CHAPTER XXIII

“STOP HER”

THE VOYAGE HOME--“WHOM TO MARRY”--DISINTERESTED ADVICE--THE LOOKER-ON SEES MOST OF THE GAME--A FOG IN THE CHANNEL--FRANK’S STRIKING ARGUMENTS--LADIES FIRST--THE REMNANT ON THE WRECK--HOPE ON THE HORIZON--HAIRBLOWER’S OFFER

In these days of steam and perpetual locomotion everybody has been a voyage of some sort over the seas; and one of these uncomfortable expeditions is so like another, that it is needless to describe the transit of Frank Hardingstone and Cousin Charlie from the Cape home. There were but few passengers on board the _Phlegethon_, and those were as much bored with the length and monotony of their voyage as passengers usually are; they ate, drank, smoked, walked the deck, pestered the professionals with perpetual questions as to when they should make the Needles, and otherwise comported themselves so as to lengthen as much as possible the apparent duration of their imprisonment. Charlie was as idle and impatient as the rest. Frank alone seemed an exception to the general rule; when not reading hard in his cabin he was sure to be found studying steam in the engine-room, “shooting the sun” with the captain, or learning navigation with the mate. “There’s a good man spoilt in making that chap a gentleman,” was the constant remark of these worthies, who contracted an immense love and admiration for Frank. Yet of late he had maintained a grim reserve very foreign to his usual open demeanour, and more especially in the society of Cousin Charlie. He did not shun him, nor did that careless and good-humoured young gentleman perceive any difference in his friend’s manner; but Frank could not conceal from himself that he was not thoroughly at ease with the boy for whom he had endured so much. He felt that he had given up his dearest hopes for his young _protégé_--that he had sacrificed to him the inestimable treasure of Blanche Kettering’s love; he had on one or two occasions even done such violence to his feelings as to touch upon the subject of their approaching marriage in his conversations with her cousin, and had been surprised and disgusted at the coldness with which so engrossing a topic was received by the young gentleman most concerned. Frank could have borne it better, he thought, had Charlie been worthy of the blessing in store for him--had he appreciated the unspeakable bliss which others would have given all on earth to enjoy; but to yield her to one who scarce seemed willing to stretch out his hand to receive her--to resign all that made life valuable to another, and to find that other appreciated the object as little as the sacrifice--this was indeed a hard task; but Frank thought it his duty so to act, and resolved, with his usual determination and forgetfulness of self, that he would lose no opportunity of forcing upon Charlie the absolute necessity of marrying the only woman he had himself ever loved. Thus the voyage drew to a close. Contrary winds were baffled by the power of steam; the good ship stemmed the mountain waves of the Bay of Biscay, and at length the coast of England was hailed; and, though labouring in a heavy gale of wind and a cross-pitching sea, they were steaming steadily up the Channel, and congratulating themselves that to-morrow they would once more set foot on English ground. Frank and Charlie were on deck, enjoying the broken gleams of an afternoon’s sun, that shone fitfully through the mists and storm-rack driving fast overhead; and their conversation naturally enough turned upon their own plans and intentions when they should get ashore. Charlie was full of his horses and his anticipations of sport in game-preserve and hunting-field, with sundry speculations as to the state of “Haphazard’s” legs, much damaged by the never-to-be-forgotten steeple-chase; and it was with difficulty Frank could command his attention whilst he made a final effort to impress upon him the absolute necessity of his making up his mind and marrying his pretty cousin forthwith.

“It’s not fair upon any one,” said Frank, holding manfully on to the mizen-topmast stay, “it’s not doing as you’d be done by, to keep a thing of this sort off and on; it’s not fair upon your family; it’s not fair upon your uncle; and, above all, it’s not fair upon Miss Kettering herself. I conceive that you are bound, as a gentleman, to make all necessary arrangements, so that the business may be concluded within a month of your arrival at Newton-Hollows.”

Charlie looked rather aghast. “Well, but,” said he, “I should have to leave the regiment. You wouldn’t have me bring Blanche out to Kaffirland--poor little Blanche, she’d be frightened to death, and I know I should have to sell out--Frank, I couldn’t bear to leave the regiment. I like soldiering better than anything.”

“We can’t help that,” rejoined his friend. “You’ve a duty to perform in life, and you must go through with it. You’re not to live for yourself alone; and look how many people are interested in this question. In the first place, there’s your cousin. In consequence of this will they’ve found, you have been the innocent cause of robbing her of a princely inheritance; this is the only method by which you can replace her in her former advantageous position. It was evidently intended all through by your uncle and your poor aunt that this marriage should take place, and their wishes ought to be your law. Then the General has set his heart upon it, I _know_, and you are both under great obligations to that kind old man. But all these considerations are as nothing compared with the feelings of Blanche herself. Charlie, would you begin by supplanting her in her birthright, and finish by breaking her heart?”

Charlie looked wofully disconcerted. This was altogether a new light, and he stammered out, “Of course I should like to do what’s right, but I don’t want to give up the army;--and--and--I’m very fond of Blanche, you know, and all that, but I don’t think I quite like her well enough to marry her.”

“Not like her!” exclaimed Hardingstone, to whom this latter reason was totally incomprehensible, “not like such a girl as that--the loveliest, the sweetest, the most angelic, the most ladylike creature on the face of the earth--I’ve never seen anything the least to be compared to her in _my_ experience; and you talk of not liking her!”

“Hang it, Frank!” interposed the lad, “I wish you’d marry her yourself. I’ll go shares with her in fortune; there’s more than enough for us both, and you’re much fitter to be a respectable man than I am.”

The shaft went deep into his heart, but the strong man never winced or failed for a moment. “What right have you,” he broke in, almost fiercely, “what right have you to talk of giving her money, and laying her under obligations? Like Falstaff,” he added, relapsing into his usual manner, “you owe her yourself and the money too. For Heaven’s sake, Charlie, don’t tamper with the happiness of a lifetime--honour, duty, expediency, all point one way--do not, for a mere whim, neglect that which, left undone, you will repent ever afterwards. Promise me, _now_ promise me, Charlie, that you will marry your cousin before you again leave Newton-Hollows.”

Charlie bit his lip, stroked his moustaches, looked first one way, and then another; and finally, blushing crimson over his wasted face, exclaimed, “Never, Frank--if you must know it, you had better know it now--never, I tell you, and for the best of all reasons; of course it goes no farther, but the fact is, I--I like somebody else much better.”

“And do you think you are the only person that has to sacrifice inclination--nay, happiness, existence itself--to duty? Do you think you are to be exempt from the common lot of man--to receive everything and give up nothing? Do you owe no duty to your cousin? Are you not all-in-all to her? And are you to destroy all the hopes of her lifetime, to break her young heart, as you have destroyed her prospects, for your own selfish gratification? Trust me, Charlie, she loves you, and whether you care for her or not, unless your word is irrevocably pledged to another, it is your duty to marry her, and marry her you must!”

“You’re wrong, Frank,” said Charlie, with a roguish smile; “you’re wrong--you’re a sharp fellow generally, but you’re out of your reckoning here. Blanche has exactly the same regard for me that a sister has for a brother--but love, as you and I understand the word, bless you, she hasn’t a notion of it, as far as I am concerned; but I’ll tell you whom I think she _does_ love, Frank--ah! you may wince and turn pale, but you ought to know, and I’ll tell you. Frank, do you remember the Guyville ball?--why! you’re not pale now--I should never have mentioned it if you hadn’t driven me into a corner, but now out it shall come. Do you remember when you came up and turned away without asking her to dance, while we were waltzing together? Well, when Blanche looked up, her eyes were full of tears, and she said to me, ‘What’s the matter with Mr. Hardingstone? I’m afraid he’s offended with us.’ And I said, ‘Blanche, you little flirt, he thinks you’ve jilted him.’ And she blushed over her face and neck and shoulders--ay, redder than you are now, old boy; and she followed you with such a loving, piteous look--and I saw it all in a moment. Yes, Frank, Blanche is over head and ears in love with you, and I’m glad of it, for there’s no other man in the world that’s worthy of her; and _you_ shall marry her, Frank, and _I_ won’t, and I’ll get drunk at the wedding--but let’s go below now. These cold evenings make me cough, and I suppose the steward will manage some supper for us, though it _is_ blowing so hard;” with which gastronomic aspiration hungry Charlie disappeared down the hatchway, and left an altered man behind him, to pace the deck in a confused state of tumultuous, almost delirious happiness.

Frank was anything but a vain man; he always considered himself as possessing no attractions for the other sex; and that such a girl as Blanche Kettering should look upon him favourably was a happiness he had scarcely allowed himself to picture in his dreams; but now that it was suggested by another, now that it appeared to impartial eyes neither an impossibility nor an absurdity, a thousand trifling circumstances rose in his recollection--a thousand little lights and shades of looks, and tones, and expressions, came back to him distinct and vivid, with a meaning and a colouring they had never possessed before, and he could hardly restrain the happiness that gushed up in his bosom and sparkled in his eye, as after a few minutes of delicious solitude on deck, he joined the party at supper in the cabin, and one and all remarked that now the voyage was nearly over, the grave Mr. Hardingstone appeared to be quite a different man. To their questions as to the weather, he stated that it was “a beautiful night”; which caused the captain to look at him as an undoubted lunatic, inasmuch as the sea was getting up rapidly, and a thick mist was driving over the face of the waters. With the passengers he joked and laughed, and played _vingt-et-un_, and made himself so universally popular and agreeable, that those very persons who had all along voted him an odd, reserved, uncomfortable sort of fellow, now almost regretted that they should so soon be parted from such a rand of good-humour and merriment as they discovered, all too late, in their fellow-passenger.

The night grew blacker as the mist increased with the somewhat moderating gale, and a long, heaving swell came rolling up from the Atlantic, each succeeding sea appearing to rear its gigantic volume higher, farther, fiercer than its predecessor, and still the good ship steamed on through the darkness. A light at her foretop, and an indistinct glimmer at the binnacle, only made the surrounding obscurity appear more palpable, and through the dense fog, which seemed to pervade the very deck, and to hang around the spars and tackle, it was difficult to distinguish the two phantom figures at the wheel and the look-out man in the bows. The captain ever and anon dived to his cabin to consult his chart, and re-appearing on the wet, slippery deck, cast an anxious eye at the ship’s compass, and the course she was lying--then glanced to windward, where some huge wave flung its crest of foam into the light, and sporting with that powerful steamer as with a plaything, dashed its beating spray, in wantonness of strength, high over the protecting bulwarks, till the very yards dripped and streamed with brine. A few gruff words, unintelligible to the landsmen, were addressed to the struggling steersmen, and again the captain glanced anxiously at the compass, and knit his brows and seemed ill at ease. Between the decks, confiding passengers snored in their berths and dreamt of home. Little thought they of darkness and fog and driving seas. They had paid their passage-money, and they were to be delivered safe at their destination--was it not in the bond? They were, besides, in the Channel; and the ladies on board derived unspeakable relief and consolation from the knowledge that they were once more in soundings--and they, too, slept the sleep of innocence and security. So midnight passed, and still the good ship held steadily on.

But the captain grew more restless and disturbed, and he ordered the steam to be slackened, and a sailor to be slung over the side, and to heave the lead; and these were wise and seamanlike precautions, but they were a few minutes too late. As the words left his mouth, a shock that made that huge fabric shake again brought him to the deck. True to his seaman nature, he shouted to “back the engines,” even as he fell; but she was aground, and it was too late. Ere he recovered his legs he knew too well what had happened. Sea after sea came pouring over the deck; one of the men at the wheel was washed overboard, the other barely saved as he clung for dear life to the helm: everything that was not secured went at once by the board, and the dashing waves plunging heavily into the engine-room, put out the fires, and reduced that triumph of man’s ingenuity to a mere helpless log upon the waters. The seamen came tumbling up to the forecastle, every man as he had slept, half-dressed, and even now scarce awake; yet such is the force of habit, that confusion prevailed more than alarm, and here and there even a jest arose to lips which in a few hours might probably be silenced for ever. But if not sole mistress on deck, Fear could boast of undivided dominion below. Shrieks and sobs and wailing prayers burst from the affrighted passengers, as they rushed tumultuously from their respective berths into the saloon, and asked wildly what had happened, and inquired with white lips if there was any danger; one said, “Is there any hope?” and the panic increased as it spread, and wives clung upon their husbands’ breasts, and pressed their children to their sides, and screamed in an unbearable agony of fear; and one, a strong, stout man, shouted for help as though terror had turned his brain, and raved of his wife and his little ones at home--that home, on firm dry land, that he had never known how to prize before; then a white-haired minister, one of honest John Wesley’s followers, proposed in a calm, steady voice that each and all should kneel down and pray; but the affrighted mass, now wavering and struggling to the hatchway, paid no attention to the good man’s suggestion; for each strove to reach the deck as though it were a haven of safety, each instinctively shrank from the idea of perishing in that dark, dreadful cabin, and the selfishness of man came out and developed itself even in that maddened crowd as they pushed each other aside and struggled who should be first to reach the door.

“Charlie! where are you?” exclaimed Frank Hardingstone’s unshaken voice, as he emerged already dressed from his cabin into the seething confusion of the saloon.

“Here!” said Charlie, struggling to free himself from the embraces of a stout old Frenchwoman, who, wild with terror, was choking the lad as she clung round his neck and implored him to be her preserver--“Here! Frank, we’re aground, I think; I want to get on deck and make myself useful, if this old woman would let me go!”

Charlie freed himself from the venerable dame’s embrace, but she clung hard to his garments, and he was forced to slip out of the dressing-gown which he had put on at the first moment of alarm, and leaving it in her grasp, to make his escape clad only in his shirt and trousers. When he reached the deck he found Frank already there, having put himself under the captain’s orders, and now lending his assistance to restore discipline as far as possible, and to clear the wreck. The huge ship heaved and shivered in her throes, as wave after wave washed her farther on to the shoal; the fog, too, added to the confusion of the scene, and as it became doubtful whether her timbers could stand against the violence of these successive shocks, even the sturdy seamen began to hint at her going to pieces--and the cry, though none knew whence it first arose, thrilled from stem to stern, “The boats! the boats! Launch the boats!”

“By Him that made me! I’ll strike the first man dead that stirs without orders,” cried the captain, heaving a broad axe above his head, his voice rising through the confusion of the crew and the dash of the leaping waves.

“Can the boats live in such a sea?” whispered Frank, as he stood by the captain’s side, prepared to lend him any assistance he might require.

“Undoubtedly, sir!” was the reply; “it’s our only chance. We’ll get the women and children in first. Mr. Hardingstone, you’re a _man_! take charge of the larboard boat--let no man into it without orders--we may save them all yet!” and the captain sprang to the starboard boat, laid hold of the “davits,” and sang out, “Lower away, men, easy!” whilst Frank, in a hurried whisper, gave his orders to Charlie, who was as cool as a cucumber throughout.

“Charlie, keep the hatchway with the steward--he’s a bold fellow--don’t let a single man up till the women and children are all on deck. If any fellow runs rusty, _knock him down_!”

By this time order was to a certain degree restored--the passengers were indeed in a frightful state below, when they found their egress barred, as they thought, so arbitrarily, from all hopes of safety; but on deck every man had his own duty to perform, and the magic power of discipline, assisted by the dawn, which was now struggling into light, bid fair to give them every chance of safety that knowledge and experience could suggest. But one man was mutinous. A strong, black-bearded fellow, with a dogged, lowering countenance, who had been most assiduous in helping Hardingstone to lower away the larboard boat, no sooner found it launched than he made a rush for the side, to place himself, as he hoped, in safety, regardless of the helpless and the weak.

“Stand back!” said Frank, in a voice of thunder; “wait for your turn.”

“Turn be ----,” growled the man; “who made _you_ skipper? D’ye think I’d lose my life for a land-lubber like you?”

“I warn you!” said Frank, clenching his fist, and looking dangerous. The man advanced as though to push him aside. Frank drew himself together and struck out. He knocked him clean off his legs on to the deck, where he lay stunned and bleeding.

“Serve him right,” cried Charlie from the hatchway--an observation which was echoed by the crew; and Frank had no further difficulty in preserving discipline at the station of which he had taken the command. One by one, pale trembling women, and bewildered little children, pattering on the deck with bare feet, and enveloped in shawls, petticoats, anything that had been first caught up in the hurry of the moment, were handed through the hatchway, and lowered carefully over the side into the heaving boats. There they clung together, shivering and drenched with spray, some of the women with scarce any other covering than their white night-dresses, their long wet hair hanging about their shoulders; but even in that extremity thinking only of their children, and regardless of their own sufferings and danger. Poor things! how scared they were by the first minute-gun that boomed from the wreck! for the captain, assisted by Frank Hardingstone’s coolness, and now equal to any emergency, had not neglected the precaution of making every possible signal of distress. Then the male passengers were drafted singly, and handed over the side by the dauntless seamen. Some behaved gallantly enough, and offered to stand by the ship and the captain to the last; some trembled and cowered, submissively obeying every order given them, and apparently rendered totally helpless by fear. One sturdy little boy, of some ten or eleven years, clung manfully to a toy, the property of his infant sister; and when compelled to lay hold of the guiding-rope with both hands, seized the bauble between his teeth, and so reached his mother in the boat. The rough sailors gave him a cheer.

At length the passengers were disposed of; a few cloaks and pea-jackets were thrown in to cover the women; the ship’s compass was placed in one of the boats; a crew of seamen were told off, and seized the oars; the mate took the command; strict injunctions were given for the boats to keep together; and they shoved off into that heaving sea. It was now broad daylight, and the rain falling heavily.

“Thank God, sir,” said the captain, with a sigh of relief, “we’ve disposed of the passengers. The wind’s falling now, with this wet, and they’ll make the land in three or four hours. I trust in Providence every hair of their heads will be saved; and we’ve nothing to think of but ourselves.”

“There’s a dozen of us left,” said Frank, looking round on the dripping group, who were clinging to the different parts of the wreck, consisting of one or two subordinate officers, the boatswain, and a few old, weather-beaten seamen; “that boat will hold us all, if she will swim; but she’s rather a cockle-shell for such a sea as this,” he observed, pointing to a small, shallow skiff that hung at the stern, and which had not yet been lowered.

“It’s our best chance,” said the captain, looking very grave, as another rolling sea made the wreck heave and quiver and strain, as if she must go to pieces; “but she’ll never hold us all. I’ll stand by the ship to the last; and you two gentlemen, to whose coolness, under Providence, the passengers owe their lives, will bear witness I did my duty. God bless you! Lower away, men; cheerily, oh!” So the boat was lowered, and as she touched the water she filled and sank, and appeared again, bottom uppermost, some fifty yards away; and so the last chance of escape was cut off. The little party looked at each other in blank dismay; even Frank’s bold heart tightened itself for an instant in the pressure of despair. Only the gruff boatswain found words to say, “That bit plug, that didn’t ought to have been neglected, ’s worth exactly twelve men’s lives. This here’s a stopper over all, blessed if it ain’t.” There was nothing to be done now but to wait manfully for death. Poor Charlie was already half-dead with cold; but Frank took off his own pea-jacket and wrapped it round the lad, and lashed him to the foremast; for though the weather had moderated considerably, a sea came every now and then driving over the deck, and carrying everything before it. The wreck was by this time filling fast, and sinking gradually: already she had settled by the stern, and only her bows and a part of the forecastle remained above water. On this the sufferers were congregated, and few words did they interchange, for consolation or hope there was none in this world. Their powder was exhausted--true, there was plenty below, in the powder-magazine, but that was long ago swamped, so that their very cries for help must be silenced--that iron voice, their sole chance of rescue, must be dumb. The fog, too, began to clear away, and a bright gleam of sunshine ever and anon shone out upon the yellow, foam-crested waves, and glistened on the white wings of the dipping sea-gulls. By degrees the blue sky peered overhead, and the gap widened and widened, and the mists rising in wreaths from the waters, now heaving and subsiding into rest, floated lazily away, and the discoloured sea became bright and blue, and the sun burst forth into a glorious autumn day, and the warmth of his rays almost comforted those poor wet wretches, clinging hopelessly to the wreck. It seemed hard to die on such a day, but exhaustion was beginning to tell upon some of the sufferers, and the lassitude of despair was creeping over them with its drowsy influence, and the reason of more than one began to give way. So they waited and spoke not, and some strove to pray, and some shut their eyes as if in sleep; and noon came, and the day was bright and hot, and the sea-birds screamed and soared, and everything was full of joy and life, and only that little circle of twelve were doomed to die. Frank and Charlie were together, and every now and then each pressed the other’s hand, but neither spoke. The captain, who was nearest them, seemed stupefied with despair; and he, too, spoke not. They were a silent company. The day crept on: every minute was precious, yet the minutes dragged on like lead. Once the captain stirred, and Frank, glancing eagerly at his face, was aware of a strange light upon it, and a gleam in his fixed eye that was almost unearthly. Was it insanity? Could it be hope? Frank’s breath stopped as he followed the direction of the captain’s gaze, but he could see nothing, save the glancing waters and the hopeless sky-line. But still the captain stared, and the old boatswain, too, was looking eagerly in the same direction, and another seaman seemed to wake from his stupor, and Frank strained his eyes, and at last he was aware of a black speck on the horizon, and, ere he could trust his sight, the stout old captain burst into tears, and a feeble cheer rose from the exhausted seamen, a cheer that thrilled through Frank’s very marrow, for he knew that they were saved.

“What is it?” said Charlie, faintly, opening his heavy eyes.

“It’s a boat,” was the reply--“a boat; the bitterness of death is past, thank God! thank God!”

Then came the painful suspense, the agony of hope and fear; it might after all be but a spar, or a black fish, or anything save what they wished. No--it was a boat, a real boat; but her crew might not see them--they might be fishing--they might never think of the wreck; then the poor exhausted fellows strained their throats in a feeble hail, or rather a hoarse, desperate shriek. But the boat is bearing down upon them--she nears them. “Wreck ahoy! hilli-ho!” Never was music like to this on mortal ear. Her sharp nose comes dancing and dipping over the waves, the glance of her oars flashes in the sun; now they can distinguish the forms of the rowers--now the cheery voices of their countrymen gladden their very heart’s core--and now she is alongside; and despair is over--suspense and misery are forgotten--and the past is like a dream.

The steamer had struck far nearer the shore than her reckoning had given the captain reason to suppose, and her guns had at length been heard by some fishermen on the beach at St. Swithin’s. There was a heavy sea running; but the lifeboat was soon manned, and our old friend Hairblower himself took the stroke-oar, and manfully those gallant fellows pulled till they reached the wreck. They had fallen in with the ship’s boats about half-way from the shore, and now brought the welcome news of their almost undoubted safety.

“To think of you and Master Charles being aboard, sir,” said Hairblower, who seemed to consider the whole matter of the wreck as an every-day occurrence. “This is, indeed, what may well be called ‘a circumstance,’ if ever there was ‘a circumstance’ hereaway;” and he settled his two friends comfortably in the stern of the lifeboat, ere he busied himself to place the rest of the rescued seamen where they would least interfere with the efforts of the oarsmen. They were soon safely disposed, and by sundown, wet, weary, and exhausted, they stood once more upon that shore which they had scarcely dared to hope they should ever see again.

When Charlie woke the following morning in a comfortable room at the Royal Hotel, the first person that greeted his opening eyes was honest Hairblower. That worthy had taken entire possession of his former _protégé_, and now made his appearance with a steaming glass of hot brandy-and-water, the only orthodox breakfast, in his opinion, for a man who had been wrecked the day before; though rather disgusted at Charlie’s obstinacy in refusing this specific, he was extremely anxious to assist him through his toilet, and was only to be got rid of by an assurance that his young favourite would be down to breakfast, where he would answer all his questions, and listen to all his protestations, in an incredibly short space of time. Hairblower accordingly drank the brandy-and-water himself, and waited patiently during what appeared to him an unreasonably long period to spend in the process of adornment.

When Frank and Charlie met in the coffee-room, the sailor too made his appearance, and, with much circumlocution, managed to deliver himself of a request which had evidently been all the morning brewing in his mind.

“If it was not a liberty, Master Charles, and you, too, Mr. Hardingstone, I should make bold to ask of you both to let me join company in a cruise. I conclude as you’re bound to London this afternoon at the latest--soon as ever you’ve got rigged out decent and presentable. Well, gentlemen, you see I’ve a little business, too, in London town. I haven’t been there not since, Mr. Hardingstone, you lent me a hand so kind, and I’ve got to be there, sooner or later, about the fishing business; for, you see, my mates, they wish me to be spokesman like with our governor, and he can’t leave London--so, in course, I must go to him. Now, if it wasn’t too great a liberty, I should be proud if you gentlemen would let me wait upon you, just for the voyage like. I can’t bear to part with you so soon: and though you’ve no luggage, seeing all your traps is still aboard, and spoilt by now, and I can’t be useful to you, I should like just to see you and Master Charlie safe into London town, and shake you both by the hand there afore we part.”

Need we say the permission was joyfully granted, and that the afternoon train bore the trio in company to the metropolis, whence Charlie and Frank were to start next day together for Newton-Hollows?