Part 10 (1/2)
”Ha! I thought so. Are you aware, Mr Jones, that your character for honesty has of late been called in question?”
”I am aware that I have got enemies,” replied the fish-merchant coldly.
”If their false reports are to be believed to my disadvantage, of course I cannot expect--”
”It is not my belief in their reports,” replied Mr Durant, ”that creates suspicion in me, but I couple these reports with the fact that you have again and again deceived me in regard to the repayment of the loans which you have already received at various times from me.”
”I can't help ill-luck, sir,” said Morley with a downcast look. ”If men's friends always deserted them at the same time with fortune there would be an end of all trade.”
”Mr Jones,” said the other decidedly, ”I tell you plainly that you are presumptuous when you count me one of your _friends_. Your deceased brother, having been an old and faithful servant of mine, was considered by me a friend, and it is out of regard to his memory alone that I have a.s.sisted _you_. Even now, I will lend you the sum you ask, but be a.s.sured it is the last you shall ever get from me. I distrust you, sir, and I tell you so--flatly.”
While he was speaking the old gentleman had opened a desk. He now sat down and wrote out a cheque, which he handed to his visitor, who received it with a grim smile and a curt acknowledgment, and instantly took his leave.
Mr Durant smoothed the frown from his brow, and returned to the drawing-room, where Katie's sweet voice instantly charmed away the memory of the evil spirit that had just left him.
The table was covered with beautiful pencil sketches and chalk-heads and water-colour drawings in various stages of progression--all of which were the production of the same fair, busy, and talented little hand that copied the accounts for the Board of Trade, for love instead of money, without a blot, and without defrauding of dot or stroke a single _i_ or _t_!
Queeker was gazing at one of the sketches with an aspect so haggard and savage that Mr Durant could not refrain from remarking it.
”Why, Queeker, you seem to be displeased with that drawing, eh? What's wrong with it?”
”Oh, ah!” exclaimed the youth, starting, and becoming very red in the face--”no, not with the drawing, it is beautiful--_most_ beautiful, but I--in--fact I was thinking, sir, that thought sometimes leads us into regions of gloom in which--where--one can't see one's way, and _ignes fatui_ mislead or--or--”
”Very true, Queeker,” interrupted the old gentleman, good-humouredly; ”thought is a wonderful quality of the mind--transports us in a moment from the Indies to the poles; fastens with equal facility on the substantial and the impalpable; gropes among the vague generalities of the abstract, and wriggles with ease through the thick obscurities of the concrete--eh, Queeker? Come, give us a song, like a good fellow.”
”I never sing--I _cannot_ sing, sir,” said the youth, hurriedly.
”No! why, I thought Katie said you were attending the singing-cla.s.s.”
The fat cousin was observed here to put her handkerchief to her mouth and bend convulsively over a drawing.
Queeker explained that he had just begun to attend, but had not yet attained sufficient confidence to sing in public. Then, starting up he suddenly pulled out his watch, exclaimed that he was quite ashamed of having remained so late, shook hands nervously all round, and, rus.h.i.+ng from the house, left Stanley Hall in possession of the field!
Now, the poor youth's state of mind is not easily accounted for.
Stanley, being a close observer, had at an early part of the evening detected the cause of Queeker's jealousy, and, being a kindly fellow, sought, by devoting himself to f.a.n.n.y Hennings, to relieve his young friend; but, strange to say, Queeker was _not_ relieved! This fact was a matter of profound astonishment even to Queeker himself, who went home that night in a state of mind which cannot be adequately described, sat down before his desk, and, with his head buried in his hands, thought intensely.
”Can it be,” he murmured in a sepulchral voice, looking up with an expression of horror, ”that I love them _both_? Impossible. Horrible!
Perish the thought--yes.” Seizing a pen:--
”Perish the thought Which never ought To be, Let not the thing.”
”Thing--wing--bing--ping--jing--ring--ling--ting--cling--dear me! what a lot of words with little or no meaning there are in the English language!--what _will_ rhyme with--ah! I have it--sting--”
”Let not the thing Reveal its sting To me!”
Having penned these lines, Queeker heaved a deep sigh--cast one long lingering gaze on the moon, and went to bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE SLOOP NORA--MR. JONES BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE, AND BILLY TOWLER, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE, THOUGHTFUL.