CHAPTER IX

JOHN HOLL, DUST CONTRACTOR.

Arthur Prescott went up the same evening to Lowndes Square. The invalid had gone to bed, and Captain Bradshaw and Miss Heathcote were alone.

“Well, Mr. Prescott,” Captain Bradshaw said, after the first greetings, “I suppose you have no news to give us yet?”

“I have better than news, Captain Bradshaw; I have these to give you. There are all the proofs required in any court of law in the world to prove that James is your grandson and legitimate heir.”

“Really, Mr. Prescott?”

“Yes, really, Captain Bradshaw.”

“My dear sir,” the old man said, shaking him warmly by the hand, “I am delighted. I don’t know how to thank you. I have been thinking, since I saw you, that it would be necessary to come to terms with that scoundrel Barton, and I am very glad you took it upon yourself to act without asking me first. How much have you had to promise him? A heavy sum, of course; but I shan’t grudge it.”

“Not a very heavy amount, sir, considering their value. I shall want a cheque from you for fifty pounds.”

“Fifty pounds!” exclaimed Captain Bradshaw. “Do you mean to say Barton gave them up for fifty pounds?”

“No, that he did not,” Prescott laughed; “nor would he have given them up for much less than a hundred times that amount. If it is any satisfaction to you, Captain Bradshaw, Barton will not get one penny. I will tell you the whole story. But it is rather a long one, so you had better sit down to listen to it.”

So they sat down, Alice Heathcote putting aside the light work upon which she had been engaged. Prescott then told the story of his success, and when he had done Captain Bradshaw was in a state of the greatest delight.

“To think of your getting the better of that rascal. It is admirable—upon my word it is admirable; don’t you think so, Alice?”

“Yes, uncle, indeed I do. We are all very, very much obliged to Mr. Prescott.”

And Prescott felt that he was amply repaid.

“Now, Mr. Prescott, if you will come down into my study for a moment, I will write you the cheque.”

Prescott followed him down-stairs. Captain Bradshaw sat down and wrote two cheques.

“Now, Mr. Prescott,” he said, when he had finished the second, “you will not be offended at what I am going to say. I am an old fellow, you know, and have known you a great many years. You are a young man, and you have done me a great service—a very great service. I am speaking of your restoring James to me. You have now rendered me another, and have saved me a large sum of money. Will you let me look at all this in a professional point of view? I am a very rich man.”

“No, my dear Captain Bradshaw,” Prescott said, firmly. “I am not in the least offended at your offering it to me, but I could not take money for doing what has been a great pleasure. As you say, I have known you since I was quite a boy, and have received very many kindnesses from you; and it is very hard if I may not have the pleasure of doing you a slight service now.”

“You are wrong, Prescott,” Captain Bradshaw said. “But you must have your way. I am sorry, very sorry, you will not let me prove in my own way that I feel grateful to you. However, there’s an end of it,” and he tore up one of the cheques. “Believe me, my dear boy, if you ever do want a friend, Harry Bradshaw is your man.”

“Thank you, sir,” Prescott said, shaking hands with him warmly. “I quite believe you, and am very happy in the belief. I will see about the other business in the morning.”

Prescott went upstairs again for a short time. When he had gone, Captain Bradshaw said,—

“That is a fine fellow, Alice, a very fine fellow. I wish I could see my way to doing him a good turn. I have been asking him, delicately you know, my dear, as an old man might ask a young one, to let me treat him as my legal adviser in the matter, but he would not hear of it. It is not often that a cheque for five hundred pounds gets thrown into the fire.”

Alice looked pleased.

“I do wish I could do something for him; but I don’t see my way, Alice—do you?”

Alice shook her head; but as she bent over her work a flush mounted up to her forehead, as if the idea of some reward Prescott would care about had occurred to her. Whatever it was, she did not mention it to her uncle.

It was about a week after this that John Holl’s master said to him one evening when he went up with the carts at the end of the day’s work,—

“By the way, John, the carts won’t go out to-morrow. I’ve sold the whole thing out, as I told you I was going to; and to-morrow the things change hands, and the new name will be painted on the carts.”

“Well, gaffer,” John said, “we’ve worked a good many years together, and I am as sorry as can be that you’re going to leave us. Have you spoken a word for me to the new gaffer? I ain’t as young as I was, master; but no man can complain I don’t do a fair day’s work.”

“I’ve told him about you, John, and you’ll find it all right. I was talking about you and your wife having brought up that boy, and of his having turned out a rich chap. He was quite tickled about it, and so was his wife. She’s a kindish sort of woman, John, and she said she should like to see your wife.”

“Now, master, you needn’t have gone on upon that affair,” John said, reproachfully; “there never wer’nt nothing in it, you know.”

“Yes, John, but I was only saying that it was a rum start; and, you see, it may do you good, you know. It always does do good when a master and man take a fancy to each other. So you come up to-morrow afternoon, at three o’clock, to square up. And tell your wife to brush up a bit, and come along with you.”

“Thank you, master, I’ll come, and I daresay Sarah will, though the old woman won’t like it, I know.”

Nor, indeed, did John himself; for there is no man more proud and independent in his own way than an English workman. Indeed, he would have absolutely refused to bring his wife, but he did not like to hurt the feelings of his old master, who had evidently wished to do him a service.

“By the bye, John,” his master said, as he tamed to leave the yard, “rumly enough the new gaffer’s name is the same as yours, John Holl.”

“Is it now?” said John; “well, that is rum! Not that Holl is an uncommon name, or John either, for that matter; but to see it on our carts will be rum. Lor, how my mates will chaff me, to be sure. I know what it will be—Hullo, John, set up on your own account, old man? I say, John, stole a cart? Lor bless me, I shall never hear the end of it,” and John went off, laughing to himself.

John had, as he anticipated, some trouble with Sarah; but he had put the case to her somewhat diplomatically, and said that the new gaffer’s wife wanted to know the story of James being found and turning out a rich man, and then he had turned her attention off by telling her that the new gaffer’s name was John Holl “Won’t it be a rum start, Sarah, to see one’s own name on the carts?” Sarah was greatly amused at the idea, and when the appointed time came made no objection to starting with her husband for Chelsea.

“Lor, John, what a time it is sin’ you and me went out walking together on a week day. If you do take a holiday, which ain’t often, we have the children with us.”

“It do seem strange like, lass. Lor, what a shapely young girl you were when I took my first walk with you. Do you remember it, mother?”

“Ay, John,” Sarah said, with a softening of her voice, “I ain’t likely to forget that while I live. Well, John, I’ve been as happy as I hoped to be.”

“Ay, mother,” John said, “we’ve had no cause to grumble. If we ain’t done quite so well as we hoped then, Sairey, we’ve done as well as we could have fairly expected. Well, here we are; and I’m blest if there ain’t all the carts with their new name on them, ‘John Holl, dust contractor.’ It don’t look bad,” he said, critically, as he spelt the letters out slowly. “I wonder what the new gaffer’s like.”

“Well, John,” his old master said, coming out of the house into the yard, “come to square up, eh? How are you, Mrs. Holl?” and he went into a little outhouse, and paid John Holl his wages up to the preceding night.

“Now, John, I will take you indoors to the new master.” At the door, however, John and his wife were surprised to meet Mr. Prescott.

“Ah, Mr. Holl, how are you? How are you, Mrs. Holl? Had a little business here, too, you see. Come in,” and he led the way into a neat little parlour, the former master remaining outside.

“Hullo,” John exclaimed, in utter astonishment, when, upon entering, he saw the cripple boy sitting by the fireside in the very box in which he had sat so many years by their own hearth, and which, on coming out, they had left in the spot where it had so long stood.

“Yes, father, it’s me, sure enough. Well, mother, how goes it? You see I came down here with Mr. Prescott.”

Sarah kissed her foster son tenderly, and John Holl shook him by the hand.

“But where,” John said, looking round uneasily, “is the new gaffer?”

“He’ll be here presently, father, sit you down—sit down, mother.”

“Yes, my boy, but the master mightn’t like it if he came in here and found us making so free.”

“You sit down, mother, the new master won’t mind it. He’s a good fellow, is the new master, ain’t he, Mr. Prescott?”

“He is, indeed,” Prescott said, warmly, “a right good fellow.”

“So good a fellow, mother, that when he was a young man, and not long married, he took a poor boy out of the streets and brought him up.”

“Did he really though?” Sarah said. “Ah, that’s why he wants to see us. He has heard about James turning out a gentleman, and he wonders whether his lad will do the same.”

“Like enough, mother,” John said, “I wish he’d come though; for I can’t but feel as I’m intruding here.”

“Don’t you be uneasy, father. I want to tell you about the new master, for I know you and mother will like him. His name, you know, is John Holl.”

“Yes,” John said, “John Holl, dust contractor. It’s writ up on the carts, James.”

“Just so, father, John Holl, dust contractor. Well, father, John Holl, when he was a young man, wasn’t a contractor at all, but just a dustman. When he had not been married long, he took a poor little baby whose mother had died—she was no relation to him, mother, none at all, just a poor creature without friends—and they took in the baby, and brought him up as their own.”

“He must be a real good fellow, John Holl, dust contractor,” John put in, never remembering that he had done the same thing.

“He is, father. I told you you’d like him. Well, the worst of it was, the poor baby grew up a cripple, just like me, mother. But they didn’t love it or care for it any the less, but nursed it and watched over it with even greater tenderness than they had for their own healthy children. Well, mother, years afterwards it was found out who the boy was, and he went away to his new relations. They were rich people, mother, and felt that they owed very much to those who had taken care of the poor boy for so many years. So, mother, without saying anything about it, they bought a business with a house and furniture, and carts and horses, and all; and John Holl, dust contractor, came to the house, and found the cripple boy sitting where he had sat so many years at their fireside, to say ‘Welcome home, dear mother and dear father,’” and he held out his hands to them both.

Sarah understood it now, and in a moment was crying on her knees by the chair, with her arms round his neck. John Holl sat a picture of utter bewilderment. He did not, even now, understand it, and was stupefied at his wife’s sudden emotion.

“Do you not understand, Mr. Holl?” Prescott said, coming to his assistance. “Do you not see you are John Holl, dust contractor: the house, and the carts and horses, are yours. James’s grandfather has bought them for you.”

“For me?” John Holl repeated, still incredulous.

“Yes, for you, father,” James said. “Don’t you see mother believes it?”

John Holl took the cripple’s hand now. His voice trembled.

“It’s too much, lad, it’s altogether too much. We couldn’t take it, my boy. We only did our duty, James—Sairey and me.”

“You need have no hesitation, John,” Prescott said, putting his hand upon the man’s shoulder, “Captain Bradshaw is very rich. This is really nothing to him. He feels under a great obligation to you; and besides, he likes to give pleasure to James. You can’t help it now. It’s all paid for, and you are John Holl, dust contractor. We watched you go out, and sent the child whom you left at home to fetch the others from school. Your eldest girl is packing up the things, a cart was to be at the door half an hour afterwards, and your things and the children will all be here by five o’clock. James is going to stay with you till seven, and then a cab will call for him. So your wife must set to and make you at home. There is a girl in the kitchen, and a fire, and everything ready. So mother will only have to get tea as usual. Now I will leave you.” And Prescott went out and left them to their happiness.

Several times in the next half hour John Holl went out into the yard, and spelt over the name “John Holl, dust contractor,” and repeated it over many times to himself. It was not until six o’clock, when the whole family were seated round the table, James at his old place by Sarah’s side as half laughing half crying she cut up the bread and butter, that John really realised to himself that it must be true, and that he was really and identically “John Holl, Dust Contractor.”