Chapter 2

"All among friends," said Archie, "and going to have a jolly time, and be nursed up, and made as strong as a horse.--Now, Dr. Grey, let's get a cab. I'll go and call one," and he bustled off.

Outside he met a disgusting sight. It was Timothy Lingard, staggering towards the mill, very much the worse for what he had been drinking.

"You can't go there; go home at once," said Archie.

"Night-watch--caretaker--said I'd be here," mumbled Timothy, trying to brush past him; and then finding Archie still stood as a hindrance in front of him, he tried to strike him--of course not knowing who it was--only he missed his aim, and fell down into the gutter.

There Archie left him, to seek a cab, which is not an easy thing to find at three o'clock in the morning. However, before long he did succeed in procuring one, and in it Stephen was conveyed to the nearest hospital.

* * * * *

Mr. Fairfax was just starting for his office the next morning when he was accosted by a respectable-looking working-man.

"Do I speak to Mr. Fairfax, sir?" he asked, touching his hat.

"Yes, that is my name. Can I do anything for you?"

"Would you be good enough, sir, to tell me where my son, Stephen Bennett, is? I hear he was taken ill last night."

"He's in the hospital. I'll take you--I was just going there myself," said Archie, who was with his father.

"Your son has had a hard life, I fear, in your absence," said Mr. Fairfax, glancing curiously at the stranger, who did not look at all like a man capable of crime.

"Yes, sir," he answered somewhat bitterly; "it has pleased the Almighty to send me a heavy trial. First, I lost my wife; then I was accused, along with my fellow-workers in a brick-yard, of stealing fagots. I was sentenced to three months' imprisonment, and my time would have been out next week. My boy, which he's one in a thousand--though he was that weakly he was hardly fit for work--he brought the little 'uns, five of 'em, all under fourteen, to this place. 'We shan't be known at Longcross, father,' he says, 'and I'll work for 'em all till you're out.' So he come here. And yesterday they come to me in the jail, and they says, 'Bennett, we find you're innocent. The man what took the fagots, he's up and confessed, and he says as you've had nothing to do with it.' So they wrote me this paper to say I'm pardoned, as they call it, and I come away; but they couldn't give me back the three months of my life."

"No," said Mr. Fairfax; "you have suffered indeed. But I trust that even yet you may find good come out of evil, as it so often does. We have come to know and respect Stephen, and as soon as he is well he shall be moved into a comfortable house, which I have now to let, and which is at your disposal, if you like to take it. Other help, too, I hope to be able to render you."

Thus talking, they arrived at the hospital. Stephen had not made much progress, and was still alarmingly weak. Scanty food and constant anxiety had told terribly on his delicate constitution. But when he saw his father, and heard that he had been set free, and declared innocent, a new life seemed to come into him.

"I shall get well now, father," he said; "I feel I shall--only my head's so bad where the blow came that I can't think much. But that doesn't matter now; you'll look after the little 'uns. 'Twas the having all them on me, and thinking about you, that seemed to crush me down; though I knew you was innocent, father--I knew it all along. Thank God for making it clear, though. I asked Him to do it, night and day, and He's done it."

* * * * *

"Now, Archie, my boy," said Mr. Fairfax, as he and his son walked back together, "you see how entirely wrong you were in your hasty judgment."

"Yes, father, I do see;" and the lad's voice was full of feeling. "Stephen may never lose the effects of this time of cruel hardship. I might have been his friend, and I was his enemy instead."

"If I had listened, or allowed the foreman to listen, to your guesses, he might have been turned off altogether. It should be a lesson to you, Archie, never to injure another person's character again without absolute certainty, and even then only if it is necessary for the general good. Once gone, it is sometimes impossible to win back."

"I know--I know, father. I _will_ try to be careful, and not so hasty."

"Don't judge merely by appearances, Archie. Above all, remember those words of the Great Teacher, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.'"

"I KNOW BEST."

"So the choir treat is fixed for Thursday, and we're all going to the Crystal Palace! What jolly fun we shall have!"

The speaker was Walter Franklin, a village lad of eighteen. But Christopher Swallow, the friend to whom he addressed himself, a youth who looked rather older, did not receive the news with the pleasure Walter expected.

"The old Crystal Palace again!" he grumbled. "Bother! What's the good of going to the same place twice over? _I_ call it foolery and rubbish."

"Oh, but the rector said that no one but you and three of the older men had been before; and when he asked them whether they would like anything else better, they said no. Benjamin Sorrell said that once for seeing all over such a big place was nothing, and he'd like to spend a week there."

"Let him, then; one day's enough for me. Of course, we must go as it's settled; but you won't catch _me_ staying dawdling about, looking at the same old things over and over again as I see two years ago. I shall be off and enjoy myself somewhere else."

"But, Christopher, Mr. Richardson said most partic'lar we _must_ all keep together or we should get lost; and we're all to wear red rosettes on our left shoulders, that we may know each other at a distance, if we should get separated by any accident."

"Oh, did he indeed?" replied Christopher scornfully. "P'raps some'll do it. I think I know _one_ as won't."

Walter said no more. Chris was well known to be what the others called "cranky" in his temper; and when he considered, as he generally did, that he was right, and every one else wrong, there was nothing for it but to leave him alone.

When Thursday came, it was a most lovely September day. There was hardly any one among the thirty members of the Hartfield Parish Choir, who drove in two big wagonettes to the station, that did not look prepared to enjoy the day's outing to the utmost.

"Christopher don't look best pleased, though," thought Walter, as they drove along, glancing at his friend's gloomy face. "And there's Miss Richardson getting out the rosettes. I hope he won't go and make a row; but there's no telling."

The Hartfield Choir consisted of men, lads, and boys, with about half a dozen little girls. The boys and girls, of course, sang alto and treble; the lads alto, if they could manage nothing better; and the men bass and tenor. There were eight men between thirty and fifty years of age, six lads like Walter, and sixteen children.

Half were in one long brake with the rector, and half in another with the schoolmaster and Miss Richardson. About half-way between Hartfield and the station, Miss Richardson produced a white cardboard box, which she opened.

"Here," she said, taking out a very bright rosette made of red ribbon, and a packet of pins, "I want each of you to put one of these on your left shoulder, and then we shall know one another when we are too far off to see each other's faces. There, I've put mine on."

As she spoke she fastened one on to her jacket. Every one else did the same, amidst a good deal of laughing and joking--every one, that is, except one.

"Christopher, where's _your_ badge?" asked Mr. White, the schoolmaster.

"In my pocket, sir," was the answer.

"We can't see through that, man; it isn't transparent, like a glass window. Get out the rosette and put it on."

Christopher plunged his hands into his two jacket-pockets and fumbled. Mr. White thought he was going to do as he was told, and took no further notice.

"Chris, you haven't put it on, now," whispered Walter, as the horses drew up at the station. "Ain't you going to?"

"Be quiet, will you? _You_ ain't master," said Christopher roughly; and Walter was silent.

He noticed, though, that his friend kept well out of sight behind the others, and also that in the train he took a seat on the same side as Mr. White, and as far off as possible. Miss Richardson was with the little girls in another carriage.

When the party reached the Crystal Palace station, they proceeded up the steps to the gardens.

"Now," said Mr. Richardson, when they got to the final flight leading into the great glass building--"now, I think we may as well separate for a bit. I will stay inside and take any who wish to see the poultry and rabbit show. The girls will like, I daresay, to go with Miss Richardson, and those who don't care for the animals can follow Mr. White to the garden; only be sure you all come to the terrace by one o'clock for dinner."

So saying, he turned towards the corridor where an immense cackling and cooing announced the presence of the poultry and pigeons, followed by four of the lads and some of the men and boys.

"What shall you do, Chris?" whispered Walter.

"I shall see what schoolmaster's up to; and if I don't like what he does, I shall make off and get some jolly good fun by myself," was the answer. "You stick to me, Walter. I s'pose you don't want to be the only big chap among all them little 'uns?"

"No; I'll stick to you, Chris," he replied, but he did not feel very comfortable.

Walter was a well-meaning lad, but he was very weak, and easily led by the stronger-willed Christopher.

Mr. White knew the Crystal Palace well, and all its many attractions. He took his party to see a show where cardboard figures were made to walk and jump and open their eyes, just like real people.

Then he proposed that they should try throwing sticks, provided for the purpose, at a row of penknives, and if any one knocked a knife over it would be his. This was amusing for a little while; but when no one could get anywhere near a knife, the boys grew tired of trying, especially as they each had to pay a penny for three tries.

At last they arrived at the place where a man has tricycles to let out. Every boy pulled out the rest of his money and begged for a ride. In a few minutes half a dozen little green tricycles where whirling round the curve.

Walter and Christopher despised the idea at first of doing what the little boys did; but when they saw some other youths like themselves get on, they put their pride in their pockets, and each mounted a tricycle. How they did waggle from side to side; and how impossible it was not to laugh and shout at the absurd feeling of the thing!

"This is rare good sport," said Chris at last.

He had but just spoken when he met Mr. White.

"It's ten minutes to one," said the latter. "We must go, or we shan't be on the terrace as soon as the rector. Come along, boys; it's dinner-time."

There was a general turning round of tricycles, and in a few minutes the little party were making their way towards the palace.

"What's the matter, Chris?" asked Walter. "I thought you liked that."

"So I did; 'twas the only bit of fun I've had. It's a regular nuisance to be at some one else's beck and call like this, just when one _is_ getting a little pleasure. Why should we come before we want to?"

"Why? Because it's dinner-time. Aren't you hungry? I am, I know."

Christopher grunted sulkily, but in spite of his ill-humour he managed to get through the meat-patties and plum-pudding with a most excellent appetite.

Dinner over, the rector proposed that every one should come with him to see a panorama of the siege of Paris, which was to begin at three o'clock.

"I should like it awfully. Wouldn't you, Chris?" said Walter.

"I don't know. No--it sounds dull and schoolish," replied Chris, who was no scholar. "I won't be led about like a monkey on a chain, either. I know best how to amuse myself, and I tell you what--I'm going back for another ride on that tricycle. You'd better come too, Wat. The panorama doesn't really begin till half-past three. I saw it up on the board outside."

"But I've only got three half-pence left," said Walter, "so _I_ can't ride any more."

"Oh, I'll lend you the money. I've got heaps."

"But could you find your way back, Chris? This is such a thundering big place," urged Walter doubtfully.

"Yes, you idiot, of course I can. But don't come if you're afraid."

Chris knew very well that such a suggestion would break down Walter's hesitation at once; and so it did. He followed his friend, and soon forgot all about the panorama in his delight at having improved so much since the morning in the management of his tricycle.

Suddenly a clock struck. One, two, three, FOUR.

"Chris, Chris, _did_ you hear? It's four o'clock!" he cried.

"Well, what of that?" was the cool rejoinder.

"Get off at once, Chris. The panorama must be half over. Bother it all! and I did so want to see it."

Chris proceeded slowly and leisurely back to the starting-point, and got off his tricycle.

"How much?" he asked the man in charge.

"One and sixpence each, please."

"What a plague you are, Wat, to have come without any money," said Chris, as he paid the three shillings. "I didn't come to spend all my cash on you."

"How do you come to have so much?" inquired Walter.

"Why, my jolly old brick of an uncle gave me five shillings when he heard I was coming here."

"I wish he was _my_ uncle," sighed Walter, whose parents were very poor. "But I say, Chris, is this the way to the panorama?"

"No, but I'm thirsty. I'm going into the palace to get a glass of beer. You can go on to the panorama if you're so anxious about it."

But Walter was far too much afraid of getting lost among the crowds of people in the "thundering big garden" to part from his companion. He had never been more than ten miles from his native village until to-day, and he felt quite bewildered at all the strange sights and sounds.

He followed Chris, who proceeded to a refreshment counter, and asked for beer.

"We don't sell wine or beer, or anything of the sort, sir," was the answer. "It's against the rules of the palace, and we've no licence."

Nothing made Chris so savage as to be thwarted in anything he wanted to do.

"Then it's a stupid place, and it ought to be ashamed of itself," he said angrily; "but if I can't get it here, I'll go where I can."

He turned on his heel and walked quickly away, followed by the much-vexed Walter.

In vain did he ask Chris where he was going, and what he meant to do--not a word could he extract. The other lad stalked on, looking every now and then at the printed directions on the walls, telling whither each turning led.

He reached a sort of entrance-place at last, where there were the same kind of turnstiles as those through which Mr. Richardson had brought his party in the morning.

"Way out" was written above one. Without a word to his companion, Chris went through it.

"But, Chris, that takes us outside. What _are_ you doing?" cried Walter.

"I know what I'm about," answered the other. "Are you coming or not I? I can't wait all day. You'll never find your way back to the others alone. You'd a deal better stick to me that knows the way."

Walter looked round despairingly.

"What shall I do?" he said to himself. "I _wish_ I hadn't come with Chris. He's so cross and disagreeable, it's no fun to be with him; but I could no more find my way back through all those twists and turns than fly. I suppose I must keep with him now," and he went through the turnstile and caught up his friend, who had grown tired of waiting and had gone on some way.

"Oh, you've come, have you?" said he, as Walter came running up. "I thought you liked best wandering about all proper and lonely inside that fine place you seem so fond of."

Walter made no reply, but walked by the side of his companion, who marched along as if he knew very well what he wanted, and meant to have it.

At length they came to a street corner, where they saw written up, "Crystal Palace Arms."

"Now, here's just the place for me," cried Chris, pushing the door open and going in.

Walter, though he felt more uncomfortable than ever, saw no choice but to follow.

"Me and my pal wants a glass of beer," said Chris loudly, throwing down a sixpence with the air of one who had plenty more.

"No, I don't want any, thanks, Chris," interrupted Walter hastily.

"Then you can go without," answered Christopher, deeply offended. "I'm not going to offer it to you again, nor anything else either, you great hulking killjoy."

He drank off his own beer, and then had some more, and some more again.

Walter began to feel really frightened now, for Chris was one of those childish people who, having once begun drinking, cannot stop themselves from taking more than is good for them.

But on this occasion, to his comrade's surprise, he did stop before long.

"It's no good for me to try and persuade him," thought Walter; "it 'ud only make him go the other way. I _wish_ I hadn't gone with him; it's quite spoilt my day. I didn't get a holiday and come all this way from home just to spend the afternoon in a stuffy public-house, nor on the pavement outside, neither. It's six o'clock--there's the clock striking.--Chris, we shall only just get back to the palace in time to meet Mr. Richardson," he said aloud, beginning to walk very fast. "You know he's got all the tickets--we can't go without him."

"All right--plenty o' time," rejoined Chris, speaking rather thickly, and lagging behind in a most irritating way.

Walter thought he never should get him to the gate, but they reached it at last. He thought it was the same man and the same entrance they had come in by before, but really both were quite different. The gatekeeper said at once,--

"Where's your money? But you can only stay five minutes."

"Oh, we paid this morning," replied Chris. "Don't you remember a big party with red rosettes on?"

"You can't come in again, anyhow, without paying. And _you_ haven't no red rosettes."

"Yes, I have; it's in my pocket," said Walter, beginning to feel for it. But, alas! it was gone--drawn out, most likely, with his handkerchief.

"Why did you make me take it off?" he said crossly. "Get out yours, Chris, and show it."

"Mine? Threw the old thing away hours ago. Not such a fool as I look," answered Chris rudely.--"I'm going through here, so you can just stop your row," he continued insolently to the gatekeeper, with a vague idea of obtaining admiration from the crowds now coming out through the turnstile.

The gatekeeper looked at him contemptuously for a moment, and then gave a little whistle. Instantly two very tall policemen appeared.

"Just turn these two chaps out, will you?" said he. "They're regular holiday-keepers, they are. Been at the Palace Arms, I should say, most of the day."

"Now then, you clear out," said the policemen, with voice and manner that even Chris dared not disregard.

"Please, we want to go to the station. We're to meet the others to go by the half-past six train," said Walter desperately.

"You must look sharp, then--it's just off. There, be off down those steps as hard as you can split."

Walter obeyed. In his anxiety he forgot all about Chris; and not even when he reached the bottom of the steps, and caught sight of Mr. Richardson's troubled countenance looking for the truants from one of the carriage windows, did he recollect his friend.

The platform was crowded with people, and though Walter could see the rector, the latter could not distinguish him. If he had but worn the red badge upon his shoulder, matters might even yet have gone well; but, as it was, all Walter's efforts to shoulder his way through the masses of people only brought him to the front of the platform as the train steamed off!

At the last moment of all, Mr. Richardson's eye fell upon him, and he called out something, but Walter could not hear what it was.

A feeling of despair came over him as he turned back towards the steps. He had just remembered Chris.

"What _shall_ we do?" he thought. "I haven't a penny, and Chris can't have much left either. Oh, there he is!" as he caught sight of the other lad's ill-tempered, flushed face at the foot of the steps.

"You sneak!" cried Chris angrily; "what d'ye mean by leaving me in the lurch like this?"

"But you wouldn't hurry, Chris; and as it is, we've lost the train--that was ours that's just gone. What are we to do now? Have you got any money?"

"No; you know I ain't, else I shouldn't ha' left the 'public' so quick. It's all your fault," answered Chris savagely, the beer mounting to his head more and more every minute, and he as usual growing more unpleasant and ill-tempered as his power of self-restraint grew weaker.

Walter was wise enough not to try arguing with or blaming him. He knew it would be worse than useless.

It was now getting dark, and the station was being lighted up. By some happy chance, Walter found his way out of it, and into the town, still holding on to Chris.

"Leave go," said the latter roughly. "I ain't a baby, nor a perambulator neither, to be pushed about by you."

He walked, or rather stumbled, along some way without help, Walter feeling utterly disgusted both with himself and his friend.

"But he shan't be my friend no more after to-day--I've made up my mind as to that," he said to himself. "Father's often told me he wasn't a good companion, and I know I didn't believe him. I thought Chris was a fine fellow, as really knew more than other folks--he always talked as if he did--but I see now 'twas all talk, and he ain't near so sensible nor so pleasant as some of the other chaps. I ain't going to tell tales, but if Mr. Richardson could see him now, I don't think Chris 'ud stay much longer in the choir."

By this time they had reached the Palace Arms again, and Christopher once more turned in at the door.

"What's he doing that for?" thought Walter, "when he said he hadn't a farthing left. _I_ shan't go in--I've had enough of it."

So he stayed in the street. He could hear voices--and very angry ones--within. They rose louder and louder, and then there seemed a sort of struggle.

Walter's anxiety to know what was going on had just conquered his reluctance to be mixed up in anything like a drunken row, when the door was hastily opened, and several men, among them the landlord of the tavern, appeared, all pushing and shoving at Chris in order to turn him out. They succeeded at last, and a very disgusting spectacle he presented as he half stood, half lounged against a lamp-post. His hat was gone--some one threw it out to him a minute later--his coat was torn, his collar and tie were all crooked, his eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was a mixture of fury and helplessness.

More than ever did Walter wish he was not obliged to claim companionship with this degraded, low-looking man.

As he stood watching the impotent rage with which Chris kicked the lamp-post, as though he thought it was one of the enemies he wished to punish, a policeman came suddenly round the corner. Chris made a sort of rush at him with an angry yell.

"Hullo! Drunk and disorderly, are you? Come along o' me," said the constable coolly, quietly slipping a pair of handcuffs over Chris's wrists. The latter, with renewed passion, struggled vehemently, but the policeman took no notice; he merely led Chris along, without uttering a word. It was not far to the police-station. When they had got there, Chris's captor suddenly observed Walter, who had followed at a little distance.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked. "A night in the lock-up?"

He spoke in jest, and was very much astonished when Walter answered,--

"Yes, please."

"What? In here?" said the policeman in amazement, looking at the respectable, quiet lad. "Why, man, it's a sort of a jail."