"Why didn't I give you a splint!" exclaimed Miss Tollicks, whose mind was full of goose-grease, starch-powder, and cotton-wool. "Is it very bad?"

But Septimus Hardon did not speak, only slowly and with palsied hands unfolded the soaked paper; but even then he could hardly read it for the mist that swam before his eyes. Old Matt, though, not to be behindhand, pulled out his gla.s.ses, and stretched out his hand to reach the paper; but Septimus shrank back, and then read with difficulty, for the ink had begun to look blurred with the wet:

S. Hardon, Medicine and at-dance 2.

And that was all. Septimus turned it over carefully and found a list of names, but no other entry; there was a figure, part of a date evidently, at one edge, but it was charred, and as he touched it and held it towards the window it crumbled away into brown tinder. He read the entry again and again, and then looked at the ashes of the paper to see if anything could be made of them. Then, as if for a forlorn hope, he turned to his hostess, saying in a strange, husky voice:

"The date's burnt off. Where did you get this?"

"O, what have I done?" exclaimed Miss Tollicks. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Septimus, looking in a dreary, bewildered way at Matt. "It's of no use; it's my usual ill luck, and it's of no use to fight against it."

"I never saw such a thing in my life!" cried Matt, bringing his fist down upon the table so that the gla.s.ses jumped again. "Put it in a book, and no one would believe it: and yet there it is. I wouldn't have believed it myself if I had not seen it with my own eyes."

"But where is the piece you tore it from?" exclaimed Septimus, trembling still.

"To be sure!" cried Matt exultingly. "But I was right--I did see it, and she bought it, and Ikey brought it here, and it'll all come right yet.--Where's the piece you tore it from, ma'am?" and he again greatly endangered Miss Tollicks' gla.s.ses by thumping the table.

Miss Tollicks hastily produced the other half of the square of paper; but on one side the list of names was continued, while upon the other there was the tail of a flourish, the tops of a few letters, and the rest was blank.

"Have you any more of these sheets--these book-leaves?" exclaimed Septimus; when Miss Tollicks hastily took up the little heap on the chair by the door, the same that had excited Matt's curiosity, and into which he had been quietly peering.

"Those are not the same," said Septimus despondently; "this is thicker."

"Yes," said Miss Tollicks dolefully, as she examined the few remaining squares upon the counter; "these are all different, too, and I don't know how that sc.r.a.p came to be left. I used all that thick paper first, because it weighed well, and I used it for screws."

"But," stammered Septimus, "it is a part of the very man's books--the very man who lived here, and about whom we came to ask you."

"Bless me!" said Miss Tollicks dolefully, "and I've been letting it go for weeks past in screws to the Sun, and the Green Dragon, and the Duke."

"But let's see if there's any more," said Matt. "A leaf would almost do all we want if it has only got the right dates."

Matt's advice was taken: screws were examined, turned over, unrolled; the tied-up squares of paper were looked at; Matt went down upon his knees behind the counter and routed about amongst some rubbish; the squares freshly cut up were looked over; and then once more the heap on the chair in the room was scanned, leaf by leaf, but only one more fragment was found, evidently a portion of the same book; but it bore a date four years prior to the marriage of Septimus Hardon's parents.

"Makes worse of it," muttered old Matt to himself; "but perhaps he was only a young doctor, and one book lasted him a long time. S'pose we go and have a look round at some of the publics," he said aloud, "eh, sir?"

Septimus jumped at the suggestion, and together they noted down the names of Miss Tollicks' princ.i.p.al customers for screws, for she said that she was sure the thick paper had been used entirely for that purpose; but on making inquiry at the different pewter-covered bars, one and all of the stout gentlemen in shirt-sleeves and short white ap.r.o.ns declared that they were sold out, and could have got rid of "twiced as much."

"I suppose," said Septimus to one red-faced gentleman, "it would be of no use to ask you who bought the screws?"

The man stood, and softly rubbed with a strange rasping noise his well-shorn range of stubble on chin and cheek; then pulled open the screw-drawer, looked in it, then at the counter, then at Septimus, as if doubtful of his sanity, and said:

"Well, no, sir, I don't think as it would."

They returned to the little tobacconist's shop, Septimus holding tightly to the newly-found sc.r.a.p of paper. And yet it was useless--waste-paper; no more. There could be no doubt about it's being the entry made when he saw the light; but now it was found, with his own hand he had destroyed the most precious part, for without date it was of no avail.

Septimus Hardon felt sick at heart when he again sat down in Miss Tollicks' room, and gazed with woebegone looks in his companion's face.

The prize as it were within his reach; his old troubles swept away; his legitimacy proved--the cup almost at his lips, and then dashed away. It was in vain that Miss Tollicks vented her well-meant plat.i.tudes, and shone with hospitable warmth; Septimus Hardon seemed crushed, and Matt had scarcely a word to say.

"Have a little more sugar," said Miss Tollicks to the man of the bitter cup. "What a tiresome world this is! And only to think of me buying that very paper, and the great dirty ruffian of a man bringing it home, and wanting to buy half-a-pound of tobacco before I began business and had a license; and then asking me if I had any old boots, while he chipped two of the jars shamefully."

"Only think," muttered old Matt as they went slowly homewards, "for me to have had that entry under my very nose, and then only turned it up and wouldn't look at it."

Volume Three, Chapter IX.

BY NIGHT.

Old Matt s.p.a.ce had a certain amount of pride in his composition, and, like most people, he suffered for it. He would gladly have received a.s.sistance of the most trifling nature from Septimus Hardon the day they returned from Finsbury; but his companion seemed so dejected and doleful that he had not the heart to bring forward his own troubles, and so it followed that the same night he was complaining to himself about hard times--those ever-recurring, inhospitable seasons when mental storms beat upon the rocks of a man's faith, and many a shipwreck follows.

Hard times--times that the science, charity, and statistics of our days soften so little. Warm sunshine, genial rain, bright skies, have but little influence, and the times keep hard for some, though others, by means of softening mediums, contrive to remain uninjured.

In his dry way old Matt would sometimes say that if he did not cut up well when he died, he should certainly cut up streaky--like thin bacon; for times so fluctuated with him that before a small layer of fat was well established, the lean would again commence; while, if it is fair so to speak of a man whose life had been one long struggle for bare existence, Matt had been somewhat improvident. What he called runs upon the bank were common events with the old printer--times when there were no deposits made, and trade was slack; it was a pleasant trade, printing, he said--nothing to do to-day, and to-morrow busy, up all night afterwards, and then perhaps another long rest.

Old Matt stood in front of the Royal Exchange that night at eleven o'clock, weak from his long illness, tired and faint too, as he lingered there thinking of how he would like to make an onslaught upon the Bank of England, and fill his pockets, now reduced to the lowest ebb, for he had not sixpence wherewith to pay for a night's lodging. He had not been to the mansion of Mr Gross to sleep but once since his return from the hospital; for he was largely indebted to that gentleman, and though scarcely anything had been said, Mrs Gross had dropped just a mild hint, what she considered an exceedingly mild hint, to the effect that, when it was convenient, they would be glad to receive one or two instalments on account.

This made Matt more shy, and after a day or two he stopped away altogether, so that when Septimus Hardon sought at his lodgings, he found him not, and had to inspect the interior of two or three hostelries favoured by the fraternity before he found him out.

"Ah, sir," said Matt, as he hugged a lamp-post, "the times that I've seen them lugging the little chests and barrels in there--heavy so that they could scarcely lift them, and any one of 'em would have set me up for life. Specie, they call it, sir; species as I was always unable to collect much of in my rambles through life; and it wouldn't take a deal to make me comfortable, anyhow. Precious cold here, sir, for an old man like me, and I don't know that I'd say no, just now, to one of those little iron bedsteads with its clean sheets in the hospital--leastways, if one could feel sure n.o.body had just died upon it, for the thought of that gives one a turn like, and seems to fidget. Precious cold, sir!

Talk about the internal heat of the earth, I wish there was a little more external. Crust of the earth, sir? Yes, sir, there's plenty of crust, and precious little crumb. Red-hot fluid state inside, eh? Then I shall move, sir--move. I was a good will to when I was in the hospital; but I think I shall make up my mind soon, for the world ain't safe--a volcanic, earthquaky place. I shall flit, as they say down north."

"Cold, cold, cold, sir!" shivered the poor old fellow after a pause, as he looked down the long deserted City streets, that teemed so with busy life in the daytime. "That scamp of a valet never reminded me of my greatcoat--a scoundrel. Thinks a deal more of his own confounded self, sir, than he does of his master. Now look here, sir--There; I know, of course--it's all right; I'm a-going on, I am. `Move on,' says you; but make the most of it, old chap; for you won't have me to move on much longer."

The old man spoke sadly as an approaching policeman cut short his address; but he went on before he could be told, and made his way slowly down into Cannon-street, where he stopped before another post.

"Now look here, sir," said Matt, as though he had not been interrupted for an instant, "we want an establishment here in town--a club for gentlemen in my position to-night--where we could go and have a basin of hot tea or coffee, or gruel if you like, and a decent, dry, clean, warm bed under shelter, without going to the workhouse. Now, sir, when my ship comes in, I mean to establish just such a place, and make it self-supporting. None of your casual wards in workhouses, but a decent place where honest people can go and do their bit of work over night or in the morning, to earn their bed and board. Let the idle vagabonds and tramps, sir, go to the casual ward; for there's hundreds of decent people in town every night would be glad to do a bit of work and get their meal and bed. Seems hard, sir," said Matt pitifully, as the cold night wind swept down the street, and he shivered miserably, "seems hard, sir, that in this great place where the wealth is almost running over the side, things are so, that an old chap like me should stand here to-night, as I've stood scores of times before, wanting the work and means for a meal and bed, and not able to get 'em. Now, let's see, sir; what shall we call my place? Hotel? No, that's too fine and grand.

Home? Well, no; that sounds like humbugging the poor creatures.

`There's no place like home!' I wish I was at home, I do," shivered the old man. "There, now, there it is again! Another policeman. Public streets, indeed! Ain't I one of the public, and haven't I a right to be in them? Strange thing a man can't address a few words in confidence to a friend without one of these fellows sticking his nose in. There, I'm a-going. I ain't going to commit a burglary upon the post and walk off with the gas. I wish there wasn't a policeman on the face of the blessed earth! I'm a-going;" and in obedience to the wag of the constable's head, the old man walked on towards London-bridge; but before he was halfway there, he made another stoppage beneath a lamp.

"Now, policemen are all very well, sir," he said, "but they're too officious. Now, what did that chap do but put a stop to as fine a bit of philanthropy as was ever devised for the benefit of humanity at large? Only think, now, of the crowds of poor folks flocking there of a night! There's your proper officers to see that there's neither talking nor noise; there's your clean kitchen, with its great soup-coppers, and rows upon rows of mugs and basins; there's your dormitories, with their long ranges of beds, every one separate, clean hay in ticks, and a couple of warm rugs; place heated by hot-water pipes, and all orderly and regular--a place for sleep and rest, and no one allowed to disturb it; baths and washhouses attached, and every chance given for a poor creature to get Rest, Refreshment, and a Rinse--the three graces of everyday life, sir. Open always, sir, until it was fall; while the fact of a good, fair bit of work being done first or after, would keep a good many of the canting casuals away. I mean to say, sir," said Matt, "that it might be made self-supporting after the first start; and such a place for the male and female poor of London, sir, would be an honour to the people. Now then, once more, sir, what shall we call it? `Hotel' won't do; `home' won't do; `hospital' sounds too sickly. Tell you what, sir, we'll call it `s.p.a.ce for All,' in honour of its projector. Why, confound it, sir, I'd have it got up by a penny subscription, if my ship happened to sink and I couldn't do it myself. And mind you, sir, I'm not going to have my money fooled away in a grand architectural building, where all the s.p.a.ce is taken up by rooms for the officers; I want it all for the poor privates, the soldiers fighting in the war of life. I'm not going to have all my money spent in outside show; I want it for furnishing and the inside--furnishing the inside of the building and the inside of the people. I want something plain and useful, clean and simple, with kind, quiet, firm people to attend, and see that things go right, and guard against imposition. But there, sir, we should be safe to be imposed upon some time or another, more or less; but then look at the good we should do. Ah! you may well twinkle, and laugh, and blink, old fellow, for that would be something like a job done, and one worth talking about."

Old Matt gave the lamp a parting slap, and shuffled on towards the bridge, where he stopped in one of the recesses, and tried to get himself into a comfortable position.

"Ugh-h-h, how cold these seats are! Rich corporation like the City, too, and not have the decency to put a few cushions for a poor fellow!

Just like to put stone seats round the table on Lord Mayor's Day.

Wonder how the aldermen, sheriffs, and common council would like it!

Spoil their appet.i.tes, I know!"

"There," said he after a while, as he looked over the parapet, and down at the stone steps leading to the water, "that would be a better place than this, and more quiet and sheltered. There's t'other steps leading down to Thames-street there; but then there's sure to be a dozen more, and I ain't fond of company. But a fellow must sleep somewhere, so where shall it be--steps, 'Delphi arches, or the Park? Park's too far off, and the ventilation too powerful, seeing as there's so much water to cool the wind--makes it chilly sometimes. Rather like the Park, though; something respectable about it; genteel neighbours; soldiers on duty; air sweet; water clean. But there's the rails to get over, and I ain't up to rails to-night; and, besides, they tear. But there, with this suit, I could stand a tear or two as well as anyone; and I don't s'pose I could tell myself which was the new slit if the spear-head of the rail wasn't in it. Down the steps is all very well; but the company ain't select, and you run the risk of being robbed. So you do down the arches; but then there's something suitable about them--handy to work in the morning. That's the spot for me, so here goes. Pity I came all this way, though, now the penny-boats don't run."

But the weary old man seemed in no hurry to move, for with his chin resting upon his hands, he stopped, gazing down into the hurrying black stream far beneath--black and stealthy as it hurried through the arches, lamps here and there twinkling and showing like blurred stars in the swift waters; and a stealthy, gliding race was that of the river as it bore along its stolen secrets towards the sea--secrets unknown to those who watched from far above; but there were rich spoils and treasures, dropped from the side of lighter and vessel, swept out of sewers; secrets, too, of life and death; and now and then something strange and bloated and sodden was whirled round, to rise to the surface and stare up, as if appealing with its lack-l.u.s.tre eyes to the star-sprinkled heaven above--gazing fearfully upwards, but swept round again the next moment by the eddy, and forced on by the hurrying stream, dashed against prow, borne under slimy keel, forced savagely, and entangled amongst chains, thrown upon mudbanks, and left by the tide half buried in the black ooze; swept clear again, and borne off up the river, down the river, sc.r.a.ping along bridge-pier or stone wharf, b.u.t.tress or caisson, ever hideous, bloated, horrible--these of the river secrets glided along.

"Ah!" muttered Matt softly, "who can say that there is poverty here in London, when everywhere the gold is looking out of the great works in which it has been sunk. There are ships, ships, ships, and steamer, lighter, and barge; and how many of 'em loaded with what I should call a large fortune!" And now with a sigh he leaned his forehead upon his hands, and gazed along the river at the dimly-seen wharves and warehouses, with here and there a light flashing from the river. Then he thought of his own weary life, of Septimus Hardon and his sorrows, pondering long upon the ill-success that had attended their efforts, and seeing too plainly how ineffective they had been; and then he sighed again loudly, and started, for a small hand was laid firmly upon his shoulder with a tight clutch, and turning quickly round, there, with the light of the gas shining full upon it, he saw as it were the face of an angel, seen through the thin veil of sin and misery that sullied its beauty--a beauty that still clung to features fair and girlish.

The strange couple gazed earnestly at one another for a few moments, when the girl spoke huskily:

"You weren't thinking of that, were you?"

"Thinking of what, my la.s.s?" said Matt quietly.