Part 9

“And didn't father attend many people for nothing?”

“No one will ever know how many, for he did not even tell me; he used to say that if he didn't get often to church, he tried to do as people were told to do there; his commandment was the eleventh, 'Love one another.'”

“Did father believe the same as clergymen about things, mater?”

“No, not quite, and I suppose some people would call him a heretic; but you and I know, Jack, that if to do good and to be quite selfless, and to be high-minded, pure, and true, is to be like Christ, then the doctor was a Christian, the best I ever saw.”

“Very likely he was the same sort of heretic as Christ Himself. I say, mater, there will be a good lot to speak up for father some day--widows and orphans and such like. I'm proud to be his son; it's a deal better to have such a father, of whom every person speaks well, than to come in for a pot of money. If old Dodson had a son, how ashamed he would be of his father.”

“Money is not a bad thing, all the same, Jack,” and Mrs. Laycock sighed. “If we had had a little more than the insurance policy, then we would not have had to come to this house, and you would not have been in an office.”

“It's a jolly house, I think; and when the Christmas cards are stuck up the decorations will be complete. I wonder if the advance ones will come by this post? We'll see who remembers us.”

“That's the bell; and see, six, seven, I declare, ten to begin with! Here's one in a rare old-fashioned hand. I'll take off the envelope and you will see the name. Why, it's a letter, and a long screed, and a... cheque!”

“Have some of those thieves paid their account? You are crying, mater. Is it about father? May I see the letter, or is it private?”

“No, it's about you, too, my son. I wish you would read it aloud; I'm not... quite able.”

“'Liverpool, _December_ 24, 189--.

“'Dear Madam,--

“'Along with many others in Liverpool, I experienced a feeling of keen regret that in the inscrutable actings of Providence your respected husband, Dr. Laycock, was, as it appears, prematurely removed from his work and family.

“'It must be a sincere consolation for his widow to know that no man could have rendered more arduous and salutary service to his fellows, many of whom he relieved in pain, not a few of whom he was instrumental in restoring to their families from the portals of death. Without curiously inquiring into the affairs of private life, many persons were persuaded that Dr. Laycock was in the custom of attending persons of limited means as an act of charity, whereby he did much good, won much affection, and doubtless has laid up for himself great riches in the world to come, if we are to believe the good Book.

“'I have not, however, sent you this letter merely to express my sympathy, shared with so many who have the privilege, denied to me, of your personal friendship, or to express the admiration felt by all for the eminent departed. My object is different, and must be its own excuse. Unless I have been incorrectly informed--and my authority seemed excellent--the noble life of Dr. Laycock hindered him from making that complete provision for his family which he would have desired, and which other men in less unselfish walks of life could have accomplished. This disability, I am given to understand, has seriously affected the career of your son, whom every one describes as a promising lad, so that he has been removed from a public school, and has been obliged to abandon the hope of entering on the study of medicine.

“'If my information be correct, it was his father's wish that your son should follow in his steps, and it is incumbent on those who honoured Dr. Laycock for his example of humanity, to see that his cherished wish be fulfilled. Will you, therefore, in the light of the explanation I have made at some length, accept the draft I have the honour to send--value £1,000--and use the proceeds in affording to your son a complete medical education at home and abroad? The thought that the just desire of a good man has not fallen to the ground, and that a certain burden will be lifted from his widow's life, will be more than sufficient recompense to one whom you will never know, but who will, so long as he may be spared, follow your son's career with sincere interest.--Believe me, my dear madam, your obliged and grateful servant,

“'ZACCHEUS.'

“Hold it up against the light, mater; it's the prettiest Christmas card we'll ever see.... You ought to be laughing, and not crying.... But I feel a little--just a tiny wee bit watery myself.

“He might as well have told us his name; but I suppose he was afraid of a row. Zaccheus? Why, that's the man who gave the playgrounds. He must have a pile, and he knows how to use it; he's no Dodson, you bet At any rate, though we don't know him, we can say, 'God bless him,' mater.”

“Amen,” said Mrs. Laycock. “I hope the father knows.”

IV

“How do I know that there is something wrong, Bert? Because we've been married five years last month, and I can read your face like a book, or rather a great deal better than most books, for I'm not clever in following deep books, but I'm quite sure about your face.

“No, I don't imagine, for you may be able to hide what you feel on the 'Flags,' but you let out the secret at home; and that is one reason why I love you--because you are not cunning and secretive. Now tell me, is cotton down, and have you lost?

“Oh, yes, Bert, I know your principle, that a man ought to bear the burden outside, and the woman inside the home; but there are exceptions. You have acted up to your principle splendidly. You have never said a word all these years, although I know you've had anxious times, and you've helped me many a time with my little troubles. Let me help you in yours now.”

“Queenie, if you want to put me to utter shame, you have taken the right way, for it's your thrift and good management which has given us our happy home, and I...”

“Yes, you, Bert, you have idled your time, I suppose, and spent your money on dress, and generally neglected your family. For shame, sir, when you have done so well, and every one says that nobody is so much respected. Don't look like that if you love me. What is it?”

“It is necessary that you be told, and I was going to speak this evening, but it is very hard. Queenie, when I kissed the children and looked at you all so happy, I felt like a... murderer.”

“Have you..

“No, on my word of honour, I have done nothing wrong, _that_ I can say; neither you nor the little ones have any cause to be ashamed of me.”

“If you had, I would have stood by your side, Herbert, but I knew disgrace would never come by you; then what is it? If it's only the loss of some money, why, I know half a dozen economies.”

“It's far worse than that, wife, I fear. This will be our last Christmas in our dear little home, and it's all my blame, and I feel... the basest of men. As if you had trusted me when I had deceived you all.

“You are the best wife ever man had.... I feel better, and I'll explain it all to you. It is not very difficult; it is so easy to be ruined.

“You know we are brokers, and our business is to buy or sell cotton for other people, and we are responsible for them, so that if they cannot pay the losses, we have to find the money.

“Two of our firms, which have been very kind to us, were sure cotton would go up--and so it ought to have done, and will in the end--and they bought so many bales through us.

“Well, a big house, which can do pretty much as it likes, seized the opportunity of a fraud to rush in and upset the market, so our friends and many others have to face declines they cannot meet So unless our poor little firm can pay £10,000 at least on Monday, we must stop, and... all our hard work to build up an honourable name is lost.

“We can scrape £4,000, and my partner and I have £1,000 private means to put in, and... that's all. £5,000 short

“Yes, we have tried the Bank, but they can't do anything there. Goldsworthy, the manager, is the nicest fellow living, and his 'No' is almost as good as another's 'Yes'; but of course it was 'No'; we had no security; the cotton may go lower before it turns, and he has told us we must pay.”

“But surely, Herbert, if the big firms knew how you were situated, they would help you, because things would come right in a few weeks, you say.”

“Every man has to look after himself in the market But I did go to Huddleston, because he has given me so much advice, and wanted me to take an interest in the Church.... I wish my tongue had been burned before I crossed his room.

“No, he wasn't rude--that's not his sin; he might be better if he were straighter. He hoped that I was prospering in business, and reminded me that I must not allow the world to get too much hold, and became eloquent on money being only a stewardship. But when I opened up my errand, he explained that he made it a principle never to lend money, and suggested that this was a chastening because we had hasted to be rich. He hoped that the issue would be sanctified, and... but I rose and left, quite sick.”

“What a canting old wretch!” Mrs. Ransome was very angry. “I always hated that man's soft sawder; he's much too pussy to be true.”

“He was not bound to help me unless he pleased. But what riled me was his religious talk; he might have spared me that at least. And if those operators who have knocked the market to pieces haul in £30,000, they will likely give £1,000 to missions.

“When a man has done his level best, and been fairly prudent, and has worked hard, and is getting a fair connection, and everything is taken away by a big, unscrupulous, speculative firm, which sees a chance of making a pile at the ruin of half a dozen struggling firms, it's a little hard.”

“They ought to be put in jail; but they'll catch it some day;” and it was evident Mrs. Ransome, like many other people in her circumstances, found much satisfaction from the belief in future punishment.

“It's apt to make one bitter, too,” Ransome went on. “When I sat opposite old Dodson in the 'bus this afternoon--come to the penny 'bus now, you see, Queenie--looking out from below his shaggy eyebrows like a Scotch terrier, with meanness written over his shabby clothes, and almost heard the gold chinking in his pockets, and thought that he could save our home and secure my future by a cheque, and never miss the money--suppose he lost it, which he wouldn't if I lived--I declare, I could have... well, I did not feel as Christian as Huddleston would desire.”

“Bert, have you ever thought what we would do if we became rich--how we would send flowers to people who were not well off, and let them use our carriage, and send overworked teachers and clerks for holidays, and...

“Help lame dogs in cotton over stiles, eh wifie? Yes, I've had my dreams too. I'd go in for the poor children's holiday fund, that would be my extravagance. But we are no better than other people. And were you never afraid that we would grow selfish and pompous, and mean and pharisaical, like Huddleston, and maybe end in being Dodsons?”

“No, no, that is impossible!” cried his wife, “because, for one thing, we have loved, and, perhaps, Mr. Dodson never was loved, poor soul; and if things come to the worst, remember there is a good deal left.”

“There is something in that, Queenie; run over the inventory, and I'll check you.”

“First of all there is you, the truest, kindest, bravest husband in Liverpool....

“Stop; that is your own private property, and we were to go over our common means; besides, the valuation is ninety per cent too high.”

“You be quiet And there are two children whom every one looks at in the street, and who are the sweetest... Nobody hears us, so it doesn't matter, and you know they are. Wouldn't it have been far worse if we had lost Reggie when he had diphtheria? Well, we have him and Maud, and they never looked better.”

“That's true, wifie; go on; capital is mounting up.”

“Then there's your good name, which has never been stained. Nobody says you are mean, or hypocritical, or unmanly, or... anything bad; and if... you can't pay that money on Monday, every person will know that it was not your fault, and that you will repay all you owe some day, if you can.”

“Yes, please God, wife, we will... You think too much of me, but go on.”

“We have half a dozen friends, and, although they're not rich, they're true; and if we have to go into a smaller house and live very quietly, they won't mind; they'll just come closer, won't they?”

“Right again; you are getting on. We've somewhere about £50,000 working capital now.”

“We have our books and our music, and... five years of love and... spiritual blessings one doesn't talk about....”

“One piece of property wanting, which is best of all--yourself, Queenie, surely the cleverest, loyalest...”

“You are talking nonsense now, Bert; and are you aware that it is past eleven o'clock? I'll turn out the gas in the dining-room if you will see that the door is fastened.”

“Here is a letter which must have come by the last post and been forgotten; perhaps it's a Christmas card in advance. Let's see. Oh, I say, you've left me in darkness.”

“Come up to our room; we can open it there; very likely it's a bill. Well?”

“I say... Queenie... no, it can't be a hoax... nobody would be so cruel... and here's an enclosure... letter from London bankers confirming... sit down here beside me; we'll read it together... so, as near as you can, and your arm round my neck... just a second before we begin... my eyes are... all right now.”

“Liverpool, _December_ 22, 189--.

“Dear Sir,--It has been my practice, as a man engaged for many years in commercial pursuits, to keep a watchful and, I hope, not unkindly eye upon young firms beginning their business career in Liverpool. For the last five years I have observed your progress with much interest, and you will pardon my presumption and take no offence, when I express my satisfaction, as an old merchant, with your diligence, caution, ability, and, most of all, integrity, to which all bear witness.

“I was therefore greatly grieved to learn that your firm may be hardly pressed next week, and may be in danger of stoppage--all the more because I find no charge of folly can be brought against you, but that you are the indirect victims of one firm's speculative operations. There is no one, I am also informed, from whom you can readily obtain the temporary assistance you require and are morally entitled to receive.

“The only satisfaction I have in life is using such means as Providence has been pleased to put into my hands for the succour of people who are in every way better than myself, but who are in some kind of straits. I have therefore directed my London bankers to open an account for you and to put £10,000 to your credit. Upon this account you will be pleased to draw such a sum as will tide you over the present crisis, and such other sums as will enable you to extend your business along the safe and honourable lines you have hitherto followed. I do not doubt that you will repay the said sum or sums to the same account as you may be able--no interest will be accepted--and I only lay one other obligation on your honour, that you make no endeavour to discover my name.

“Be pleased to accept my best wishes of this season for your admirable wife, your two pleasing children, and my confident hope for your final and large success in business.--I remain, your faithful friend,

“Zaccheus.”

“Let us go and kiss the children, hubbie, and then... we might say the Lord's Prayer together.”

V

“A respectable, elderly woman, did you say, Marshall?” said Mr. Greatheart in his room at the office; “certainly, bring her in. Very likely a widow wishing to get her son admitted to the Bluecoat School, or some poor householder in trouble about her taxes.” For to this man came all sorts and conditions of people in their distresses, and to each he gave patient audience and practical succour.

“You don't trouble me. If I can be of any use, nothing will please me better,” he said, placing a chair and making a kindly fuss to cover his visitor's confusion. “Now sit down and tell me all about it” That was why the respectable poor loved him, from the Catholic Irish of Scotland Road to the Orangemen of Toxteth.

“Is it your husband or your son you are so anxious about?”--for she was much agitated. “I notice that a woman hardly ever comes about herself! It's we men who are selfish, not the women.”

“No, it's neither, for I am an unmarried woman. It's about my master, whom I believe you know, sir--Mr. Dodson.”

“Samuel Dodson, you mean; I should think so! Have known him for fifty years--since we served our time together in Palmer's shipping office. What, is he ill?”

“He's dead... this morning. You'll excuse me, I was his housekeeper for near thirty year, and... I'm a little upset.”

“Good gracious! No wonder. Maria Wilkins, did you say?... You may well be upset And thirty years with him! Tell me how this happened, for we've heard nothing in the city. He couldn't have been ill long.”

“No, sir, he was never ill at all--not what you would say proper; but I've seen him failin' for some time--gettin' thin like and growin' down--and last night he was that white and shaky, that I wanted him to see a doctor. But no, he wouldn't If it had been me or the girl, he would have had a doctor when there was nothing wrong with us, he was that concerned about other people; but for himself...”

Mr. Greatheart nodded--indicating that Mr. Dodson's unselfish character was well known to him.

“'No, no, Maria,' says he, 'a doctor can do no good to me. I'm a tough old fellow*--speaking that way to me, being long with him--'I'll be all right to-morrow.' But I made bold to put a glass of brandy in his room, and pleaded with him to ring the bell if he was unwell--he was not easily managed--and that was all I could do, sir.”

Her hearer was of opinion that from what he knew of Mr. Dodson's native obstinacy, Maria Wilkins had done all in the power of mortal woman, and possibly, more, than could have been accomplished by any man.

“Twice during the night I rose and listened at his door--his face, when he said good-night, lyin' heavy on me, so to say--and I heard nothing; but when he didn't answer in the mornin' I took it on me to open the door. Mr. Dodson was a-sittin' up in his bed, and at the sight of his face I knew how it was, havin' seen death many times. My old master... was gone,” and the housekeeper yielded to her feelings.

“Dear, dear! So Sam Dodson is gone; an able and successful merchant, one who always met his obligations, and whose word was as good as his bond; he had a warmer heart than any person knew. I've seen a look in his face at a time, and am sure that he did good in his own way.”

“God bless you for that, sir! but it's what I could have looked for from you, if I may say it without offence. And you never spoke a truer word, and that I can testify as has lived with master for a lifetime, and could tell the difference between the outside and the inside.”

“Ah, yes, you saw the real man, Maria; but he was sometimes... well, hidden from the public.”

“He had his peculiarities, and 'oo hasn't, I say? Now, my wages when I came to him was just fourteen pounds, and they're just fourteen yet; but every Christmas, for many a year, master slipped a ten-pound note into my hand. 'Put that into your bank, Maria,' he would say, 'and never tell anybody you've got it.'

“As for food, he was aggravatin', for he would have nothing as was not plain, and he would check the books to a ha'penny; but if you was ill, why, he would bring home grapes with his own hand. We dare not for our lives give a morsel to beggars at the door, but if he heard of a poor family, nothin' would serve him but he would go and find out all about them.”

“That's my Dodson, just as I imagined him,” cried Mr. Greatheart; “tell me more, Maria; it's excellent, every word.”

“Do you think he would let any person know he was givin' help? Not he; and he was artful, was master. Why, I've known him send me with money to a clergyman, that he might give it, and his words were, 'No name, Maria, or we part; just a citizen of Liverpool.'”

“Dodson all over! shrewd and unassuming, and full of charity. Have you anything else to tell, Maria?”

“Well, sir, I do not know for certain, and it was not for me to spy on my master, but I'm much mistaken if many a one in the better class was not the better of Mr. Dodson in their troubles.”

“How do you think that?” inquired Mr. Great-heart in huge delight “I've seen him read a letter maybe six times, and he would wipe his eyes through pleasure as I took it You wouldn't believe, maybe, as master could be like that”

“I do, Maria. I declare it's what I expected. And what then?”

“He would walk up and down the room, and speak to himself, and read another bit, and rub his hands...”

“I wish I had been there, Maria.”

“And he would carry a letter like that in his pocket for days, and then he would put it carefully in the fire; but I saw him take it out, half-burned, and read a corner again before he burned that letter.”

“Maria, I cannot tell you how much obliged I am to you for coming to me, and giving me such a touching account of your dear master. Now, is there anything I can do for you in this loss?”

“Lord bless me, sir, that I should have been taking up your time like this, and you a magistrate, and never told you what brought me! It's more than a month past that master said to me, 'Maria, if anything happens to me, go to Mr. Greatheart's office, and give him my keys, and ask him to open my desk. He is a good man, and he's sure to come.'”

“Did he say so? That was most generous of him, and I appreciate it highly. I will come instantly, and shall bring a lawyer with me, a kind-hearted and able man. Good-bye for the present, Maria; you have fulfilled your charge, as I believe you have all your duty, excellently... excellently.”

“You see, Welsby,” as they went up to the house, “Dodson had left his firm, and had few friends, perhaps none--a reserved man about himself, but a true man at the bottom.”

“So you have always said, Mr. Greatheart Well know now; my experience as a lawyer proves that, as a rule, a man's papers reveal him, and there are some curious surprises.”

“If you look through that safe, and note the contents, Welsby, I'll read this letter addressed to me. I gather that I must be executor, and there seems to be no lawyer; very like Dodson, very--do everything for himself.

“Liverpool, April 15th, 188--.

“Barnabas Greatheart, Esq.

“My dear Sir,--You will peruse this letter after my death, and you will be pleased to consider it as intended for your eyes alone, since it is in the nature of a confession.

“My early career was a continuous struggle with narrow and arduous circumstances, and I suffered certain disappointments at the hands of friends which I considered undeserved. In consequence of these experiences I grew penurious, cynical, merciless, hopeless, and, let me say it plainly, a sour, hard man, hating my neighbours, and despised of them. May the Almighty forgive me!

“This year in which I write, a great change has come over me, and my heart has been softened and touched at last with human sympathy. The force which has affected me is not any book nor sermon, but your example of goodness and your charity towards all men. In spite of the general judgment on me, which has been fully merited, I have seen that you do not shun me, but rather have gone out of your way to countenance me, and I have heard that you speak kindly of me. It is not my nature to say much; it is not yours to receive praise; but I wish you to know you have made me a new man.