Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks, Bracebridge Hemyng [the two towers ebook TXT] 📗
- Author: Bracebridge Hemyng
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"It would be doing him too much honour, gentlemen. I leave him to the hangman."
"You should have killed him," growled the surgeon, glancing after the discomfited duellist, who was sneaking off, unattended even by his own second.
"I don't feel bloodthirsty just at present, and I have proved the words that gave rise to the challenge."
"That is true, but some other poor devil may not be so lucky."
"I fancy after this morning's exposé anyone may refuse to go out with him without fear of dishonour."
"True; that is one good thing."
They re-entered their carriage and returned to Paris.
Just as young Jack alighted from the vehicle, he found himself seized by the collar and shaken violently.
He turned hastily.
"Dad!"
"You young rascal!" exclaimed Harkaway senior, "where have you been all night?"
"Why—I—I arranged to go out early in the morning for a drive with this gentleman and Harry, so I took a room here at this hotel so as to be close to the rendezvous."
"That is the truth, but not all the truth. Sir, may I ask you the object of your very early excursion with my son?"
"Well, sir, the fact is, this young gentleman became involved last night in a little dispute which necessitated an exchange of pistol shots, and your son, I must say, behaved in a most gallant manner."
"Not touched, Jack?"
"No, dad."
"Did you shoot t'other fellow?"
"No, father; I only shoot game—human or brute. I leave gamekeepers and hangmen to exterminate vermin."
"Well, now, cut along home. Your mother is in no end of a funk about you."
So Jack went home, and, having explained the reason of his absence, was soon forgiven by all, except little Emily, who boxed his ears, declaring it was evident he did not care about her, or he would not have risked his life in such a manner.
Then she refused, for a whole hour, to speak to him; at the expiration of which time she kissed him, and asked his pardon for having shown such bad temper.
"All right, Em. You're a brick."
"Don't talk slang, sir."
That same evening they left Paris, and at an early hour the next morning were in London.
CHAPTER CVIII.
"LAST SCENE OF ALL, THAT ENDS THIS STRANGE, EVENTFUL HISTORY."
"Jack."
"Yes, father."
"What do you think you are going to be? I mean what business or profession?"
This conversation took place about a week after their return to England.
"Would you like to be a doctor or a lawyer, or become a great financier in the City?" continued Harkaway senior.
"Neither of those, thank you. I have been too much used to plenty of fresh air and exercise to settle down to an indoor occupation; the sea is my choice."
"It is not your mother's choice, so you may just give up that notion at once and for ever."
"Well, next to that I should like to have a nice compact farm of about six hundred acres in a part of the country where there is good shooting, hunting and fishing."
"Ah, that's better."
"Then we'll consider that settled, dad."
"Yes; but you must finish your education first; that has been much neglected."
So the result was that both young Jack and Harry Girdwood were sent to reside for a year with a clergyman, who was also a farmer, and, who undertook, while improving their general education, to give them a practical knowledge of agriculture.
The year passed away, and the two young men returned home for a brief holiday before settling down, for Harry was also to be a farmer, Dick Harvey having undertaken to put him into a farm.
They were sitting at breakfast one morning when two letters were brought, both with foreign postmarks.
Harkaway senior opened them.
"This concerns you, my dear," said he to Paquita.
"How so?" asked the girl.
"It is from your father. And you must prepare to hear bad news."
"He is dead! he is dead!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
When some time had passed, she was calmed sufficiently to hear the letter read.
It was a deathbed letter, in which the writer stated that, remembering the noblehearted Englishman, Harkaway, he appointed him sole trustee of his wealth, to be given as a marriage portion to Paquita.
Documents were enclosed to put Harkaway in possession of the writer's riches and he concluded by praying Heaven to bless his daughter.
A postscript was added in a different hand.
"The writer of this died on the 4th of April last, the day after he signed this letter and the enclosed documents which are witnessed by me."
"Antonio Delavat, Surgeon."
Paquita's grief at the death of her father was great, but in little Emily and Mrs. Harkaway she found two comforters who did their best to assuage her sorrows.
But the other letter.
"Why, this is from our old Australian friend, Rook!" exclaimed Harkaway.
"Rook!"
"Yes. And this is what Rook has to say for himself.
"'If ever a man had reason to be grateful to another, surely I have cause to bless the day I met you. For thanks to you, I am no longer an outcast, but have atoned for the past—aye, and refunded with interest that sum of money which was the cause of my being sent here. Through your kindness I was enabled to go into business as a farmer, and I have prospered so that I am now one of the richest men in this part of Australia; but I owe all my prosperity to you, so I will not boast of it. Being better educated than many of the settlers, I have been appointed magistrate for the district; but whenever I can be lenient without being unjust, I humble myself, remember what I once was, and try to give the culprit another chance. Heaven has greatly prospered me, and I pray that Heaven's blessings may rest on you and yours.'"
"Bravo, Rook!" said Harvey and Harry Girdwood.
"What are you thinking about, Jack!" asked Harry, a day or two after.
"About old Mole."
"What about him?"
"Why, we haven't had a good lark with him since we left Marseilles."
"True."
"The old man will get rusty if we don't wake him up a little."
"Well, what is your idea?"
"Haven't any at the present; but something will turn up."
And something did turn up that very day.
Now it should be known that Mole, although he passed the greater time with his old friends, had taken a small cottage close by so that he might not entirely wear out their hospitality.
He generally slept there, but spent his days with the Harkaways.
Jack and Harry called upon the old man, and were admitted to his presence, as he was putting the finishing touches to his toilet.
This consisted in anointing his bald head with some wonderful fluid, warranted to produce a luxuriant growth of hair.
This gave the youths an idea, and having invited him to dinner, they departed to carry out their joke.
All passed off pleasantly during the evening, but Jack and Harry were absent about an hour. During that time they procured access to Mole's premises, and having emptied his bottle of hair restorer, filled the phial with liquid glue, after which they returned to the house.
"I must go early," said Mr. Mole, rising. "I have to attend court as a juryman in the morning."
"Then you won't be able to dress your hair properly," said Jack.
"Oh, yes; I shall put on a good dose before I leave home, that will last till evening," replied Mole.
He went home, but overslept himself, and had to dress in a hurry.
Mole had got to the door, when he remembered the hair restorer, and going back, applied a plentiful dose with a sponge.
He reached the court very hot.
By that time the glue had set, and he found he could not remove his hat.
"Isaac Mole!" shouted the official who was calling the jury.
"Here!" replied Mole, as he rushed to the box.
A murmur of astonishment was heard.
"Hats off in court!" shouted the usher.
"Really, I——"
"Everyone must be uncovered in court."
"But, I assure you, I can't——"
"Are you a Quaker?" demanded the judge.
"No; but I wish to explain that I kept my hat on because——"
"I can not listen to any excuse except the one I mentioned. Take off your hat instantly."
"But I say I kept it on because——"
"This is intolerable. Do you mean to insult the court! Take your hat off instantly, or I will fine you for contempt."
"Well, I must say it's hard I can't say a word."
"You are fined five pounds, and if you don't remove your hat——"
"I want to explain."
"Officer, remove that man's hat."
The tipstaff approached Mole and hit the offending hat with his stick, but it did not move.
Then he struck it harder, and the crown went in.
"This is too bad!" screamed Mole.
But the tipstaff was wroth, and picking up a large law book smashed it flat.
This was too much for Mole.
"You mutton-headed idiot, if you and the judge had a particle of sense, you would know that I did not remove my hat, because I couldn't. It is glued on."
Mole, however, was led away in custody and a fresh juryman sworn.
But Jack and Harry, who had been highly amused spectators, thought the joke had gone far enough, so they tipped a solicitor through whom an explanation was made, and Mole was released. He also got off serving on the jury.
They left the court together.
But another surprise was in store for them.
"How are you, gentlemen?" said a very familiar voice, and, lo! Figgins the orphan stood before them.
Figgins had not remained in Marseilles like the others, and therefore, had escaped being arrested for counterfeit coining.
He reached London in safety, and having taken the upper part of a house within half a mile of St. Paul's Cathedral, resolved never more to trust himself beyond the City boundaries.
Yet, in his retirement, his conscience pricked him for having left so hurriedly the friends who had rescued him from many a danger.
And Mole, too, his own particular travelling companion.
"I must go and see him once more," thought the orphan.
So one fine day he plucked up courage to venture a short journey on an English railway, and knowing where the elder Harkaway lived, was speedily instructed how to find Mole.
So now behold him shaking hands all round.
"I thought I must see you once more," said he, "but it is a great undertaking, you know, for my travels made me more timid than ever I was."
"Timid?" ejaculated Mole; "why, on one or two occasions you displayed bravery almost equal to my own."
"Mildly, Mr. Mole," said Jack.
"Ah, Mr. Harkaway, you three gentlemen are brave men, but I am only a poor timid orphan."
"That need not make you timid."
"But it does. So I have resolved never to trust myself out of London again."
"Then I am afraid we shall not meet very often, Mr. Figgins," said Mole, "for I, you know, hate town life."
"If you do come to town, though, you will call?"
"Certainly."
"Then, gentlemen, I will wish you farewell. I am deeply grateful for all you did when we were abroad——"
"Don't mention it."
"Mr. Mole, farewell. You know I feel more like an orphan than ever now I am parting from you."
"Don't talk like that, Figgins," said Mole.
"I can't help it, indeed, I can't. Farewell, my dear friend, farewell!"
And Figgins retired to his City home, where he still lives, though he is getting very feeble.
Still, he brightens up whenever he speaks of his old friend and travelling companion, Mole.
It is hard to part with old friends, but the decrees of fate cannot be avoided, so we must conclude our story.
It will be hardly necessary, we fancy, to inform our readers that young Jack eventually married little Emily, and Harry Girdwood led Paquita to the altar.
And as weddings are very much alike, we will not describe the ceremony, but content ourselves with saying that as much happiness as this world can afford was and is theirs.
Jack and Harry have extensive farms near each other, and are wealthy country gentlemen.
They are fond of outdoor sports, and have recently established a pack of harriers, Tinker and Bogey being respectively first and second whips. In each establishment there was formerly a room
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