Part 41 (1/2)
said the widow heartily, for she was an abhorrer of strong drink!
”Then, mother, think of the saving of time accomplished by the telegraph. In days not long past, if a merchant in India wished to transact business with another in New York he had to write a letter which took months to make the voyage out, and his correspondent had to write a reply which took about the same time to return. Now, not long ago the head of an Indian house wanted a s.h.i.+p-load of something (I forget what) from New York. He telegraphed a few unconnected words to my City friend in London. If there had been no obstruction of any kind the message could have been flashed from Bombay to London in a few seconds; as it was, it made the journey in three hours. My friend, who received it in the forenoon, telegraphed to New York, transacted the business, received a reply from New York, and telegraphed back to Bombay that the order was given and in process of execution before five p.m. on the same day. Thus a commercial transaction between India and America, _via_ England, involving, perhaps, thousands of pounds, was completed at the cost of a few pounds between breakfast and dinner. In other words, Bombay aroused New York to action by means of a flash of electricity within twenty-four hours.”
”Phil,” remarked Mrs Maylands, with a sigh, ”don't you think that man has now made almost all the discoveries that it is possible to make?”
”Why, no, mother, I think he is only on the threshold of discovery yet.
The thought has sometimes come into my mind with tremendous power, that as G.o.d is infinite, and His knowledge infinite, there is, as it were, a necessity that we shall go on learning something new for ever!--But that is too deep a subject to enter on just now,” said Phil, rising, ”for I must go and send off my telegram to May--she will be anxious to hear about you, poor girl. You must not be troubled when you see how the roses have faded from her cheeks. She is in good enough health, but I fear the telegraph service is too heavy for her, and the City air is not so bracing as that of the west of Ireland.”
Mrs Maylands was quite prepared for the change referred to, for she knew, what Phil did not know, that it was neither the telegraph nor the City that had robbed May of the bloom of youth and health.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
DESCRIBES AN INTERVIEW AND A RENCONTRE.
One frosty winter afternoon Sir James Clubley sat in his chambers, having finished dinner, and toasted his toes while he sipped his wine and glanced languidly over the _Times_.
Sir James was a lazy, good-natured man, in what is sometimes styled easy circ.u.mstances. Being lazy, and having nothing to do, he did nothing-- nothing, that is, in the way of work. He found the world enjoyable, and enjoyed it. He never ran to excess--in truth he never ran at all, either literally or figuratively, but always ate, drank, slept, read, and amused himself in moderation. In politics, being nothing in particular, he was wont to say he was a Liberal-Conservative, if anything, as that happy medium, in which truth is said, though not proved, to lie, enabled him to agree with anybody. Everybody liked him, except perhaps a few fiery zealots who seemed uncertain whether to regard him with indignation, pity, or contempt. It mattered not to which feeling the zealots leaned, Sir James smiled on them all alike.
”That foolish fellow is going to be late,” he muttered, glancing over his paper at the clock on the chimney-piece.
The foolish fellow referred to was George Aspel. Sir James had at last discovered and had an interview with him. He had offered to aid him in any way that lay in his power, but Aspel had firmly though gratefully declined aid in any form.
Sir James liked the youth, and had begged him, by letter, to call on him, for the purpose of chatting over a particular piece of business, had appointed an hour, and now awaited his arrival.
The muttered remark had just pa.s.sed Sir James's lips when there came a tap at the door, and Aspel stood before him.
But how changed from what he was when we last saw him, reader! His aspect might have forcibly recalled the words, ”was lost and is found.”
His tall, broad frame stood erect again as of old, but the proud bearing of the head was gone. There was the same fearless look in his bright blue eye, but the slightly self-satisfied curl of the lip was not there.
He looked as strong and well as when, on the Irish cliffs, he had longed for the free, wild life of the sea-kings, but he did not look so youthful; yet the touch of sadness that now rested at times on his countenance gave him a far more regal air,--though he knew it not,--than he ever possessed before. He was dressed in a simple suit of dark grey.
”Glad to see you, Aspel; thought you were going to fail me. Sit down.
Now, come, I hope you have considered my proposal favourably.--The piece of business I asked you to come about is nothing more than to offer you again that situation, and to press it on you. It would just suit a man of your powers.--What! No?”
The Baronet frowned, for George Aspel had smiled slightly and shaken his head as he sat down.
”Forgive me, Sir James, if I seem to regard your kind proposals with indifference. Indeed, I am sincerely grateful, especially for the motive that actuates you--I mean regard for my dear father's memory--”
”How do you know, sir,” interrupted Sir James testily, ”that this is my only motive?”
”I did not say it was your only motive, Sir James. I cannot doubt, from your many expressions of kindness, that personal regard for myself influences you; but I may not accept the situation you offer me--bright with future prospects though it be--because I feel strongly that G.o.d has called me to another sphere of action. I have now been for a considerable time, and hope to be as long as I live, a missionary to the poor.”
”What! A city missionary? One of those fellows who go about in seedy black garments with long lugubrious faces?” exclaimed Sir James in amazement.
”Some of them do indeed wear seedy black garments,” replied Aspel, ”under some strange hallucination, I suppose, that it is their duty to appear like clergymen, and I admit that they would look infinitely more respectable in sober and economical grey tweeds; but you must have seen bad specimens of the cla.s.s of men if you think their faces long and lugubrious. I know many of them whose faces are round and jovial, and whose spirits correspond to their faces. No doubt they are sometimes sad. Your own face would lengthen a little, Sir James, if you went where they go, and saw what they sometimes see.”
”I dare say you are right. Well, but have you seriously joined this body of men?”
”Not officially. I--I--hesitate to offer myself, because--that is to say, I am a sort of free-lance just now.”