My Friend Smith

Evidently my good things were not in favour; why, I could not say.

n.o.body seemed to be taking anything, and Crow was most conspicuously _smelling_ my lobster.

The meal dragged on heavily, with more talk than eating. Every dish came in for its share of criticism; the eel-pie remained uncut, the lobster had lost one claw, but more than half the contents of that was left on Abel's plate. My penny buns all vanished, that was one ray of comfort.

"Ring the bell for more buns," said Doubleday, as if he was presiding at his own table.

What was I to do? There were no more, and it was hardly likely Mrs Nash would go for more. Before I could make up my mind, Whipcord had rung a loud peal on the bell, and Mrs Nash in due time appeared.

"More buns, and look sharp, old woman," said Doubleday.

"I'll old woman you if I've much of your imperence, my young dandy!" was the somewhat startling rejoinder. "I'll bundle the pack of you out of the house, that I will, if you can't keep a civil tongue in your heads."

"I say, Batchelor," said Doubleday, laughing, "your aunt has got a temper, I fancy. I'm always sorry to see it in one so young. What will it be when--"

"Oh, please don't, Doubleday," I said; "you can see she doesn't like it.

It doesn't matter, Mrs Nash, thank you," I added.

"Oh, don't it matter?" retorted the irate Mrs Nash, "that's all; we'll settle that pretty soon, my beauty. I'll teach you if it don't matter that a pack of puppies comes into my house, and drinks tea out of my cups, and calls me names before my face and behind my back; I'll teach you!" And she bounced from the room.

I thought that meal would never end, although no one took anything. In time even the fun and laughter, which had at first helped to keep the thing going, died away, and the fellows lolled back in the chairs in a listless, bored way. It was vain for me to try to lead the talk; I could not have done it even if I had had the spirit, and there was precious little spirit left now!

Doubleday began to look at his watch.

"Half-past seven. I say," said he, "time I was going. I've a particular engagement at eight."

"Well, I'll go with you," said Whipcord; "I want to get something to eat, and we can have supper together."

"Sorry we've got to go," said Doubleday. "Jolly evening, wasn't it, Crow?"

I was too much humiliated and disgusted to notice their departure. To have my grand entertainment sneered at and made fun of was bad enough, but for two of my guests to leave my table for the avowed purpose of getting something to eat was a little too much. I could barely be civil to the rest and ask them to remain, and it was a real relief when they one and all began to make some excuse for leaving.

So ended my famous supper-party, after which, for a season, I prudently retired into private life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HOW MY FRIEND SMITH CAME BACK, AND TOLD ME A GREAT SECRET.

My grand evening party was over, but I had still my accounts for that entertainment to square. And the result of that operation was appalling. It was a fortnight since my salary had been raised, but so far I had not a penny saved. The extra money had gone, I couldn't exactly say how, in sundry "trifling expenditures," such as pomatum, a scarf-pin, and a steel chain for my waistcoat, all of which it had seemed no harm to indulge in, especially as they were very cheap, under my altered circ.u.mstances.

On the strength of my new riches also I was already six s.h.i.+llings in debt to the Oxford-s.h.i.+rt man, and four s.h.i.+llings in debt to the Twins, who had paid my share in the boating expedition up the river. And now, when I came to reckon up my liabilities for the supper, I found I owed as much as eight s.h.i.+llings to the pastrycook and five s.h.i.+llings to the grocer, besides having already paid two s.h.i.+llings for the unlucky lobster (which to my horror and shame

The ingenious reader will be able to arrive at a true estimate of my financial position from these figures, and will see that so far, at any rate, my increase of riches had not made me a wealthier man than when I had lived within my income on eight s.h.i.+llings a week.

Nor had it made me either better or happier I made a few more good resolutions after the party to be a fool no longer. I could see plainly enough that all my so-called friends had been amusing themselves at my expense, and were certainly not worth my running myself head over ears in debt to retain. I could see too, when I came to reflect, that all my efforts to pa.s.s myself off as "one of them" had ended pitifully for me, if not ridiculously. Yes, it was time I gave it up. Alas! for the vanity of youth! The very day that witnessed the forming of my resolutions witnessed also the breaking of them.

"Hullo, young 'un!" cried Doubleday, as I put in my appearance at the office; "here you are! How are you after it all?"

"I'm quite well," said I, in what I intended to be a chilly voice.

"That's right. Very brickish of you to have us up. We all thought so, didn't we, Crow?"

"Rather," replied Crow.

"I'm afraid some of the fellows were rather rude," continued Doubleday.

"Those Twins are awfully underbred beggars. I believe, you know, their mother never knew which of the two it was that wanted whopping, and so she let them both grow up anyhow. If I'd been her, I'd have licked them both regularly, wouldn't you, Crow?"

Without setting much store by Doubleday's moral disquisition on the duty of the parents of Twins, I felt mollified by the half apology implied in his reference to yesterday's entertainment, and to the manner of his behaviour towards me now. It was clear he felt rather ashamed of himself and his cronies for their behaviour. Who could tell whether, if they had given me a fair chance, my supper might not have been a success after all? At any rate, I didn't feel quite so downhearted about it as I had done.

"How's that festive old lady," proceeded Doubleday, "this morning? I pity you with an old dragon like her to look after you. That's the worst of those boarding-houses. A fellow can't do the civil to his friends but he's sure to be interfered with by somebody or other."

He was actually making excuses for me!

Yes; if it hadn't been for the rudeness of some of the fellows and the aggravating behaviour of Mrs Nash, my supper would have gone off quite well. I was quite thankful to Doubleday for the comfort he gave me, and cheerfully accepted an invitation to go up to his lodgings "to meet just the usual lot" next evening.

Which I did, and found the "usual lot" in their usual good spirits. No one seemed to bear a grudge against me for that cold eel-pie, and one or two a.s.sured me that they had enjoyed themselves immensely.

Nothing could speak more for my greenness and vanity than the fact that I believed what they said, and felt more convinced than ever that my party, however it had _seemed_ to go off, had really been a success.

On my return to Beadle Square that evening I found a letter waiting for me, and to my joy and surprise it was in Jack Smith's own handwriting.

It said:

"Dear Fred,--You'll be glad to hear I'm off the sick list at last, and have been turned out a perfect cure. Mrs s.h.i.+eld, my sister's nurse and friend, insists on my taking it easy another week, and then I shall come up to town, and mean to work like a n.i.g.g.e.r to make up for lost time.

I'll tell you all the news when I come. I'm afraid you've been having a slow time.--Yours ever, Jack.

"P.S.--I've written to M., B., and Company, to tell them I'll be up on Monday next."

It seemed almost too good to be true that I should so soon see my friend again. Ah! how different it would all be when he came back! For the next week I could think of nothing else. What a lot I should have to tell him! How he would laugh over my adventures and misfortunes, and how he would scold me for my extravagances and follies! Well, these would be over at last, that was a comfort.

So, during the week, in view of giving up my extravagances, I bought a new suit of ready-made clothes that only half fitted me, and went on the Sat.u.r.day afternoon with Whipcord and the Twins to see a steeplechase, where I was tempted to put two half-crowns, which I borrowed from the Twins, into a sweepstake, and lost them both. This was a good finish up to my little "fling" and no mistake; so much so that I began to think it was a pity Jack had not come last Monday instead of next.

"He would have kept me out of all this mischief," said I to myself. Ah!

I had yet to learn that if one wants to keep out of mischief one must not depend altogether upon one's friends, or even oneself, for the blessing. Strength must be sought from a higher Power and a better Friend!

At last the long-looked-for Monday arrived, and I went down to the station in the evening to meet Jack's train.

I could scarcely have said what feeling it was which prompted me to wear, not my new stripe suit, but my old clothes, shabby as they were, or why, instead of wearing my coloured Oxford-s.h.i.+rt, I preferred to array myself in one of the old flannel s.h.i.+rts with its time-honoured paper collar.

Somehow I had no ambition to "make an impression" on my friend Smith.

There was his head out of the window and his hand waving long before the train pulled up. The face was the same I had always known, pale and solemn, with its big black eyes and cl.u.s.ters of black hair. His illness had left neither mark nor change on him; still less had it altered his tone and manner, as he sprang from the carriage and seizing me by the arm, said, "Well, old fellow, here we are again, at last!"

What a happy evening that was! We walked to Beadle Square, carrying Jack's bag between us, and talking all the way. The dull old place appeared quite bright now he was back; and the meal we had together in the parlour that evening before the other fellows came home seemed positively sumptuous, although it consisted only of weak tea and bread- and-b.u.t.ter.

Then we turned out for a long walk, anywhere, and having no bag to catch hold of this time, we caught hold of one another's arms, which was quite as comfortable.

"Well, old man," began Jack, "what have you been up to all the time?