Part 26 (1/2)

”There's nothing done without trying, mother,” continued d.i.c.k, who was excited now over his chase. ”Try again, try again till you succeed's the way. Now, you know, if I was to--was to--(Ah, gone again; but I'll have you yet)--you see, I might--”

”Now, master, there he is,” whispered Jack; ”you'll have it now.”

”Yes,” said d.i.c.k, ”I shall get it now. You see, mother, shoemaking and cobbling's all very well, but it means starvation to us, though it's a thing in common demand. If I could invent--(Ah! I shall have you directly).”

He went cautiously across the room.

”Invent a pair o' boots as won't never wear out, master,” whispered the boy. ”Now look, master--there, on the wall!”

The buzzing had ceased, and all was very still in the low, shabby room, as the bluebottle settled on the centre of a figure in the common wall-paper; and d.i.c.k went forward, on tiptoe, while, somehow drawn into a keen interest in the pursuit, they knew not why, Mrs s.h.i.+ngle and Jessie still looked on.

Slowly and cautiously, as if determined to make up this time for his many failures, Richard s.h.i.+ngle advanced closer and closer, just as a ray of suns.h.i.+ne fell on the wall, making the fly, which was cleaning and brus.h.i.+ng itself, stand out plainly before them all.

It was as if the capture of that fly had something to do with their future in life, and the activity that d.i.c.k threw into the pursuit was shared by all present.

Would he catch it? Would he fail?

That was the mental question asked, as he made a scoop of his hand, drew just within the required distance, paused for a moment, and then--

There was a rapid dash of a hand across the sunlit patch, and d.i.c.k stood up, with outstretched arm and closed fist.

”_Bizz_--_izz_--_izz_” went the captured fly, within the tightened hand, as Jack gave his knee a delighted slap.

”At last--at last!” shouted d.i.c.k. ”I've got it, mother, now. Do you hear, Jessie? I've got it.”

”Got what?” they cried.

He paused for a moment or two, turned to them with a curious look upon his face, and then said quietly--

”The fly on the wall.”

”Jessie, my darling--he's mad,” whispered Mrs s.h.i.+ngle, running to him.

”Oh, d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k!”

”No, mother,” he cried, ”I'm not mad; and I've made my fortune.”

As he spoke he held his hand to the window, unclosed it, and the fly darted into the suns.h.i.+ne--free.

”At last!” said d.i.c.k softly. ”`Hit a bright,'” Max said, ”and--I've let it go.”

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SEVEN.

WHO WAS THAT?

”Got your Australian money yet, d.i.c.k?” said Hopper the next day, when he dropped in as usual.

”No,” said d.i.c.k; ”but I've got this,” and he flourished the ten-pound note before his old friend.

”Hey? Got that,” said Hopper, putting on a pair of tortoisesh.e.l.l-rimmed spectacles, and taking the note in his fingers. ”Why, it's--it's a ten-pound note. It's a bad one.”

”No,” said d.i.c.k triumphantly; ”it's a good one. I asked our grocer.”