Part 24 (1/2)

”Well, Jacob, where's the powder-flask? Why, man, what's scared your wits out of you? You haven't seen a boggart, as you tell me they call a ghost in Lancas.h.i.+re?”

”I've seen what's worse nor ten thousand boggarts, Mayster Frank,” said Jacob, sorrowfully.

”And pray what may that be?” asked his master.

”Why, mayster, I've seen what's filled scores of homes and hearts with boggarts. I've seen the bottles as holds the drink--the strong drink as ruins millions upon millions.”

Frank started as if pierced by a sudden sting. His colour went and came. He walked hastily a step or two towards the house, and then turned back.

”And pray, my friend Jacob,” he said, with a forced a.s.sumption of gaiety, ”why should my little bottle of spirits be worse for you than ten thousand boggarts?”

”Oh, Mayster Frank, Mayster Frank,” was the reply, ”just excuse me, and hearken to me one minute. I thought when I left my home, where the drink had drowned out all as was good, as I should never love any one any more. I thought as I'd try and get through the world without heart at all--but it wasn't to be. The captain found a soft place in my heart, and I loved him. But that were nothing at all to the love I've had to yourself, Mayster Frank. I loved you afore you saved my life, and I've loved you better nor my own life ever since you saved it. And oh, I can't abide to see you throw away health and strength, and your good name and all, for the sake of that wretched drink as'll bring you to misery and beggary and shame. Oh, don't--dear mayster, don't--don't keep the horrid poison in your house. It's poison to you, as I've seen it poison to scores and scores, eating out manhood, withering out womanhood, crus.h.i.+ng down childhood, shrivelling up babyhood. I'll live for you, Mayster Frank, work for you, slave for you, wage or no wage-- ay, I'll die for you, if need be--only do, do give up this cursed, ruinous, body and soul-destroying drink.”

”Jacob, I will--I will!” cried his master, deeply touched. ”Every word you say is true. I'm a miserable, worthless wretch. I don't deserve the love and devotion of a n.o.ble lad like you.”

”Nay, mayster--don't say so,” cried Jacob; ”but oh, if you'd only sign the pledge, and be an out-and-out gradely teetottaller, it'd be the happiest day of my life.”

”Well, Jacob, I'll see about the signing. I daresay I shall have to do it. But you may depend upon me. I'll turn over a new leaf. There--if it'll be any pleasure to you--you may take all that's left in my cupboard, and smash away at the bottles, as good Mr Oliphant did.”

Jacob needed no second permission. Ale, wine, and spirit-bottles were brought out--though but few were left that had not been emptied.

However, empty or full, they fell in a few moments before the energetic blows of the delighted Jacob Poole.

”You'll never repent it,” he said to his master.

But, alas! he did not know poor Frank, who did repent it--and bitterly, too. The sudden generosity which dictated the sacrifice was but a momentary flash. Frank would have given a great deal could he have recalled the act. But what was to be done? He could not, for very shame, lay in a fresh stock at present; and, equally, he could not resolve to cross his miserable appet.i.te. So he devised a plan by which he could still indulge in the drink, and yet keep Jacob Poole completely in the dark; for, alas! it was becoming less and less painful to him to breathe in an atmosphere of deception. There was a small cottage not far from Frank's dwelling. It had belonged to a labouring man, who had bought a small piece of ground with his hard earnings, had fenced it round, and built the cottage on it. This man, when ”the diggins” broke out in Melbourne, sold his little property for a third of its value to a worthless fellow, whose one great pa.s.sion was a love for the drink.

Through this man Frank was able to obtain a constant supply of the pernicious stimulant. He would call at the house in the evening, and bring home in his pockets a flask or two of spirits, which he could easily keep out of the sight of Jacob and his housekeeper. But though he could conceal the drink, he could not conceal its effects. Again and again he became intoxicated--at first slightly so, and then more and more grossly and openly--till poor Jacob, wearied out and heart-sick, retired from Frank's service, and obtained work from Mr Abraham Oliphant in his store at Adelaide.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

AN UNHAPPY SURPRISE.

The half-year's remittance came in due time, but Frank was quite unable to pay the 100 loan. Ruin was now staring him in the face. Tradesmen were clamorous, rent and wages were unpaid, and he was getting into a state of despair, when, to his great and unspeakable joy, a letter arrived one morning announcing that a legacy of 500, left him by an old lady--his G.o.dmother--would be paid into his account at the Adelaide Bank. Here was, indeed, a reprieve. In a transport of grat.i.tude he threw himself on his knees, and gave thanks to G.o.d for this unlooked-for help. Then he lost not a moment, but rode at once into Adelaide, and went first to the bank, where he ascertained that the money had been paid in. Then he called on his creditors and discharged their bills.

And last of all he went to Hubert Oliphant and repaid the loan of the 100, with the interest.

”Oh, Hubert,” he said, ”I can't tell you how thankful and grateful I feel for this relief. I was getting into hopeless difficulties. I was at my wits' end what to do. I felt like a miserable slave, just as if I was walking in irons; and now I could do nothing but shout all the way home, I feel so light and free!”

”I don't doubt it,” said his friend. ”But you were talking just now about being thankful. Won't you let it be more than mere words? Won't you show, dear Frank, that you really are grateful to G.o.d?”

”I have,” replied the other. ”I thanked G.o.d on my knees for his goodness as soon as I got the letter.”

”I'm truly rejoiced to hear it. And now, what do you mean to _do_?”

”To _do_? Why, what should I do?”

”Does not your own conscience tell you, Frank?”

”Ah, I suppose you mean, give up the drink altogether. Well, I intend to do it--and at once too.”

”And will you ask for strength where you know it can be found?”