Chapter 52
When I rose next morning I was nearly ill with misery and remorse. The thought of Jack had haunted me all night long. I entertained all sorts of forebodings as to what had become of him and what was to be the result of my treachery to him. I pictured him gone forth alone and friendless into the world, hoping to lose himself in London, giving up all hope of a successful career, with his name gone and his prospects blighted, and all my fault. Poor Jack! I might never see him again, never even hear of him again!
As to hearing of him, however, I soon found that in one sense I was likely to hear a good deal of him, now he was gone from Beadle Square.
Horncastle and his particular friends appeared that morning at breakfast in a state of the greatest jubilation.
"Well, that's what I call a jolly good riddance of bad rubbish,"
Horncastle was saying as I entered the room. "I thought we'd make the place too hot for him at last!"
"Yes, it was a job, though, to get rid of him."
"Bless you," said Horncastle, with the air of a hero, "a man doesn't like hurting a fellow's feelings, you know, or we could have told him straight off he was a beast. It was much better to let him see we didn't fancy him, and let him clear out of his own accord."
"Yes, much better," answered a toady friend; "you managed it very well, Horn, so you did."
"You see, when a fellow's a sneak and a cad he's sure to be uncomfortable among a lot of gentlemen," said Horncastle, by way of enlarging on the interesting topic.
If I had not been so miserable I should have felt amused at this edifying conversation. As it was I was rather tempted to break into it more than once, but I remembered with a pang that, though I had a friend to stand up for yesterday, I had none to-day.
"I suppose now he's gone," sneered some one of the same set, "his precious chum will be going too."
"I don't know," said Horncastle, pretending not to be aware that I was in the room. "Batchelor's got some good points about him, and now the other's gone he might improve if he stayed with us."
"Besides, he's got his lodgings paid for him, so I've heard," said another.
"Yes, there's something in that. And on the whole he's a pretty decent--hullo, Batchelor, I never knew you were here. So you've lost your chum, eh?"
"You seem to know all about it," I growled, by no means won over by the vague compliments bestowed on me.
"Oh, yes, I know all about it," cried Horncastle, mounting his high horse, and offended at my tones. "We were too respectable for him here.
But we ain't going into mourning for him. And if you go too we shan't blub. Shall we, you fellows?"
"Not exactly," replied the chorus, with much laughter.
I ate a miserable breakfast,
Would Jack Smith turn up at Hawk Street? That was a question which exercised not only me but the other fellows who had witnessed yesterday's catastrophe.
I hardly knew what to hope for. If he did come, I didn't know what I should do, or how I should meet him. If he did not come, then I should know I had driven him not only from me but from his very prospects in life.
The general impression at Hawk Street was that he would not come.
Doubleday and Harris had a bet of a s.h.i.+lling on the event.
"If he does turn up," said Crow, "it'll show he means to brazen it out before us all."
"Then you may be sure he'll come," said Wallop, "It was all very well when we weren't supposed to know," said Harris, "but now it's all out he doesn't expect us to treat him like an ordinary gentleman."
"It's certainly not anything to be proud of," remarked Hawkesbury, pleasantly; "but--"
At that moment the door opened and Smith entered--solemn as ever, and to all appearances perfectly composed and unconscious of the curiosity his appearance occasioned.
But I who watched him narrowly could detect a quick, doubtful glance round as he entered and took his usual place.
He never looked at me. On the contrary, he appeared to guess where I was, and purposely avoided turning in that direction.
The fellows were evidently perplexed, and not quite pleased.
"You've won your bet," said Harris across the screen to Doubleday.
"Never mind, you've got your man," replied Doubleday.
"He seems awfully pleased with himself," said Crow.
"I wish my governor was a yellow-jacket, so I do," growled Wallop, "then I could hold up my head like a gentleman. But he's only a merchant!"
All this was said in a loud voice, evidently for the benefit of Smith.
He, however, heeded it not, but quietly took his pen and blotting-paper from his desk, and turning to Harris said, "I want that ledger to go on with, if you'll unlock the safe, please."
Harris stared in astonishment. It had pa.s.sed his comprehension how the fellow could have the face to show up at the office at all, but for him to have the audacity to address a fellow-clerk, and that fellow-clerk Harris, of all people, seemed fairly to stun that worthy.
It took him fully half a minute to recover his speech. Then he stammered out in white heat, "Eh? Do you know who you're speaking to-- you cad?"
"I'm speaking to you," said Smith, calmly.
"Then what do you mean by it, you son of a thief?" demanded Harris.
"When I want you to speak to me I'll ask you--there."
Smith looked up with a slight flush on his face.
"You seem to want to quarrel," he said. "I don't intend to quarrel.
I'll wait till you choose to unlock the safe."
This mild reply seemed to exasperate Harris far more than an angry retort would have done. He was naturally short-tempered, and when conscious that he was being worsted in an argument before his fellow- clerks he was always particularly savage.
He walked up to Smith and demanded furiously, "Didn't I tell you I'm not going to be spoken to by a low gaol-bird like you? If you don't hold your tongue I'll give you such a thras.h.i.+ng as will make you remember it."
"Come now, you fellows," said Doubleday, "if you must have a row, keep it to yourselves. The governor will be here in a second. Plenty of time for a s.h.i.+ndy in the evening."
Even this interposition failed to put the irate Harris off his purpose.
Seizing a ruler, he struck Smith a blow on the shoulder with it that resounded all through the office.
"There, you cowardly dog, take that for daring to speak to a gentleman!"
Smith sprang to his feet, his face flushed with sudden pain and anger.
At the same moment I, who had been a silent and miserable spectator of the scene hitherto, could bear it no longer, and rushed forward to help my old friend. He had clenched his fist and seemed about to return the blow, when, catching sight of me, his face changed suddenly to one of misery and scorn, as letting fall his arm he dropped again on to his seat heedless of the second blow of his cowardly a.s.sailant.
Was ever misfortune like mine? Not only had I done my friend the worst injury one fellow could do to another, but at the very moment when, at least, he was about to show his comrades that all spirit had not been crushed out of him, I had by my hateful presence baulked him of his purpose, and made him appear before every one a coward!
And what a scorn his must be when he would rather submit tamely to a cowardly blow than have me suppose that for a moment anything _I_ could do would be of service to him!