Part 13 (1/2)
”Ah! yes, about that man Hatton; remember him perfectly well; a matter of twenty or it may be nineteen years since he bolted. Queer fellow; lived upon nothing; only drank water; no temperance and teetotal then, so no excuse. Beg pardon, Mr Morley; no offence I hope; can't bear whims; but respectable societies, if they don't drink, they make speeches, hire your rooms, leads to business.”
”And this Hatton--” said Gerard.
”Ah! a queer fellow; lent him a one-pound note--never saw it again--always remember it--last one-pound note I had. He offered me an old book instead; not in my way; took a china jar for my wife. He kept a curiosity shop; always prowling about the country, picking up old books and hunting after old monuments; called himself an antiquarian; queer fellow, that Hatton.”
”And you have heard of him since?” said Gerard rather impatiently.
”Not a word,” said their host; ”never knew any one who had.”
”I thought you had something to tell us about him,” said Stephen.
”So I have; I can put you in the way of getting hold of him and anything else. I havn't lived in Mowbray man and boy for fifty years; seen it a village, and now a great town full of first-rate inst.i.tutions and establishments like this,” added their host surveying the Temple with a glance of admiring complacency; ”I say I havn't lived here all this time and talked to the people for nothing.”
”Well, we are all attention,” said Gerard with a smile.
”Hus.h.!.+” said their host as a bell sounded, and he jumped up. ”Now ladies, now gentlemen, if you please; silence if you please for a song from a Polish lady. The Signora sings English like a new-born babe;”
and the curtain drew up amid the hushed voices of the company and the restrained clatter of their knives and forks and gla.s.ses.
The Polish lady sang ”Cherry Ripe” to the infinite satisfaction of her audience. Young Mowbray indeed, in the shape of Dandy Mick and some of his followers and admirers, insisted on an encore. The lady as she retired curtseyed like a Prima Donna; but the host continued on his legs for some time, throwing open his coat and bowing to his guests, who expressed by their applause how much they approved his enterprise. At length he resumed his seat; ”It's almost too much.” he exclaimed; ”the enthusiasm of these people. I believe they look upon me as a father.”
”And you think you have some clue to this Hatton?” resumed Stephen.
”They say he has no relations,” said their host.
”I have heard as much.”
”Another gla.s.s of the bar mixture, Master Gerard. What did we call it?
Oh! the bricks and beans--the Mowbray bricks and beans; known by that name in the time of my grandfather. No more! No use asking Mr Morley I know. Water! well, I must say--and yet, in an official capacity, drinking water is not so unnatural.”
”And Hatton.” said Gerard; ”they say he has no relations, eh?”
”They do, and they say wrong. He has a relation; he has a brother; and I can put you in the way of finding him.”
”Well, that looks like business,” said Gerard; ”and where may he be?”
”Not here,” said their host; ”he never put his foot in the Temple to my knowledge; and lives in a place where they have as much idea of popular inst.i.tutions as any Turks or heathen you ever heard of.”
”And where might we find him?” said Stephen.
”What's that?” said their host jumping up and looking around him. ”Here boys, brush about. The American gentleman is a whittling his name on that new mahogany table. Take him the printed list of rules, stuck up in a public place, under a great coat, and fine him five s.h.i.+llings for damaging the furniture. If he resists (he has paid for his liquor), call in the police; X. Z. No. 5 is in the bar, taking tea with your mistress.
Now brush.”
”And this place is--”
”In the land of mines and minerals,” said their host; ”about ten miles from ----. He works in metals on his own account. You have heard of a place called h.e.l.l-house Yard; well, he lives there; and his name is Simon.”
”And does he keep up any communication with his brother, think you?”
said Gerard.