Part 5

"The day after you bolted I met old Talbot and his lawyer about a settlement. I talked rather big, and suggested fifty thousand. Then the brute of a lawyer said, after he had heard my name, ’How odd. Now there is a gentleman I have been wanting to find for the last two years nearly, and he is called Daniel Dolphin!’ Like a fool, and forgetting the man he wanted must be years older than me, I lost my nerve, and the lawyer saw that I had. ’It’s an odd name--perhaps a relative?’ he said. ’The gentleman I mean used to live at Chislehurst. You will be doing me a kindness if you can tell me anything of him.’ Instead of simply answering that I had never heard of the man, I replied that he was my uncle. ’How?’ exclaimed the Squire, ’I thought you had no relations but your mother?’ Then I tried to explain, and bungled it--I’m growing so damned young and silly now--and finally the matter dropped, but I could see that lawyer meant getting the truth out of me later on. I arranged the settlements and so on, and gave them a list of my imaginary investments, which, of course, I’d just picked out of the money columns in the papers. Then I wanted to marry at once, and get Mabel before they had time to find out my game. But the Squire said he wouldn’t hear of it till the autumn. That wasn’t good enough, so I saw Mabel and told her a yarn or two, and worked on her love for romance, and finally got her to run away with me. You needn’t jump. The plot fell through. She weakly confided in a lady’s maid. I saddled my horses myself, and rode out at midnight to abduct her in the good old style. I waited at a certain point by the Priory walls, and presently she arrived. But hardly had we galloped off--I meant to take her to Salisbury, and marry her before the registrar next morning--when we were confronted on the Plain by Squire Talbot and half-a-dozen mounted bounders he’d got to help him. The Squire collared his daughter, and left his friends to deal with me. They tried to take me prisoner, but I’m pretty fit just now, and pretty reckless too. I was mad to think they’d scored off me like this, and I hit out and knocked one chap off his horse, and nearly strangled another, and fired my revolver at a third. I missed him, and shot his mount. When they found I was armed, they cleared off. It was an exciting, old-fashioned scrimmage, and I enjoyed it while it lasted. But of course, there’s the devil to pay. I rode into Salisbury, put up my horse at an inn, dodged around all night, and took the first train up this morning. The bobbies were prowling about at Salisbury station, but they didn’t recognise me. I’d cut off my moustache in the night, and looked not more than eighteen in the morning. The lawyer, of course, wants me for Marie Rogers; and Talbot will want me; and the chap whose head I broke will want me; and the man whose horse I shot will want me. Let ’em want!"

"This is the beginning of the end, grandpapa," I said, sadly enough.

"Not it! You wait and see what the next six months bring! I shouldn’t wonder if I was in a tight place six months hence. This is nothing. I’ll make some of ’em squeak yet before they’ve done with me."

It was in this wicked and reckless frame of mind that he prepared to spend the remainder of his days. However, he rested from his labours for about six weeks, notwithstanding his boast to make people "squeak." He read the reports of his performance on Salisbury Plain with great delight, and he found, as the matter developed, that sundry unexpected names appeared in it. Daniel Dolphin was "wanted" by the representatives of one Mrs. Bangley-Brown, to whom he had promised marriage; a man of the same name had performed a similar action at Chislehurst, the victim in that case being Miss Marie Rogers. It also appeared that some impostor, calling himself Viscount Dolphin, and claiming Royalty for his kindred, had met and proposed to Princess Hopskipschoff in Paris. These were all different persons of different ages, the newspapers admitted, but they might have a connection with the vanished rascal of the Talbot Priory business near Salisbury. There was a mystery of some kind, and the police naturally had a clue.

Grandpapa gloated over this confusion. He had changed his name now to Abraham Whiting--"another prophet and another fish," as he put it--but he longed to go back to his true cognomen and "keep the pot boiling." This, with difficulty, I prevented him doing for a short time. His monetary affairs were much simplified now: he had about three thousand pounds in hand in notes and gold. All the furniture, and horses, and effects at Salisbury were sold, and what moneys were not claimed, under legal and other expenses, went, I believe, into Chancery. But grandpapa had about three thousand pounds left, which, as he said, would last his time with care.

His moustache did not grow again to any extent. He took to wearing a straw hat with a bright ribbon, a blue and red "blazer," white flannel trousers, and tan boots. Thus attired he spent much of his time in the Crystal Palace, choosing undesirable friends at the different stalls and "growing blue devils under glass," as he tersely put it.

*CHAPTER XV.*

_*SUSAN MARKS.*_

I may say at once that the police never found grandpapa. Neither Le Coq nor Edgar Allen Poe’s amateur would have done so, for the simple reason that my grandparent was growing younger at the rate of one year every five weeks or so; and though there is not much difference between one year and the next in adult life, yet when we deal with the period of adolescence, great changes become visible in brief periods. He was about five-and-twenty when we went to Upper Norwood, and two-and-twenty when we left that desirable neighbourhood, after a residence of about three months.

"You look your age; there’s no doubt about that, Martha," he said to me once, in a very uncalled-for way.

"So do most respectable people," I answered sharply. "We can’t all go backwards. The terms wouldn’t suit everybody."

"You needn’t be personal," he answered; "and you needn’t lose your temper. I say you look your age, and more than your age; and I’ll tell you why----"

He broke off and tapped a bottle significantly. "Go your own way, of course, but don’t say nobody ever tried to save you. Don’t say your grandfather didn’t warn you in time. You were as stupid as an owl last night when I came in. Yes, I know what you’re going to say: I had better look to myself before I criticise other people. But, remember, I don’t matter; my tour’s booked through. Things are different with you, and I tell you frankly it’s a sorry sight to see an old woman of your age going down the hill so fast. No grandfather could view such a spectacle calmly."

How I wept to be sure. It was the first kind, thoughtful word I had ever heard from him since the commencement of the New Scheme. For several days afterwards his manner quite changed. He devoted himself to me, and, amongst other things, purchased me two dozen bottles of non-alcoholic bitter beer, and a book of intemperate temperance addresses.

All too soon, however, I discovered the reasons for this sudden outburst of affection. Dear grandpapa began to feel that he could not get on without me, and he had another little affair in hand.

I found a morocco case in his room one morning. It contained a very exquisite gold bracelet. He had been late overnight, and I had taken his breakfast up to him. The parcel with the bracelet came on the preceding evening while he was out. He had opened it on returning and left it open. As he was asleep when I took in his morning meal, I had time to examine the trinket. I looked at the costly toy, and then at grandpapa reposing peacefully and sweetly, with a glow of health and youth on his face. He lived out of doors now, and spent most of his time at the Palace. Of course the bracelet spoke louder than words.

He awoke, saw what I had seen, sat up, ate three eggs, much toast, and other things, then made a clean breast of his latest entanglement.

"It’s the purest, truest attachment--my first genuine love, so to speak, and my last. And she’s a girl to whom I can tell my secret; I feel that. Susan would believe anything. She will see me through the next two years or so, and then she will be left free to marry again. Yes, we are engaged. Socially it is a bit of a come-down from Mabel Talbot, but I don’t want to found a family or go in for a swagger connection. The girl loves me, and that’s quite good enough for me."

"Who is she, grandpapa?"

"Nobody; at least I don’t know anything about her family. She doesn’t ever mention them, and I make no enquiries. I don’t want to be within the radius of another mother-in-law again at my time of life--I know them. We’re going to be married privately, and then run out to America. Susan keeps a stall at the Crystal Palace. She’s a model girl, and sells chocolate and sweetstuff generally. You might go and see her without saying anything. Just stop in a casual way and hear her talk. Buy a pennyworth of something and study the girl a little. She’s a perfect treasure of a woman in my opinion. I’ve reached an age now when goodness outweighs beauty and everything. But she is beautiful too. She hangs out under that statue of the lady and the horse--lady and horse both dressed alike. You’ll find her there, and you’ll recognise her if you go this afternoon by this bracelet, which she’ll have on by that time. Draw her out and you’ll find I’m right. She would cling to me and comfort my declining years. I shall tell her I’m going away to London for the afternoon; then you will have it all to yourself and see what a girl she is."

I obeyed him, and that afternoon visited the Palace, found Lady Godiva without difficulty, and Susan Marks selling chocolate below. I saw the bracelet immediately. It was on the wrist of a big, dark girl, very showily dressed. She had bold, black eyes, that twinkled at the men as they passed, and a hard voice, which she endeavoured to make seductive as she lured visitors to the chocolate. She was talking to a young man when I arrived, and kept me waiting a considerable time. But I did not mind that; I was listening to some interesting conversation.

"Yes, it ain’t a bad bangle; my little mash, Dan Dolphin, gave it to me. He’s fairly gone on me--that’s straight. I’ve got fal-lals to the tune of three or four hundred quid out of him, and a promise of marriage."

"Promise what you like, Sue, but no kid. Mind what you said. I ain’t jealous, but I’m No. 1, mind. He’s only No. 2."

"No. 2! He’s No. 20 more like. You’re a fool, Tom, and you _are_ jealous. And I like to see you angry. You know well enough, Tommy, that I never loved none but you. The fools come and the fools go, but Tom goes on for ever. This little chappie ought to be good for a hundred or two more--then we’ll be married, you and me, and I’ll cut the chocolate and the butterflies."

Had they arranged their conversation expressly for my benefit, neither could have made a more conclusive, satisfactory, and at the same time disgraceful statement.

My blood boiled when I thought of my grandfather’s boyish passion being wasted on this minx.

"What are you starin’ at?" asked the girl rudely, suddenly realising that I was standing by the stall.

"I’m waiting to be served," I answered. "I want one of those penny sticks of Cadbury’s chocolate, when you can make it convenient to attend to me."

She gave me the refreshment, and I heard her utter a vulgar jest at my expense as I turned away. But, for all that, I hastened home with a light heart. Once more was I in a position to save grandpapa.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

_*ON THE RIVER.*_

It is not easy to describe grandpapa’s indignation when I detailed the result of my interview with Susan Marks. I told him all about the young man to whom she had been talking, and he recognised the youth as one Tomkins. He had already quarrelled with Susan about him.

"But why, dear grandfather," I asked, "did you give this wretched woman your real name?"

"It was a safe thing to do," he answered. "All the old fusses have blown over. Besides, I should have had to give it when I married her. I meant most honourably by the jade, and this is the result. They’re all alike, confusion take ’em. That’s the last. I’ve done with women now. They don’t interest me as they used to do. I shall go on amusing myself with the cats for another six months or so, till I’m a few years younger, but I’m blest if I ever take ’em seriously again. They’re not worth it--excepting you. You’re a good old daisy, Martha, and I’m much obliged to you."

Two days afterwards he gave Miss Marks a bit of his mind, and had it out with Tomkins, down among the firework apparatus. It appears that he punched Tomkins on the head, and then kicked him when he was down, and finally dropped him into one of the fountains.

"After that," said grandfather, as he gleefully narrated the circumstances to me, "I made tracks and hid among those great stone pre-adamite beasts at the bottom of the grounds. I squirmed down alongside of an ichthyosaurus or some such brute, and sat tight there until dark. Then I dodged out with the crowd. But they’ll want me to-day, so I guess we must be toddling."

We talked the matter out, and he decided to go and rent lodgings somewhere near the river. He was now twenty-two, by the New Scheme, and his old love for athletics had returned.

"No more tomfoolery for me," said grandfather. "I’ve passed the silly stage now. I shall take up rowing again and join a cricket club, and lead a quiet, wholesome life. As the end approaches so rapidly, I begin to lose interest in worldly affairs. Let us go to the river, and I will row you about, over the peaceful waters, under the trees, among the swans. If I find I have kept any of my old form with the sculls, I shall very likely enter for the ’Diamonds’ at Henley. It would be a record for a man of nearly one hundred and eight to win ’em. But I doubt how I should shape in these gimcrack, new-fangled wager-boats."

I encouraged his simple, boyish ambition, and we took our way to Twickenham. Grandpapa, finding himself better and happier for the peaceful life, actually thought once more of reformation. It was summer time, and a sort of holy calm would settle on my beloved grandfather, as he paddled me about the river and drew up sometimes in the cool shadows of overhanging trees.

He was a handsome boy of one-and-twenty now. His face grew tanned by the sun. He wore a picturesque green and yellow "blazer," with a blue handkerchief round his waist and a big sunflower embroidered on his grey felt hat. He began to get quite simple in speech, and his interest revolved about the river races and the cricket field. He seemed to forget the past, and I often prayed that the past would forget him. But grandpapa had sown the wind and the whirlwind was beginning to spring up. Time did not fly as quickly with the world as it seemed to do with us. The young fellow with his simple athletic interests and ambitions, training quietly for the Diamond Sculls, was not destined to escape the fruits of those many indiscretions committed in his maturer years; and it is hardly the least of my griefs and regrets that, in a measure, I was the cause of keeping grandpapa’s name before the world, and before divers more or less malicious women, who refused to forget his past relationships with them. I thought that by the quiet waters of the Thames, hidden in snug but comfortable lodgings at Twickenham, we should have escaped notice; but I soon found my mistake, for the river is a highway, a pleasure ground (so to speak) whereon all meet. Representatives of every London suburb pass and repass; respectable and questionable rub shoulders in every lock, exchange repartees at every bend, drift side by side in every backwater.

We were out one day after lunch, and I, steering carelessly, nearly ran into a boatload of ladies and gentlemen. Grandpapa reprimanded me, and apologised to the other party. Then somebody said:

"Positively it is--it is Miss Dolphin."

The speaker was Mrs. Bangley-Brown. She insisted on stopping and asking after grandpapa; and the old man, like a fool, forgetting the altered conditions, answered:

"_I’m_ all right. Glad to see you again. Jove! how well the gals look. And you as blooming as a four-year-old. D----d if I don’t think you’re going backwards too!"

Mrs. Bangley-Brown glared at the youth, and grandpapa, with wonderful readiness, explained himself.

"Awfully sorry. Thought you must know me. My pals call me ’grandfather,’ ’cause I’m a bit old-fashioned. No offence meant, none taken I hope."

She turned from him with disgust, and the two girls in the boat and some young men looked at my escort and tittered.

"Where is your grandfather?" said Mrs. Bangley-Brown to me, leaning over the edge of the boat and whispering. "I have been wanting his address for five years. Perhaps you can favour me with it. There is something fatal about the name, I think. I have heard it often of late, associated in every case with some broken-hearted woman."

"He treated you badly, I know," I answered, also under my breath. "It was a bitter grief to me at the time. But things are better as they are. He would not have made you happy."

"Probably not," she answered bitterly, "but he might have made me comfortable. And it is not too late. We need not discuss his conduct. I know what an English jury would think of it. Give me his address, if you please."

"Don’t do anything of the sort, Martha," said grandpapa, in a great state of excitement. He had overheard Mrs. Bangley-Brown’s last remark, and now turned to her.

"I’m only a youngster," he began craftily, "but I know the rights of that story. I heard it from the old man, and it don’t do you any credit. You’re an awful designing woman, and ought to know better. I daresay you’ve been after a dozen old fogeys since that."

"You little horror!" screamed Mrs. Bangley-Brown, "if I could get to you I’d box your ears."

She rose and made the boat shake, and her daughters implored her to sit down, or they would all be in the river.

"Yes, you’re a bad old lady--a regular old fossil-hunter, and no mistake," said grandpapa, shaking his head at her. "Shocking example for the gals!" Then he began to row away.

"Follow them! Don’t lose sight of them!" cried the angry woman; but grandpapa was a fine oar and had a light load. He simply laughed at their efforts to keep pace with him, and fired off all sorts of jokes at the pursuers. Finally he spurted when near the "rollers," had our boat over them in a twinkling, and setting to work, bustled me up to Kingston with extraordinary celerity. After dark we paddled quietly home again.

"It is a warning to me," said grandpapa. "In future if we meet old friends, I am your young nephew from Oxford; and your grandfather, should they ask after him, has been dead for some years. I wish that was true."

*CHAPTER XVII.*

_*PHYLLIS.*_

Misfortunes never come singly. After the meeting with Mrs. Bangley-Brown I was nervous of going on the river at all, but upon the following Sunday grandpapa persuaded me to accompany him. Most young men would have chosen the society of their own sex, but grandfather was loyal to his old granddaughter; and I will say that with regard to my growing weakness for stimulant, he did everything in his power to shame me out of it. I tried my best, but alcohol had become a necessity, and, as I have said elsewhere, was the only thing I could rely upon to keep my nerves steady at a crisis.

To return, we proceeded that Sunday to Teddington Lock, when suddenly, alongside of us, waiting for the lock to open, appeared Susan Marks and the young man Tomkins. The woman recognised us both instantly, and proclaimed the fact.

"Lor! if that ain’t that little beast Dolphin! Look, Tommy; and it was that old Guy Fawkes as ’eard me ’n you talking. She split an’ told him. But it shan’t wash; I swear it shan’t. He’s promised marriage, you know that; and all the old grandmothers in the world shan’t save him!"

"Who are you, you brazen creature? I don’t know you--never saw you before in my life," said grandfather, calmly.

"Don’t you talk to me like that, you wretch," bawled the virago, "or I’ll come over and wring your neck."

"Poor soul! Take her out of the sun and send for a medical man," said my grandfather.

Then Tomkins spoke. He was a small, weak person.

"You can’t bounce it like that, you know," he said. "You’re Dan Dolphin, engaged to Miss Marks; I ought to know you well enough; I’ve had a summons out against you for three months. You’d better give me your address, and not make a scene here."

"You’re labouring under a case of mistaken identity," said grandfather, not taking any notice of the intimation to give his address. "And as for that beauty there, if she’s engaged to me or some other fellow, what are you doing with her here on the river? Now row away, and try and behave yourselves. I’m afraid you’re no better than you ought to be, either of you."

In this cool manner, with a quiet air of experience and superiority, did grandfather cow the man Tomkins. The woman Marks, however, was not cowed. She shook her fist and raved and disgraced her sex and made a scene; but grandfather only laughed and proceeded. As he truly remarked, they had got "precious little change" out of him.

Not less than an hour later, I saw another of grandpapa’s old flames; one whom I had never met before. The Princess Hopskipschoff, with a party of younger sons and music-hall artistes, passed us in a steam-launch. Grandpapa was very excited, and his admiration for her, which waxed at forty-five and dwindled to nothing at thirty, now at twenty-one, burst out anew.

"A glorious woman--a goddess, by Jove! How sickening she must find the twaddle of those boys!" said grandpapa. "Ah, she doesn’t know, as she glances at me from under her dark lids, that the young fellow in the yellow and green ’blazer’ was once engaged to marry her. How sweet and fresh she is still! I wonder if she’ll be at Henley?"

Then he sighed and caught a "crab" in the wash of the steamer. I was amazed to hear him talk thus, and ventured to expostulate.

"The big woman under the red-and-white parasol? Why, grandpapa, she’s forty, and painted up to the eyes!"

"Don’t blaspheme," he said. "Don’t discuss her. You needn’t be jealous of the princess. To think that she has never forgotten me, that she seeks me yet! But her dream would be rather rudely shattered if she knew. Well, well, let us talk of something else. What fiend made me leave her? To think of all I lost!"

From which I have since drawn the curious conclusion that very young men and quite middle-aged ones are often attracted by the same sort of women.

"A fellow cannot get on without woman’s love," said grandpapa, suddenly, after a long silence. "At least, some fellows can’t--I can’t for one."

"A mother’s love is what you will soon be needing, dear one. I shall do the best I can."

"Bosh!" he said angrily. "That’s not love at all; it’s instinct. And I don’t want you to fuss over me when I become a child, mind that. Just keep me clean and tidy, and give me toys and tell me Bible stories. But don’t pretend you’re my mother then, because that’s outraging the laws of Nature, and people will laugh at you. I’m not talking of those matters now; I’m alluding to love."

"You said, when you left Upper Norwood, that you had done with that for ever."