In these sacred studies, the days pa.s.sed swiftly for "the Golden Shoemaker." Very different were the methods by which the majority of his fellow-pa.s.sengers endeavoured to beguile the time. Amongst the least objectionable of these were concerts, theatricals, billiards, and all kinds of games. Much time was spent by the ladies in idle chat, to which the gentlemen added the seductions of cigar and pipe. There were not a few of the pa.s.sengers, moreover, who resorted to the vicious excitement of betting; and "Cobbler" Horn marked with amazement and horror the eagerness with which they staked their money on a variety of unutterably trivial questions. The disposition of really large sums of money was made to depend, on whether a certain cloud would obscure the sun or not; whether a large bird, seen as they neared the land, would sweep by on one side of the ship or the other; whether the pilot would prove to be tall or short; and upon a mult.i.tude of other matters so utterly unimportant, that "the Golden Shoemaker" began to think he was voyaging with a company of escaped lunatics.

To one gentleman, who proposed to take a bet with him as to the nationality of the next vessel they might happen to meet, he gave a characteristic reply.

"Thank you," he said gravely, "I am not anxious on that subject; and, if I were, I should wait for the appearance of the vessel itself. Besides, I cannot think it right to risk my money in the way you propose. I dare not throw away upon a mere frivolity what G.o.d has given me to use for the good of my fellows. And then, if we were to bet, as you suggest, the one who happened to win would be receiving what he had no moral right to possess.

I don't----"

Thus far the would-be better had listened patiently. But it was a bet he wanted, and not a sermon.

"I beg your pardon," he therefore said, at this point, "I see I have made a mistake;" and with a polite bow, he moved hastily away.

One fine evening, towards the end of the voyage, as "Cobbler" Horn was taking the air on deck, he was accosted by the attendant who had arranged the transfer of his berth from first to second-cla.s.s.

"The gentleman, sir," he said, touching his cap, "who took your cabin----he----"

"Yes," interrupted "Cobbler" Horn; "how is he? Better, I hope."

"Much better, sir; and he thought, perhaps you would see him."

"Do you know what he wants?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, in a hesitating tone.

"Well, sir," replied the man, "he didn't exactly say; but I rather suspect it's a little matter of thanks. And, begging your pardon, sir, it's very natural."

"Cobbler" Horn was not offended at the man's freedom of address, as another in his place might have been.

"If that is all, then," he said, "I think he must excuse me. I deserve no thanks. I consulted my own inclination, as much as his comfort. I am glad he is better. Tell him he is heartily welcome, and ask him if there is anything more I can do."

The next morning, as "Cobbler" Horn stood talking, for a minute or so, to the captain, the obsequious attendant once more appeared. Touching his cap with double emphasis, in honour of the captain, he handed a letter to "Cobbler" Horn.

"From the gentleman in your cabin, sir. No answer, sir----I was told to say," and, once more touching his cap, the polite functionary marched sedately away.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'From the gentleman in your cabin, sir.'"--_Page 158._]

"I must leave you to read your letter, Mr. Horn," said the captain; and, with the word, he withdrew to attend to his duties in another part of the ship.

"Cobbler" Horn's letter was brief, and ran as follows:

"DEAR SIR,

"Though I may not in person express my grat.i.tude for your great kindness, I have that to tell which you ought to know. Poverty, sickness, loss of dear ones, perfidy of professed friends, and ills of all imaginable kinds, have fallen to my lot. I am an American. I have a young wife, and a dear little girl in New York. I have been to Europe upon what has turned out a most disastrous business trip.

I came on board this vessel a battered, broken man, not knowing, and scarcely caring, whether I should live to reach the other side.

Faith in Christianity, in religion, in G.o.d Himself, I had utterly renounced. But I want to tell you that all that is changed. I now wish, and hope, to live; my health is vastly improved; and--will you let me say it without offence?--I find myself able once more to believe in G.o.d, and in such religion as yours. I will not again ask you to see me; but if, after reading this letter, you should feel inclined to pay me a visit, I need not tell you how delighted I should be.

"I am,

"Dear Sir,

"Yours gratefully,

"THADDEUS P. WALDRON."

"Cobbler" Horn read this gratifying letter over and over again, with a secret joy. But it was not till the next day that he could bring himself to comply with the invitation of its closing sentence, and pay a visit to the writer. He found the young man, who was far on his way to recovery, full of thankfulness to him and of grat.i.tude to G.o.d. It seemed that, previous to the acc.u.mulation of troubles beneath which his faith had given away, the young fellow had been a zealous Christian. "Cobbler" Horn found him sincerely penitent; and, during this, and succeeding interviews, he had the joy of leading him back to the Saviour.

CHAPTER XXV.

COUSIN JACK.

As "Cobbler" Horn was leaving the vessel at New York, he witnessed the meeting of Thaddeus P. Waldron and his wife. Mrs. Waldron had come on board the steamer. She was a wholesome, glowing little woman, enc.u.mbered with no inconvenient quant.i.ty of reserve. She flung her arms impulsively around her husband's neck, and kissed him with a smack like the report of a pistol.

"Why, Thad," she cried, "do tell! You've completely taken me in! I expected a scarecrow. What for did you frighten me with that letter I got last week? It might have been my death!"

Then, with a little trill of a laugh, the happy woman hugged once more the equally delighted "Thad," and gave him another resounding kiss.

By this time the attention of those who were pa.s.sing to and fro around them began to be attracted; and, amongst the rest, "Cobbler" Horn, who was held for a few moments in the crowd, was watching them with deep interest.

"Hold hard, little woman," exclaimed Thaddeus, "or I guess I sha'n't have breath left to tell you my news! And," he added, "it's better even than you think."

"Oh, Thad, do tell!" she cried, still regarding her husband with admiring eyes.

"Well, my health has been fixed up by the sea air, and the comfort and attention I've had during the voyage, which is all through the goodness of one man. I calculate that man 'ull have to show up before we leave this vessel. He wasn't out of sight five minutes ago."

As he spoke, he looked round, and saw the figure of "Cobbler" Horn, who, evidently in dread of a demonstration on the part of his grateful friend, was modestly moving away amongst the crowd. One stride of Thaddeus P.

Waldron's long legs, and he had his benefactor by the arm.

"Here, stranger--no, darn it all, you aren't a stranger, no how you fix it--this way sir, if _you_ please."

"Now, little woman," he exclaimed, triumphantly dragging his reluctant captive towards his wife, "this is the man you have to thank--this man and G.o.d! He gave up----"

"Oh," interrupted "Cobbler" Horn, "you mustn't allow him to thank me for that, ma-am. I did it quite as much for my own sake."

"Hear him!" exclaimed Thaddeus, with incredulous admiration. "Anyhow he made me think, little wife, that there was some genuine religion in the world after all. And that helped me to get better too. And the long and short of it is, I've been made a new man of, inside and out; and we're going to have some real good times! And now, old girl, you've just got to give the man whose done it all a hug and a buss, and then we'll come along."

"Cobbler" Horn started back in dismay. But Mrs. Thaddeus was thoroughly of her husband's mind. What he had been, as she knew from his letters, and what she found him now, pa.s.sed through her mind in a flash. She was modest enough, but not squeamish; and the honest face of "Cobbler" Horn was one which no woman, under the circ.u.mstances, need have hesitated to kiss. So, in a moment, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the crowd, to the huge delight of the grateful Thaddeus, and to the confusion of "the Golden Shoemaker" himself, the thing was done.

The next minute, the happy and grateful couple were gone, and "Cobbler"

Horn had scarcely time to recover his composure before he found himself greeted by the agent of Messrs. Tongs and Ball, who, having been furnished by those gentlemen with a particular description of the personal appearance of their eccentric client, had experienced but little difficulty in singling him out. From this gentleman "Cobbler" Horn learnt that his ill-fated cousin had been removed from the wretched lodgings where he was found to the best private hospital in New York, where he was receiving every possible care. The agent had also engaged apartments for "Cobbler" Horn himself in a first-cla.s.s hotel in the neighbourhood of the hospital. It was a great relief to "Cobbler" Horn that his conductor had undertaken the care of his luggage, and the management of everything connected with his debarkation. He was realizing more and more the immense advantages conferred by wealth. On being shown into the splendid apartments which had been engaged for him in the hotel, he shrank back as he had done from the first-cla.s.s accommodation a.s.signed to him on board the steam-boat. But this time he was obliged to submit. Wealth has its penalties, as well as its advantages.

It was early in the forenoon when the vessel arrived; and, when "the Golden Shoemaker" was duly installed in his luxurious quarters at the hotel, the agent left him, having first promised to come back at three o'clock, and conduct him to the bedside of his cousin.

At the appointed time the agent returned.

"Cobbler" Horn was eager to be going, and they at once set out. A few minutes brought them to the hospital where his cousin lay. They were immediately shown in, and "Cobbler" Horn found himself entering a bright and airy chamber, where he presently stood beside his cousin's bed.

The sick man had been apprised of the approaching visit of his generous relative from over the water, and he regarded "Cobbler" Horn now with a kind of dull wonder in his hollow eyes. At the same time he held out a hand which was wasted almost to transparency. "Cobbler" Horn took the thin fingers in his strong grasp; and, as he looked, with a great pity, on the sunken cheeks, the protruding mouth, the dark gleaming eyes, and the contracted forehead with its setting of black damp hair, he thought that, if ever he had seen the stamp of death upon a human face, he saw it now.