The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands, R. M. Ballantyne [polar express read aloud .txt] 📗

situation on board of the Wellington—which has so unfortunately been wrecked—for a young—a—a young—man; one of those who was saved—”

“Yes, yes,” said Katie, quickly, thinking of Stanley Hall, and blushing scarlet; “I know the young gentleman to whom you refer; well, go on.”

“Well,” continued Nora, thinking of Jim Welton, and blushing scarlet too, “that young man said to me that he felt sure if I were to make application to Mr Durant through you, he would give Billy a situation in one of his ships, and so get him out of harm’s way.”

“He was right,” said Katie, with a somewhat puzzled expression; “and you may rely on my doing what I can for the poor boy with papa, who is always happy to help in such cases; but I was not aware that Mr Hall knew either you or Billy.”

“Mr Hall!” exclaimed Nora, in surprise.

“Did you not refer to him just now?”

“No, miss; I meant James Welton.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Katie, prolonging that monosyllable in a sliding scale, ranging from low to high and back to low again, which was peculiarly suggestive; “I beg your pardon, I quite misunderstood you; well, you may tell Mr Welton that I will befriend Billy to the utmost of my power.”

The door opened as she spoke, and cousin Fanny entered.

“Katie, I’ve come to tell you that Mr Queek—” She stopped short on observing Nora, who rose hastily, thanked Katie earnestly for the kind interest she had expressed in her little friend, and took her leave.

“This is a very interesting little incident, Fan,” said Katie with delight when they were alone; “quite a romancelet of real life. Let me see; here is a poor boy—the boy who deceived us, you remember—whom bad companions are trying to decoy into the wicked meshes of their dreadful net, and a sweet young girl, a sort of guardian angel as it were, comes to me and asks my aid to save the boy, and have him sent to sea. Isn’t it delightful? Quite the ground-work of a tale—and might be so nicely illustrated,” added Katie, glancing at her drawings. “But forgive me, Fan; I interrupted you. What were you going to tell me?”

“Only that Mr Queeker cannot come to tea tonight, as he has business to attend to connected with his secret mission,” replied Fanny.

“How interesting it would be,” said Katie, musing, “if we could only manage to mix up this mission of Mr Queeker’s in the plot of our romance; wouldn’t it? Come, I will put away my drawing for to-day, and finish the copy of papa’s quarterly cash-account for those dreadful Board of Trade people; then we shall go to the pier and have a walk, and on our way we will call on that poor old bedridden woman whom papa has ferreted out, and give her some tea and sugar. Isn’t it strange that papa should have discovered one so soon? I suppose you are aware of his penchant for old women, Fan?”

“No, I was not aware of it,” said Fan, smiling.

Whatever Fan said, she accompanied with a smile. Indeed a smile was the necessary result of the opening of her little mouth for whatever purpose—not an affected smile, but a merry one—which always had the effect, her face being plump, of half shutting her eyes.

“Yes,” continued Katie, with animation, “papa is so fond of old women, particularly if they are very old, and very little, and thin; they must be thin, though. I don’t think he cares much for them if they are fat. He says that fat people are so jolly that they don’t need to be cared for, but he dotes upon the little thin ones.”

Fanny smiled, and observed that that was curious. “So it is,” observed Katie; “now my taste lies in the direction of old men. I like to visit poor old men much better than poor old women, and the older and more helpless they are the more I like them.”

Fanny smiled again, and observed that that was curious too.

“So it is,” said Katie, “very odd that papa should like the old women and I should like the old men; but so it is. Now, Fan, we’ll get ready and—oh how provoking! That must be another visitor! People find papa out so soon wherever we go, and then they give him no rest.”

“A boy wishes to see you, miss,” said Mrs Cackles.

“Me?” exclaimed Katie in surprise.

“Yes, miss, and he says he wants to see you alone on important business.”

Katie looked at Fanny and smiled. Fanny returned the smile, and immediately left the room.

“Show him in, Mrs Cackles.”

The landlady withdrew, and ushered in no less a personage than Billy Towler himself, who stopped at the door, and stood with his hat in his hand, and an unusually confused expression in his looks. “Please, miss,” said Billy, “you knows me, I think?”

Katie admitted that she knew him, and, knowing in her heart that she meant to befriend him, it suddenly occurred to her that it would be well to begin with a little salutary severity by way of punishment for his former misdeeds.

“Last time I saw you, miss, I did you,” said Billy with a slight grin.

“You did,” replied Katie with a slight frown, “and I hope you have come to apologise for your naughty conduct.”

“Well, I can’t ’xactly say as I have come to do that, but I dessay I may as well begin that way. I’m very sorry, miss, for havin’ did you, an’ I’ve called now to see if I can’t do you again.”

Katie could not restrain a laugh at the impudence of this remark, but she immediately regretted it, because Billy took encouragement and laughed too; she therefore frowned with intense severity, and, still remembering that she meant ultimately to befriend the boy, resolved to make him in the meantime feel the consequences of his former misdeeds.

“Come, boy,” she said sharply, “don’t add impertinence to your wickedness, but let me know at once what you want with me.”

Billy was evidently taken aback by this rebuff. He looked surprised, and did not seem to know how to proceed. At length he put strong constraint upon himself, and said, in rather a gruff tone—

“Well, miss, I—a—the fact is—you know a gal named Nora Jones, don’t you? Anyhow, she knows you, an’ has said to me so often that you was a parfect angel, that—that—”

“That you came to see,” interrupted Katie, glancing at her shoulders, “whether I really had wings, or not, eh?”

Katie said this with a still darker frown; for she thought that the urchin was jesting. Nothing was further from his intention. Knowing this, and, not finding the angelic looks and tones which he had been led to expect, Billy felt still more puzzled and inclined to be cross.

“Seems to me that there’s a screw loose somewheres,” said Billy, scratching the point of his nose in his vexation. “Hows’ever, I came here to ax your advice, and although you cer’nly don’t ’ave wings nor the style o’ looks wot’s usual in ’eavenly wisiters, I’ll make a clean breast of it—so here goes.”

Hereupon the poor boy related how he had been decoyed from the Grotto—of which establishment he gave a graphic and glowing account—and said that he was resolved to have nothing more to do with Morley Jones, but meant to return to the Grotto without delay—that evening if possible. He had a difficulty, however, which was, that he could not speak freely to Nora about her father, for fear of hurting her feelings or enlightening her too much as to his true character, in regard to which she did not yet know the worst. One evil result of this was that she had begun to suspect there was something wrong as to his own affection for herself—which was altogether a mistake. Billy made the last remark with a flush of earnest indignation and a blow of his small hand on his diminutive knee! He then said that another evil result was that he could not see his way to explain to Nora why he wished to be off in such a hurry, and, worst of all, he had not a sixpence in the world wherewith to pay his fare to London, and had no means of getting one.

“And so,” said Katie, still keeping up her fictitious indignation, “you come to beg money from me?”

“Not to beg, Miss—to borrer.”

“Ah! and thus to do me a second time,” said Katie.

It must not be supposed that Katie’s sympathetic heart had suddenly become adamantine. On the contrary, she had listened with deep interest to all that her youthful visitor had to say, and rejoiced in the thought that she had given to her such a splendid opportunity of doing good and frustrating evil; but the little spice of mischief in her character induced her still to keep up the fiction of being suspicious, in order to give Billy a salutary lesson. In addition to this, she had not quite got over the supposed insult of being mistaken for an angel! She therefore declined, in the meantime, to advance the required sum—ten-and-sixpence—although the boy earnestly promised to repay her with his first earnings.

“No,” she said, with a gravity which she found it difficult to maintain, “I cannot give you such a sum until I have seen and consulted with my father on the subject; but I may tell you that I respect your sentiments regarding Nora and your intention to forsake your evil ways. If you will call here again in the evening I will see what can be done for you.”

Saying this, and meditating in her heart that she would not only give Billy the ten-and-sixpence to enable him to return to the Grotto, but would induce her father to give him permanent employment in one of his ships, she showed Billy to the door, and bade him be a good boy and take care of himself.

Thereafter she recalled Fanny, and, for her benefit, re-enacted the whole scene between herself and Billy Towler, in a manner so graphic and enthusiastic, as to throw that amiable creature into convulsions of laughter, which bade fair to terminate her career in a premature fit of juvenile apoplexy.