Under the Waves, Robert Michael Ballantyne [ebook reader macos .txt] 📗

"by slow degrees it may be, but to the last farthing if I live. I shall try to owe no man anything."

A glad smile lit up Aileen's face as she was on the point of throwing her arms round her father's neck, when the door opened, and a small domestic--their only one besides the cook--put a letter into the hands of her young mistress.

Aileen's countenance assumed a troubled look a she handed it to her father.

"It is for you, papa."

Mr Hazlit's visage also assumed an expression of anxiety as he opened and read the letter. It ran thus:--

"Deer Sur,--i thinks it unkomon 'ard that a man shood 'ave is beed
sold under im wen anuther man oas im munny, speshally wen is wifes
ill--praps a-dyin--the Law has washt yoo sur, but it do seam 'ard on
me, if yoo cood spair ony a pownd or two id taik it kind.--Yoors to
komand, John Timms."

"This is very much to the point," said Mr Hazlit, with a faint smile, handing the letter to Aileen. "It is, as you see, from our old green-grocer, who must indeed be in great trouble when he, who used to be so particularly civil, could write in that strain to me. Now, Aileen, I want your opinion on a certain point. In consequence of your economical ways, my love, I find myself in a position to give fifty pounds this half-year towards the liquidation of my debts."

The merchant paused, smiled, and absolutely looked a little confused. The idea of commencing to liquidate many thousands of pounds by means of fifty was so inexpressibly ridiculous, that he half expected to hear his own respectful child laugh at him. But Aileen did not laugh. With her large earnest eyes she looked at him, and the unuttered language of her pursed, grave, little mouth was "Well, go on."

"The liquidation of my debts," repeated Mr Hazlit, firmly. "The sum is indeed a small one--a paltry one--compared with the amount of these debts, but the passage which we have been considering appears to me to leave no option, save to begin at once, even on the smallest possible scale. Now, my love, duty requires that I should at once begin to liquidate. Observe, the law of the land requires nothing. It has set me free, but the law of God requires that I should pay, at once, as I am able. Conscience echoes the law, and says, `pay.' What, therefore, am I to do?"

Mr Hazlit propounded this question with such an abrupt gaze as well as tone of interrogation, that the little pursed mouth relaxed into a little smile as it said, "I suppose you must divide the sum proportionally among your creditors, or something of that sort."

"Just so," said Mr Hazlit, nodding approval. "Now," he continued, with much gravity, "if I were to make the necessary calculation--which, I may remark, would be a question in proportion running into what I may be allowed to style infinitesimal fractions--I would probably find out that the proportion payable to one would be a shilling, to another half a sovereign, to another a pound or so, while to many would accrue so small a fraction of a farthing that no suitable coin of this realm could be found wherewith to pay it. If I were to go with, say two shillings, and offer them to my good friend Granby as part payment of my debt to him, the probability is that he would laugh in my face and invite me to dinner in order that we might celebrate the event over a bottle of very old port. Don't you think so?"

Aileen laughed, and said that she did think so.

"Well, then," continued her father, "what, in these circumstances, says common sense?"

Aileen's mouth became grave again, and her eyes very earnest as she said quickly--

"Pay off the green-grocer!"

Mr Hazlit nodded approval. "You are right. Mr Timms' account amounts to twenty pounds. To offer twenty pounds to Mr Granby--to whom I owe some eight thousand, more or less--would be a poor practical joke. To give it to Mr Timms will evidently be the saving of his business at a time when it appears to have reached a crisis. Put on your bonnet and shawl, dear, and we will go about this matter without delay."

Aileen was one of those girls who possessed the rare and delectable capacity to "throw on" her bonnet and shawl. One glance in the mirror sufficed to convince her that these articles, although thrown on, had fallen into their appropriate places neatly. It could scarcely have been otherwise. Her bonnet and shawl took kindly to her, like all other things in nature--animate and otherwise. She reappeared before her sedate father had quite finished drawing on his gloves.

Mr John Timms dwelt in a back lane which wriggled out of a back street as if it were anxious to find something still further back into which to back itself. He had been in better circumstances and in a better part of the town when Mr Hazlit had employed him. At the time of the rich merchant's failure, the house of Timms had been in a shaky condition. That failure was the removal of its last prop; it fell, and Timms retired, as we have seen, into the commercial background. Here, however, he did not find relief. Being a trustful man he was cheated until he became untrustful. His wife became ill owing to bad air and low diet. His six children became unavoidably neglected and riotous, and his business, started on the wreck of the old one, again came to the brink of failure. It was in these circumstances that he sat down, under the impulse of a fit of desperation, and penned the celebrated letter to his old customer.

When Mr Hazlit and his daughter had, with great difficulty, discovered Mr Timms' residence and approached the door, they were checked on the threshold by the sound of men apparently in a state of violent altercation within.

"Git out wid ye, an' look sharp, you spalpeen," cried one of the voices.

"Oh, pray don't--don't fight!" cried a weak female voice.

"No, I won't git out till I'm paid, or carry your bed away with me," cried a man's voice, fiercely.

"You won't, eh! Arrah then--hup!"

The last sound, which is not describable, was immediately followed by the sudden appearance of a man, who flew down the passage as if from a projectile, and went headlong into the kennel. He was followed closely by Rooney Machowl, who dealt the man as he rose a sounding slap on the right cheek, which would certainly have tumbled him over again had it not been followed by an equally sounding slap on the left cheek, which "brought him up all standing."

Catching sight at that moment of Mr Hazlit and Aileen, Rooney stopped short and stood confused.

"Murder!" shrieked the injured man.

"Hooray! Here's a lark!" screamed a small street-boy.

"Go it! Plice! A skrimmage!" yelled another street-boy in an ecstasy of delight, which immediately drew to the spot the nucleus of a crowd.

Mr Hazlit was a man of promptitude. He was also a large man, as we have elsewhere said, and by no means devoid of courage. Dropping his daughter's arm he suddenly seized the ill-used and noisy man by the neck, and thrust him almost as violently back into the green-grocer's house as Rooney had kicked him out of it. He then said, "Go in," to the amazed Rooney, and dragging his no less astonished child in along with him, shut and locked the door.

"Now," said Mr Hazlit, sitting down on a broken chair in a very shabby little room, and wiping his heated brow, "what is the meaning of all this, Mr Timms?"

"Well, sir," answered Timms, with a deprecatory air, "I'm sorry, sir, it should 'ave 'appened just w'en you was a-goin' to favour me with the unexpected honour of a wisit; but the truth is, sir, I couldn't 'elp it. This 'ere sc--man is my landlord, sir, an' 'e _wouldn't_ wait another day for 'is rent, sir, though I told 'im he was pretty sure o' 'avin it in a week or so, w'en I 'ad time to c'lect my outstandin' little bills--"

"More nor that, sur," burst in the impatient and indignant Rooney, "he would 'ave gone into that there room, sur,--if I may miscall a dark closet by that name--an' 'ave pulled the bed out from under Mrs Timms, who's a-dyin', sur, if I 'adn't chanced to come in, sur, an' kick the spalpeen into the street, as you see'd."

"For w'ich you'll smart yet," growled the landlord, who stood in a dishevelled heap like a bad boy in a corner.

"How much rent does he owe you?" asked Mr Hazlit of the landlord.

"That's no business o' yours," replied the man, sulkily.

"If I were to offer to pay it, perhaps you'd allow that it _was_ my business."

"So I will _w'en_ you offers."

"Well, then, I offer now," said Mr Hazlit, taking out his purse, and pouring a little stream of sovereigns into his hand. "Have you the receipt made out?"

The landlord made no reply, but, with a look of wonder at his interrogator, drew a small piece of dirty paper from his pocket and held it out. Mr Hazlit examined it carefully from beginning to end.

"Is this right, Mr Timms?" he asked.

The green-grocer examined the paper, and said it was--that five pounds was the exact amount.

"You can put the receipt in your pocket," said Mr Hazlit, turning round and counting out five sovereigns on the table, which he pushed towards the landlord. "Now, take yourself off, as quietly as you can, else I'll have you taken up and tried for entering a man's premises forcibly, and endeavouring to obtain money by intimidation. Go!"

This was a bold stroke on the part of the merchant, whose legal knowledge was not extensive, but it succeeded. The landlord pocketed the money and moved towards the door. Rooney Machowl followed him.

"Rooney!" said Mr Hazlit, calling him back.

"Mayn't I show him out, sur?" said Rooney, earnestly.

"By no means."

"Ah, sur, mayn't I give him a farewell kick?"

"Certainly not."

Mr Hazlit then expressed a desire to see Mrs Timms, and the green-grocer, thanking the merchant fervently for his timely aid, lighted a candle and led the way into the dark closet.

Poor Mrs Timms, a delicate-looking woman, not yet forty, who had evidently been pretty once, lay on a miserable bed, apparently at the point of death.

Aileen glided quickly to the bed, sat down on it, and took the woman's hand, while she bent over her and whispered:--

"Don't be distressed. The rent is paid. He will disturb you no more. You shall be quiet now, and I will come to see you sometimes, if you'll let me."

The woman gazed at the girl with surprise, then, as she felt the gentle warm pressure of her hand a sudden rush of faith seemed to fill her soul. She drew Aileen towards her, and looked earnestly into her face.

"Come here, Timms," said Mr Hazlit,