Chapter 2

Mr. Nathan Smith, usually one of the most matter-of-fact men in the
world, came out of Mr. Swann's house in a semi-dazed condition, and for
some time after the front door had closed behind him stood gaping on the
narrow pavement.

He looked up and down the quiet little street and shook his head sadly.
It was a street of staid and substantial old houses; houses which had
mellowed and blackened with age, but whose quaint windows and
chance-opened doors afforded glimpses of comfort attesting to the
prosperity of those within. In the usual way Mr. Nathan Smith was of too
philosophical a temperament to experience the pangs of envy, but to-day
these things affected him, and he experienced a strange feeling of
discontent with his lot in life.

"Some people 'ave all the luck," he muttered, and walked slowly down the
road.

He continued his reflections as he walked through the somewhat squalid
streets of his own quarter. The afternoon was wet and the houses looked
dingier than usual; dirty, inconvenient little places most of them, with
a few cheap gimcracks making a brave show as near the window as possible.
Mr. Smith observed them with newly opened eyes, and, for perhaps the
first time in his life, thought of the draw-backs and struggles of the
poor.

In his own untidy little den at the back of the house he sat for some
time deep in thought over the events of the afternoon. He had been
permitted a peep at wealth; at wealth, too, which was changing hands, but
was not coming his way. He lit his pipe and, producing a bottle of rum
from a cupboard, helped himself liberally. The potent fluid softened him
somewhat, and a half-formed intention to keep the news from Mr. Kybird
melted away beneath its benign influence.

"After all, we've been pals for pretty near thirty years," said Mr. Smith
to himself.

He took another draught. "Thirty years is a long time," he mused.

He finished the glass. "And if 'e don't give me something out of it I'll
do 'im as much 'arm as I can," he continued; and, buttoning up his coat,
he rose and set out in the direction of the High Street.

The rain had ceased and the sun was making faint efforts to break through
watery clouds. Things seemed brighter, and Mr. Smith's heart beat in
response. He was going to play the part of a benefactor to Mr. Kybird;
to offer him access, at any rate, to such wealth as he had never dreamed
of. He paused at the shop window, and, observing through a gap in the
merchandise that Mr. Kybird was be-hind the counter, walked in and
saluted him.

"I've got news for you," he said, slowly; "big news."

"Oh," said Mr. Kybird, with indifference.

"Big news," repeated Mr. Smith, sinking thoughtlessly into the broken
cane-chair and slowly extricating himself. "Something that'll make your
eyes start out of your 'ed."

The small black eyes in question were turned shrewdly in his direction.
"I've 'ad news of you afore, Nat," remarked Mr. Kybird, with simple
severity.

The philanthropist was chilled; he fixed his eyes in a stony stare on the
opposite wall. Mr. Kybird, who had ever a wholesome dread of falling a
victim to his friend's cuteness, regarded him with some uncertainty, and
reminded him of one or two pieces of information which had seriously
depleted his till.

"Banns up yet for the wedding?" inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in front
of him with fathomless eyes.

"They'll be put up next week," said Mr. Kybird.

"Ah!" said his friend, with great emphasis. "Well, well!"

"Wot d'ye mean by 'well, well'?" demanded the other, with some heat.

"I was on'y thinking," replied Mr. Smith, mildly. "P'r'aps it's all for
the best, and I'd better 'old my tongue. True love is better than money.
After all it ain't my bisness, and I shouldn't get much out of it."

"Out of wot, Nat?" inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily.

Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the
question. "Nice after the rain, ain't it?" he said, slowly.

"It's all right," said the other, shortly.

"Everything smells so fresh and sweet," continued his nature-loving
friend; "all the little dickey-birds was a-singing as if their little
'arts would break as I come along."

"I don't wonder at it," said the offended Mr. Kybird.

"And the banns go up next week," murmured the boarding-master to himself.
"Well, well."

"'Ave you got anything to say agin it?" demanded Mr. Kybird.

"Cert'nly not," replied the other. "On'y don't blame me when it's too
late; that's all."

Mr. Kybird, staring at him wrathfully, turned this dark saying over in
his mind. "Too late for wot?" he inquired.

"Ah!" said Nathan Smith, slowly. "Nice and fresh after the rain, ain't
it? As I come along all the little dickey-birds--"

"Drat the little dickey-birds," interrupted Mr. Kybird, with sudden
violence. "If you've got anything to say, why don't you say it like a
man?"

The parlour door opened suddenly before the other could reply, and
revealed the face of Mrs. Kybird. "Wot are you two a-quarrelling about?"
she demanded. "Why don't you come inside and sit down for a bit?"

Mr. Smith accepted the invitation, and following her into the room found
Miss Kybird busy stitching in the midst of a bewildering assortment of
brown paper patterns and pieces of cloth. Mrs. Kybird gave him a chair,
and, having overheard a portion of his conversation with her husband,
made one or two casual inquiries.

"I've been spending a hour or two at Mr. Swann's," said Mr. Smith.

"And 'ow is 'e?" inquired his hostess, with an appearance of amiable
interest.

The boarding-master shook his head. "'E's slipping 'is cable," he said,
slowly. "'E's been making 'is will, and I was one o' the witnesses."

Something in Mr. Smith's manner as he uttered this simple statement made
his listeners anxious to hear more. Mr. Kybird, who had just entered the
room and was standing with his back to the door holding the handle,
regarded him expectantly.

"It's been worrying 'im some time," pursued Mr. Smith. "'E 'asn't got
nobody belonging to 'im, and for a long time 'e couldn't think 'ow to
leave it. Wot with 'ouse property and other things it's a matter of over
ten thousand pounds."

"Good 'eavens!" said Mr. Kybird, who felt that he was expected to say
something.

"Dr. Blaikie was the other witness," continued Mr. Smith, disregarding
the interruption; "and Mr. Swann made us both promise to keep it a dead
secret till 'e's gone, but out o' friendship to you I thought I'd step
round and let you know."

The emphasis on the words was unmistakable; Mrs. Kybird dropped her work
and sat staring at him, while her husband wriggled with excitement.

"'E ain't left it to me, I s'pose?" he said, with a feeble attempt at
jocularity.

"Not a brass farden," replied his friend, cheerfully. "Not to none of
you. Why should 'e?

"He ain't left it to Jack, I s'pose?" said Miss Kybird, who had suspended
her work to listen.

"No, my dear," replied the boarding-master. "E's made 'is will all
ship-shape and proper, and 'e's left everything--all that 'ouse property
and other things, amounting to over ten thousand pounds--to a young man
becos 'e was jilt--crossed in love a few months ago, and becos 'e's been
a good and faithful servant to 'im for years."

"Don't tell me," said Mr. Kybird, desperately; "don't tell me that 'e's
been and left all that money to young Teddy Silk."

"Well, I won't if you don't want me to," said the accommodating Mr.
Smith, "but, mind, it's a dead secret."

Mr. Kybird wiped his brow, and red patches, due to excitement, lent a
little variety to an otherwise commonplace face; Mrs. Kybird's dazed
inquiry. "Wot are we a-coming to?" fell on deaf ears; while Miss Kybird,
leaning forward with lips parted, fixed her eyes intently on Mr. Smith's
face.

"It's a pity 'e didn't leave it to young Nugent," said that gentleman,
noting with much pleasure the effect of his announcement, "but 'e can't
stand 'in: at no price; 'e told me so 'imself. I s'pose young Teddy'll
be quite the gentleman now, and 'e'll be able to marry who 'e likes."

Mr. Kybird thrust his handkerchief into his tail-pocket, and all the
father awoke within him. "Ho, will 'e?" he said, with fierce sarcasm.
"Ho, indeed! And wot about my daughter? I 'ave 'eard of such things as
breach o' promise. Before Mr. Teddy gets married 'e's got to 'ave a few
words with me."

"'E's behaved very bad," said Mrs. Kybird, nodding.

"'E come 'ere night after night," said Mr. Kybird, working himself up
into a fury; "'e walked out with my gal for months and months, and then
'e takes 'imself off as if we wasn't good enough for'im."

"The suppers 'e's 'ad 'ere you wouldn't believe," said Mrs. Kybird,
addressing the visitor.

"Takes 'imself off," repeated her husband; "takes 'imself off as if we
was dirt beneath 'is feet, and never been back to give a explanation from
that day to this."

"I'm not easy surprised," said Mrs. Kybird, "I never was from a gal, but
I must say Teddy's been a surprise to me. If anybody 'ad told me 'e'd
ha' behaved like that I wouldn't ha' believed it; I couldn't. I've never
said much about it, becos my pride wouldn't let me. We all 'ave our
faults, and mine is pride."

"I shall bring a breach o' promise action agin 'im for five thousand
pounds," said Mr. Kybird, with decision.

"Talk sense," said Nathan Smith, shortly.

"Sense!" cried Mr. Kybird. "Is my gal to be played fast and loose with
like that? Is my gal to be pitched over when 'e likes? Is my gal--"

"Wot's the good o' talking like that to me?" said the indignant Mr.
Smith. "The best thing you can do is to get 'er married to Teddy at
once, afore 'e knows of 'is luck."

"And when'll that be?" inquired his friend, in a calmer voice.

"Any time," said the boarding-master, shrugging his shoulders. "The old
gentleman might go out to-night, or again 'e might live on for a week or
more. 'E was so weak 'e couldn't 'ardly sign 'is name."

"I 'ope 'e 'as signed it all right," said Mr. Kybird, starting.

"Safe as 'ouses," said his friend.

"Well, why not wait till Teddy 'as got the money?" suggested Mrs. Kybird,
with a knowing shake of her head.

"Becos," said Mr. Smith, in a grating voice, "be-cos for one thing 'e'd
be a rich man then and could 'ave 'is pick. Teddy Silk on a pound or
thereabouts a week and Teddy Silk with ten thousand pounds 'ud be two
different people. Besides that 'e'd think she was marrying 'im for 'is
money."

"If 'e thought that," said Mrs. Kybird, firmly, "I'd never forgive 'im."

"My advice to you," said Nathan Smith, shaking his forefinger
impressively, "is to get 'em married on the quiet and as soon as
possible. Once they're tied up Teddy can't 'elp 'imself."

"Why on the quiet?" demanded Mr. Kybird, sharply.

The boarding-master uttered an impatient exclamation. "Becos if Mr.
Swann got to 'ear of it he'd guess I'd been blabbing, for one thing," he
said, sharply, "and for another, 'e left it to 'im partly to make up for
'is disappointment--he'd been disappointed 'imself in 'is younger days,
so 'e told me."

"Suppose 'e managed to get enough strength to alter 'is will?"

Mr. Kybird shivered. "It takes time to get married, though," he
objected.

"Yes," said Mr. Smith, ironically, "it does. Get round young Teddy, and
then put the banns up. Take your time about it, and be sure and let Mr.
Swann know. D'ye think 'e wouldn't understand wot it meant, and spoil
it, to say nothing of Teddy seeing through it?

"Well, wot's to be done, then?" inquired the staring Mr. Kybird.

"Send 'em up to London and 'ave 'em married by special license," said Mr.
Smith, speaking rapidly--"to-morrow, if possible; if not, the day after.
Go and pitch a tale to Teddy to-night, and make 'im understand it's to be
done on the strict q.t."

"Special licenses cost money," said Mr. Kybird. "I 'ave 'eard it's a
matter o' thirty pounds or thereabouts."

Mr. Nathan Smith rose, and his eyes were almost expressive. He nodded
good-night to the ladies and crossed to the door. Mrs. Kybird suddenly
seized him by the coat and held him.

"Don't be in a 'urry, Nat," she pleaded. "We ain't all as clever as you
are."

"Talk about looking a gift-'orse in the mouth--" began the indignant Mr.
Smith.

"Sit down," urged Mr. Kybird. "You can't expect us to be as quick in
seeing things as wot you are."

He pushed his partly mollified friend into his chair again, and taking a
seat next him began to view the affair with enthusiasm. "'Melia shall
turn young Nugent off to-night," he said, firmly.

"That's right," said the other; "go and do a few more silly things like
that and we shall be 'appy. If you'd got a 'ead instead of wot you 'ave
got, you wouldn't talk of giving the show away like that. Nobody must
know or guess about anything until young Teddy is married to 'Melia and
got the money."

"It seems something like deceitfulness," said Miss Kybird, who had been
listening to the plans for her future with admirable composure.

"It's for Teddy's own sake," said Nathan Smith. "Everybody knows 'e's
half crazy after you."

"I don't know that I don't like 'im best, even without the money," said
Miss Kybird, calmly. "Nobody could 'ave been more attentive than 'im.
I believe that 'e'd marry me if 'e 'ad a hundred thousand, but it looks
better your way."

"Better all round," said Nathan Smith, with at approving nod. "Now,
Dan'l, 'op round to Teddy and whistle 'im back, and mind 'e's to keep it
a dead secret on account o' trouble with young Nugent. D'ye twig?"

The admiring Mr. Kybird said that he was a wonder, and, in the discussion
on ways and means which followed, sat listening with growing respect to
the managing abilities both of his friend and his wife. Difficulties
were only mentioned for the purpose of being satisfactorily solved, and
he noticed with keen appreciation that the prospect of a ten thousand
pound son-in-law was already adding to that lady's dignity. She sniffed
haughtily as she spoke of "that Nugent lot"; and the manner in which she
promised Mr. Smith that he should not lose by his services would have
graced a duchess.

"I didn't expect to lose by it," said the boarding-master, pointedly.
"Come over and 'ave a glass at the Chequers, Dan, and then you can go
along and see Teddy."