Part 24 (2/2)
But, to speak accurately, he did not know what it was to _try_ to be honest: he had never been tempted to be anything else, and had scarcely had the idea of dishonesty in his mind except in relation to Tommy. Do you say, ”Then it was no merit to him”? Certainly it was none. Who was thinking of merit? Not Clare. He is a sneak who thinks of merit. He is a cad who can't do a gentlemanly action without thinking himself a fine fellow! It might be a merit in many a man to act as Clare did, but in Clare it was pure rightness--or, if you like the word better, righteousness.
Clare as little thought what awaited him. Had there been any truth, any appreciation of honesty in his vulgar heart, Mr. Maidstone could not have done as now he did. When his messenger came back with the tale of how he had been foiled, he said nothing, but his lips grew white. He closed them fast, and went and stood near the door. When Clare, unsuspecting as innocent, opened it, he was met by a blow that dazed him, and a fierce kick that sent him on his back to the curbstone. Almost insensible, but with the impression that something was interfering between him and his work, he returned to the door. As he laid his hand on it, it opened a little, and his master's face, with a hateful sneer upon it, shot into the crack, and spit in his. Then the door shut so sharply that his fingers caught an agonizing pinch. At last he understood: he was turned off, and his day's wages were lost!
What would have become of him now but for the half-crown the lady had given him! She was not _quite_ a lady, or she would have walked out of the shop, and declined to gain by frustrating a swindle; but she was a good-hearted woman, and G.o.d's messenger to Clare. He bought a bigger loaf than usual, at which, and the time of the day when he bought it, and the half-crown presented in payment, Mr. Ball wondered; but neither said anything--Mr. Ball from indecision, Clare from eagerness to get home to his family.
Chapter x.x.xVI.
The policeman.
But, alas! Clare had made another enemy--the lad whose attempt to change the bandboxes he had foiled. The fellow followed him, lurkingly, all the way home--on the watch for fit place to pounce upon him, and punish him for doing right when he wanted him to do wrong. He saw him turn into the opening that led to the well, and thought now he had him. But when he followed him in, he was not to be seen! He did not care to cross the well, not knowing what might meet him on the other side; but here was news to carry back! He did so; and his master saw in them the opportunity of indulging his dislike and revenge, and a means of invalidating whatever Clare might reveal to his discredit!
Clare and the baby and Tommy and Abdiel had taken their supper with satisfaction, and were all asleep. It was to them as the middle of the night, though it was but past ten o'clock, when Abdiel all at once jumped right up on his four legs, c.o.c.ked his ears, listened, leaped off the bed, ran to the door, and began to bark furiously. He was suddenly blinded by the glare of a bull's-eye-lantern, and received a kick that knocked all the bark out of him, and threw him to the other side of the room. A huge policeman strode quietly in, sending the glare of his bull's-eye all about the room like a vital, inquiring glance. It discovered, one after the other, every member of the family. So tired was Clare, however, that he did not wake until seized by a rough hand, and at one pull dragged standing on the floor.
”Take care of the baby!” he cried, while yet not half awake.
”_I'll_ take care o' the baby, never fear!--an' o' you too, you young rascal!” returned the policeman.
He roused Tommy, who was wide awake, but pretending to be asleep, with a gentle kick.
”Up ye get!” he said; and Tommy got up, rubbing his ferret eyes.
”Come along!” said the policeman.
”Where to?” asked Clare.
”You'll see when you get there.”
”But I can't leave baby!”
”Baby must come along too,” answered the policeman, more gently, for he had children of his own.
”But she has no clothes to go in!” objected Clare.
”She must go without, then.”
”But she'll take cold!”
”She don't run naked in the house, do she?”
”No; she can't run yet. I keep her in a blanket. But the blanket ain't mine; I can't take it with me.”
”You're mighty scrup'lous!” returned the policeman. ”You don't mind takin' a 'ole 'ouse an' garding, but you wouldn' think o' takin' a blanket!--Oh, no! Honest boy _you_ are!”
He turned sharp round, and caught Tommy taking a vigorous sight at him. Tommy, courageous as a lion behind anybody's back, dropped on the rug sitting.
”We've done the house no harm,” said Clare, ”and I will _not_ take the blanket. It would be stealing!”
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