CHAPTER VII.

_THE TWO FRIENDS._

Friend of my heart! away with care, And sing and dance and laugh.

On the day succeeding that of the interview between Margaret and her solicitor, Arthur Forrest was preparing in his chambers for a short absence from town. The memorable conversation with his cousin had taken place on the previous afternoon. Since then he had made all needful arrangements, and was to start by the afternoon mail for York. He was busy about his room, his portmanteau open before him, picking out the few necessaries he would require.

He looked rather different from the moonstruck individual who had so sorely tried his good little cousin's patience only a few hours before, for determination and action have a certain power. They can brace the nerves and give courage to the spirit. There was fresh, buoyant life in young Arthur's face; there was light in his eyes; there was healthy activity in his movements.

He was whistling lightly over his task and the pleasing meditations induced, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. The knock was followed by the appearance on the threshold of a young man probably of about his own age, only that the pallor of his face and a general delicacy of appearance made him seem younger.

Arthur leapt over the portmanteau, upset in his transit two or three chairs laden with linen and clothing of various kinds, and grasping the new-comer warmly by the hand drew him into the room:

"Why, Mac, old boy! who would have thought of seeing you, and in the middle of the day, too? Has your old tyrant played the truant, or have discipline and responsibility run wild in his establishment?"

The young man laughed: "Neither. But the fact is this--I have grown tired of my master at last; and yesterday--or the day before it must have been--I told him a few wholesome truths and turned my back on the firm, leaving my last few pounds of salary in his hands as a parting gift."

Arthur had been gathering some of his shirts together. He dropped them suddenly and gave a rapturous bound: "At last! You don't surely mean to say so? All my prophecies come true. Bravo, old fellow! I congratulate you heartily. But come, I am all impatience. I must have a full, true and particular account of the whole. What was the last drop? How did you resent its introduction? For, upon my word, Mac, you took him so patiently that I began to fear your old spirit had gone. I longed at times to show all those muffs in that confounded hole of an office what you could do when the blood was up. But why don't you say something?"

"Because, old fellow, you won't let a man get in a word edgeways. And then, you see, my memory's short. I was never good at learning by heart, especially my own efforts at composition. He spoke insultingly when I asked him to keep his word to my mother and give me my articles. In reply I let him know, in good strong English, what I thought of him generally and of his present conduct in particular. Finally, I left his place in a fine rage, I can assure you. I imagine Robinson was ditto, but his after-thoughts he didn't reveal. There! will that satisfy you?"

Arthur gave a long whistle: "Spoke insultingly, did he? I wonder who that fellow thinks himself? Well, I needn't enter into particulars; you're well aware of my sentiments. And now, old man, what's to be the next step?"

"Perplexing," replied young McArthur, knitting his brows. "There's _your_ man of business--Golding. You heard of the kind offer he made me the other day. I was scarcely, as I thought, in a position to accept it. I wish to Goodness I had, though; my cutting remarks would have had double force. By the bye, Arthur, that was prompted by you, I imagine. Do you think he would renew it?"

"Not the faintest doubt in the world. Golding is an excellent old fellow, and honester, I sincerely believe, than the ordinary race of lawyers. Then, don't you see, it would scarcely suit his book to break with me just now. I shall be of age in a few weeks, and he takes a fatherly interest in my affairs. Joking apart, though, I believe he does. It's a better firm altogether than Robinson's. But come, I was just off to lunch. Take a little something with me and we can talk it over by the way. Then, if you like, I shall have time to go with you as far as Golding's. I know your mind will be easier when this matter is settled. Now, don't be a humbug. I can see in your face that you have not lunched, and for once in the way you are, like myself, an idle man."

McArthur smiled, and pointed to the chairs and table.

"But what about all this? Do you intend to leave it so? And--you're off somewhere?"

"Only to York on a little matter of business," replied Arthur, who had turned to the mirror, and was occupying himself in imparting a certain air of fascination to the set of his budding moustache. "I must get the old woman here--a motherly body in her way, and useful when a fellow can get out of reach of her tongue--to finish for me. Yes, that's decidedly the best plan. Come along, Mac! If my coming of age is worthy of being made a festival, certainly your breaking loose from that rascal--whose whining is enough to sicken the healthiest person--is trebly so. We must have a bottle of champagne and a general jollification on the strength of it; then we can go to Golding's together, and after that I shall still have time to catch the afternoon mail."

"I didn't know you had friends in York."

"Did I _say_ I had friends there?"

"No, but what can _your_ business be? I always thought it consisted in carrying out and bringing to a successful end a rather laborious system of amusement."

"Come, Mac, don't be severe. I'm turning over a new leaf, and am fast becoming a most useful member of society. I have already two pictures, a score of elaborate novels, a series of scientific works and books of travel innumerable in my eye."

"As your own performance or your neighbor's?"

"My own, of course. Do you mean to be insulting, Mac, or have you fallen so low as to imagine a solicitor's office the _only_ path to fame? But don't apologize, old fellow; I forgive you in consideration of a certain derangement of brain, the result, no doubt, of your late experiences."

"What have _you_ been doing to yourself, Forrest?" The young man looked at his friend with some curiosity. Arthur's face was flushed and his eyes were beaming with excitement. "Your spirits have been at rather a low ebb whenever I have had the opportunity of seeing you lately; now they are perfectly exuberant. I think there must be something more in this visit to York than is quite apparent to the casual observer. Blushing, too! Why, old fellow, I thought your blushing days were over long ago, like mine."

Arthur turned away in some impatience: "Don't be absurd, Mac, or I shall certainly be cross, and at present I feel generally genial--sympathetic, as I shall remark in my first novel, with the sweet influences of the balmy breezes. By the bye, that would be rather neat, wouldn't it?"

"Uncommonly. You're improving, old fellow. Heigh-ho! _my_ sentimental days are gone by. Nothing like office-life for rubbing off that kind of bloom. Do you remember the girls' school, and my deep indignation when you would insist upon singing about 'the merry little maiden of sweet sixteen'?"

"An awfully good song, by the bye," put in Arthur.

His friend did not notice the interruption. "I am not so sure, after all," he said thoughtfully, "that hard work is not the best thing at our age. Everybody could not pass as you have done through the temptations of an idle youth."

Arthur laughed, but he looked at his companion affectionately: "Come, come, Mac, that kind of thing won't quite fit in, you know--philosophy and compliment in one breath. But here we are. Now, if you're not hungry I am; so a truce to reflections. They shall come, if you still feel anxious for them, in the shape of dessert."

The young men sat down to dinner together, and Arthur took care it should be a particularly good one. He and McArthur had been chums at Eton, and although the very different circumstances of their after-life had necessarily thrown them apart, they had still kept up their friendship in a certain spasmodic way.

It had been broken at times by a slight want of consideration on the one side, and a certain pride, the growth of poverty, on the other; but real mutual affection and respect had been strong enough to heal the different little breaks, and the young men had reached the point of understanding each other, and of making mutual allowance for the weaknesses engendered by circumstances.

They did not often meet, for their lives were very differently spent, and McArthur was wise enough to know that for him to enter at all into his friend's pursuits or to frequent his circle would be sheer folly. This it was that occasionally hurt and fretted Arthur. But a meeting such as that of this day was a source of real pleasure to both.

During the short hour everything life held of weariness and discontent was forgotten. They rattled on as if they had been still school-boys, with no present care to oppress their lives and a brilliant future before them.