He had reached the door before restraining hands seized him, and he was brought back with many apologies.

Notwithstanding their amus.e.m.e.nt, the council were resolved to make an example of Sarkies. Galbraith, however, made an effort in his defence.

He hoped, he said, to bring the erring youth back to better ways. But notwithstanding all his persuasions, he was outvoted in this instance, even Bunny taking the elder's side, and the expulsion of Sarkies was decided on.

Bullin was not inclined to let the gra.s.s grow under his feet. The formal letter was then and there written, signed by all the members, and handed to the clerk for despatch.

It was now deemed advisable to bring the sitting to a close, and this was done with the same formal ceremony of prayer which opened it.

The members now dispersed, the elder showing his grat.i.tude for Bunny's support by insisting on driving him home.

CHAPTER IX.

AT THE DIVAN EXCHANGE.

When the news that Sarkies was cast out of the bosom of the church reached the family, there was at first consternation and despair. But pride came to their rescue. "I don't care," said Jimmy; and the mother and the aunt, tossing their heads, echoed his sentiments. Mrs. Sarkies returned a small box full of woolwork, the shop of the Dorcas Society, with a stinging note to Mrs. Bunny, in which she accused that innocent woman of having conspired to bring about the annoyance to which they were subjected. Mrs. Sarkies was convinced that it was solely through Mrs. Bunny's desire to have charge of the work of the Dorcas Society that all this had happened.

The next Sunday the whole Sarkies family drove slowly past the tabernacle in a hired phaeton just as the congregation were coming out after service, and cut every member dead. It was glorious. They came back to their midday meal feeling a calm satisfaction at having revenged a great wrong.

There was much discussion as to whether the family should join the congregation of the established church, or take the bolder step of going over to Rome--the latter for preference, as it would fairly spite their enemies. The question, however, was for the present left in abeyance, and until it was settled they decided not to go to any church at all. Mr. Sarkies himself felt a load lifted from his mind at this decision. He determined not to let his love affair rest, and, notwithstanding every precaution, managed to obtain an interview with Lizzie, by the simple process of clambering up the trunk of a cocoanut palm which leaned against the high wall surrounding the elder's garden. Mr. Sarkies climbed up sufficiently high to overlook the wall, and Lizzie stood on the ground below him. The gla.s.s-covered wall was, however, between them. The position was not dignified, nor was it exactly comfortable, and Mr. Sarkies dreaded the general publicity of the whole scene. Still, however, he came to a satisfactory understanding with Lizzie. When she finally turned and vanished amid the trees, her white dress flitting through the open s.p.a.ces in a ghostly manner, Sarkies came down with a sigh of relief, and, arranging his somewhat disordered dress, walked slowly toward a cab-stand. Hailing a buggy, and jingling some coin in his pocket, he jumped in and drove rapidly toward the Fort. He had mentally determined to celebrate his success by having an evening at the Divan Exchange, a saloon kept by an enterprising American, who concocted wondrous drinks, where the billiard-table was good, and the ice-creams marvellous. There was quite a crowd of cabs collected at the door, and the place was full when Sarkies entered it. Over the bar was a huge transparency representing the face of a clock, with the legend "No Tick Here" inscribed in large capitals on its face--a motto often full of sore disappointment to the customers. Immediately below this stood Colonel William P. Tamblyn, the proprietor, watching the practised hand of his tapsters as they poured forth monkeys, dogs' noses, eye openers, maiden's blushes, and other drinks whose name is legion. From the rooms above came the click of billiard b.a.l.l.s, and the monotonous call of the marker--"Fiftee--fiftee-two--good game, sar!" Little marble-topped tables were scattered about, and from a das in the corner half a dozen musicians regaled the company with a choice selection of airs, from the "Blue Danube" to "Yankee Doodle." The music was almost drowned in the buzz of voices. All nationalities except China were represented here. Colonel Tamblyn announced that he drew the line there, and a flaring poster both outside and inside announced that "Chinamen and Soldiers in uniform are not admitted."

Sarkies obtained a suitable drink; he chose that pink compound of rum, mint, crushed ice, and peach brandy which rejoices in the name of maiden's blush, and bore it away with him to the billiard-room upstairs. The tables were full, and Sarkies, making himself comfortable on a bench, waited for his turn to come.

Beside him sat a neat-looking man, clean-shaven, with red hair and small black bead eyes. His blue coat with bra.s.s anchor b.u.t.tons explained his calling. His ducks were spotlessly white, and the pipe-clay on his canvas shoes evidently just dry.

"May I trouble you for a light?" said the man.

"Certainly;" and Sarkies handed him a small plated box containing wax vestas.

The stranger lit a cheroot, and, returning the box, inquired, "Come here often?"

"Ya'as--sometimes," and Sarkies took a pull at his drink.

"This is about the first time I've been here; my ship has only just come in. Pleasant place this." And the stranger watched the end of his cheroot keenly to see that it was burning properly.

"Have a game after this?" asked Sarkies, and the stranger agreed.

They were able to get a table, and a small bet was made on the game, which Sarkies, much to his delight, won. The stranger paid up, and as he did so he remarked:

"You play a very good game--may I ask your name?"

"Oh, Sarkies--I'm in Apc.o.o.n Brothers."

"The great shipping agents--delighted to meet you--allow me to present my card to you," and Mr. Sarkies's new acquaintance drew a card from a new leather case and handed it to him.

Sarkies regretted within himself that he had not brought a card-case with him, and determined in future never to be without one. He bowed politely over the outstretched hand of his companion, and took the card between his fingers; as he glanced at it an expression of surprise came over his face.

"Captain S. Lamport, Merchant Marine," he said aloud. "This is strange."

A shadow pa.s.sed over his companion's face.

"I don't see anything strange in my name," he said a little sternly.

Sarkies looked at him; there was an ugly scowl on his face, and the Armenian felt a little alarmed. "Not that, captain," he said; "only I know a person named Lamport--and she is--I mean she is a widow, and is going to be married."

The stranger's brow cleared. "Let us sit down for a bit," he said. "I am much interested--and, sir, may I ask are you the happy man?"

"Oh, no--the padre of our--I mean the Methodist church--a Mr.

Galbraith."

"Um! I see," mused Captain Lamport; "lots of money--eh!"

"I expect so." And then with a knowing smile Sarkies added, "The padre has the church funds, y'know."

"He! he!" laughed the captain, and poked Sarkies in the ribs; "sly dog--you're a deep one, you are."

Mr. Sarkies, much flattered by the compliment, proposed a drink, and the captain a.s.sented. In answer to his host's request to "name the poison," the captain suggested monkeys, and the monkeys were brought.

Then there was more billiards and more betting, then a little rest and more monkeys, then monkeys, billiards, and betting combined, and finally Mr. Sarkies knew no more.

When he awoke again the stars were shining palely above him, and there was a faint flush in the east. His hands were resting on something damp on each side of him; he looked, and realized that he was on the open plain in front of the Fort. Instinctively he felt for his watch chain. It was gone. Mr. Sarkies rose to his feet, and the horizon swam before him. He placed his hand to his burning head, and staggered rather than walked toward the road. A late cab pa.s.sed. Into this he entered and drove home.

CHAPTER X.

EXIT MANUEL.

During the last few days there had been great changes in the interior of the manse. The worn-out matting was renewed, and the squatter spider expelled from the corner where he had long revelled in security. The tumble-down sofa was condemned, and a comfortable lounge took its place. Everywhere there was a look of freshness. All day long there was the sound of hammering and cleaning up. Halsa and Mrs. Bunny personally superintended the reformation. Galbraith was willing enough to help, but he had no "hands," and was therefore relegated to his study. But with Manuel it was different. For the first time in his life Manuel realized what work was, and he was profoundly convinced that he and true labour would never agree. It was not enough that he had been called upon to clean and scrub, to hew wood and draw water, but insult was added to injury by Mrs. Bunny inquiring into the arrangements of the _menage_.

"Two bags of sugar a month!" said that excellent woman, holding up her hands in despair; "why, if it were all used, the man must be a lollipop shop inside."

"Who keeps the keys?" asked Halsa. She was halfway up a ladder, a small hammer in her hand. Manuel stood at the foot of the ladder holding it firmly with one hand, so that it should not slip, while with the other he held out at arm's length a plate full of tin tacks.

The position was strained and unpleasant. "Who keeps the keys? Oh!"

she shrieked, "how sharp those nails are!" and she drew back her fingers smartly and began to examine their tips. To one of them a tack was clinging. Halsa hastily descended, and Mrs. Bunny removed the offending tack. It left a small blue mark on the finger tip. In the meanwhile Manuel remained silent. He had no intention of replying to the question, and his yellow eyes glistened with pleasure at the little accident, which had apparently called away attention from an embarra.s.sing inquiry. But Manuel was mistaken, for when Halsa had examined the mark for a moment, and was satisfied that it was only a p.r.i.c.k, she returned again to the charge and repeated her question.

"I keep keys," replied Manuel sulkily.

"I told you so, Halsa," said Mrs. Bunny, waving a damp duster in the air. Mrs. Bunny had not mentioned the fact, but it was a little weakness of hers to refer to former prophecies after a thing had happened.

"Never mind," Halsa said, "you couldn't expect John to look after these things." There was a sense of proprietorship in her tone that was delightful to Galbraith, who had come in to see how things were going on, and had been an un.o.bserved witness of the scene. Halsa was looking very pretty. Her arms were bare up to the elbows, and there was a bright flush on her cheeks. The brown hair, usually neatly braided, had become a little disarranged, and curled in an unruly manner over her forehead. Mrs. Bunny suddenly remembered that there was something to do in the study, and Manuel, ever watchful for an opportunity to escape, laid down the plate of tacks and vanished noiselessly. Galbraith glanced round him, and then his arm stole forth. Halsa avoided the caress by stepping back, and asked him how he thought the room looked.

"I never thought it could look so well," he replied, and he spoke truly. The magic of feminine hands had changed the cheerless-looking room into a bright, cosy chamber. It was not that the things were valuable; fifty pounds might have covered the cost of everything, except the American harmonium, which stood where the fireplace ought to have been. All the effect lay in the nameless power of arrangement which only a woman possesses--a touch here--a touch there--and the thing is done.

"I am glad you like it," said Halsa, as she stepped nearer to Galbraith. "See how I've hurt my finger;" and she held the wounded member up for inspection.