Page:All the Year Round - Series 1 - Volume 11.djvu/99

I i I Chulesblekenul ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [nn-en a,1sc4.] 5 rate in the first instance) by servitude, nndl undertook, before I sought a scrricc for Arthur, to induce Mr. Moreen, the npholsterer-with whom John Bentrnore had lived twice as fore man-to employ him; but John’s hopes on this head were s ig t. “He won’t do it, sir," he said, with a sigh of seltire roach ; “ and I don’t deserve that Ire should. l]'Ie’s n just man-Mr. Moreen. And I-I owe him money. I owe hinr a large sum of mone , and he’s not one to ovar- look that. If indeed he would let the boy work for hiru any number of ears without wages, and so pay him all what Is owe, that would be a blessed thing! but he \von’t do it! he won’t do it, sir. I have enraged him; and Mrs. Moreen -she can’t overlook his having lent me the money; not but what it would be the best thing the could do to get aid; for Arthur would do his duty by them, pm sure of that. Hc’s very different from me, you see, sir-a deal better. He’s got twenty times my head for Egures, and book-keepirg,nn that. He’ll mnke a first-rate man of business, will Arthur. They say at his school, that he’s an uncommon turn for mathematics. It is a pity, ain’t it, to make a menial of such a lad as t nt ?” And the father looked proudly and fondly at his boy, who was seated in the hospital window intent upon a. book; und a single tear rolled down n n his pillow. The iidur came at last. He fixed on his boy n glance of loving recognition, and the lender lig t faded away; in its place there came a film, and all was over. IL Arthur Bentmore had not completed his thir- teenth year when his father died. He was tall for his age, with small and well-cut features. The mouth was full and handsome ; but the com» pressed lips, and square chin, indicated drm» ness, whilst the si ffnlzn-ly prominent e es had in them a thonghtfiiil abstraction unusual in one so young. I had learnt from Mr. Gillies, his schoolrnaster mom I had met more than once by his fnther’s side), that he was stndions and persevenng, though not particularly clever; and lrom the father himself, that he was dutiful and obedient in no ordinary degree. But m own observations had served rather to puzzle tiian to enlighten me, althonfrh at one conclusion I had arrived, namely, that he was reserved even to se- cretiveness. His nature seemed to be one of those which, to open at all, must be wrenched open. _ His father's a.|l`airs were set in order with as little delay ns possible. When all was sold, scarcely enough remained to pay the funeral and otha- nccasary expenses ; nothin whatever towards defrsying Mr. l\Ioreen’s debt. I had clothed the boy in decent mouming, and aid his small arrears of schooling myself, taking him for the moment into m own lodging ; and now I felt rt was time to think of puttin" him in some way of earning an independent liveli- hood; but rt was not without the utmost dilii. culty and considerable exercise of patience, that I Wm? from hrm the confession that he would rather e an upholsterer than a servant. I took him to Mr. Moreen, whom I had long been in the habit of attending professionally, and who I believed had a real regard for me. I would make an attempt in that quarter. After all, it could but fail. _Mn Noreen was a huge, sturdy, ruddy-faced giant, working hard, livin" generously, doing usiuess, as business should be done, in a hnsr- ness-like way. He piqued himself on the quality of his materials, and the excellence of his work. manship, and was wont to look with an eye of something like contempt on any work but his own. Though as straightforward, shrewd, and experienced a tradesman as London ever ro- dnced, he was completely under the thumb of his wife. He mme down to us now, from the comfortable meat tea he had been enjo ing with Mrs. l\[. (ns he respectfully called hcrl and the children, wiping the crumbs from his mouth as he entered. He smiled on seeing nie; but cast a sharp glance of something like disfavonr on my companion; who, pale nnd slender, looked above his station in his new moimiinv suit, re- liered by an inch or two of his fatiier’s gold chain, that pxeeped from his waistcoat. I said it had been is lute forcman's last wish that his son should be brou ht up to the trade he had followed himself, add that he bad not been with- out ho e that Mr. Moreen would permit the bo to he in his sho , at least for a while. dire upholsterer heard me attentively to the end. He was not one to speak hastily, nor yiat one to mince matters when he did speak. e knew his own mind, in general-when Mrs. M. was not by. "Sir, 1 \vouldn’t have a son of John Bent- more’s in my shop, not if on was to pn me ull he owed, and fifty pounfg more to the hack of that. I’ve had enough of the father; I don’t want no more of the lot. That bofll be `ust like ’ern all-turn out as had as the rest. lohn Bentmore used me ill, sir. Itrusted him, and he deceived me. He deceived mc.” “ Not wilfully!" I interrupted. “ When he borrowed that money, he intended to repay it.” “I trusted him, and he deceived me,” Mr. Moreen resumed, not condescending to notice rn interruption. “ He promised in black and white, that he would pay back that rnoney before the year \vere out, and he never plaid me a shilling of it-no, nor meant to it. here’s no honesty in the blood, that’s where it is! there's no honesty in the blood! Eghty-seven pounds nine shillings and threepence that man owed me, and I shall never see a fartlnng of it. No, sir, I thank you ; but I’ll have nothing to do with his boy.” _ “Father would hare tricd to pay you, if he had lived, sir l" Arthnr’s \-onng voice was heard to say; “I know he wotild have done his best to ray yon.” I glanced nt the boy. He was pale, and the pirspimtion stood in beads upon ixsforehead. ' eyes, full ol' an eager and glowing hght. were fixed intently on the upholsterer. My heart bled for him. It was cruel to speak thus of his dead father in his presence. i , l