Part 6

"Cleave's an old woman," muttered Mr Maybury.

"Miss Bird----" began Mrs Maybury.

"I wish Miss Bird _would_ go," put in Mr Maybury.

"And you can see Mr Jefferson doesn't like him," continued Mrs Maybury, "with half an eye. Mr Jefferson!--the man to whom you are indebted for your daily bread!"

"I'm employed by his father," objected Mr Maybury.

"It's all the same. Mr Jefferson got you your post. Suppose he told his father that you were harbouring a man who fights policemen and gets drunk----"

"His father would say that that was my business," rejoined Mr Maybury.

"Well, we can't risk keeping him here. It's too dangerous. I've no objection to the young man myself----"

"Then why d'you go on about him so much?" retorted Mr Maybury.

"For the sake of our home and its reputation," almost shrieked Mrs Maybury, "that's why. Here I work and slave and get no thanks--not a word of thanks--and then, when I express an opinion, you snap my head off. It's more than flesh and blood can stand!" she concluded, dissolving into tears.

"Suppose," said Mr Maybury, placidly, "we discuss the matter in the morning?"

"I won't say another word," cried Mrs Maybury, between her sobs; "I've said all I have to say. If you keep this man here, he'll take our good name away. There--now I've done!"

And so, with sobs at intervals, she at length fell asleep.

The once wealthy merchant held a very modest position in the business house of Jefferson & Son. He was, in fact, but one of their book-keepers. He--the erstwhile employer of fifty clerks and five hundred workpeople--now sat on a high stool at a high desk and laboured at the books for a small salary. When a man has come down in the world with a sudden run he is generally to be had at a low figure, and Jefferson & Son bore the fact in mind when they engaged Mr Maybury. The hours (ten to four) were short, it is true, but Mr Maybury would have worked later willingly could he have thereby added to his earnings.

The other clerks at Jefferson & Son's were mainly young fellows between whom and Mr Maybury no great bond of fellowship could very well exist. He was left largely to himself, therefore, went out to his frugal mid-day meal alone, returned alone, and said very little to those about him from the time the office opened till its closing hour.

Harold Jefferson did not trouble himself with business more than he could help. He preferred the West End to the City. However, he put in a certain number of appearances per week, and whilst at the office treated Mr Maybury with respect, mingled with a slight but distinct air of patronage.

Such conversations as they held related, of course, entirely to the firm's business, and so it was with no little surprise that, on the day following Jim's arrival at No. 9, Mr Maybury received an invitation from Harold Jefferson. "I want to speak to you about one or two matters," ran the pencilled note which the office-boy handed to Dora's father, "so shall be glad if you will lunch with me at 1.30. I will be waiting for you at the front entrance at that hour."

It was, of course, as much a command as an invitation. At the appointed time Mr Maybury met young Mr Jefferson, who at once hailed a cab and drove his guest to a restaurant in the West End. It would not do at all (thought young Mr Jefferson) to be seen lunching with one of his clerks at a restaurant in the City.

"Now, Mr Maybury," said the host, when lunch was over and they had lit their cigars, "I have two things to say to you. One of them concerns your daughter--Miss Dora."

Mr Maybury inclined his head. He had not imagined that this invitation was the outcome of purely hospitable motives.

"I have been paying her attentions for some time," said the well-to-do young stockbroker, "and I propose, with your sanction, to ask her to marry me."

"You have my full consent to do so," said the ruined merchant, graciously.

"From what you have observed, do you think that my proposal will be favourably received?" asked Jefferson, carelessly.

"I can offer no opinion," said Mr Maybury.

"I may at least take it that, if she accepts me, you are willing to regard me as a prospective son-in-law?"

"Perfectly willing," was the reply.

"Thank you. Now, as to this fellow Mortimer----"

"I beg your pardon. What has Mr Mortimer to do with the matter?"

"If," said Jefferson, "I become engaged to your daughter, Mr Maybury, I shall have a decided objection to your allowing such a man as Mortimer to remain under the same roof as my _fiancee_."

Mr Maybury took a thoughtful pull at his cigar. The well-to-do young stockbroker looked keenly at the ruined merchant. It was to the latter's advantage to defer to the former. Was he not, as his wife remarked, indebted to this man for his daily bread?

Mr Maybury laid down his cigar and sipped his champagne, and meantime such reflections as these coursed through his brain. He was a very poor man, 'tis true, but he had always prided himself on being a just one. Personally, he had perceived no great harm in "this fellow Mortimer." Why, therefore, should he turn him out of his house?

"Well?" inquired the young stockbroker, curtly.

"The most charitable course to pursue," said Mr Maybury, at length, "would be to see how he goes on. Should he prove himself unfit----"

"He has. He is a low, drunken brawler. I cannot bear the thought of Dora being brought into daily contact with him. You will at least admit that I have a right to lodge an objection against him--or will have, should your daughter accept me?"

"I should prefer to see how he goes on," said Mr Maybury.

"Very well, sir," rejoined Jefferson, rising from his seat with a look of great annoyance on his face, "have it your own way. Waiter, my bill. Please excuse me now, Mr Maybury, as I am not returning to the City."

Instead of going straight to the office, when he got back to the City, Mr Maybury turned into a quaint little churchyard--a smoke-begrimed patch of green, where one might rest awhile on a seat. Here he remained for ten minutes, and when he at length turned his steps officewards, he had made up his mind that, however disastrous such an attitude might prove to his prospects, he would in no way seek to influence Dora in Harold Jefferson's favour. Nor should Jim Mortimer leave his house, unless he himself desired to go.

"I have lost pretty nearly everything," thought the ex-merchant as he paced his way along the crowded pavement, "but till the day of my death I hope, please God, to retain my self-respect."

The thought inspired him, and he went back to his book-keeping with an unusual light in his eyes--with an additional firmness in his step. 'Twas true that Fate had robbed him of wealth and position, but Fate's worst buffets could not cause him to act in any way save that becoming a gentleman.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*KOKO'S WORD.*

"We'd better have a cab," said Koko, in his quiet way, as, after Jim's curt dismissal by Dr Taplow, they walked down the pavement together.

"Right you are," groaned Jim. He felt too ill, weak, and miserable to do anything except just agree with everything that was said to him. If the gentle reader has ever been sea-sick he will be in a position to appreciate Jim's condition.

"Keep a grip on that lamp-post while I fetch one," said Koko, hastening away through the gloom of the autumn evening.

When the cab arrived, Jim got in thankfully; and the two friends, holding Tom, who had followed Jim out of the surgery, between them, rattled off.

"I suppose you'll ask me to stay to dinner with you?" said Koko.

Jim uttered a hollow laugh.

"Stay if you like, but I won't guarantee you'll enjoy yourself."

"Any girls?" inquired Koko, flirtingly.

"Two," said Jim; "also a woman-man teetotal crank, and a female gorilla."

Koko particularly wished to stay to dinner with Jim, for he was formulating a plan for Jim's future. But he was not going to expound it until Jim was in a state to give it due consideration.

On reaching No. 9 they found Frank lurking in the passage. When Jim removed his hat, Frank, observing his wound, was filled with curiosity.

"I say, Dr Mortimer, how did you hurt your forehead?"

"Somebody hurt it for me," said Jim.

"Was it a fight?" inquired the youth excitedly.

"Kind of one," admitted Jim.

Full of the news he had gleaned, Frank burst into the drawing-room, where Mr and Mrs Maybury, Dora, and the other paying guests were awaiting the summons to dinner.

"I say, pater, Dr Mortimer's been having a fight. He's got an awful cut over the napper."

"Frank!" exclaimed Mrs Maybury, "how often must I tell you not to use such vulgar terms?"

Frank grinned.

"You go and have a look at it!" he added, with supreme gusto, "you never saw such a whopping cut in all your life."

Mrs Maybury turned a glance on her husband which plainly said: "And what do you think of him now?"

Miss Bird gave a snort of disgust, and Mr Cleave, heaving a deep sigh, buried himself anew in the advertisements of _The Total Abstainer_, he having by this time utterly exhausted all the literary portions of the paper.

Jim sent Mrs Maybury a message by Mary intimating that he had brought a friend, Mr Somers, home with him, and would be greatly obliged if she would permit the said Mr Somers to remain to dinner. Mrs Maybury graciously replying that she would be "most happy," Koko and Jim (the latter with his head neatly plastered) in due course appeared in the drawing-room.

Much to Mrs Maybury's surprise, Koko, after exchanging bows with the lady of the house, walked straight across to Dora and shook hands with her.

"You know Mr Somers, then, Dora?" inquired Mrs Maybury, somewhat sharply.

"Yes, mamma," replied Dora; "he is a friend of Miss Cook's."

"Indeed!" said Mrs Maybury, to whom it seemed that Miss Cook had been introducing Dora to very undesirable people--for Dora had informed her that it was by Miss Cook's agency she had become acquainted with Jim.

Dora had now been in the post-office six months, and had behaved so far in an exemplary manner. Even the girl's stepmother, prone to find fault as she was on the slightest pretext, had not discovered anything to grumble at in Dora's conduct. But now--now affairs were assuming a different complexion. Dora had made masculine friends unbeknown to her mother. One of them was a dissipated young doctor, and the other--well, who and what was this other man--this Mr Somers?

"And do you, too, belong to the medical profession, Mr Somers?" inquired the dame.

"No, I am a journalist," replied Koko.

Miss Bird glanced up sharply; Mr Cleave also looked across at the visitor. Miss Bird had not been introduced to Mr Somers, but she did not allow little obstacles of that kind to stand in her way when she required information.

"And what is your particular department?" she abruptly demanded.

"I work for the sporting press--I am what is known as a sporting journalist," replied Koko.

The inquisitive expression on Miss Bird's face turned into a stony glare of disapproval.

"You go to horse-races?"

Koko did not like being cross-examined about his private affairs in this unblushing manner. So he determined to let this rude old lady know all about himself so as to save further questions.

"Yes, I attend horse-races and swimming-matches, and billiard-matches and prize-fights----"

"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" roared Miss Bird. As for Mr Cleave, he uttered a thin, high cough. He had heard that the average journalist did his work with a bottle of brandy at his elbow--what then must a journalist be like who reported prize-fights and horse-races! What indeed!

With a sigh he sought distraction in the long list of "Homes for Inebriates" which appeared regularly in _The Total Abstainer_. This weekly journal was Mr Cleave's invariable comforter when he felt distressed. Besides, it offered L100 insurance in the event of one of its regular subscribers being accidentally killed. Several of Mr Cleave's nearest relatives took in the paper, and Mr Cleave had often calculated what amount he would receive as insurance should all these relatives be killed in one railway accident.

"I believe," Miss Bird went on (as Koko made no rejoinder), "that drunkenness is a common vice among persons working for the press. Is that not so, Mr Cleave?"

"Pardon?" queried Cleave, putting his hand to his ear.

"Bless the man!" exclaimed Miss Bird, irritated beyond measure, "why doesn't he get an ear-trumpet! I was saying," she continued, in a boisterous key, "that most journalists were drunkards. Is that not so?"

Now, Mr Cleave recollected Mr Maybury's stern rebuke of the previous evening, so he deemed it as well to be cautious.

"_Some_ journalists," he replied, nodding pleasantly at Miss Bird.

"_Most!_" insisted Miss Bird.

"I will not go so far as to say that----" quavered Mr Cleave.

"Then you are a coward!" snapped Miss Bird, in utter disgust. Mr Cleave had proved but a backboneless creature when she had relied on his support.

It is highly probable that Miss Bird would have proceeded to put further questions of a personal nature to Koko had not Mary popped her head into the room with "Dinner's quite ready, mum."

Miss Bird's face cleared. She could eat twice as much as anyone else in the house (not excepting Frank), and the announcement of dinner always put her in a good temper.

Whilst Koko and Jim had been upstairs, before entering the drawing-room, Jim had given his friend a brief sketch of the situation. For, it must be remembered, this was their first meeting since Koko had read old Dr Mortimer's drastic and final epistle. When Jim told Koko that this house was the home of Miss Dora Maybury, Koko had smacked his chum on the back and enjoined him to go in and win; but when Jim mentioned Jefferson, and the latter's attitude with regard to Dora, Koko whistled thoughtfully.

Two things he decided. Firstly, that Jim must stay on at No. 9 at all hazards; and, secondly, that the plan which had been in course of formation in his mind from the moment Dr Taplow had told Jim to go, must take an immediate and definite shape.

That plan Koko intended to broach to Jim after dinner. But Fate willed otherwise.

The meal progressed quietly, the presence of a stranger possibly having a restraining influence on the shrewish outbursts of Miss H. R. Maybury, the cheeky utterances of Master Frank, and the voluble rebukes of Mrs Maybury. Jim was seated between Miss Bird and Mr Cleave, the two girls, with Frank and Koko, facing him. Dora, as a matter of fact, sat immediately opposite Jim.

"Well, Dr Mortimer," presently observed Mr Maybury, "you have not come through your first day's work unscathed, I see."

For Mr Maybury felt sure that Jim would be able to give a satisfactory account of the proceedings.

Miss Bird grunted; Mr Cleave cast a glassy eye on the broccoli. Both waited for Jim's defence.

Jim laughed. "No," he said, "I met a Hooligan."

"Dear me! So soon!"

"I thought it advisable, in view of the possibility of my being some time in the district, to take a strong line from the beginning. So I led off by tackling what turned out to be the worst man of the lot."

"You have shown them that you are not a person to be trifled with?" suggested Mr Maybury, approvingly.

"That was my idea. But you may be interested to hear that another man has been put in permanent charge of the surgery----"

"Then you are no longer employed by Dr Taplow?" interrupted Mrs Maybury.

"That is so," said Jim.

"But he will still work in Mount Street," put in Koko, quickly, "as he is setting up a practice there on his own account."

They all glanced towards Koko, except Dora, who, looking at Jim, observed that he was palpably wonder-struck by Koko's remark. Jim, indeed, was as surprised as anyone at the table. What on earth was Koko driving at?

As everybody (except Dora) turned towards Koko, Mr Somers rose from the table.

"You must excuse such an unceremonious departure, Mrs Maybury," he said, "but I have just remembered that I have a most important appointment to keep. I thank you for your very kind hospitality. Jim, I should like to see you before I go."

As Koko bowed himself out, Jim, marvelling greatly, followed him. In the hall, Koko exclaimed:

"It's all right, Jim--I'll lend you the money."

"What--for me to set up against Taplow?"

"That's it. You _must_ stay here, and you'll do well in Mount Street. You shall have the money in the morning, and then you can go along and rig up a place and start right off. What's the lowest figure you can begin on?"

"I don't know," said Jim. "Say fifty quid."

"You shall have it. I'll be round here with it at ten in the morning."

"But--old man--I don't like----"

"I've thought it out," said Koko, "and meant to tell you all about it after dinner, but you forced my hand by saying you'd left Taplow."

Then Koko put on his hat, opened the front door, and slipped out. Jim returned slowly to the dining-room.

"Is this true, Dr Mortimer?" asked Mrs Maybury, in a tone implying some doubt. "Are you really setting up in Mount Street on your own account?"

Jim had implicit confidence in Koko's word.

"It is quite true, Mrs Maybury," he replied, coolly, as he resumed his seat.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*"HARRIS & FATHER."*

Mr Harris, senior partner in the firm of Harris & Son, provision dealers, Mount Street, S.E., was in a state of much tribulation. For Mr Harris, owing to an unfortunate propensity for backing horses which either came in last, or fell down and broke their legs, or behaved in some other unsatisfactory fashion, had, as the phrase is, outrun the constable, and on the day that witnessed his visit to Dr Taplow's surgery, had found himself threatened with bankruptcy and ruin.

That evening--there being no other course to pursue--he had made a clean breast of his affairs to his son Isaac, a weedy, lynx-eyed youth of a greasy and unwashed appearance.

"So dat is the case, my son," concluded Mr Harris, throwing out his hands in a gesture of despair; "and now--vot are ve to do--vot are ve to do?"

Mr Harris and his heir, it may be added, were East End Jews of a pronounced type, and their speech suggested a certain German strain in their ancestry.

"It is very sad, mine fader," replied young Harris; "it vos foolish of you to bet on dose 'orses----."

"It vos foolish of dose 'orses not to run faster!" cried Mr Harris, proceeding to cut his nails with the counter scissors.

"Don't take the edge off dose scissors, mine fader," said young Harris, snatching them away from his parent.

"And vy not? Dey are my scissors!" exclaimed Mr Harris, endeavouring to grab them back.

"Ven I haf bought dem dey vill not be yours," explained young Harris, amiably turning the point of the scissors towards his sire, so that, should the latter persist in his endeavour to regain them, he might receive some hurt from the effort.

The old dealer gazed wonderingly at his fond child. "You--you vill buy dose scissors? Ah! at the sale?"

"No--from you, mine fader. I haf saved up some money, and _I_ haf backed 'orses, too. But I did notice, mine fader, dat the 'orses you did bet on did always lose, so I did always bet on dose vot you didn't, and so when you did lose I did often vin, and so, mine fader, I will buy the pizness from you--dat is to say," concluded the young man with hasty caution, "I vill pay your debts, mine fader, if you vill gif me the pizness."

"Isaac," said Mr Harris, with emotion, "do not be hard on your old fader. Think of the money I skwandered on your education, my son--think of the peautiful school I put you to ven you vos a boy----"

"It vas only fivepence a veek!" retorted young Isaac, ungratefully.

"And ven you vos fourteen, my son Isaac, ven you vos an eddicated young gentleman, I took you from dat school and I put you behind the counter, and I taught you the pizness--and you had two soots of clothes a year, and a veek's 'oliday at Margit--oh! I haf been a kind fader to you, my son Isaac! Vill you lend me the money to pay my debts vith, Isaac?"

"Not a farding!" exclaimed young Harris, roughly. "You've been 'ard on me, and now I'll be 'ard on you. You've made me vork and slave while you've gone off to put money on 'orses that always fell down! Yes, you've been 'ard on me, and now I'll be----"

Here young Harris paused in his harangue. An idea occurred to him. If he bought up his father's business and turned his father out of the house, he would have to engage a shopman. That would come expensive. No, he must keep his father on, and make him help with the work.

Old Harris was quick to take advantage of the discontinuance of Isaac's discourse.

"You von't be too 'ard on me, my son?" he whined, "think of the pantermimes I took you to ven you vos a little boy."

"Vell, I vill not be 'ard on you, mine fader," responded young Harris, apparently softened by this tender reminiscence. "No, I vill tell you vot I vill do. I vill take you into partnership. You shall be as I vos--you shall haf what you haf gave me. Is not that dootiful of me, mine fader?"

Old Harris groaned. True, his son had been his partner of recent years, but Isaac's share in the business had been so small that it could hardly have been called a share, save when viewed under a microscope. However, beggars can't be choosers, so there and then young Harris drew up a temporary agreement--to be presently made permanent in a due and proper manner by a solicitor--under which Isaac undertook to pay his father's debts (which amounted to a hundred pounds--a large sum for a small tradesman in a humble street), and Mr Harris, on his side, undertook to hand over the control of the shop to Isaac, he himself receiving board, lodging, and a share in the business, on condition he gave as much time to the business as his son had formerly devoted to it.

Thus were the tables completely turned on the unlucky provision dealer.

By way of showing that he was in earnest, and not being restrained by any false delicacy, Isaac, as soon as he had breakfasted on the following morning, went out in search of a painter. Having found a man, he brought him and his ladder and his paint-pot back with him, and set the man at once to alter the title over the shop window from "Harris & Son" to "Harris & Father."

So it came about that when Jim, having received the promised fifty pounds from Koko, walked round to see Mr Harris concerning a suitable tenement wherein he might set up as a surgeon, he found the painter just completing his task, and young Harris, with his hands in his pockets, perkily surveying the alteration.

"Hullo!" said Jim, "changes in the firm, I observe."

"Yes, doctor," said Isaac; "mine fader, he vos ruined by 'orse-racing, and so it is now my shop, and mine fader, he is my partner."

"Don't quite see how it can be your shop if he is your partner," said Jim.

"_He_ vill tell you," said Isaac, indicating the interior of the shop with a dirty forefinger; "he is cleaning the counter. Soon he vill vipe the plates and knives and forks. He is going to vork now as I did used to."

And Isaac resumed his occupation of watching the painter with a most truculent and self-satisfied expression on his face.

Jim walked into the provision shop.

"Morning, Mr Harris."

Mr Harris shook his head despondently.

"I ain't Mr 'Arris no longer," he said. "'_E's_ Mr 'Arris. '_E's_ the boss. Ah, doctor," continued the old man, wiping away a tear with his shirt-sleeve, "if I'd a-known this vas goin' to 'appen--if I'd a-known that velp vos goin' to buy me up by bettin' on the 'orses I said vos no good, I----"

Mr Harris paused for breath. Jim waited for some interesting old Hebraic curse. But none came.

"--I'd never 'ave let 'im see my evenin' paper. That's vare 'e got it. I marked the 'orses I vos goin' to flutter on, and 'e saw 'em and laid accordin'!"