Part 6 (1/2)

”I don't like it,” he said.

”Don't like it,” repeated Sampson, mimicking his manner. ”I wouldn't give much for that vow of yours, young man. Why, you are a soft Sawny.

You want to clear your own girl?”

”That I do, G.o.d knows.”

”Then introduce me to Miss Clay.”

”Oh, Sampson, I hope I'm doing right.”

”Fiddlesticks with your right. I tell you this is my affair. Come along now, or it will be too late.”

Sampson took down his hat from the wall, and Jim, somewhat unwillingly, followed him out of the room and downstairs. He did not like the job, and began to wish he had never consulted Sampson. But the detective's cheery and pleasant talk very soon raised his spirits, and by the time the two young men had reached the sign of the Three b.a.l.l.s, Jim had persuaded himself that he was acting in a very manly manner, and that dear little Alison would soon be his promised wife.

Compared to Jim Hardy and George Sampson the Clays were quite wealthy folk. Louisa need not have gone into a shop at all unless she so pleased, but she was a vivacious young person, who preferred having a purse of her own to being dependent on her father. She liked to show herself off, and had the sense to see that she looked better in her neat black alpaca with its simple tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs than in any of her beflowered and bespangled home dresses. The Clays were having friends to supper this special evening, and the mirth was fast and hilarious when Hardy and Sampson entered the room. Hardy had never seen Louisa before in her evening dress. It gave her a blooming and buxom appearance. The dress was of a flaming red color, slightly open at the neck, and with elbow sleeves. Louisa started and colored when she saw Jim. Her big eyes seemed to flash, and Sampson noticed that she gave him a bold, admiring glance.

”She is at the bottom of this, if ever gel was,” muttered the detective to himself.

He asked Hardy to introduce him; and presently, using that tact for which he was famous, induced Louisa to accompany him to a sofa at a little distance, where they sat together laughing and chatting, and Hardy was relieved to find that he need not pay this bold-looking girl any attention.

The supper was over before the young men arrived, but the atmosphere of the room was close with a mixture of tobacco and spirits. Several very fat and loudly dressed old ladies were talking to a still fatter and more loudly dressed old lady at the head of the room. This was the hostess. Clay, the p.a.w.nbroker, a little man with a deeply wrinkled face and shrewd, beadlike, black eyes, was darting in and out amongst his friends, laughing loudly, cracking jokes, and making himself generally facetious and agreeable. He clapped Jim on the shoulders, a.s.sured him that he was delighted to see him, and dragged him up to the sofa, where Louisa and Sampson were having a very open flirtation.

”My gel will be right glad to see yer,” he said to Jim, with a broad wink. ”Eh, Louisa, who have I brought, eh? You are sure to give Hardy a welcome, aint you, la.s.s?”

”If he'll take it, of course,” she replied.

She jumped up and gave Jim a second glance of unequivocal admiration.

”It was good of you to come,” she said, in a low tone. ”I thought that you were a bit troubled to-day; but maybe that is why you have come, to be cheered up.”

Jim flushed and felt uncomfortable; he could not tell Louisa his real motive; he felt ashamed of himself, and longed to be out of this noisy scene.

”And it isn't that I don't pity you,” she continued. ”Of course I can see that you are cut up; who would have thought that a gel like Alison----”

Jim put up his big hand.

”Not a word,” he said; ”I won't discuss it--I can't!”

”You are awful cut up, old fellow, aint you?” said Louisa, moving a step or two out of the crowd and motioning him to a corner. ”Look here,” she continued, ”there's a quiet nook here, just under the stairs; let us stand here for a minute, I want to talk to yer. I know you are cut up, and I am sorry--yes, that I am.”

”I can't discuss it with you, Miss Clay,” said Jim.

”Oh, aint it stiff of you to call me Miss Clay!” she retorted; ”when you know me so well.”

”Perhaps it is,” he answered, too good-natured to be rude to her. ”I will call you Louisa if you like; but Louisa or Miss Clay, whichever you are, I can't talk of this matter.”

Louisa's great black eyes seemed to blaze like living fires. She gave Jim a long glance.