People about Lincoln's-inn began in these days to turn their heads and look after the shabbily-dressed old printer, who pa.s.sed them to stop every now and then at a lamp-post, and then go on again, shaking his head like an anglicised mandarin, for old Matt was sorely troubled about the state of affairs in Bennett's-rents. At times he would be for making a confidant of Mr Sterne, and asking his advice and guidance, but somehow there always seemed a certain amount of suspicion on either side, and Matt and the curate maintained a gap between them which neither attempted to cross. But the old man was after all not unhappy, for he was enjoying that supreme pleasure which fills the heart, making it swell almost painfully--that pleasure which never satiates, while it is like the seed of the parable cast into the ground, some may be blighted, some trampled down, but there are always certain grains which flourish and give to the sower a hundredfold of grain in return. Old Matt was enjoying the pleasure of doing good and helping a fellow-man in distress. It may be questioned whether the old man's path was ever easier or more brightly irradiated than during his connection with the Hardons. True, his income was of the very smallest; but then it is not the extent of a man's income that gives him pleasure in this life, but the secret of having all the possible enjoyment out of it. Some with wealth seek for this enjoyment after a wrong fashion, and find only bitterness, while in the homes of poverty joy often finds an abiding-place.

Septimus Hardon often wondered afterwards how they had managed to live in this time of trouble; but one way and another the days pa.s.sed by.

Now he would make a few shillings by his copying, then there was Lucy's work, while, in spite of remonstrances, old Matt persisted in enjoying his income after his own fashion, playing his little miserable farces to his own satisfaction, and then grinning to himself over the little bits of deceit. He never stopped, shrewd as he was, to ask himself whether his subterfuges were not of the most transparent; they gained him his end, and he considered that it was a novel and a neat way of managing the matter, when a hint at lending money would have given offence.

One day succeeded another, with the family struggling on, Mrs Septimus helping Lucy when she could, while, as for Septimus, the most satisfactory work he obtained was that of copying sermons out for Mr Sterne; though, strange as it may seem, that gentleman never once used Septimus Hardon's clear, unblurred transcript, but put it away week after week, sighing that his income was not greater.

Septimus had now given up all hope of hearing from his father, and, resigned somewhat to his fate, he bent over his writing-table trying to make up by perseverance what he wanted in ability--a capital plan, and one that has succeeded where talent has made a miserable failure, as old Aesop knew hundreds of years ago. As for asking his uncle for aid, such a thought never crossed Septimus Hardon's mind, and perhaps it was well, for it spared the poor sensitive man the unpleasantry of a refusal.

One day, all in a hurry and bustle, up came old Matt, just at dinner-time, to find Mrs Septimus making a sorry failure in her attempt to find an invalid's dinner in some bread and a long slice of cheese that a laundress would easily have seized by mistake, under the impression that it was "best yellow soap."

"There, just like me!" exclaimed the old man, with a hasty glance round the room; "just like me; but you won't mind, I know. I always drop in at mealtimes.--There, give us a kiss, my man. G.o.d bless you! `What I dot for 'oo?' There's a pretty way to talk! Why, let's see; I think there's something here--down in here somewhere;" and the old man began to dive behind into one of his pockets. "To be sure, here it is!" he cried; "and if all the rich jam isn't coming through the paper! Here we are," he cried, bringing out of a little bag a small oval paste-dish with a crimped edge, full of a very luscious treacly-looking preserve, one that, ten minutes before, had been danced over by the flies in the pastrycook's shop in the Lane.

Off went little Tom rejoicing, to prepare himself for the after-dinner wash by gumming his chubby face and hands with the jam.

"You won't mind, sir; and, ma'am, I hope?" said Matt apologetically.

"But I'm full of work, and haven't time to go home--my lodgings you know; and if you wouldn't mind. I'm as hungry as a hunter-- money-hunter, you know; and there's as nice a bit of roast veal and bacon, piping hot, in the Lane as ever I did see, and that's saying a good deal. Talk about the smell of it! there, you didn't look in at the shop-door or you'd never give a fellow such a cold-shouldery look, ma'am. Whatever you do, ma'am, lend me a couple of plates; I won't intrude long."

Mrs Septimus hesitated and glanced at her husband, who was making a feint of eating.

"There," cried old Matt, making a grimace, and glancing at Lucy, "I knew it would come to this; they're growing proud, and I may go. They might have put it off another day, and not showed it just when I feel so well and jolly, and could have enjoyed a bit of dinner, which ain't often with me."

Septimus Hardon saw his wife's appealing glance, and peered about him in every direction, as if to avoid giving an answer; but on one side there was Tom, sticky and happy with the old man's bounty; before him was his invalid wife, with her wretched face; again, there was Lucy working, and relieving hunger by occasional mouthfuls of the bread-and-cheese at her side; while on turning his eyes in another direction, there stood Matt, just as he had stood on the day when he borrowed a shilling on their first encounter.

What was he to do? He had as much pride, or false pride, as most men, and he would gladly have been independent of old Matt's a.s.sistance; but there seemed no help for it, and once more in his life, humbled and mortified, he nodded to Mrs Septimus; and the next moment old Matt stood irresolutely by the table clattering a couple of plates together, to the great endangering of their safety, as he seemed to be turning them into a pair of earthenware cymbals.

"There, sir; don't, now," said Matt earnestly; "don't let's have any more pretence or nonsense about it; don't be put out because I'm doing this, sir. 'Tain't that I don't respect you; I didn't get on the stilts, sir, when you helped me. I asked you for it, which is a thing I know you couldn't do; but when it's offered you free and humble-like, don't take on, sir, and fancy I respect you any the less. I sha'n't forget my place, sir, 'pon my soul I sha'n't, begging your pardon, ma'am, and Miss Lucy's; but you see I'm in earnest, and it worries me to see Mr Hardon here put out, because--because--Well, you know," said Matt, with a twinkle in his eye, "because an old battered type of humanity like me wants to sit down and have a bit of dinner here, and it's all getting spoilt; best cut's gone, you know, I'm sure. I know I _am_ shabby."

Septimus waved his hand deprecatingly.

"There, sir; there," continued Matt; "don't be down; don't let the world see as there's no more fight in you. See what a son and daughter you've got. Why, G.o.d bless 'em, they're enough to make a man of a chap if he's ever so bad. Never say die, sir. I'm often in the downs, I am, you know; but then I say to the world, `Come on, and let's have it out at once and done with it.' Let's take it like a dose of physic, and then have the sugar that's to come and take the taste out of one's mouth afterwards. Sure to be a bit of sugar to come some time, you know, sir; some gets more than others, but then there's always a share for you if you won't be soft enough to get your mouth out of taste and fancy it's bitter when it comes, and so not enjoy it. Lots do, you know, sir; while lots more, sir, think so much of their sugar of life, sir, that they spoil it, sir,--foul it, and damp it, and turn it into a muddy, sticky, dirty treacle, sir; and then, sir, loving nothing but pleasure,--or sugar, as we call it,--how they buzz about it like so many flies, till they are surfeited and get their legs and wings fixed, and die miserably, sir. Sugar's no good, sir, unless you have a taste of bitter before it. You don't want to be having all pleasure, you know; it wouldn't do. Bound the wheel of fortune, you know, sir; now down, now up, just as times go."

All these meant-to-be-philosophical remarks old Matt accompanied by a cymbalic tune upon the two plates, while Septimus sat moody and silent.

"Now, you see, sir," said Matt gently, "I know what you feel,--you don't like having such a battered old hulk about your place, and feel a bit offended at me for imposing upon your good-nature."

Septimus made a gesture of dissent.

"Well then, sir, we won't play with the matter. You don't like my having a bit of dinner here, and all that sort of thing; but don't you make no mistake, sir, I ain't kicked about in a selfish world all these years without ketching the complaint. I was never vaccinated against selfishness, sir, so I've took it badly, I can tell you. You may look out, sir, for I've a long score chalked up against you, and you'll have it some day."

And then old Matt stuck his hat on very fiercely and shuffled out of the room, muttering and chuckling as he went down, "Ho, ho, ho!--creditor!

New position for me as have been in debt all my life!"

The old man soon returned after his fashion, bringing in a large portion of the veal and bacon from the cook-shop in the Lane; for the best cuts were not all gone. Then followed the old farce of what he called his chronometric complaint, from its always coming on just at mealtimes; and helping himself to a slice of bread, in spite of all appeals, the old man took a sticky kiss from Tom and shuffled out of the room.

It was a sight worth seeing--the satisfaction of that grim old man, as he went chuckling down the creaking stairs, and out into the court. His was not the shape a painter would have chosen for the embodiment of grat.i.tude; but there it was--even the battered, ill-used carca.s.s of that old printer--a body misused by the hard world till he had grown careless of it himself, and misused it in his turn. Alone in the world, what had he to care for beyond a little present enjoyment? For as to the future, it is to be feared that Mr Sterne would have p.r.o.nounced him as being beneath a dense black cloud. Twice was the old man stopped by lamp-posts, but he recollected himself and continued his route to where the open door of the cook-shop sent out a thick, kitcheny vapour, pleasant or the reverse, according to whose organs it a.s.sailed--to the well-fed perhaps disgusting, but to the poor and hungry an odour as of paradise. There upon the shining pewter dishes, that in the early morn had been such a dry metallic desert, were now displayed, in gravy-oozing majesty, what Matt looked upon as all the delicacies of the season.

There were round of beef and brisket, boiled; roast leg, shoulder, and loin of mutton; roast beef, and the remains of the veal; while as to gravy--whence comes the gravy that meanders in streams over cook-shop joints, flooding the dishes, and making glad the hearts of the hungry?-- there was gravy to an extent never known in private life, for the joints soaked in the tissue-renovating fluid.

Ah! that fat cook-shop-keeper, as he wielded his long-bladed, keen carver, and equitably and glibly sliced it through fat and lean, well-done, under-done, and brown, with a facility that made one think he had been apprenticed to a ham in the palmy days of Vauxhall--dealing with the porcine joint with similar intentions to those of the gold-beater with his morsel of the yellow ore. Ah! that fat, rosy-faced man in the white cap and jacket had much to answer for in the way of tempting hungry sinners. Fat! he might well be fat, for was he not existing upon the very essences of the meats always beneath his nostrils, which must have inhaled sustaining wealth at every breath he drew, to the saving of both teeth and digestion?

But he did not tempt old Matt, who entered and asked for a "small German," for which he paid twopence, asking no questions regarding its composition, while it was delivered to him after the fashion that buns are presented to our old ursine friends at the "Zoo"--stuck at the end of a fork.

Old Matt turned his back stolidly upon the luxuries of the cook-shop, strolled into the big street, and began to nibble his small German, in company with the dusty, fluey slice of bread he brought out of his pocket. There was a parish pump there, with its swinging copper handle; and regardless of medical reports, and chemical a.n.a.lyses, and cholera germs contained in the clear, sparkling fluid, old Matt had a hearty draught, and smacked his lips after as if he enjoyed it--and doubtless he did. There was the prospect of a murky old inn down a gateway, and the busy throng of people pa.s.sing him; but Matt noticed nothing, for his thoughts were upon matters in Bennett's-rents--though, for all that, he was enjoying his simple meal, which was eaten without a thought of the prime veal and bacon, or his sad complaint, which had now fled till next dinner-time, as, by way of amus.e.m.e.nt, he turned down Castle-street to witness the performance of a gentleman in tights and spangles--a gentleman evidently high in his profession, but blessed with a nose of the Whitechapel mould, black, greasy, tucked-under hair, confined by a blue ribbon, slightly oiled; a pimply face, and a body apparently furnished with gristle in the place of bones.

As Matt came up, the gentleman was balancing a peac.o.c.k's feather upon the tip of his nose, to the accompaniment of a popular air performed by a partner upon drum and pan-pipes--the arrangement of the air apparently necessitating more muscular action with the arms than from the lungs; for though now and then a shrill and piercing note was heard from the pipes, it was not often, while the rumble of the beaten drum was incessant. The next performance was the balancing and twirling of a barrel on the acrobat's feet, he all that time lying down upon a cushion in a very uncomfortable, determination-of-the-blood-to-the-head position, what time the band, tucking his pipes inside his coat and setting his drum on end, came round the attentive circle, shaking the performer's greasy, private-life cap in the observers' faces, after the fashion of zealous deacons in churches of high proclivities--save that in this case the cap was of very common cloth, while in the other the little bags would probably be of red velvet, lined with white satin.

The band stopped opposite old Matt, who had loudly applauded the performance, for he had felt so at peace with the world at large, that he was in the humour to be pleased with any and everything. So the old man thrust a willing hand into his pocket, and the band smiled expectant; but the next moment Matt's face turned very serious, and with the loud taunt of the band ringing in his ears, he shuffled down Castle-street and into Cursitor-street, in the direction of the office where he had a job; far more piercing than the shrillest note of the pipes, and more impressive than the heaviest bang of the drum, came the words of the musician:--

"Well, if I hadn't ha' had a brown I'd ha' said so, and not made believe."

For the old printer's pocket did not contain a coin of any description, the last two having been expended for his simple meal; so hurrying along the old fellow looked very serious for quite fifty yards; then he began to whistle; then he stopped at a lamp-post, but wrenched himself away again directly and hurried down Fetter-lane, for the clocks were striking two, and his dinner-hour was over. But before turning into Typeland Matt entered into one of those well-known places of business with swinging doors, and shuffling up to the pewter-covered counter, asked for a pint of porter on trust.

And went away wiping his mouth upon the back of his hand, of course?

Nothing of the kind; for the landlord smiled pleasantly, shook his head, and declared that whenever he gave trust he lost a customer. So old Matt slinked away, and soon came to another swing-door, when, pa.s.sing through, a far different odour saluted his nostrils--an odour commingled of steam, oil, treacle, glue, turpentine, stale breath, fresh paint, wet paper, and gas; where there was a continual noise of hissing, and rumbling of wheels, rattling of straps and bands, with a constant vibration of the great building, which heavily brooded over the reeking ma.s.s, as if hatching earthquakes. Up a staircase, whose walls shone with the marks of inky and oily hands, past dirty-faced boys in paper-caps and ap.r.o.ns, whose shirt-sleeves were rolled high above their elbows; past a window, a glance through which showed mighty engine and machine rushing off their work in never-tiring mode, wheels spinning, cylinders slowly revolving, with white sheets of paper running in, printed sheets running out, to be piled in stacks; here the portion of a magazine whose pages should rivet the attention of some fair reader; there the newspaper, to be spread in thousands through the length and breadth of the land; while again, close at hand, lumbered the heavy press to turn off by hand copies of the broad-margined, large-typed, thick-papered Chancery bill, whose legible words should nearly drive some weary disputant mad, although but a short time before its well-paid pages and open work had made glad the heart of a round-shouldered compositor--sower of the dragons' teeth of knowledge. Up still went old Matt s.p.a.ce--past boys bearing proof-sheets--boys who read copy in a sing-song, nasal, pointless tw.a.n.g to keen-eyed readers, ready to give angry stabs at ill-spelt words, to stick their pens through eyeless i's, and condemn the mutilated letters to the melting-pot; past pressmen toiling--down, Benjamin-Franklin-like, with heavy forms of type; up--up, till he reached the top story, where, beneath rows of skylights, men formed themselves into the hotbeds that generated disease, as they toiled on day after day at the cases of type, before a pair of which old Matt posted himself, took a pinch of snuff, and then prepared for work.

In a few more minutes he was hard at his task, picking up letter by letter the component parts of the words spoken the day before at a public meeting, where an orator discoursed at length upon the financial greatness of this our country; after which he dived into statistics, so that the old compositor was soon realising the facts, and revelling in sums of money eight figures in length, and that, too, without a single penny in his pocket.

Click, click; click, click; letter after letter pa.s.sing into the metal composing-sticks; thirty men busily engaged, and not a word spoken beyond the occasional muttering whisper of the worker, who sought to impress his MS more fully upon his mind by reading it aloud; while old Matt, poring over his copy by the aid of a pair of horn spectacles, now and then paused for a stimulator from the snuff loose by accident in his coat-pocket hanging from a nail in the wall--snuff that had to be hunted into corners and brought forth in pinches, the greater proportion of which consisted of flue and crumbs.

"Pound, nine, comma; eight, four, three, comma; six, four, two,"

muttered the old man, arranging the figures. "Ah, bless my soul! now, what could I do with nine--nearly ten millions of money? And that sum's nothing at all. Poverty? Pooh! all humbug! There isn't such a thing; it's all a mistake. Somebody's got more than his share, and made things crooked."

Old Matt finished his task, and, on applying to the overseer for a fresh supply, he was set to correct a slip proof, when, taking the long column of type from which it had been printed, the old man was soon busy at work once more, correcting a misspelt word in this paragraph, removing a broken letter in that, and all the while muttering to himself, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the other men. But all at once he stopped short and stared at his work, looked eagerly round the office, as if to a.s.sure himself that all was real, and then devoured the words before him. Then he went on with his work in a flurried, nervous way, dropping words, misplacing letters, scattering type upon the floor, and making his fellow-workmen look up with wonder--attentions that made the old man more nervous and fidgety; until, as his nervousness increased, so did his task become more difficult of completion, the perspiration standing upon his forehead, and the expression of his face growing pitiful in the extreme.

But it was complete at last, though, through anxiety, old Matt had been twice as long as he would have been in an ordinary way; and then secretly tearing off a portion of the proof, he slipped it into his pocket, made an excuse to the overseer that he was unwell, and hurried into the street, where he jostled first one, and now another; now walking in the road, now upon the pavement, but all the while with one hand clasping tightly a sc.r.a.p of paper he held in his pocket. As to what was going on around him he seemed so utterly oblivious that twice over he was nearly knocked down by pa.s.sing vehicles. Again and again he would have stopped, but for the busy throng constantly hurrying along the street; and for the time being the old man strongly resembled a cork tossed about in some busy eddying stream; but he had evidently some object in view, for he kept pressing on in one particular direction, and his lips were incessantly in motion, forming words that savoured continually of that much-sought-for object--money.

Volume One, Chapter XV.

ANOTHER VISITOR FROM TOWN.

How ever great the shock of his night's adventure may have been to his system, Dr Hardon, beyond missing his attentions to a few patients, displayed very little of it to the world at large comprised in Somesham and its neighbourhood. There were certainly two or three discolorations about his face, caused by the playful taps of the burglar's life-preserver, but they very soon disappeared. The doctor's greatest grievance was the loss of his numerous articles of jewellery, though even upon that subject he talked lightly and affably to his patients, evidently having a soul above the loss of such trifles, and people thought more of him than ever. The police had certainly been upon what waiter Charles of the County Arms called the "tract" of the burglars, but only discovered that they had entered the house by opening a window and stepping in; that they had taken all the plate; that three heavy-featured men came from London by the down-mail on the night of the robbery, arriving at Somesham at half-past ten; and the porter thought he gave tickets to three stoutish men who went by the up-mail at 2:30; when the police-sergeant came to the conclusion that it was a prearranged affair, and people talked about it for a few days, till they had something else to take their attention.

Doctor Hardon, portly and comfortable-looking, sat reading the evening paper just delivered from the stationer. No one to have seen him could have imagined that care had ever sat for a moment upon his ample forehead; and though, taking into consideration the incidents of the past few weeks, it might have been expected that he would look anxious and worn, on the contrary, he seemed greatly at ease within himself, and turned and rustled his newspaper importantly, refreshing himself from time to time with a sip of port from the gla.s.s at his elbow.

"I declare!" he exclaimed, suddenly throwing down the paper; "it's abominable--it's disgusting."

"What is?" said Mrs Hardon, roused from the thoughtful mood into which she seemed to have fallen.

"Why, to have the privacy of one's life dragged into publicity in this way. The matter ought to have been hushed-up."

"But what do you mean?" said Mrs Hardon. "Is it anything about--"

"Yes, of course it is!" cried the doctor savagely. "They've got it in the London papers, condensed from the _County Press_--a filthy penny rag. Just look here--made into a sensation paragraph.

"`Eaten of Rats.--A shocking discovery was made at Somesham on Monday last. A rather eccentric gentleman, named Hardon, residing entirely alone at a short distance from the town, was found in bed with his lower extremities horribly mutilated by the rats which infest the place. The medical evidence at the inquest showed that death had probably taken place some eight-and-forty hours before the body was discovered; while the bottle of laudanum and teaspoon at the bedside pointed to an end which the post-mortem examination proved to have been the case; an overdose of the subtle extract having evidently been the cause of death.

The deceased was without servants; for, in consequence of a burglary committed at the house shortly before this discovery, his housekeeper had left him, and her place remained unsupplied. As may be supposed, this tragic affair, following so closely upon the burglary, has caused intense excitement throughout the neighbourhood.'

"Isn't it disgusting?" exclaimed the doctor, after a few moments' pause; while during the reading he had not displayed the slightest emotion, but read the paragraph from beginning to end without faltering. Receiving no answer, he looked up to see Mrs Hardon sitting staring at him with a horrified aspect, while her fingers were stopping her ears.

"O, Tom!" she gasped at last, "haven't we had enough of that horrid affair lately without bringing it up again? I shall be glad when it's all over, and we begin to look upon it as a thing of the past. I declare I shall never like to use any of the money; I shall fancy a curse hangs to it. But do you think Septimus is dead?"