"HE CAUGHT BOTH HER HANDS IN HIS."
"HE CAUGHT BOTH HER HANDS IN HIS."
"HE CAUGHT BOTH HER HANDS IN HIS."
Childhood in Pictures by S K Ludovic
"ASLEEP."From the Painting by F. Charderon.By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
"ASLEEP."From the Painting by F. Charderon.By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
"ASLEEP."
From the Painting by F. Charderon.
By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
Childhood's joys and childhood's sorrows, its beauty, and even its little frailties—in fact, everything connected with the dawn of life, has its own especial charm. It is, perhaps, not given to all of us to detect with a sympathetic eye the picturesque in a very naughty young person, who hits at every moment on a fresh idea to make his fellow-creatures uncomfortable: nor is the spectacle of children in their best-loved state of dirty happiness too pleasing to the average observer. But the artist's eye sees things differently. Happily so; his imaginative brain sees the humour of the little self-assertions, and the pathetic side of the joy of living even in the gutter. Yet, after all is said, it remains, of course, a certain truth that there are many aspects of child-life which can only in reality be fully understood by mothers.
The subject of our first picture—"Asleep," by the French painter, F. Charderon—is a little masterpiece of its kind. There may be prettier children than this one, but the natural and unconscious grace of the little warm and rosy body is infinitely charming.
Charming, too, is the face in the medallion in the heading of this article—the face of achild-angel, which seems to watch over the figure of the human child asleep below. It is taken from a painting by Bernardo Strozzi.
"FLOWER OF THE HEATH."From the Painting by Schwentzen.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"FLOWER OF THE HEATH."From the Painting by Schwentzen.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"FLOWER OF THE HEATH."
From the Painting by Schwentzen.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
The picture reproduced above, entitled "Flower of the Heath," by the German painter, Schwentzen, is another delightful study. It is that of a child wandering alone over a flowery plain—or not quite alone, for she is accompanied by a shaggy terrier, who carries in his mouth a basket, from which protrudes a bottle. That bottle, as often happens with accessories of a picture which may seem quite unimportant at first sight, is not there for nothing. It tells, or at least elucidates, the story of the picture. The little girl has been the bearer of her father's dinner, and is returning through the flowering heather, filling her apron with blossoms as she goes. The whole picture—sunny landscape, flowers, dog, and child—is full of delicate power and subtle charm.
The three child-heads in the medallions above given must not be passed without a word of notice. The upper one is by Gainsborough, and a more winsome and delightful little face it is impossible to imagine. That on the right is from the same picture—the two children being named respectively Habbenal and Ganderetta. The head in the medallion on the left-hand side is from the portrait of James, the young Earl of Salisbury, by Kneller.
We come now to a picture full of pathetic meaning—"Tired Gleaners"—by our well-known English painter, Mr. Fred Morgan. They look so poor and sad, these pretty little girls, who have at the very outset of life already known so much of its hardship. The elder one has a mother's instinct of kindlycare for the weaker little sister; her face expresses the self-forgetting resignation of a life filled with love for others. The little one, more beautiful than the elder sister, is one of those beings who are in all stations of life predestined to be loved and cared for. A whole touching life-story is in these two children's faces—beautiful but sad.
"TIRED GLEANERS."From the Painting by Fred Morgan.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.[See larger version]
"TIRED GLEANERS."From the Painting by Fred Morgan.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"TIRED GLEANERS."
From the Painting by Fred Morgan.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
[See larger version]
The examples which have been selected to fill the medallions given in this article comprise illustrations of children's heads contained in some of the most celebrated pictures in the world. It is impossible in a limited space to give an adequate idea of the beauty and charm with which the old masters have immortalized childhood—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say babyhood, since the great majority are representations of the Child with the Madonna, and, though varying in age from a few weeks upwards, the infant is seldom shown as older than a year or two at most. These studies of what may, in a double sense, be called the divinity of childhood differ widely according to the nationality of the painter. As we shall see presently, in some of the examples given in these pages farther on, we can enumerate among the artists of this country certain painters, such as Gainsborough and Reynolds, who as delineators of child-life and character are not easily excelled. There are those, however, who would say that in this respect the Italian masters have never been surpassed. Raphael's child-head of Christ from the painting entitled the "Madonna Aldobrandini," which is reproduced in the first medallion above, will through all ages illustrate, perhaps without a rival, the mission of the eternally beautiful—the dignity of innocence, the holiness of love. Bernardo Strozzi, later than Raphael, painted a human child in the arms of the Holy Virgin. It is reproduced in the right-hand medallion above. The childish charm and smile are most alluring. Here we find an allegory of Christianity; but it is not, like the child's head in Raphael's "Madonna Aldobrandini," an allegory of the divinity.
"HIDE-AND-SEEK."By Fred Morgan.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.[See larger version]
"HIDE-AND-SEEK."By Fred Morgan.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"HIDE-AND-SEEK."
By Fred Morgan.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
[See larger version]
Here is another of Mr. Fred Morgan's studies of child-life—a study notable for its expression of unreflecting and unconscious happiness. To be five years old and to play hide-and-seek among the blossoms, to feel them closing you in entirely, so that you can only just peep through and see with joy the others pass your hiding-place, to hold back the flowery branches and save with the other hand the little frock from the thorns—what pleasure! And there, right over head, is baby heard crowing; she comes nearer and nearer, held high above the flowers and thorns by her strong elder sister. She is sure to catch you! Can one ever feel in after years such delight, excitement, and suspense?
In the picture entitled "For Mother's Birthday," by Louise Jopling, a large-eyed little maiden is seen carrying so huge a jar of flowers that she can scarcely hold it. The painter of this picture must be a lover of children; only those who are sensitive to the charm of children can observe their characteristics with so much acuteness. The little girl is so prim and tidy, her best frock and hair-ribbon have been put on with such care, the suppressed excitement and the consciousness of the great importance of the event are so well expressed in her closed mouth, in the fixed gaze of the eyes, that we feel that the painter has caught the fleeting moment to perfection. The next instant that spell of solemnity will be broken, when her mother will have received her birthday present and will have taken her in her arms and kissed her: and the child's expression, as she goes dancing back to the nursery, no longer with the measured steps with which she left it, will be, though not less child-like, the opposite in kind.
"FOR MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY."By Louise Jopling. From a Photo. by H. Dixon.
"FOR MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY."By Louise Jopling. From a Photo. by H. Dixon.
"FOR MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY."
By Louise Jopling. From a Photo. by H. Dixon.
From the Painting by] "DILIGENCE." [A. Dieffenbach.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
From the Painting by] "DILIGENCE." [A. Dieffenbach.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
From the Painting by] "DILIGENCE." [A. Dieffenbach.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD."From the Painting by Hiddeman.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD."From the Painting by Hiddeman.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD."
From the Painting by Hiddeman.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
Let us turn again to the realm of fancy, to fairyland, where we all once wandered. Who of us has not feared and trembled for Little Red Riding-Hood; who has not cordially detested the wolf, and wished to warn her against his wiles? The mixture of trust in the wolf and of doubt in her own judgment has in our picture been charmingly expressed by the painter. This is one of those pictures which have the merit of containing an idea which throws a new light on the story which it illustrates. Every child who has read the adventures of Little Red Riding-Hood has wondered why she felt no fear at the first appearance of the wolf. It was because he had the wit, as the picture clearly shows, to disguise his nature and, with all his cunning, to show nothing but his natural likeness to a big and friendly dog, in which it is quite easy for a child to trust, as in a playfellow rather than an enemy.
In the picture, "Diligence," by Dieffenbach, there is perhaps no idea except what appears at first glance. Whether the child is really absorbed in her lessons, or whether the title is ironical and sheis in fact dreaming over a fairy tale while the school-books repose in the basket, does not much matter; the reader may take his choice. The picture is most probably one of those which are painted solely for delight in their subject. Is not the whole thing perfectly charming?
"AN UNEXPECTED MEETING."From the Painting by Paul Peel.By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
"AN UNEXPECTED MEETING."From the Painting by Paul Peel.By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
"AN UNEXPECTED MEETING."
From the Painting by Paul Peel.
By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
On this page we have two pictures which present as marked a contrast as may easily be conceived. "An Unexpected Meeting," by Paul Peel, depicting the sturdy little fellow with the irresistible air of manliness greeting the frog as a boon-companion, is as natural a study of boy-life as is that of the little girl of the characteristics of the opposite sex. "Little Caprice" stands before us in scanty attire which is not the beginning of her morning toilet, but is merely the result of her caprice. But what does it all mean? If she knew that, or you, or I, it would be no longer what it is—an inexplicable freak of the child's mind. She has been left unobserved for a moment whilst playing in a corner and found it amusing to take off her clothes, till she came to the critical point, which the painter has seized with so much humour and truth to life. Suddenly it strikes her that it is not very amusing to be without one's clothes, but she does not wish to put her things on by herself, partly for the simple reason that she does not know how to do it, and also because she does not know whether she really wishes to be dressed again. Oh, misery! oh, aggravation! she wants to do neither one thing nor the other. In fact, she does not know exactly what she wants—a state of mind which, when she grows to womanhood, will doubtless very often be repeated.
"LITTLE CAPRICE."From the Painting by Elisa Koch.By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
"LITTLE CAPRICE."From the Painting by Elisa Koch.By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
"LITTLE CAPRICE."
From the Painting by Elisa Koch.
By permission of Braun, Clément, & Co.
[See larger version]
From the Painting by Meyer von Bremen.By permission of theBerlin Photographic Co.
From the Painting by Meyer von Bremen.By permission of theBerlin Photographic Co.
From the Painting by Meyer von Bremen.
By permission of theBerlin Photographic Co.
"A KISS FIRST.""IN DANGER."From the Painting by Meyer von Bremen.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co[See larger version]
"A KISS FIRST.""IN DANGER."From the Painting by Meyer von Bremen.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co
"A KISS FIRST.""IN DANGER."
From the Painting by Meyer von Bremen.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co
[See larger version]
"A Kiss First" is the name of a delightful picture by Meyer von Bremen. The boy stands in the full knowledge of his strength and manly superiority before the fountain and prevents the little girl from filling her jug. His eyes are sparkling with the conviction that he has her in his power. And she? She is but a woman in miniature. Let those who flatter themselves that they understand women decide whether he will get his kiss or not.
The next picture is most realistic and amusing, and there can hardly be two opinions as to its obvious meaning—or, rather, its double meaning. The painter has entered the house for a moment to chat with the pretty girl—soheis "in danger." In the meantime, the children coming home from school stop on their way to see the picture—andthatis in danger also. The young genius gets hold of the brush and adds, with a few strokes, a little more colour to the landscape. The little sister kneeling by his side encourages the artistic performance, while the elder one probably passes judgment on the perspective.
"BUTTERFLIES."From the Painting by Kate Perugini.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.[See larger version]
"BUTTERFLIES."From the Painting by Kate Perugini.By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
"BUTTERFLIES."
From the Painting by Kate Perugini.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.
[See larger version]
In looking at the beautiful child on the swing in the picture entitled "Butterflies," by Kate Perugini, one at first receives the impression that the painter wanted to give us a "thing of beauty," without any other suggestion of childish amusement but the swing. Indeed, the title might well have been "Three Butterflies," for the child in the graceful dress, patterned as richly as the insects' wings, is as much a butterfly as the other two. But there is a further idea in the picture than that. Look once more. The little toe is aiming to touch the butterfly whilst it passes; the intent expression on the childish face shows that all her attention is concentrated on this one achievement. This is a very subtle illustration of the fact that children seldom enjoy a planless physical movement. Their little minds are constantly working for their own small aims and so developing for bigger ones.
Of the pictures in the medallions on this page, that on the left is from Sir Joshua Reynolds's painting entitled "The Angelic Child." It requires no saying that Sir Joshua's studies of children are among the most charming that ever came from the brush of a painter. The upper right-hand medallion is from Bartolozzi's picture called "Merit," while the remaining one is a painting named "A Boy with an Anchor," by the Italian artist, Cipriani.
DIALSTONE LANE by W W Jacobs
Copyright, 1904, by W. W. Jacobs, in the United States of America.
CHAPTER III.
MMr.Chalk, with his mind full of the story he had just heard, walked homewards like a man in a dream. The air was fragrant with spring and the scent of lilac revived memories almost forgotten. It took him back forty years, and showed him a small boy treading the same road, passing the same houses. Nothing had changed so much as the small boy himself; nothing had been so unlike the life he had pictured as the life he had led. Even the blamelessness of the latter yielded no comfort; it savoured of a lack of spirit.
His mind was still busy with the past when he reached home. Mrs. Chalk, a woman of imposing appearance, who sat by the window at needlework, looked up sharply at his entrance. Before she spoke he had a dim idea that she was excited about something.
"I've got her," she said, triumphantly.
"Oh!" said Mr. Chalk.
"She didn't want to come at first," said Mrs. Chalk: "she'd half promised to go to Mrs. Morris. Mrs. Morris had heard of her through Harris, the grocer, and he only knew she was out of a place by accident. He——"
Her words fell on deaf ears. Mr. Chalk, gazing through the window, heard without comprehending a long account of the capture of a new housemaid, which, slightly altered as to name and place, would have passed muster as an exciting contest between a skilful angler and a particularly sulky salmon. Mrs. Chalk, noticing his inattention at last, pulled up sharply.
"You're not listening!" she cried.
"Yes, I am; go on, my dear," said Mr. Chalk.
"What did I say she left her last place for, then?" demanded the lady.
Mr. Chalk started. He had been conscious of his wife's voice, and that was all. "You said you were not surprised at her leaving," he replied, slowly; "the only wonder to you was that a decent girl should have stayed there so long."
Mrs. Chalk started and bit her lip, "Yes," she said, slowly. "Ye—es. Go on; anything else?"
"You said the house wanted cleaning from top to bottom," said the painstaking Mr. Chalk.
"Go on," said his wife, in a smothered voice. "What else did I say?"
"Said you pitied the husband," continued Mr. Chalk, thoughtfully.
Mrs. Chalk rose suddenly and stood over him. Mr. Chalk tried desperately to collect his faculties.
"How dare you?" she gasped. "I've never said such things in my life. Never. And I said that she left because Mr. Wilson, her master, was dead and the family had gone to London. I've never been near the house; so how could I say such things?"
Mr. Chalk remained silent.
"What made youthinkof such things?" persisted Mrs. Chalk.
Mr. Chalk shook his head; no satisfactory reply was possible. "My thoughts were far away," he said, at last.
His wife bridled and said, "Oh, indeed!" Mr. Chalk's mother, dead some ten years before, had taken a strange pride—possibly as a protest against her only son's appearance—in hinting darkly at a stormy and chequered past. Pressed for details she became more mysterious still, and, saying that "she knew what she knew," declined to be deprived of the knowledge under any consideration. She also informed her daughter-in-law that "what the eye don't see the heart don't grieve," and that it was better to "let bygones be bygones," usually winding up with the advice to the younger woman to keep her eye on Mr. Chalk without letting him see it.
"Peckham Rye is a long way off, certainly," added the indignant Mrs. Chalk, after a pause. "It's a pity you haven't got something better to think of, at your time of life, too."
Mr. Chalk flushed. Peckham Rye was one of the nuisances bequeathed by his mother.
"I was thinking of the sea," he said, loftily.
Mrs. Chalk pounced. "Oh, Yarmouth," she said, with withering scorn.
Mr. Chalk flushed deeper than before. "I wasn't thinking of such things," he declared.
"What things?" said his wife, swiftly.
"The—the things you're alluding to," said the harassed Mr. Chalk.
"Ah!" said his wife, with a toss of her head. "Why you should get red in the face and confused when I say that Peckham Rye and Yarmouth are a long way off is best known to yourself. It's very funny that the moment either of these places is mentioned you get uncomfortable. People might read a geography-book out loud in my presence and it wouldn't affect me."
She swept out of the room, and Mr. Chalk's thoughts, excited by the magic word geography, went back to the island again. The half-forgotten dreams of his youth appeared to be materializing. Sleepy Binchester ended for him at Dialstone Lane, and once inside the captain's room the enchanted world beyond the seas was spread before his eager gaze. The captain, amused at first at his enthusiasm, began to get weary of the subject of the island, and so far the visitor had begged in vain for a glimpse of the map.
His enthusiasm became contagious. Prudence, entering one evening in the middle of a conversation, heard sufficient to induce her to ask for more, and the captain, not without some reluctance and several promptings from Mr. Chalk when he showed signs of omitting vital points, related the story. Edward Tredgold heard it, and, judging by the frequency of his visits, was almost as interested as Mr. Chalk.
"I can't see that there could be any harm in just looking at the map," said Mr. Chalk, one evening. "You could keep your thumb on any part you wanted to."
"Then we should know where to dig," urged Mr. Tredgold. "Properly managed there ought to be a fortune in your innocence, Chalk."
Mr. Chalk eyed him fixedly. "Seeing that the latitude and longitude and all the directions are written on theback," he observed, with cold dignity, "I don't see the force of your remarks."
"Well, in that case, why not show it to Mr. Chalk, uncle?" said Prudence, charitably.
Captain Bowers began to show signs of annoyance. "Well, my dear——," he began, slowly.
"Then Miss Drewitt could see it too," said Mr. Tredgold, blandly.
Miss Drewitt reddened with indignation, "I could see it any time I wished," she said, sharply.
"Well, wish now," entreated Mr. Tredgold. "As a matter of fact, I'm dying with curiosity myself. Bring it out and make it crackle, captain; it's a bank-note for half a million."
The captain shook his head and a slight frown marred his usually amiable features. He got up and, turning his back on them, filled his pipe from a jar on the mantelpiece.
"You never will see it, Chalk," said Edward Tredgold, in tones of much conviction. "I'll bet you two to one in golden sovereigns that you'll sink into your honoured family vault with your justifiable curiosity stillunsatisfied. And I shouldn't wonder if your perturbed spirit walks the captain's bedroom afterwards."
"HE RANSACKED AN OLD LUMBER-ROOM."
"HE RANSACKED AN OLD LUMBER-ROOM."
"HE RANSACKED AN OLD LUMBER-ROOM."
Miss Drewitt looked up and eyed the speaker with scornful comprehension. "Take the bet, Mr. Chalk," she said, slowly.
Mr. Chalk turned in hopeful amaze; then he leaned over and shook hands solemnly with Mr. Tredgold. "I'll take the bet," he said.
"Uncle will show it to you to please me," announced Prudence, in a clear voice. "Won't you, uncle?"
The captain turned and took the matches from the table. "Certainly, my dear, if I can find it," he said, in a hesitating fashion. "But I'm afraid I've mislaid it. I haven't seen it since I unpacked."
"Mislaid it!" ejaculated the startled Mr. Chalk. "Good heavens! Suppose somebody should find it? What about your word to Don Silvio then?"
"I've got it somewhere," said the captain, brusquely; "I'll have a hunt for it. All the same, I don't know that it's quite fair to interfere in a bet."
Miss Drewitt waved the objection away, remarking that people who made bets must risk losing their money.
"I'll begin to save up," said Mr. Tredgold, with a lightness which was not lost upon Miss Drewitt. "The captain has got to find it before you can see it, Chalk."
Mr. Chalk, with a satisfied smile, said that when the captain promised a thing it was as good as done.
For the next few days he waited patiently, and, ransacking an old lumber-room, divided his time pretty equally between a volume of "Captain Cook's Voyages" that he found there and "Famous Shipwrecks." By this means and the exercise of great self-control he ceased from troubling Dialstone Lane for a week. Even then it was Edward Tredgold who took him there. The latter was in high spirits, and in explanation informed the company, with a cheerful smile, that he had saved five and ninepence, and was forming habits which bade fair to make him a rich man in time.
"Don't you be in too much of a hurry to find that map, captain," he said.
"It's found," said Miss Drewitt, with a little note of triumph in her voice.
"Found it this morning," said Captain Bowers.
He crossed over to an oak bureau which stood in the corner by the fireplace, and taking a paper from a pigeon-hole slowly unfolded it and spread it on the table before the delighted Mr. Chalk. Miss Drewitt and Edward Tredgold advanced to the table and eyed it curiously.
The map, which was drawn in lead-pencil, was on a piece of ruled paper, yellow with age and cracked in the folds. The island was in shape a rough oval, the coast-line being broken by small bays and headlands. Mr. Chalk eyed it with all the fervour usually bestowed on a holy relic, and, breathlessly reading off such terms as "CapeSilvio," "Bowers Bay," and "Mount Lonesome," gazed with breathless interest at the discourser.
"And is that the grave?" he inquired, in a trembling voice, pointing to a mark in the north-east corner.
The captain removed it with his fingernail. "No," he said, briefly. "For full details see the other side."
For one moment Mr. Chalk hoped; then his face fell as Captain Bowers, displaying for a fraction of a second the writing on the other side, took up the map and, replacing it in the bureau, turned the key in the lock and with a low laugh resumed his seat. Miss Drewitt, glancing over at Edward Tredgold, saw that he looked very thoughtful.
"You've lost your bet," she said, pointedly.
"I know," was the reply.
His gaiety had vanished and he looked so dejected that Miss Drewitt was reminded of the ruined gambler in a celebrated picture. She tried to quiet her conscience by hoping that it would be a lesson to him. As she watched, Mr. Tredgold dived into his left trouser-pocket and counted out some coins, mostly brown. To these he added a few small pieces of silver gleaned from his waistcoat, and then after a few seconds' moody thought found a few more in the other trouser-pocket.
"Eleven and tenpence," he said, mechanically.
"Any time," said Mr. Chalk, regarding him with awkward surprise. "Any time."
"Give him an I O U," said Captain Bowers, fidgeting.
"Yes, any time," repeated Mr. Chalk; "I'm in no hurry."
"No; I'd sooner pay now and get it over," said the other, still fumbling in his pockets. "As Miss Drewitt says, people who make bets must be prepared to lose; I thought I had more than this."
There was an embarrassing silence, during which Miss Drewitt, who had turned very red, felt strangely uncomfortable. She felt more uncomfortable still when Mr. Tredgold, discovering a bank-note and a little collection of gold coins in another pocket, artlessly expressed his joy at the discovery. The simple-minded captain and Mr. Chalk both experienced a sense of relief; Miss Drewitt sat and simmered in helpless indignation.
"You're careless in money matters, my lad," said the captain, reprovingly.
"I couldn't understand him making all that fuss over a couple o' pounds," said Mr. Chalk, looking round. "He's very free, as a rule; too free."
Mr. Tredgold, sitting grave and silent, made no reply to these charges, and the girl was the only one to notice a faint twitching at the corners of his mouth. She saw it distinctly, despite the fact that her clear, grey eyes were fixed dreamily on a spot some distance above his head.
She sat in her room upstairs after the visitors had gone, thinking it over. The light was fading fast, and as she sat at the open window the remembrance of Mr. Tredgold's conduct helped to mar one of the most perfect evenings she had ever known.
Downstairs the captain was also thinking. Dialstone Lane was in shadow, and already one or two lamps were lit behind drawn blinds. A little chatter of voices at the end of the lane floated in at the open window, mellowed by distance. His pipe was out, and he rose to search in the gloom for a match, when another murmur of voices reached his ears from the kitchen. He stood still and listened intently. To put matters beyond all doubt, the shrill laugh of a girl was plainly audible. The captain's face hardened, and, crossing to the fireplace, he rang the bell.
"Yessir," said Joseph, as he appeared and closed the door carefully behind him.
"What are you talking to yourself in that absurd manner for?" inquired the captain, with great dignity.
"Me, sir?" said Mr. Tasker, feebly.
"Yes, you," repeated the captain, noticing with surprise that the door was slowly opening.
Mr. Tasker gazed at him in a troubled fashion, but made no reply.
"I won't have it," said the captain, sternly, with a side glance at the door. "If you want to talk to yourself go outside and do it. I never heard such a laugh. What did you do it for? It was like an old woman with a bad cold."
He smiled grimly in the darkness, and then started slightly as a cough, a hostile, challenging cough, sounded from the kitchen. Before he could speak the cough ceased and a thin voice broke carelessly into song.
"What!" roared the captain, in well-feigned astonishment. "Do you mean to tell me you've got somebody in my pantry? Go and get me those rules and regulations."
Mr. Tasker backed out, and the captain smiled again as he heard a whispered discussion. Then a voice clear and distinct took command. "I'll take 'em in myself, Itell you," it said. "I'll rules and regulations him."
The smile faded from the captain's face, and he gazed in perplexity at the door as a strange young woman bounced into the room.
"Here's your rules and regulations," said the intruder, in a somewhat shrewish voice. "You'd better light the lamp if you want to see 'em; though the spelling ain't so noticeable in the dark."
The impressiveness of the captain's gaze was wasted in the darkness. For a moment he hesitated, and then, with the dignity of a man whose spelling has nothing to conceal, struck a match and lit the lamp. The lamp lighted, he lowered the blind, and then seating himself by the window turned with a majestic air to a thin slip of a girl with tow-coloured hair, who stood by the door.
"Who are you?" he demanded, gruffly.
"My name's Vickers," said the young lady. "Selina Vickers. I heard all what you've been saying to my Joseph, but, thank goodness, I can take my own part. I don't want nobody to fight my battles for me. If you've got anything to say about my voice you can say it to my face."
"SELINA VICKERS."
"SELINA VICKERS."
"SELINA VICKERS."
Captain Bowers sat back and regarded her with impressive dignity. Miss Vickers met his gaze calmly and, with a pair of unwinking green eyes, stared him down.
"What were you doing in my pantry?" demanded the captain, at last.
"I was in yourkitchen" replied Miss Vickers, with scornful emphasis on the last word, "to see my young man."
"Well, I can't have you there," said the captain, with a mildness that surprised himself. "One of my rules——"
Miss Vickers interposed. "I've read 'em all over and over again," she said, impatiently.
"If it occurs again," said the other, "I shall have to speak to Joseph very seriously about it."
"Talk to me," said Miss Vickers, sharply; "that's what I come in for. I can talk to you better than what Joseph can, I know. What harm do you think I was doing your old kitchen? Don't you try and interfere between me and my Joseph, because I won't have it. You're not married yourself, and you don't want other people to be. How do you suppose the world would get on if everybody was like you?"
Captain Bowers regarded her in open-eyed perplexity. The door leading to the garden had just closed behind the valiant Joseph, and he stared with growing uneasiness at the slight figure of Miss Vickers as it stood poised for further oratorical efforts. Before he could speak she gave her lips a rapid lick and started again.
"You're one of those people that don't like to see others happy, that's what you are," she said, rapidly. "I wasn't hurting your kitchen, and as to talking and laughing there—what do you think my tongue was given to me for? Show? P'r'aps if you'd been doing a day's hard work you'd——"
"Look here, my girl——" began the captain, desperately.
"Don't you my girl me, please," interrupted Miss Vickers. "I'm not your girl, thank goodness. If I was you'd be a bit different, I can tell you. If you had any girls you'd know better than to try and come between them and their young men. Besides, they wouldn't let you. When a girl's got a young man——"
The captain rose and went through the form of ringing the bell. Miss Vickers watched him calmly.
"I thought I'd just have it out with you for once and for all," she continued. "I told Joseph that I'd no doubt your bark was worse than your bite. And what he can seeto be afraid of in you I can't think. Nervous disposition, I s'pose. Good evening."
She gave her head a little toss and, returning to the pantry, closed the door after her. Captain Bowers, still somewhat dazed, returned to his chair and, gazing at the "Rules," which still lay on the table, grinned feebly in his beard.
CHAPTER IV.
To keep such a romance to himself was beyond the powers of Mr. Chalk. The captain had made no conditions as to secrecy, and he therefore considered himself free to indulge in hints to his two greatest friends, which caused those gentlemen to entertain some doubts as to his sanity. Mr. Robert Stobell, whose work as a contractor had left a permanent and unmistakable mark upon Binchester, became imbued with a hazy idea that Mr. Chalk had invented a new process of making large diamonds. Mr. Jasper Tredgold, on the other hand, arrived at the conclusion that a highly respectable burglar was offering for some reason to share his loot with him. A conversation between Messrs. Stobell and Tredgold in the High Street only made matters more complicated.
"Chalk always was fond of making mysteries of things," complained Mr. Tredgold.
Mr. Stobell, whose habit was taciturn and ruminative, fixed his dull brown eyes on the ground and thought it over. "I believe it's all my eye and Betty Martin," he said, at length, quoting a saying which had been used in his family as an expression of disbelief since the time of his great-grandmother.
"He comes in to see me when I'm hard at work and drops hints," pursued his friend. "When I stop to pick 'em up, out he goes. Yesterday he came in and asked me what I thought of a man who wouldn't break his word for half a million. Half a million, mind you! I just asked him who it was, and out he went again. He pops in and out of my office like a figure on a cuckoo-clock."
"HE POPS IN AND OUT OF MY OFFICE LIKE A FIGURE ON A CUCKOO-CLOCK."
"HE POPS IN AND OUT OF MY OFFICE LIKE A FIGURE ON A CUCKOO-CLOCK."
"HE POPS IN AND OUT OF MY OFFICE LIKE A FIGURE ON A CUCKOO-CLOCK."
Mr. Stobell relapsed into thought again, but no gleam of expression disturbed the lines of his heavy face; Mr. Tredgold, whose sharp, alert features bred more confidence in his own clients than those of other people, waited impatiently.
"He knows something that we don't," said Mr. Stobell, at last; "that's what it is."
Mr. Tredgold, who was too used to his friend's mental processes to quarrel with them, assented.
"He's coming round to smoke a pipe with me to-morrow night," he said, briskly, as he turned to cross the road to his office. "You come too, and we'll get it out of him. If Chalk can keep a secret he has altered, that's all I can say."
His estimate of Mr. Chalk proved correct. With Mr. Tredgold acting as cross-examining counsel and Mr. Stobell enacting the part of a partial and overbearing judge, Mr. Chalk, after a display of fortitude which surprised himself almost as much as it irritated his friends, parted with his news and sat smiling with gratification at their growing excitement.
"Half a million, and he won't go for it?" ejaculated Mr. Tredgold. "The man must be mad."
"No; he passed his word and he won't break it," said Mr. Chalk. "The captain's word is his bond, and I honour him for it. I can quite understand it."
Mr. Tredgold shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Mr. Stobell, that gentleman, after due deliberation, gave an assenting nod.
"He can't get at it, that's the long and short of it," said Mr. Tredgold, after a pause. "He had to leave it behind when he was rescued, or else risk losing it by telling the men who rescued him about it, and he's had no opportunity since. It wants money to take a ship out there and get it, and he doesn't see his way quite clear. He'll have it fast enough when he gets a chance. If not, why did he make that map?"
Mr. Chalk shook his head, and remarked mysteriously that the captain had his reasons. Mr. Tredgold relapsed into silence, and for some time the only sound audible came from a briar-pipe which Mr. Stobell ought to have thrown away some years before.
"Have you given up that idea of a yachting cruise of yours, Chalk?" demanded Mr. Tredgold, turning on him suddenly.
"No," was the reply. "I was talking about it to Captain Bowers only the other day. That's how I got to hear of the treasure."
Mr. Tredgold started and gave a significant glance at Mr. Stobell. In return he got a wink which that gentleman kept for moments of mental confusion.
"What did the captain tell you for?" pursued Mr. Tredgold, returning to Mr. Chalk. "He wanted you to make an offer. He hasn't got the money for such an expedition; you have. The yarn about passing his word was so that you shouldn't open your mouth too wide. You were to do the persuading, and then he could make his own terms. Do you see? Why, it's as plain as A B C."
"Plain as the alphabet," said Mr. Stobell, almost chidingly.
Mr. Chalk gasped and looked from one to the other.
"I should like to have a chat with the captain about it," continued Mr. Tredgold, slowly and impressively. "I'm a business man and I could put it on a business footing. It's a big risk, of course; all those things are ... but if we went shares ... ifwefound the money——"
He broke off and, filling his pipe slowly, gazed in deep thought at the wall. His friends waited expectantly.
"Combine business with pleasure," resumed Mr. Tredgold, lighting his pipe; "sea air ... change ... blow away the cobwebs ... experience for Edward to be left alone. What do you think, Stobell?" he added, turning suddenly.
Mr. Stobell gripped the arms of his chair in his huge hands and drew his bulky figure to a more upright position.
"What do you mean by combining business with pleasure?" he said, eyeing him with dull suspicion.
"Chalk is set on a trip for the love of it," explained Mr. Tredgold.
"If we take on the contract, he ought to pay a bigger share, then," said the other, firmly.
"Perhaps he will," said Tredgold, hastily.
Mr. Stobell pondered again and, slightly raising one hand, indicated that he was in the throes of another idea and did not wish to be disturbed.
"You said it would be experience for Edward to be left alone," he said, accusingly.
"I did," was the reply.
"You ought to pay more, too, then," declared the contractor, "because it's serving of your ends as well."
"We can't split straws," exclaimed Tredgold, impatiently. "If the captain consents we three will find the money and divide our portion, whatever it is, equally."
Mr. Chalk, who had been in the clouds during this discussion, came back to earth again. "Ifhe consents," he said, sadly; "but he won't."
"Well, he can only refuse," said Mr. Tredgold; "and, anyway, we'll have the first refusal. Things like that soon get about. What do you say to a stroll? I can think better while I'm walking."
His friends assenting, they put on their hats and sallied forth. That they should stroll in the direction of Dialstone Lane surprised neither of them. Mr. Tredgold leading, they went round by the church, and that gentleman paused so long to admire the architecture that Mr. Stobell got restless.
"You've seen it before, Tredgold," he said, shortly.
"It's a fine old building," said the other. "Binchester ought to be proud of it. Why, here we are at Captain Bowers's!"
"The house has been next to the church for a couple o' hundred years," retorted his friend.
"Let's go in," said Mr. Tredgold. "Strike while the iron's hot. At any rate," he concluded, as Mr. Chalk voiced feeble objections, "we can see how the land lies."
He knocked at the door and then, stepping aside, left Mr. Chalk to lead the way in. Captain Bowers, who was sitting with Prudence, looked up at their entrance, and putting down his newspaper extended a hearty welcome.
"Chalk didn't like to pass without looking in," said Mr. Tredgold, "and I haven't seen you for some time. You know Stobell?"
The captain nodded, and Mr. Chalk, pale with excitement, accepted his accustomed pipe from the hands of Miss Drewitt and sat nervously awaiting events. Mr. Tasker set out the whisky, and, Miss Drewitt avowing a fondness for smoke in other people, a comfortable haze soon filled the room. Mr. Tredgold, with a significant glance at Mr. Chalk, said that it reminded him of a sea-fog.
It only reminded Mr. Chalk, however, of a smoky chimney from which he had once suffered, and he at once entered into minute details. The theme was an inspiriting one, and before Mr. Tredgold could hark back to the sea again Mr. Stobell was discoursing, almost eloquently for him, upon drains. From drains to the shortcomings of the district council they progressed by natural and easy stages, and it was not until Miss Drewitt had withdrawn to the clearer atmosphere above that a sudden ominous silence ensued, which Mr. Chalk saw clearly he was expected to break.
"I—I've been telling them some of your adventures," he said, desperately, as he glanced at the captain; "they're both interested in such things."
The latter gave a slight start and glanced shrewdly at his visitors. "Aye, aye," he said, composedly.
"Very interesting, some of them," murmured Mr. Tredgold. "I suppose you'll have another voyage or two before you've done? One, at any rate."
"No," said the captain, "I've had my share of the sea; other men may have a turn now. There's nothing to take me out again—nothing."
Mr. Tredgold coughed and murmured something about breaking off old habits too suddenly.
"It's a fine career," sighed Mr. Chalk.
"A manly life," said Mr. Tredgold, emphatically.
"It's like every other profession, it has two sides to it," said the captain.
"It is not so well paid as it should be," said the wily Tredgold, "but I suppose one gets chances of making money in outside ways sometimes."
The captain assented, and told of a steward of his who had made a small fortune by selling Japanese curios to people who didn't understand them.
The conversation was interesting, but extremely distasteful to a business man intent upon business. Mr. Stobell took his pipe out of his mouth and cleared his throat. "Why, you might build a hospital with it," he burst out, impatiently.
"Build a hospital!" repeated the astonished captain, as Mr. Chalk bent suddenly to do up his shoe-lace.
"Think of the orphans you could be a father to!" added Mr. Stobell, making the most of an unwonted fit of altruism.
The captain looked inquiringly at Mr. Tredgold.
"And widows," said Mr. Stobell, and, putting his pipe in his mouth as a sign that he had finished his remarks, gazed stolidly at the company.
"Stobell must be referring to a story Chalk told us of some precious stones you buried, I think," said Mr. Tredgold, reddening. "Aren't you, Stobell?"
"Of course I am," said his friend. "You know that."
Captain Bowers glanced at Mr. Chalk, but that gentleman was still busy with his shoe-lace, only looking up when Mr. Tredgold, taking the bull by the horns, made the captain a plain, straightforward offer to fit out and give him the command of an expedition to recover the treasure. In a speech which included the benevolent Mr. Stobell's hospitals, widows, and orphans, he pointed out a score of reasons why the captain should consent, and wound up with a glowing picture of Miss Drewitt as the heiress of the wealthiestman in Binchester. The captain heard him patiently to an end and then shook his head.
"I passed my word," he said, stiffly.
Mr. Stobell took his pipe out of his mouth again to offer a little encouragement. "Tredgold has broke his word before now," he observed; "he's got quite a name for it."
"But you would go out if it were not for that?" inquired Tredgold, turning a deaf ear to this remark.
"Naturally," said the captain, smiling; "but, then, you see I did."
Mr. Tredgold drummed with his fingers on the arms of his chair, and after a little hesitation asked as a great favour to be permitted to see the map. As an estate agent, he said, he took a professional interest in plans of all kinds.
Captain Bowers rose, and in the midst of an expectant silence took the map from the bureau, and placing it on the table kept it down with his fist. The others drew near and inspected it.