Part 6 (1/2)
”Oh, yes.”
”An uncle of mine brought me up after father and mother died.”
”Indeed?”
”Dear old fellow! He and aunt quite took my old people's place; and their boy, my cousin, always seemed like my brother.”
The listener made a quick movement.
”What is it? Hear anything?”
”No; go on.”
”They were such happy times. I never knew what trouble was, till one day poor uncle was brought home on a gate. His horse had thrown him.”
There was a pause, and then the speaker continued in an almost inaudible whisper:
”He was dead.”
The listener uttered a strange e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
”Yes, it was horrible, wasn't it? And there was worse to come. It nearly killed poor dear old aunt, and when she recovered a bit it was to hear the news from the lawyers. I don't quite understand how it was even now--something about a great commercial smash--but all uncle's money was gone, and aunt was left penniless.”
”Great heavens!” came in a strange whisper.
”You may well say that. Bless her! She had been accustomed to every luxury, and we boys had had everything we wished. My word! it was a knockdown for poor old Dal.”
”Who was poor old Dal?” said the listener, almost inaudibly.
”Cousin Dallas--Dallas Adams. I thought the poor chap would have gone mad. He was just getting ready for Cambridge. But after a bit he pulled himself together, and 'Never mind, Bel,' he said--I'm Bel, you know; Abel Wray--'Never mind,' he said, 'now's the time for a couple of strong fellows like we are to show that we've got some stuff in us.
Bel,' he said, 'the dear old mother must never know what it is to want.'”
It was the other's turn to draw in his breath with a low hissing sound, and the narrator's voice sounded still more husky and strange, as if he were touched by the sympathy of his companion, as he went on:
”I said nothing to Dal, but I thought a deal about how easy it was to talk, but how hard for fellows like us to get suitable and paying work.
But if I said nothing, I lay awake at nights trying to hit on some plan, till the idea came--ah! is that the snow coming down?”
”No, no! It was only I who moved.”
”But what--what are you doing? Why, you've turned over on your face.”
”Yes, yes; to rest a bit.”
”I'm trying you with all this rigmarole about a poor, unfortunate beggar.”
”No, no!” cried the other fiercely. ”Go on--go on.”
The narrator paused for a few moments.