the old gentleman's former sanctum. "I should
fancy the windows have not been opened for a year or
two."
>
They were promptly opened now, and the unaccustomed
air stealing in crept about the dingy walls, along the floor,
and up the yawning chimney, where in times past slack
had been so lavishly burned. The grate was rustier than
ever, and the room dingier. Nothing had been touched
of the furniture. There was the chair in which the old
gentleman had been found; there the table, the inadequate
strip of carpet, the odd chair or two, and even the pan that
used to play so important a part in the high revels of
alternate Sabbath evenings.
There, too, was the safe. The gold had been taken out
and lodged in the Bank of England, together with a large
bundleof bank notes and a small hand-barrow full of bills,
bonds, and scrip, representing the bulk of the Spider's in-
gatherings. What was left behind in the capacious re-
cesses were letters, account books, and receipted accounts.
Of these last there were several files; the old gentleman
whilst alive having had a morbid terror of some one whom
he had once paid coming upon him with fresh demand.
24
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}
342
GIDEON FLEYCE,
L
Therefore, he had written receipts of everything, and filed
them carefully.
The key produced by the Treasury clerk worked easily
enough in the lock of the safe. It had been bent only at
the bow in the desperate struggle, of whatever nature it
might have been, that had apparently taken place within
view of the old gentleman as he sat in his chair with the
film of death beaten back for the moment by the gleam of
vindictive triumph that had seemed to rest upon his face
when we first found him in the chair in the long night
through which he sat and slept, and never more awakened.
The heavy door swung back, and there before them were
the papers.
"If no one minds," said O'Brien, "I'll smoke a cigar.
It's a wholesomer smell than would be found in this musty
old room."
"Do, by all means," said Mr. Tandy, quite eagerly. He
didn't smoke himself, nor, as a rule, welcome the perfume
of tobacco. But anything would be better than this musty
smell. It was horribly like being in a tomb.
They took the papers, bundle after bundle, and searched
as if they were seeking a string of pearls. Here were let-
ters written in faded handwriting, some of which O'Brien
thought he knew. There were all kinds of handwriting,
chiefly bad, with a tendency to schoolboy style of forming
the letters. One peculiarity common to them was that the
writers were in a general tone of buoyancy. Things had
been looking a little black lately. They had had a rough
time, but it was all over now. In a week, a fortnight, in
three weeks, if good Mr. Gideons would either give them
time (or in some cases the prayer ran) hand over another
fifty, or one hundred, or five hundred pounds, they would
be able to repay to the uttermost farthing with suitable
interest.
Neither Mr. Tandy nor O'Brien read these letters, but
they opened each one, looking for enclosures or even for
writing on the fly-leaf. O'Brien knew the Spider's habi-
tude with respect to stationery. It was his boast that, with
the exception of envelopes, he had not paid a penny for
stationery for thirty years. He had many letters and took
toll of most. If people were so foolish as to take a whole
sheet of note-paper when half would suit their purpose,
the other sheet was certainly meant for gentlemen like the
Spider. Whether it was or not, he tore off the fly-sheet,
GIDEON FLEYCE.
343
or, if there were only half a fly-sheet, that was carefully
cut off as near to the last line of writing as possible and
the unused part carefully put away.
Besides this there was a world of wealth in envelopes.
Cut open the flaps at the sides, and there you are with a
sheet of clean paper on which any ordinary letter might
be written, or any series of memoranda or calculations
made. Of late years the Spider's correspondence had con-
siderably fallen off. But fly-sheets and envelopes increasing
out of proportion to his letter-writing, the searchers found
quite a heap, on which they eagerly pounced. They knew
well enough if a will was to be found it would not present
itself on lordly foolscap, written in clerkly hand. The
Spider would be his own legal adviser in the matter, his
own clerk, everything but his own witness, and what he
would draw the will upon would certainly be one of these
fly-sheets or envelopes.
1
Hitherto, Mr. Tandy and O'Brien had worked by taking
a bundle and going through it individually. The sight of
this heap excited such high hopes, and was deemed so im-
portant, that they devoted their joint energies to its in-
vestigation. Mr. Tandy had the bundle before him, and,
taking up the sheets one by one, looked at it back and
front, and handed it to O'Brien, who made a new examina-
tion and then rebnilt the pile.
This was excessive care and some trouble that might
perhaps have been dispensed with. But they felt that this
was a last chance. After these papers there remained
nothing but the files of paid bills, milk accounts, the
baker's bills, and dealings with the coal merchant. So
they made their way manfully through his heap of fly-
sheets and envelopes. They were all blank, except that
one or two had a rough drawing of some of the Spider's
mechanical contrivances for keeping out robbers.
"There's nothing here," said Mr. Tandy, ruefully. "I
don't know whether there is any secret drawer in the
safe."
"It's like enough, and I think we should have it taken
to pieces or tapped by an expert. It's not proper to say
anything but good of the dead, but I'm bound to say that
if old Israel Gideons had his choice of doing a thing se-
cretly and doing it openly, it would not be done openly."
"There's nothing here but household bills, and I don't
know whether it's worth while going through them."
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GIDEON FLEYCE.
344
"I think we should," O'Brien said; "it's a matter of
life or death, and it would be some satisfaction to us to
know that we have left no stone unturned. I'd always be
thinking that the will was stuck on one of these files if we
didn't go through them. Let's take one apiece; we'll
soon get it done.
They sat down at the table and went steadily through
the accounts, for the most part dirty little bits of paper,
being receipts for twopence for a week's milk, up to 3s.
3d. for a wholesale importation of slack.
"Hallo!" cried O'Brien, taking off the file a large
sheet of paper with items fully set forth and added up on
the last page. "Here's a whopper! The old gentleman's
been agoing it this time. Total, £20 3s. 4d. This can't
be for milk, or even for slack. What's all this about:
'24a Walworth Road, September 20, 1878, Israel Gideons,
Esq., debtor to J. Gorringe. To cutting out floor in front
room, self one day and three hours; to fixing iron-work
as per contract; to taking off door of safe and adjusting
spring; to bricking up cellar door.'
535
These read rapidly aloud by O'Brien were just the heads
of which innumerable details were set forth, down to the
price of two dozen 3-inch screws. The account had evi-
dently been gone through with great care. Each item
had been ticked off, the pen had been run through one or
two, and in some cases the amount charged had been re-
duced by a few pence or a shilling. Mr. Tandy and O'Brien
read it through together, and when they had finished, in-
stinctively turned to look at the safe and at the floor be-
fore it.
So far as they could see, there was nothing that had any
connection with this account. The safe reposed within a
recess made in the wall, and peacefully projected a few
inches. There was no sign of the cutting out for which
Mr. Gorringe had charged. Nevertheless, there was borne
in upon them a strong conviction that since the bill had
been paid the cutting out had certainly been done. Is-
rael Gideons had some of the failings common to human
nature; but to pay for work that had not been accom-
plished was not one of them.
"This is a very curious affair," said Mr. Tandy, drawing
his chair a little further from the safe.
..
Very," said O'Brien, getting up and walking over to-
wards the safe.
محمد
GIDEON FLEYCE,
345
"Don't you think you had better be careful," said Mr.
Tandy.
"Not more now than hitherto," O'Brien answered, go-
ing down on his knees and carefully examining the floor.
"Here it is!" he shouted, tracing a line running out
from the wall a distance of five feet, then running par-
allel with the safe and back again at right angles to the
wall. Mr. Gorringe had done his work with great skill.
So neatly was the floor sawn across that in the dim light
that usually pervaded the room no casual caller would
have noticed it. Lengthwise the division of a plank
had been taken advantage of, and here of course discovery
was still less likely.
"We must find this man," O'Brien said, “and get to the
bottom of this mystery, and if you don't mind we'll go at
once."
CHAPTER XLVII.
Mr. Gorringe, Joiner and Undertaker.
Ir is a far cry from Fulham to the Walworth Road, but
Captain O'Brien and Mr. Tandy rapidly bowled across in
a hansom, and fortunately arrived just as Mr. Gorringe
was wiping his lips on the back of his hand after his one
o'clock dinner, and was inclined to take a cheerful view of
life.
One curious result of the absorption of food and a mid-
day pint of beer on Mr. Gorringe's mental constitution
was that whilst it soothed him and made him to all ap-
pearances genial and friendly towards mankind, it also
made him exceedingly suspicious. He was not accus-
tomed to have two gentlemen call upon him in a hansom,
which they kept waiting at the door regardless of cost.
If they wanted a job done in the joinering way, that was
clear and straightforward. But he had at once ascertained
that that was not their purpose.
The more they thought the matter over the more sure
they were that this trap-door covered some horrible mys-
tery, and there was some look of this in their eyes and in
their manner as they confronted Mr. Gorringe.
O
15*
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346
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"We've come to see you on important business, Mr.
Gorringe," said Mr. Tandy, in his solemnest manner.
"Is it a coffin?" Mr. Gorringe enquired, drawing a bow
at a venture. He did a little in the undertaking line, and
was accustomed to be called on suddenly.
"No, it's not anything in the line of your work, though
it's on a matter of business in which you are concerned,
and of which I am sure you will tell us all you know."
"Well, gentlemen, if it's not in my line of work p'r'aps
ye'll call agen some day when I'm out.
I live by my
work, you know, and time's precious; a shilling a hour is
the net walley of my time."
"You shall have half a crown an hour as long as we
keep you," said O'Brien, impulsively.
This was a bad shot, having the effect of greatly in-
creasing Mr. Gorringe's suspicion that the strangers were
after no good. People who didn't want work done, and
paid half a crown an hour for it, could scarcely be en-
gaged on a lawful undertaking. It might be body-snatch-
ers, Mr. Gorringe thought; in which case, he added em-
phatically, they had come to the wrong shop.
"Well, gentlemen, I'll tell you plain. I don't know
anything about it, whatever it is; and if you don't mind,
as it's gone one o'clock, I'll go after it."
“Come, Mr. Gorringe," said Mr. Tandy, "we're not
going to eat you or ask you to eat any one else. You
knew Mr. Israel Gideons?"
"Yes," said Mr. Gorringe, drawing himself up stiffly;
"I once knowed a person of that name, and a werry hard
person he were to deal with; so werry hard that I don't
want to have anything more to do with him. Thanking
him for parst favyers, I decline to do any more.”
(6
Well, it's not likely you will. Of course you know he's
dead?"
"That's just where you're wrong. I've had no dealings.
with him for a matter of four 'ears, and never hearn or
seed him since he took one pound two shillings and four-
pence off a bill he'd already hammered down till, as you
might say, its head was druv clean into the plank."
"Here's the bill," said Mr. Tandy, producing the docu-
ment. "It seems a very moderate charge before anything
was taken off."
"Now you have it there," said Mr. Gorringe, warming a
little towards a gentleman of such sound views, "I kin tell
GIDEON FLEYCE.
347
you when I'd paid my 'bus fare from the Elephant to the
top of Sloane Street and back, I lost more nor made any-
thing out of his business. He screwed me down orful."
"Well he's dead now, and, I may say, screwed down him-
self. I wonder you have not read of it. The Fulham
Murder has been in everybody's mouth for weeks."
"It may 'a been, sir, but it never passed my lips. I've
no time to read papers. I never got a shillin' a hour out
of them."
"It's this murder we came to talk about, Mr. Gorringe;
and I'll tell you at once you'll be well rewarded if you can
give any information."
(6
Thanky for the reward!" said Mr. Gorringe, sarcasti-
cally. Seeing I didn't know there was a murder, I
couldn't wery well lay my hand on the man as did it.
That's fair and straight, ain't it, mister?" he said, turning
to O'Brien.
"Quite fair, Mr. Gorringe; still you can help us, I ex-
pect. It's about this work you did for Mr. Gideons. I'm
afraid we're keeping you from your work; and, if you'll
allow me, I'll just give you this sovereign to pay in ad-
vance for any loss of time. That's nothing to what will be
due to you if you can help us to clear up this fearful mys-
tery.
Mr. Gorringe looked at the sovereign with glistening
eye, and further tested its genuineness between his iron-
bound fingers. There was no doubt it was all right, and
was good for twenty hours of his time. Certainly he
would not be out of it if he gave them one hour, just to
see what their game was.
"Take a cheer, gentlemen, take a cheer," he said, dili-
gently dusting with the corner of his apron the rush-bot-
tomed chairs. "Now if I can till you anythink as I knows
you're wery welkim to it. Nothing can be fairer than
that, can it, mister?" he added, turning with a fresh ap-
peal to Captain O'Brien, whom he had come to regard
rather as a disinterested looker-on in an encounter be-
tween Mr. Tandy and himself—a looker-on, moreover, who
paid a man twenty hours' time in advance.
"Nothing, Mr. Gorringe, nothing at all. We mean fair
to you, and all we want to know is how you came to do
this sawing out of floors and building up of doors for Mr.
Gideons."
'Well, sir, it came about in an ornery sort of way. The
""
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348
GIDEON FLEYCE.
old gentleman was always pottering around with little
things, and before I set up for myself I was a journeyman
for Messrs. Parsons, who did odd jobs for him. In fact it
was the old gentleman who set me adrift, for he got me to
do his work on my own account, thinking it would come
cheaper, which it did. The Messrs. Parsons got wind of
this, and told me to pack off. After that I was often with
him; eightpence a hour he paid me, and if there was any
odd pence in the bill he always knocked 'em off. One day
he told me he had a big job on hand. It was to get his
safe set in the wall. I didn't do the brickwork, but I took
the measurements, and got some man as did it cheap for
him. He told me that he had a lot of papers as was
allays accoomelatin'. They filled up the safe, and it had
to be cleared out regularly. What he wanted was a room
underneath, where he could drop them and keep them.
moderately safe. They were worth nothing to anybody
but the owner, he said, and not much to him neyther.
He drawed out the plan. I sawed out a trap-door, which
let down into a sort of pantry underneath. I made
the ceiling good, bricked up the doorway and all but
a bit of winder that gev out into another cellar that
runned under the room towards the street, and there you
was. None could get into this place from the outside,
and I don't know as any one could get out of it from the
inside, unless he was kindly 'elped from above. It was a
deal of trouble to take for storing old papers, I said to
the old gentleman; but he said it amused him, and he'd
nothing to do with his time, being retired like, and was
allus fond of pottering round with meckynisims. He had
a beautiful arrangement that he inwented himself. You
could set the trap-door so that a harmy might march
over it and nothin' happen. But if you turned the key,
and when he set the spring in some way which he
did hisself, down went the trap-door, and you with it.
Otherwise, when the safe was locked in the ornery way you
might stand there as firm as a rock. 'Ain't it werry dan-
gerous?' I said to him, when he showed me how it
worked."
"How could he work it without tumbling in himself?"
Mr. Tandy asked, falling naturally into the cross-examin-
ing style.
(6
Oh, you trust the old gentleman for that," said Mr.
Gorringe, winking. "He'd get a piece of board laid
GIDEON FLEYCE.
349
across on two chairs, like a piece of scaffolding. Then he
set the spring, opened the door, and down went the trap
like a shot, and, brought back by another spring, closed
up with a snap, and there it were as innercent as a bit of
honest planking. 'Wery dangerous,' says the old gentle-
man with what passed with hisself for a smile, 'wery
dangerous indeed, Mr. Gorringe, to any gentleman as
might open this safe without saying by yer leave. If you
was to come here in the night, Mr. Gorringe,' he says,
'and open this safe to look for anything, I'd know where
to find you in the morning.' I can just see the old gentle-
man now," said Mr. Gorringe, closing his eyes medita-
tively, "grinning at me and really looking as if he would
like to hear the click of the trap and know I'd gone down.
He was a wery merry old gentleman, though 'ard as nails
in money matters.
>>
"And where was the spring to be set?" O'Brien asked.
"Was it inside or outside ?"
"Ah! there you have me. That's jest what he would not
let on to me. He was wery careful to show me how the
thing worked. I was the only chap he ever had about the
house, and I think he was not sorry for me to know what
would happen to me if I went wrong. I says to him, just
in fun like, 'If I was to come and open the safe at night,
I'd put a plank across two chairs like you done.' The way
he Îarfed was fit to tumble off the plank, and I'm quite
sure he'd got some other dodge to meet the case. He
never said a word, but only larfed fit to kill hisself. I think
he thought I'd do it, and drawed me on with his planks
and chairs, though excep' perhaps in the little matter of
working on my own account with one of Messrs. Parsons's
customers, I'm a honest man, and he drawed me into that.
As to the spring, I bleave it was somewheres on the inside,
leastways I have seen him fumbling there afore he opened
it. But, Lor bless yer, he was that cunning it was never
safe to bleave your own eyes when yer saw him do any
thing."
"Mr. Gorringe, I told you just now we shouldn't want
any work from you. I think we shall. You bricked up
the doorway?"
"C
Well, to tell the truth, sir, it worn't me exackly. It was
a bricklayer's 'prentice I got in."
"Well, you know where it was, and can take it down
again?"
g
•
vish
350
↑
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Yes, sir, I could do that; but it's a long way to Ful-
-ham."
"That will be all right, Mr. Gorringe. As I told you be
fore, you'll be well paid."
"We can't start to-day, O'Brien," Mr. Tandy said," we'll
have to get permission, and we'll of course want somebody
from the Home Office to see this thing done. Will you be
at Fulham at ten o'clock in the morning, Mr. Gorringe?
Bring whatever is necessary for breaking open this door-
way, and bring help if you like."
"You may rely on me, sir," said Mr. Gorringe. "I'm
wery busy, but when work's well paid for it must be
done."
CHAPTER XLVIII.
The Skeleton in the Spider's Cupboard.
MR. TANDY and Captain O'Brien were punctual to their
engagement at the bijou residence, having in the mean-
time obtained the necessary authority to break through
the doorway. Mr. Gorringe was also punctual, accom-
panied by a small boy of some thirteen summers, with re-
spect to whom O'Brien had a suspicion (which proved to
be well founded) that he meant to charge his time by the
hour at full price.
"Ah," said Mr. Gorringe, looking down with pardonable
pride at the trap-door, "though I says it as shouldn't, it's
not a heasy thing to sor through a hoak floor, and not
leave the splitting o' a hair in the wood."
Adely
There was a decided tendency on the part of the com-
pany to keep clear of the trap-door. Even O'Brien, who
had reasoned with himself that it was no more dangerous
now than it had been during the previous stages of the en-
quiry when he and Mr. Tandy had stood upon it at the
same moment, did not think the trouble of making a slight
détour too much in order to avoid stepping on this partic-
ular spot.
Mr. Gorringe, who was totally unaffected by the'dread
which weighed down his companions, cheerfully led the
way downstairs. He was in no particular hurry. To be
paid at the rate of half-a-crown an hour was an unaccus-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
*
35I
tomed interposition of Providence, and it was not for him.
to show himself ungrateful by hastily getting through the
time.
The staircase apparently ed directly into a cellar which
ran underneath the dining-room and gathered some dim
light from a grating in the street. Coming down from the
upper room, it seemed almost dark in the cellar. But
each man carried a candle, and when their eyes grew ac-
customed to the place, they could make out some of its
bearings.
"There you are, gentlemen!" said Mr. Gorringe, wav-
ing his candle towards the upper part of the cellar wall
facing the grating at the end nearer the stairs. "There
you are,” he repeated, as if they were at a panorama and
he were pointing out objects of special interest. "You'll
see a little patch of whitewash there a bit darker'n the
rest. That's where the windy was as my mate bricked up,
and the whitewash being put on immediately after, turned
a little black over the new place. There is a four-inch
grating to let in the air so as not to have the papers
musty, but it don't come to much. And here," he contin-
ued, with fuller-throated pride, having saved the greatest
marvel for the last, "here's the door as we bricked up,
leastways, there it were afore we bricked it.”
The bricked-up door was now part of a wall which, with
the stairs on the other side, formed a passage running into
the cellar. The cellar had a door of its own. The smaller
room had probably originally been a scullion's pantry, and
so far as they could judge from the run of the wall, and
the position of the window that had looked into the cellar,
it was about eight feet long and four feet wide.
"That's what I calls a pretty strong safe wault,” said
Mr. Gorringe, looking at it with an air of proud pro-
prietorship. "It would 'old a good many papers too, and
you can see nobody could get at them wery well from the
outside."
"Get to work, Mr. Gorringe," said O'Brien, "and let's
have this horrible suspense over."
"All in good time, sir," said Mr. Gorringe, deliberately
divesting himself of his coat and turning up his shirt
sleeves, an example gravely imitated by the small boy,
who also, and with equal gravity, rolled up his sleeves.
Mr. Gorringe had brought with him a chisel and a crow-
bar, with which he sat to work with such skill that in half
{"
>
GIDEON FLEYCE.
352
an hour he had made a considerable hole in the wall and
the door behind was clearly visible.
- (6
The bricks were of course only single, and once a hole
was made the doorway was soon disclosed to full view.
'There's a good business made o' that," said Mr. Gor-
ringe, "and a drop o' hale wouldn't be amiss wi' a dusty
job like this."
'Never mind the beer just now," said O'Brien, "you
shall have a good pull when we get the work finished.
Down with the door.'
"That's easier said nor done. This is a good hoak door,
and I well recollect the old gentleman locking it and
taking away the key. 'It won't be wanted again,' he said,
larfing to hisself. It's a different thing putting your
thumb on the latch, or turning a handle and opening a
door, to breaking it down with a crowbar. That's fair,
ain't it, mister?" said Mr. Gorringe, turning to the young
gentleman from the Home Office, who was not quite cer-
tain that the calls of duty, combined with a natural interest
in this ramification of a famous tragedy, altogether com-
pensated for the necessity of holding a tallow candle in a
damp vault with dust and dirt and bits of brick flying
about.
It was clear Mr. Gorringe would work better with a can
of beer near him, for which the small boy was despatched,
and Mr. Gorringe, restored to good humor, applied him-
self to the door.
O'Brien, placing his candle on the stairs, lent a hand
with the crowbar. The door began to sway under the in-
fluence of the two powerful men. A better hold was got
by the lever, and with a strong pull the lock gave way and
the door moved backwards, but slowly, as if a sack of flour
were propped against it.
"I expect it's chock full of papers," said Mr. Gorringe;
"they don't smell very sweet neyther. There's nothing at
this end anyhow," he continued, peering in. “I reckon
they're all piled up behind the door."
As Mr. Gorringe held the candle at arm's length inside
the partly opened door, O'Brien saw something which,
combined with the excitement of the morning and the hor-
rible odor of the place, turned him sick. He leaned
against the staircase and felt that he was going to faint.
The clerk from the Home Office had already retired
from the scene, and was making his observations from the
GIDEON FLEYCE.
353
i
top of the stairs in a comparatively pure atmosphere.
Mr. Tandy, who had not seen what had caught O'Brien's
eye, was agitated, but bore up better against the influences
of the place than might have been expected.
At this moment the lad returned with a can of beer, and
O'Brien seized it, regardless of the reproachful glance
cast upon him by Mr. Gorringe. He felt better after he
had moistened his throat with beer, and pulled himself
together to go through with the work.
"It's a body that's lying across the doorway," he said
in a whisper; "look there!"
O'Brien had taken up his candle again and held it so
that its light was thrown within the cellar.
Mr. Tandy saw a man's foot. It was heel upermost, and
the man was evidently lying on his face behind the
door.
"This ain't papers," said Mr. Gorringe in an awed voice.
'This ere's worse 'n papers, and it's a sort o' job I don't
like to be in."
"We're in it now and must get out of it," O'Brien an-
swered sharply.
He would rather Gorringe had undertaken the task,
but since he shrank from it O'Brien put his shoulder to
the door, and slowly forcing it back against the dull weight
that lay against it, made his way în.
There was a man there sure enough, lying on his face.
He seemed to have used his last strength to crawl to the
delusive doorway, and had died with his mouth down to
the bottom of the framework of the door, hoping to suck
in fresh air, and not knowing of the brick-work outside.
The other two followed O'Brien into the charnel-house.
They turned the body over, O'Brien and Mr. Tandy fear-
ing what the action should disclose. An almost fleshless
face, skinny hands, and a shrunken body that ill-fitted the
clothes was what they beheld by the dim light of the can-
dle. But there was no doubt of the man.
It was Dumfy.
He had a scar on his forehead, where he had struck the
floor in falling through the trap-door. Also, as later and
more careful examination showed, his right hand was torn
where he had held on for a dreadful moment to the key in
the safe. His coat was open, and a piece of the left lap-
pel was torn off.
Mr. Tandy and O'Brien knew where the fragment was.
***
5
*
}
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Close by him lay the remains of a black leather bag.
Nearly half of it was apparently gnawed with teeth.
"Rats," said O'Brien, with a shudder.
354
"Ne'er a rat in this cellar," said Mr. Gorringe. "It was
all cemented round and made proof against that sort of
thing. The bag's gone, but the chap's eat it hisself."
This was not a place to linger in, but rather to get out
of post-haste into what seemed the deliciously fresh air
through which the sun was shining on London. The clerk
from the Home Office had no desire to make nearer in-
quest. He had heard everything from the top of the
stairs, and was quite content to base his report thereon.
Nobody wanted to stay in the house.
So the four grave men and the scared boy made haste
to quit it, locking in the sole tenant, who lay on his back
staring up with lack-lustre eyes at the treacherous trap-
door through which he had descended into his living
tomb.
There was no doubt about it's being Dumfy. Beyond
the likeness, still plainly apparent, to his former self—a
weird likeness such as skeleton might bear to a living man
—he carried about him abundant testimony of his iden-
tity. There were letters addressed to him, and in his own
handwriting a list of the hymns and tunes he had given
out at his last service at Rehoboth. There was also his
season ticket between London and Cold Harbor Junction.
How he came there must for ever remain matter of con-
jecture. It is probable that when he stole away from the
vestry to catch his train back to Saxton he had not meant
deliberately to murder or even rob, though the idea of
suddenly coming into possession of some of the riches he
knew the safe contained may from time to time have as-
sailed him as he sat at the old gentleman's banqueting
table. It was strange, too, that on this particular night he
should have carried with him this deep black bag con-
veniently full of emptiness.
It was certain he had gone straight to the station, taken
his seat in the train, and in another five minutes would
have been out of the way of temptation. Who knows
with what battling of soul he sat there clutching his
empty black bag, perhaps wishing the train would start a
minute or two before its time, and so deliver him from
evil? But the train must keep its time, and Dumfy, leav-
ing the carriage to carry on his self-wrestling whilst walk-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
355
ing on the platform, must have yielded at the critical mo-
ment when the whistle sounded.
He might have jumped in even then. But he did not,
the train steamed out of the station and the way was clear
to Fulham.
Perhaps none of these things happened. Possibly, if
we prefer to take the blacker side which conjecture leaves
open, Dumfy had planned the whole thing, and his taking
the seat in the train and leaving his umbrella there may
have been part of some cunning scheme to cover, if neces-
sary, his disappearance after the commission of the crime.
But he could not have foretold the accident to the train,
and no useful purpose that one can see would have been
served by the appearance at Cold Harbor Junction of his
ownerless umbrella.
However this may have been, it is certain that Dumfy
would easily have found admittance to the bijou residence.
He was, indeed, expected, a circumstance which adds some
color to the theory of deliberate design in what followed.
The old gentleman had his savory supper set, and on the
table the knife which, if not specially made to do murder,
did it with uncommon neatness and despatch. Dumfy
evidently lost very little time after his arrival. He would
see that the key was in the safe, and that with the old man
out of the way all his possessions would be his.
A careless playing with the handle of the knife; a firm
grasp suddenly closed over it; a swift upraising of the
arm; a deadly well-aimed blow, and the work was done.
Except that the old man, stricken to death, reached out
his hand and with convulsive grip seized the murderer by
the coat, and Dumfy struggling with him to get free, hold-
ing him back in the chair with one hand, whilst he tore at
his wrist with the other, left behind him the silent testi-
mony of the desperate deed.
Here again Dumfy was greatly helped by accident, and
had it not been for the trap-door would have got clear
away with his booty. He had put on Gideon's coat, not
with any special reference to the night's work, but because
he often borrowed his master's plumes when going out
upon state occasions. Gideon had so many clothes he
would never miss an odd coat, and as he came quite near
enough to Dumfy's fit, that gentleman had for years availed
himself of the happy circumstance.
When Dumfy got free from the dying man he ran straight
:
¿
GIDEON FLEYCE.
{
356
for the safe, at which sight the bitterness of death for
Ísrael Gideons was tinged with a malignant joy. He had
been inclined to make use of Mr. Dumfy for his own petty
purposes. But he knew him thoroughly, much better
than did Gideon, with all his capacity for swiftly judging
men. He knew his crafty, mean disposition, and knew by
intuition that he was robbing Gideon. He made the one
mistake of thinking that Dumfy's capacity for crime did
not go beyond pettifogging proportions. He did not think
he would dare to rob a safe, much less slay a man.
Still it was no good having a contrivance at hand if you
didn't use it. Consequently, whenever Dumfy was ex-
pected, the Spider arranged his infernal web to catch him,
should he ever trip with guilty intent in the direction of
the safe. The old gentleman, in pursuance of his merry
humor, had more than once left the room and stayed away
as long as ten minutes, whilst Mr. Dumfy was there with
the key in the safe and the springs set. He thought the
temptation might be too much for him-to be within arm's
length of heaps of gold, only to turn a key, thrust in his
hand, and quietly resume his seat before an unsuspecting
old gentleman was back!
On these occasions Mr. Dumfy had sat with lips liter-
ally watering and his eyes greedily fixed upon the safe.
He would certainly have fallen into the trap but for
a strong suspicion that at that very moment, from some
unseen aperture, the old gentleman was watching him. It
was a prevailing quality of the atmosphere breathed by
the Spider, that whilst he suspected everybody of mean,
dishonest designs, he was himself constantly the object of
similar suspicions.
As a fact, he was not watching but listening for the
click which showed that the trap-door had fallen and closed
over his guest engulfed in terror and darkness. He had
meant nothing worse than to go in, cry aloud his marvel
at Mr. Dumfy's disappearance, spend an hour or two in
the room, then ostentatiously make preparations for retir-
ing to bed, and finally, at the last moment, when he ex-
pected Dumfy would be half dead with fright from the
shock of the fall and with terror at the prospect of being
left there all night, he would have opened the door and
tenderly helped him out with many protestations of sur-
prise and regret.
That was a little comedy he had often rehearsed when
-
GIDEON
357
GIDEON FLEYCE,
alone, and hoped some night to enjoy. Now, with the chill
of death stealing over him, and his heart's blood pouring
out from the wound in his breast, he saw the comedy turn
into direst tragedy.
He knew what would happen, hungrily looked for it, and
died with Dumfy's shriek ringing in his ear as the wretched
man disappeared from human ken.
The heavens that bend over London look down on
many strange tragedies. But surely on this quiet Sabbath
night there was none more weird than that closed in by
the roofs of this bijou residence, in a little street off the
old Fulham highway. In a chair in the room above, the
old man dead, with the firelight playing around him. In
the room beneath, the living man rushing madly around
and around the walls of his living tomb, ever returning to
the door which seemed so easy for despair to break open.
They kept each other company, we know, for nearly a
week. At what time, before or after, Dumfy lay his head
on the stone floor by the doorway, and found surcease of
hunger and of worse pain we do not know, nor is it profit-
able to conjecture.
O
CHAPTER XLIX.
A Land where it is always Afternoon.
SUMMER had come to Saxton, and the little town, the
level sea, and the green country were steeped in its
warmth, and color, and light. On an afternoon like this,
which would have been sultry but for the breeze, born in
the Atlantic, which came rustling up the Channel, just
rippling the waves, Saxton was more than usually quiet.
No one seemed to have any particular business on hand;
or if they had, with one consent they had deferred its
accomplishment till the cool of the evening.
Mr. Tandy's house was on the shady side of the street
as the shadows fell, and Knut lay in the open doorway
with his head on his paws, his mouth open, showing a
row of teeth gentle in love and terrible in war, and his
eyes blinking at the sunlight on the panes opposite.
When he had first come out to lic here and wait for his
358
GIDEON FLEYCE.
mistress, he had been betrayed into some snapping at the
flies that chased around or walked within provoking dis-
tance of his nose. It was too hot to indulge in violent
exercise, and the efforts made were not successful. If the
weather had been cooler the flies would have circled
round Knut at their peril. But then in cooler weather
there were no flies, or none to speak of.
This, to Knut's mind, seemed a curious oversight on the
part of Nature, and provided him with food for reflection
as he lay watching the flies with one eye and taking in
with all his mouth whatever air was stirring. Knut might
well have been taken as an emblem of Saxton as he lay
in the doorway, so as to be ready for Napper when she
came out. Full of peace and quietness was Knut. But
within his shaggy breast lurked possibilities of being
deeply stirred, just as this quiet little town with its red
roofs fronting the sea had lately shown that it, too, might
have its tragedies and its moving scenes.
;
Whatever of life beat within the parliamentary bound-
aries of Saxton, was just now down on the beach. It was
August, and Saxton's high "season." Year by year as
this golden month came round an average of twenty peo-
ple sought relaxation and recreation at Saxton. Then
were a few inore novels of soothing influence got in at
the circulating library. Then did the wine merchant
issue his circulars-"Good sound claret, 14s. a dozen
champagne, light and dry, 25. 9d. a bottle" and then
was Tom Traddles (formerly in the employ of the grocer,
but discharged during the excitement preceding the gen-
eral election) sent round with a circular addressed to
each occupant of the lodging-houses on the Terrace.
Then did the butcher kill the fatted calf. Then did the
fishmonger send to London for an extra supply of fish,
probably caught, in the first instance, within sight of the
church tower. Then did the green-grocer, in his most
charming of shops-where you tumbled down a secret
step on entering, and on rising bumped your head against
the ceiling-get in a fresh store of fruit and vegetables
that filled the air with fragrance, and invested the buy-
ing of a cucumber with an added grace.
Last year, when the turmoil of the election was near
at hand, the visitors had been somewhat neglected, and
<<
the season" had failed to send through the town that
flutter of excitement that even reached the church on the
+
4
GIDEON FLEYCE.
the
359
hill, where the curates knew they would have one or two
people from London to hear them twitter from their safe
nest in the pulpit, and peradventure find an extra shilling
or half-crown in the box, when, twice a day, it went round
in search of what were humorously called "offerings,"
meaning takings.
But this year things were different. Saxton had had
its election and something more.
After Gideon had been
taken off to London and Castle Fleyce had been placed
in charge of the gardener and his wife, a terrible reaction
had set in. The combination of excitement had been too
much for Saxton, and, taken in conjunction with the bitter
disappointment attending the non-distribution of expect-
ed and even discounted tokens of the candidate's regard,
something like a feeling of torpor born of utter weari-
ness had fallen upon the place.
The world had long been accustomed to forget it. It
had suddenly remembered it with a vengeance, and now,
if Saxton could be left to go on its old sleepy way, it
would be well.
This feeling had lasted a couple of months. Then, as
"the season" approached, spirits began to revive. The
arrival of the first visitor was enthusiastically hailed, and
those preparations hinted at above were zealously under-
taken.
The strangers from town on the beach were just now
steeped in the indolent languor that follows upon unac-
customed sea-bathing. When they had bathed there was
nothing else to do. There was no pier at Saxton. No
nigger band had ever made the sea round Saxton laugh
with their subtle humor, or caused the sweet, strong air
to vibrate with their melodies. There was nothing par-
ticular to do except sit and stare at the English Channel
as did stout Cortez, when, with eagle eyes,
He stared at the Pacific, and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise.
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Fortunately in these circumstances there was only one
bathing-machine. This might have been said to be the
life and soul of existence at Saxton. Around this clumsy
and colossal contrivance hurtled as much of human passion
as if it were Constantinople or Schleswig-Holstein. Who
got it first, and who third, and-deepest dolor-who
X
譬
​P
360
GIDEON FLEYCE.
1
twentieth, was at Saxton the question of the day, or at
least of the afternoon. By what wiles, devices, and strategy
precedence was obtained, with what flashes of courtesy
precedence was sometimes conceded, were matters which
had a tendency prematurely to age Mrs. Barkins, who had
charge of the machine.
But their development made the time pass pleasantly
and with abundant interest in the full height of
"the
season."
To the longshoremen "the season" was the great feast
of the year.
The ship never came in, though daily and
hourly looked for with keenest eyes and with most patient
attitude. It always had sailed past Saxton outward bound
with brightly painted hull and rigging all taut, or home-
ward-bound, weather-stained and a little ragged aloft.
But August had never failed to come round. Sometimes
it is true, it was a little wet; but then it was safe and cer-
tain.
A
Everything was to be done when "the season" came.
Arrears of rent were to be paid, the little bill at the
butcher's was to be met, and the larger account scored up
in the slate ledger at the Dog and Duck was to be wiped
off. Then brawny arms would be bared and stalwart
frames bent to labor. In view of which prospect it was
clearly necessary in the meantime to take abundant rest.
"One month shalt thou labor and through eleven months
loaf" was written in the Decalogue of the longshoremen.
June was quite a bustling month for them, for sometimes
strangers came straggling down in July. In anticipation.
of that event the boats were dragged lower down on the
beach, caulked and tarred. In July they were launched,
and a month was usefully employed in getting them water-
tight. They had a wonderful way of leaking, to the dis-
comfort of the July visitors.
"It is a leetle wet, to be sure," said Round Tommy to
Captain O'Brien and his companion, whom he was rowing
out, not too swiftly, over the main in the solemn summer
night. "But what there's of it's in the starn.
""
"Exactly. That's what I complain of," said O'Brien,
who was anxious, not for himself, but for his companion.
They had been walking on the beach and had seen, a
mile out at sea, a vessel at anchor with its ghostly yards
tapering to the sky. Napper had felt a great yearning to
be somewhere near the silent ship, and O'Brien had straight-
GIDEON FLEYCE,
361
B
t
way gone off to the Dog and Duck, almost rolled Round
Tommy out as if he had been an empty tub-which he was
not, being in fact considerably more than half full-
brought him down to the beach, and with his own hands.
had done more than half the work in launching the
Seraph of Saxton.
They had lifted Napper in and off they went, along the
silver path which the moonbeams made, and which led
straight out to the silent, motionless ship,
Napper knew nothing about the water leaking through
the dry boards and collecting in the stern. She had her
eyes fixed on the ship, and was making out a history for
it, feeling very happy and pleased to be here on this silver
avenue of the waveless sea.
O'Brien was very wroth to think that even the hem of
her garment should be dabbled in the sea water. He
glowered upon Round Tommy when he gave this answer.
But Round Tommy, as we know, was not given to darken
counsel with words. He didn't particularly care for being
trundled out at this time of night, when no man could
reasonably be expected to work. The only prospect that
pleased him was that of the half crown he would presently
receive, and which he had already dedicated to the Dog
and Duck.
This had happened a month ago. The Seraph of Sax-
ton was watertight now, and Round Tommy had earned
many a half-crown since. At present he was standing on
the beach with his far away gaze set seaward, and par-
tially intercepted by the head and shoulders of Caulker
Jack.
This was an incident that in no way disturbed Round
Tommy's regard. He was accustomed to look seaward,
and if it happened that anyone got between him and the
prospect that was their affair. Now he stared at the brown
throat of Caulker Jack as if the ship had been signalled
off his nose, and might presently be expected, if the wind
held fair, to double the cape off his chin and reach the
long-desired haven.
Caulker Jack's position was an accidental one, due to
the habit, already hinted at, of the longshoremen to gather
about Round Tommy as if he were the axle of a wheel and
they the spokes. They had been standing thus, a dozen
all told, half an hour and no one had spoken or moved, or
withdrawn his gaze from the distant horizon, or such por-
16
GIDEON FLEYCE.
362
tions of it as were not intercepted by the exigencies of
grouping.
Most of them had the tasty quid in their mouths, and as
they moved their jaws and looked out on the distant hori-
zon they bore a certain resemblance to a herd of cattle
standing in dreamy content chewing their cud.
"I hearn at Goldfinch's that he's agone to Ameriky."
It was the voice of Round Tommy that suddenly smote
the silence which brooded over the group of the long-
shoremen. Elsewhere it was broken only by the laughter
or highly-pitched talk of children playing on the beach,
or by the low swish of the sea as it fell upon the pebbles.
Nobody else spoke for a minute or two. Conversation
to be thoroughly enjoyed must be properly digested, and
the digestive machinery of Round Tommy and his com-
panions worked slowly. Conversation was rare. Why
hurry through its enjoyment? Rather, as a connoisseur
sips a rare wine, let us enjoy our interchange of thought
with decent intervals.
"Well, it were a blamed bad job, take it all through,"
continued Round Tommy after due pause. "It seems to
me we're allus in ill luck. Ayther it's a wet season, or
there's scarlet fever in the Terrace, or it's so rough that
no one 'll go out and yer don't take half-a-crown in three
days. Relse yer 'av a go like this election. Everything
goes on swimmingly. Ye've three pun from one side sure,
and yer pretty nigh certain of three pun from the other.
Then a hold bloke in London goes and gets murdered,
our man's whipped off, and there yer are.
""
This was rather a sustained effort of conversation for
Round Tommy, and was made to appear the longer since
the delivery was slow, its full accomplishment making an
appreciable hole in the long summer afternoon. Its con-
clusion was hailed with acquiescent groans, and here and
there a man hauled his hands from the depths of his
pockets, moved the poise of his body to the other leg,
shook his shoulders, and then put his hands back into his
pockets.
"Aye," said Corkey, seeking out a fresh foundation in
the shingle for his wooden leg, which, having been in the
same place two hours, showed a tendency to bury itself as
if it were a pile. 'Aye, mate, an' him as we worked for
night and day. A've shouted myself hoarse with only an
occasional pint."
((
GIDEON FLEYCE.
363
"Worst o' me is," said Bo'sprit, taking up the conversa-
tion after a lull of ten minutes, "I'd spent that three pun
'fore the day. I bought myself a new rig out for tuppun
eight, and I gave five bob for a shawl for the missus, mak-
ing sure to clear 'em off when we got the three pun on
Saturday night. When the whole thing drifted off I
pawned the missus's shawl, but only got three bob on it."
This was regarded as a matter not without its recom-
mendation of poetical justice. A man who would go and
deliberately spend five shillings on a shawl for his wife
when he might have purchased with it fifteen quarts of
beer at the Dog and Duck had no right to appeal for
sympathy.
Bo'sprit's remark, following upon the exhaustive ob-
servations of Round Tommy, supplied sufficient food for
reflection for the rest of the afternoon. Each man had his
own particular measure of grievance. It had been a hard
blow to all of them, but there was more of sorrow than of
anger in their eyes as they looked out over the sea.
Knut, still lazily lying in the doorway as if he was a
longshoreman, pricked up his ears as a step came down
the High Street along by the bend where, it seemed to
him half a century ago, he had knocked down Mr. Dumfy.
His ears dropped and his eyes closed again after a
moment's listening. He knew the step well enough. It
was Mr. Griggs.
Even if he had not known the step, and he knew almost
every footfall in Saxton, Knut would have recognized Mr.
Griggs. None but he would have walked on the sunny
side of the street on a day like this. But Mr. Griggs
rarely found the sun too hot. "The season" made no
direct difference to him. Indirectly, it might have helped
him, as bringing a little money into town, and a portion of
it may eventually have reached his hand. But people
who came down from London to spend a month on the
Terrace didn't usually take back with them an assortment
of dining-room chairs or a brass bedstead. Mr. Griggs
only wished they did.
To him "the season" was the one period of the year
when he was free from a cold in the head.
"We just begin to get warm, my dear, and comfortable,
when the fire goes out like, and we're as bad off as ever.
99
This was the remark he made regularly every September
in the revolving ycars, as a certain watery look about the
✩
-364
eyes and a growing redness about the nostrils announced
the return of influenza. In August the watery springs
seemed to have dried up. There was a pleasant absence
of dampness about Mr. Griggs, and his spirits rose to quite
unusual heights.
On this broiling afternoon he walked briskly as the
pleasant heat beat upon the red roofs, the brown walls, and
the small panes of the shops in High Street. Not a soul was
out but himself. He turned into Mr. Goldfinch's, which he
found unpleasantly cool, and found there was quite a
gathering. Goldfinch himself was perched high up on his
stool by the door. Mr. Burnap was seated on half a bag
of coffee set down by the counter; whilst Mr. Firminger,
with his face like a boiled beet-root, was mopping his
forehead.
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen all," said Mr. Griggs.
"Nice pleasant day, though perhaps a little so-so in the
shade.'
"What d'ye mean by a little so-so in the shade?"
growled Mr. Firminger, making himself hotter than ever by
violent gymnastic exercises with his pocket-handkerchief.
"It's my opinion, Griggs, there's only one place hot
enough for you, and that can't be mentioned with Mrs.
Goldfinch in the back parlor," said Mr. Burnap.
((
Well, I do like heat, I allow; I like to be warm and
comfortable," said Mr. Griggs apologetically.
"You should have gone out with Mr. Fleyce, then,"
piped Mr. Goldfinch. "They're mostly blacks there, I've
been told, or Chaneymen, which comes to the same thing.”
"No they don't," said Mr. Firminger, exasperated by
the heat of the weather and not soothed by the recollec-
tion of the closed doors of Castle Fleyce and the sudden
stoppage of bountiful orders. They're as different as beef
and veal. Besides, the blacks is only occasional. I do
believe," he continued, fiercely turning upon Mr. Burnap,
who had got the coolest corner in the shop, besides having
something to sit upon, "that Goldfinch thinks all Amery-
cans is born black.
""
"Well, neighbor, that's neither here nor there,” said
Mr. Burnap, enjoying his ease. "The thing is, is he go-
ing to stop in Ameryca, or is he coming back to do what
he ought by the town, after giving us all this trouble, and
lavishing us out into all that expense we'd never have
thought of only for him."
PEMPL
365
"Mr. Tandy's the only man that knows anything about
him, except this Captain O'Brien, who's always down
here now, and they'd snap the nose off your face if you
asked a question.
""
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"They've made a good thing out of him, anyhow," said
Mr. Burnap. "The curate's mother told my missus that
he gave that Tandy girl a di'mond necklace with stones as
big as Koeynores, and that O'Brien had bled him to the
tune of £5,000."
"I always fancied that old Tandy would hook him for a
son-in-law. He was always out with the girl and she a
following him up to the Castle. If he's given her this
necklace as Goldfinch talks of, I expect he means some-
thing;" and Mr. Firminger dealt himself a violent mop
on the forehead almost sufficient to have felled an ox.
""
'Well, I don't know that that would be such a bad thing
for you, neighbors, if it came about. It's nothing to me;
I have had my say to Castle Fleyce."
And a good long say it was," observed Mr. Firminger.
He could not tolerate Mr. Griggs at any time, least of
all in August, when he looked so aggravatingly cool.
"What I did's neither here nor there. We're all trades-
men and have to live, and what I mean to say is that he
may as well marry in the town as out of it."
"So as he marries at all, settles down at the Castle, let
us go on as we used, and perhaps come out again at the
next election, we'll wish him joy," said Mr. Burnap.
"Ah! I always said that that election wouldn't come to
much, carried on the way it was," Mr. Goldfinch said re-
gretfully. "I recollect in 1832"
"1832 be blowed!" cried the irascible Firminger. "I'm
a man that comes down on the block, and what I want to
know is what are we going to do in 1882, which is nigh on
I don't mind sayin' in this company, not wishing it to
go farder, I often had a bill for £10 a week for jints, and
that's something to think of in a place like this.'
us
>>
"Griggs is quite right," said Mr. Burnap from the judg-
ment-seat on the coffee sack. "All's well as ends well, I
say, and if he marries old Tandy's daughter it'll be for the
benefit of the town. And she's not a bad sort of a girl, I
say, though a little uppish at times, and has a way of put-
ting illconvenient questions. The way she set on me about
the mortar when we was working up at the Castle was
enough to make your head ache. Miss Tandy,' I says to
6
I
*
5
:
3
GIDEON FLEYCE.
366
her at last, 'you leave the mixing of the mortar to me, and
I'll leave the making of pics to you.' Rather think Í had
'her there."
"I expect she'd a notion you was doing it cheap,"
growled Mr. Firminger. "I don't know much about her,
and don't want to. It's not much butcher's meat goes in
through old Tandy's door. But for a man with a perpet-
ual cold in his head, I'll allow Griggs's not far out. If
Tandy's played his game and got this rich man for a son-
in-law he's quite right.'
"Suppose he's as rich as they say?" Mr. Goldfinch
piped from his perch.
"Rich!" cried Mr. Burnap. "Why, I believe he's a
millyner. I've heard tell that his father, the old gentleman
Dumfy cut up-sly, sneaking fellow that Dumfy!—had
money in everything that was going, besides a lump he
kept in his safe. Fleyce has got every penny. Could buy
us all up, and build as many castles as he liked."
"Ah well, neighbors," said Mr. Griggs, rubbing his
hands together and pulling up his coat collar as if he felt
a draught somewhere, "that's a man we all respect, and
he oughtn't to be missed out of Saxton. If he comes back
and marries Miss Tandy, all I can say is they'll have my
best wishes. Don't you find it a little chilly in here?"
"Chilly!" roared Mr. Firminger, apparently on the
verge of apoplexy. But Mr. Griggs was gone before his
wrath could descend.
"It's my firm belief," said Mr. Firminger, as he made a
dash for the shady side of the street, "that there Griggs
was born to be a snail, only they couldn't get a house as
would fit his back."
CHAPTER L.
The Peril of Poppies.
THERE was a good deal of truth in these casual remarks
from the lips of the worthy gentlemen whom chance had
so nearly made Gideon's constituents. The discovery of
the skeleton in the old gentleman's cupboard had been
followed by Gideon's immediate release, by every mark of
GIDEON FLEYCE.
367
C
profound regret on the part of the authorities, and amid
a jubilation that seemed national. People held their
breath to think how nearly, as Napper had put it weeks
ago, a fresh murder had been committed.
Gideon might now have supped plentifully of the cup
of pleasure which had tasted so delicious to him when he
first appeared in the streets of Saxton as the Liberal can-
didate and heard the people whisper, "That's him!" If
there had been a seat in Parliament vacant, and Gideon
had sued for the suffrages of the people, he would have
been sent in at the head of the poll against any candidate
who might have come forward.
In addition to being a great people we are a people of
generous emotions, and when any miscarriage of justice
takes place there are no bounds to the desire of the popu-
lace to make ample amends.
But Gideon shrank from the popular acclaim. A man
cannot stand so near the gates of death as he had done
without undergoing some change in himself, even though
the effect be transitory. Gideon was altered and improved.
He would never in any circumstances have been a great
man-great of soul I mean-nor a thoroughly good man.
But he was decidedly a man whose nature was impres-
sionable, and he was right in his belief that, were Napper
by his side, life would for him have taken on a fairer and
a better aspect.
He could not think of Napper now, at least not in that
way, because he felt the taint of the prison was on him
still. He smelled its breath in English air wherever he
went, and he felt an overmastering desire to get away out
of the country for a time. He had a fantastic longing to
live in a prairie for a few weeks or even months. His
idea of what a prairie was was exceedingly vague. At
least it was big and boundless, and full of fresh air, and
there was the unfathomable expanse of the heavens
above.
In these respects he felt it would diametrically differ
from the dungeon he had left, and was therefore desir-
able.
When Napper came to him in the cell, bringing the
basket of roses, Gideon believed he was looking his last
on this world, and as he followed her out with sorrowful
hungry eyes he felt that the bitterness of death was
past.
→
368-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
Night and day he saw her wearing that last sorrowful
look, and perhaps will continue so to see her, though in
fainter lines, to the last day of his life. At any moment
he could close his eyes and see her with head half turned
as she reached the cell door, the tears streaming down
her cheeks, and withal eyes and mouth making brave ef-
forts to smile. No April day so fair, and surely none so
tender! In his exalted state of mind Gideon felt that to
be wept for by Napper was almost worth the pain of
dying.
Now it was all over he cherished the memory of the
last look she had cast upon him, and would not have it
dimmed till he should come back after the lapse of a year
or so, and ask her to marry him.
It was asking now. No more of King Cophetua and
the beggar maid. She was now the Queen and he the
suppliant.
Of all which Napper had no more idea than had Knut
as he lay stretched out on the doorstep blinking in the
sun, and from time to time slightly cocking his ears at the
faintest sound, whether it came from the house or street.
Gideon had written to Napper expressing his gratitude
to her for saving his life. It was O'Brien who had repre-
sented it to Gideon in that light, enlarging with quite sur
prising eloquence on the shrewdness of Napper's percep-
tion and of the persistency with which she had urged both
her father and himself to fresh efforts, resulting in the
discovery of Mr. Dumfy's remains and the freedom of the
condemned prisoner.
Mr. Tandy had added some details which showed that
O'Brien had done a great deal more for Gideon's deliver-
ance than appeared on the face of his modest narrative.
Gideon took note of this and was not unmindful of it.
He was wealthy now, rich beyond his utmost hopes. As
to his land schemes, they had melted into thin air. The
mortgagees had foreclosed and taken possession. But
the fortune accumulated by the Spider had exceeded all
computation.
The Spider's fortune was in marketable securities, that
could be converted into cash at any time, and Gideon con-
verted some of it into a check for £5,000, which he sent
to O'Brien. He had always done things handsomely in
money matters, and this was no time to be niggardly.
But for O'Brien, working under the inspiration of Nap-
GIDEON FLEYCE.
369
per, Gideon would have closed all his earthly accounts,
So he sent the £5,000 with
including that of his banker.
a few words of hearty thanks.
1
To Napper also he wrote a letter, tinged with the liter-
ary style that had so offended the severely critical taste of
Mr. Jack Bailey, but still creditable to his feelings. He
begged her acceptance of a slight acknowledgment of the
inestimable service she had done him, and hoped that when
he returned in a year or so from the new world on the
other side of the Atlantic he might be privileged to see her
wearing the necklace, and discover in its light the dawning
of a new world for him.
The hidden meaning of this latter phrase was beyond
Napper's penetration. She attributed it to Mr. Fleyce's
florid style, and supposed he was going to make a fresh
start in business or politics. But the necklace was tangi-
ble and unmistakable. It was of diamonds of the purest
water, and, as Mr. Tandy surmised, of fabulous value.
Napper protested against the acceptance of the present,
a little more feebly after trying the necklace on. In the
end Mr. Tandy and O'Brien (who as usual chanced to be
in the family circle) prevailed, and the necklace was put
away in Mr. Tandy's strong box.
"It's perfectly ridiculous my having a thing like that,"
Napper said. "When could I wear it except once a year
at the county ball, and then I should only stir up strife
by outshining other and richer girls?"
"I daresay, my dear, there will be some other occasion,"
said Mr. Tandy, on whom new lights were breaking.
In the fullness of his heart Gideon had proposed to do
something handsome for Jack Bailey. If he thought the
Beacon could be revived Gideon would do whatever was
necessary in the way of money and would hand it over to
Jack as a free gift.
This was a great temptation to Jack. The sacred light
of the Beacon had been kept feebly burning through the
troubled times that had befallen its proprietor. But it was
not the desire to fan it into a blaze that temporarily excited
Jack. To edit the Beacon meant to live in Saxton, and Jack
felt the incessant longing in that direction that the moth
feels for the candle.
After a severe struggle he bravely resolved to keep out
of temptation, and from his untidy apartment that served
the double purpose of bedroom and study, and with a head
16*
Sal
↓
GIDEON FLEYCE.
}
370
full of ache, a heart full of sadness, and a stomach consid
erably less than half full of food, he wrote a letter of thanks
and acknowledgment which conveyed to Gideon's mind the
impression that Mr. J. Bellamy Bailey was really so over-
whelmed with lucrative work that, whilst fully appreciat-
ing Gideon's kindness, he could not think of accepting his
generous offer.
">
Knut, still brooding over "a something in the world.
amiss that sent fat flies in summer weather when he felt
too lazy to catch them, suddenly sprang to his feet, and with
every limb rigid, his head slightly on one side, and his
right ear pricked up, listened. With a proper direction of
the energy thus displayed, and for which he had failed to
give himself credit, there was not a blue-bottle fly within
ten feet of him that would have lived to see the sun
go down.
But Knut was not thinking of flies nor of Mr. Firminger,
who, with his hat off and his shirt open at the collar, was
walking down the street on the shady side. There was no
sound that Mr. Firminger could hear, had he stopped to
listen. But Knut heard it, and presently it became dis-
tinct enough—a firm, steady step coming down the silent
street, round the bend ever memorable by reason of Mr.
Dumfy's fall. Before the figure came into view Knut was
off, bounding like a colt in a field, and, utterly regardless
that the thermometer marked 90 in the shade, danced
frantically round O'Brien. He liked the Captain for many
reasons, but he hailed his coming with an especial delight
since it presaged a walk, sometimes a ramble over the
country, or occasionally a stroll down to the beach, where
the Captain flung bits of stick into the sea and Knut
brought them out again.
Knut dashed down the street, barking joyously, making
playful dashes at the Captain's heels, and presently rush-
ing into the house in the most ecstatic manner to inform
Napper of the fresh arrival.
"Are you and Knut going for a walk to-day, Miss
Tandy?" the Captain asked, as Napper appeared at the
door with Knut in a paroxysm of delight, which in the
state of the weather threatened to end with apoplexy.
*
"I was thinking of it," Napper said; "but don't you
think it's a little hot for walking?"
"Hot! not in the least," the Captain said, his manly
forehead glowing with perspiration and assurance.
1
371
GIDEON FLEYCE.
"There's a nice breeze blowing in from the sea, and if
you'll take me with you I'll show you a shady walk up
to the Downs."
"Thank you very much, Captain O'Brien," Napper
said, with a little courtesy. "I shall be so glad for you
to show me about Saxton. It will be quite a treat."
It was not difficult to find a shady walk about Saxton.
There was one so narrow that two people could scarcely
walk abreast in it unless they were content to walk very
close together, almost with shoulders touching. In winter
time it served the purpose of a stream, which had doubtless
first marked out the track. In summer it was a grassy lane
sunk below the level of the fields whose luxuriant hedge-
rows almost met overhead. Here ferns and wild flowers
grew in lavish profusion; here the birds built their nests
and sang all day, and here Napper and Captain O'Brien
slowly walked whilst Knut made diligent inquisitions into
the herbage and about the gnarled roots of the immemorial
trees.
Neither Napper nor the Captain seemed in the humor
for talking. Perhaps it was enough joy to be alone on
this bright summer day. Napper had taken off her straw
hat and held it on her arm, basket-wise. Here and there
were openings in the trees, and the sunlight fell upon a
very pretty sight when it touched Napper's golden hair
and crossed with bars of light her simple muslin frock.
"Have you finished the Memoirs of Princess Metter-
nich, Miss Tandy?" O'Brien asked.
He was loath to break the delicious pause, but he had
something to say, and being determined that it should be
said before they left the lane, was beating about the bush
for some discreet way of saying it.
"Yes, I have read them twice."
"Then perhaps you will lend the work to me. I should
like to read it again. Do you remember the day I called
in and you were reading a passage to your father?”
"Was I?" Napper said with slight tokens of uneasiness.
"Yes, I often read to him."
(6
I remember the very passage," O'Brien went on hur-
riedly. "It's where the Princess talks about her husband
working, and her desire to lean over his shoulder to see
how he writes his despatches. I thought that a very
charming scene."
"Oh, there's a beautiful cluster of poppies!" Napper
1
372
GIDEON FLEYCE.
said, wishing she were safe at home. "Do you think you
could get them for me?"
The Captain certainly thought he could, and did, with a
feeling not altogether free from satisfaction at being tem-
porarily relieved from a situation which he felt was grow-
ing embarrassing.
But the poppies only led to swifter catastrophe.
Napper sat down on a felled tree whilst the Captain
struggled through the hedge and brought back in triumph
the poppies. Sitting there and not quite knowing what
she did, she twined the poppies in her hair, at sight of
which added loveliness the hapless Captain hopelessly
broke down.
"Napper!" he said.
She started at the familiar name spoken by O'Brien for
the first time.
(C Do you remember something in a poem I have heard
you read, about the maiden who
Fronted unuttered words and said them nay,
And smiled down love till it had nought to say?"
Napper remembered very well; she also called to mind
the next verse, where it is written,
She raised to me her quiet eyelids twain,
And looked me this reply-look calm yet bland—
"I shall not know, I will not understand."
Perhaps she could not do better than follow the example
here set. Whilst her fingers nervously played with the
harmless poppies, she raised her eyes to her companion
and quite intended to reproduce the look "calm and
bland." But alas! alas! Poor Napper never was very
good at that sort of thing. What she saw when she looked
up was an honest, manly face, with eyes that looked
gravely but fondly into her own.
O'Brien on his part must have seen something there
other than the calm, bland regard which should have
looked forth from them, or he would never have dared to
lay his great brown hand upon the little one that held the
crushed poppies.
After a little while he said,
1
"Dearest Napper, I have not lived a very noble life
hitherto. I think it has been a wearisome and wasteful.
gideon fleyce.
373
But I have long felt, and more and more in these past few
weeks, that it might be otherwise. Your love would be tò
me like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. Will
you give it me?"
At this precise moment, Knut returned from one of his
frequent excursions up and down the lane and stood a
moment at gaze, his eyes fixed upon the couple seated on
the felled tree.
From what he saw it was borne in upon him that two
are company and three are none. So, like a sagacious
dog, he, with every affectation of urgent business on hand,
trotted off on a distant errand, and I don't know that we
could do better than follow his example.
THE END.
M

"
dr aʻa ** * * * 29.
in a tip that to the b
812 49 64
OG
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UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
wils
812L964 OG
Lucy, Henry William, Sir, 1845-1924.
Gideon Fleyce: a novel.
3 1951 002 065 989 U
WILSON
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ONTON={
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ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:'../?$0123456789
4 PT
6 PT
8 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
AIIM SCANNER TEST CHART #2
4 PT
6 PT
8 PT
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
Century Schoolbook Bold
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
News Gothic Bold Reversed
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:'',/?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:',./?$0123456789
Bodoni Italic
8 PT ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφρστυωχψζ37",/Σ+++><><><
10 PT ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφρστυώχψζ27",/St=7°><><Ξ
QUAWN--
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?80123456789
1
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
Greek and Math Symbols
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ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφρστυωχψζ==",/S+=#°><><><Ξ
White
HALFTONE WEDGES
1
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Isolated Characters
e
4
8
3
5
σ
9
1
6
0
2
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B
EXTAWN-I

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RIT ALPHANUMERIC RESOLUTION TEST OBJECT, RT-1-71