The Channings
“I really do not know, Judith,” replied Constance. “You must let me think about it.”
She fell into an unpleasant reverie. The most feasible solution she could come to, was the one adopted by Judith—that Hamish passed his nights at the books. If so, how sadly he must idle away his time in the day! Did he give his hours up to nonsense and pleasure? And how could he contrive to hide his shortcomings from Mr. Channing? Constance was not sure whether the books went regularly under the actual inspection of Mr. Channing, or whether Hamish went over them aloud. If only the latter, could the faults be concealed? She knew nothing of book-keeping, and was unable to say. Leaving her to puzzle over the matter, we will return to Hamish himself.
We left him in the last chapter, you may remember, objecting to go down a certain side-street which would have cut off a short distance of their road; his excuse to Arthur being, that a troublesome creditor of his lived in it. The plea was a true one. Not to make a mystery of it, it may as well be acknowledged that Hamish had contracted some debts, and that he found it difficult to pay them. They were not many, and a moderate sum would have settled them; but that moderate sum Hamish did not possess. Let us give him his due. But that he had fully counted upon a time of wealth being close at hand, it is probable that he never would have contracted them. When Hamish erred, it was invariably from thoughtlessness—from carelessness—never from deliberate intention.
Arthur, of course, turned from the objectionable street, and continued his straightforward course. They were frequently hindered; the streets were always crowded at assize time, and acquaintances continually stopped them. Amongst others, they met Roland Yorke.
“Are you coming round to Cator’s, to-night?” he asked of Hamish.
“Not I,” returned Hamish, with his usual gay laugh. “I am going to draw in my expenses, and settle down into a miser.”
“Moonshine!” cried Roland.
“Is it moonshine, though? It is just a little bit of serious fact, Yorke. When lord chancellors turn against us and dash our hopes, we can’t go on as though the exchequer had no bottom to it.”
“It will cost you nothing to come to Cator’s. He is expecting one or two fellows, and has laid in a prime lot of Manillas.”
“Evening visiting costs a great deal, one way or another,” returned Hamish, “and I intend to drop most of mine for the present. You needn’t stare so, Yorke.”
“I am staring at you. Drop evening visiting! Any one, dropping that, may expect to be in a lunatic asylum in six months.”
“What a prospect for me!” laughed Hamish.
“Will you come to Cator’s?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then you are a muff!” retorted Roland, as he went on.
It was dusk when they reached the cathedral.
“I wonder whether the cloisters are still open!” Arthur exclaimed.
“It will not take a minute to ascertain,” said Hamish. “If not, we must go round.”
They found the cloisters still unclosed, and passed in. Gloomy and sombre were they at that evening hour. So sombre that, in proceeding along the west quadrangle, the two young men positively started, when some dark figure glided from within a niche, and stood in their way.
“Whose ghost are you?” cried Hamish.
A short covert whistle of surprise answered him. “You here!” cried the figure, in a tone of excessive disappointment. “What brings you in the cloisters so late?”
Hamish dextrously wound him towards what little light was cast from the graveyard, and discerned the features of Hurst. Half a dozen more figures brought themselves out of the niches—Stephen Bywater, young Galloway, Tod Yorke, Harrison, Hall, and Berkeley.
“Let me alone, Mr. Hamish Channing. Hush! Don’t make a row.”
“What mischief is going on, Hurst?” asked Hamish.
“Well, whatever it may have been, it strikes me you have stopped it,” was Hurst’s reply. “I say, wasn’t there the Boundaries for you to go through, without coming bothering into the cloisters?”
“I am sorry to have spoiled sport,” laughed Hamish. “I should not have liked it done to me when I was a college boy. Let us know what the treason was.”
“You won’t tell!”
“No; if it is nothing very bad. Honour bright.”
“Stop a bit, Hurst,” hastily interposed Bywater. “There’s no knowing what he may think ‘very bad.’ Give generals, not particulars. Here the fellow comes, I do believe!”
“It was only a trick we were going to play old Ketch,” whispered Hurst. “Come out quickly; better that he should not hear us, or it may spoil sport for another time. Gently, boys!”
Hurst and the rest stole round the cloisters, and out at the south door. Hamish and Arthur followed, more leisurely, and less silently. Ketch came up.
“Who’s this here, a-haunting the cloisters at this time o’ night? Who be you, I ask?”
“The cloisters are free until they are closed, Ketch,” cried Hamish.
“Nobody haven’t no right to pass through ‘em at this hour, except the clergy theirselves,” grumbled the porter. “We shall have them boys a-playing in ‘em at dark, next.”
“You should close them earlier, if you want to keep them empty,” returned Hamish. “Why don’t you close them at three in the afternoon?”
The porter growled. He knew that he did not dare to close them before dusk, almost dark, and he knew that Hamish knew it too; and therefore he looked upon the remark as a quiet bit of sarcasm. “I wish the dean ‘ud give me leave to shut them boys out of ‘em,” he exclaimed. “It ‘ud be a jovial day for me!”
Hamish and Arthur passed out, wishing him good night. He did not reply to it, but banged the gate on their heels, locked it, and turned to retrace his steps through the cloisters. The college boys, who had hidden themselves from his view, came forward again.
“He has got off scot-free to-night, but perhaps he won’t do so to-morrow,” cried Bywater.
“Were you going to set upon him?” asked Arthur.
“We were not going to put a finger upon him; I give you my word, we were not,” said Hurst.
“What, then, were you going to do?”
But the boys would not be caught. “It might stop fun, you know, Mr. Hamish. You might get telling your brother Tom; and Tom might let it out to Gaunt; and Gaunt might turn crusty and forbid it. We were going to serve the fellow out; but not to touch him or to hurt him; and that’s enough.”
“As you please,” said Hamish. “He is a surly old fellow.”
“He is an old brute! he’s a dog in a kennel! he deserves hanging!” burst from the throng of boys.
“What do you think he went and did this afternoon?” added Hurst to the two Channings. “He sneaked up to the dean with a wretched complaint of us boys, which hadn’t a word of truth in it; not a syllable, I assure you. He did it only because Gaunt had put him in a temper at one o’clock. The dean did not listen to him, that’s one good thing. How jolly he’d have been, just at this moment, if you two had not come up! Wouldn’t he, boys?”
The boys burst into a laugh; roar upon roar, peal upon peal; shrieking and holding their sides, till the very Boundaries echoed again. Laughing is infectious, and Hamish and Arthur shrieked out with them, not knowing in the least what they were laughing at.
But Arthur was heavy at heart in the midst of it. “Do you owe much money, Hamish?” he inquired, after they had left the boys, and were walking soberly along, under the quiet elm-trees.
“More than I can pay, old fellow, just at present,” was the answer.
“But is it much, Hamish?”
“No, it is not much, taking it in the abstract. Quite a trifling sum.”
Arthur caught at the word “trifling;” it seemed to dissipate his fears. Had he been alarming himself for nothing! “Is it ten pounds, Hamish?”
“Ten pounds!” repeated Hamish, in a tone of mockery. “That would be little indeed.”
“Is it fifty?”
“I dare say it may be. A pound here and a pound there, and a few pounds elsewhere—yes, taking it altogether, I expect it would be fifty.”
“And how much more?” thought Arthur to himself. “You said it was a trifling sum, Hamish!”
“Well, fifty pounds is not a large sum. Though, of course, we estimate sums, like other things, by comparison. You can understand now, why I was not sanguine with regard to Constance’s hopeful project of helping my father to get to the German baths. I, the eldest, who ought to be the first to assist in it, am the least likely to do so. I don’t know how I managed to get into debt,” mused Hamish. “It came upon me imperceptibly; it did, indeed. I depended so entirely upon that money falling to us, that I grew careless, and would often order things which I was not in need of. Arthur, since that news came, I have felt overwhelmed with worry and botheration.”
“I wish you were free!”
“If wishes were horses, we should all be on horseback. How debts grow upon you!” Hamish continued, changing his light tone for a graver one. “Until within the last day or two, when I have thought it necessary to take stock of outstanding claims, I had no idea I owed half so much.”
“What shall you do about it?”
“That is more easily asked than answered. My own funds are forestalled for some time to come. And, the worst is, that, now this suit is known to have terminated against us, people are not so willing to wait as they were before. I have had no end of them after me to-day.”
“How shall you contrive to satisfy them?”
“Satisfy them in some way, I must.”
“But how, I ask, Hamish?”
“Rob some bank or other,” replied Hamish, in his off-hand, joking way.
“Shall you speak to my father?”
“Where’s the use?” returned Hamish. “He cannot help me just now; he is straitened enough himself.”
“He might help you with advice. His experience is larger than yours, his judgment better. ‘In the multitude of counsellors there is safety,’ you know, Hamish.”
“I have made up my mind to say nothing to my father. If he could assist me, I would disclose all to him: as it is, it would only be inflicting upon him unnecessary pain. Understand, Arthur, what I have said to you is in confidence: you must not speak of it to him.”
“Of course not. I should not think of interfering between you and him. I wish I could help you!”
“I wish you could, old fellow. But you need not look so serious.”
“How you can be so gay and careless over it, I cannot imagine,” said Arthur.
Hamish laughed. “If there’s only a little patch of sunshine as large as a man’s hand, I am sure to see it and trust to it.”
“Is there any sunshine in this?”
“A little bit: and I hope it will help me out of it. I am sure I was born with a large share of hope in my composition.”
“Show me the bit of sunshine, Hamish.”
“I can’t do that,” was the answer. “I fear it is not so much actual sunshine that’s to be seen yet—only its reflection. You could not see it at all, Arthur; but I, as I tell you, am extravagantly hopeful.”
The same ever-gay tone, the same pleasant smile, accompanied the words. And yet, at that moment, instead of walking straightforward into the open space beyond the elm-trees, as Arthur did, Hamish withdrew his arm from his brother’s, and halted under their shade, peering cautiously around. They were then within view of their own door.
“What are you looking at?”
“To make sure that the coast is clear. I heard to-day—Arthur, I know that I shall shock you—that a fellow had taken out a writ against me. I don’t want to get it served, if I can help it.”
Arthur was indeed shocked. “Oh, Hamish!” was all he uttered. But the tone betrayed a strange amount of pain mingled with reproach.
“You must not think ill of me. I declare that I have been led into this scrape blindfolded, as may be said. I never dreamt I was getting into it. I am not reckless by nature; and, but for the expectation of that money, I should be as free now as you are.”
Thought upon thought was crowding into Arthur’s mind. He did not speak.
“I cannot charge myself with any foolish or unnecessary expenditure,” Hamish resumed. “And,” he added in a deeper tone, “my worst enemy will not accuse me of rashly incurring debts to gratify my own pleasures. I do not get into mischief. Were I addicted to drinking, or to gambling, my debts might have been ten times what they are.”
“They are enough, it seems,” said Arthur. But he spoke the words in sadness, not in a spirit of reproof.
“Arthur, they may prove of the greatest service, in teaching me caution for the future. Perhaps I wanted the lesson. Let me once get out of this hash, and I will take pretty good care not to fall into another.”
“If you only can get out of it.”
“Oh, I shall do it, somehow; never fear. Let us go on, there seems to be no one about.”
CHAPTER X. – A FALSE ALARM
They reached home unmolested. Arthur went straight to Mr. Channing, who was lying, as usual, on his sofa, and bent over him with a smile, sweet and hopeful as that of Hamish.
“Father, may I gain fifty pounds a year, if I can do it, without detriment to my place at Mr. Galloway’s?”
“What do you say, my boy?”
“Would you have any objection to my taking the organ at college on week days? Mr. Williams has offered it to me.”
Mr. Channing turned his head and looked at him. He did not understand. “You could not take it, Arthur; you could not be absent from the office; and young Jupp takes the organ. What is it that you are talking of?”
Arthur explained in his quiet manner, a glad light shining in his eyes. Jupp had left the college for good; Mr. Williams had offered the place to him, and Mr. Galloway had authorized him to accept it. He should only have to go to the office for two hours before breakfast in a morning, to make up for the two lost in the day.
“My brave boy!” exclaimed Mr. Channing, making prisoner of his hand. “I said this untoward loss of the suit might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. And so it will; it is bringing forth the sterling love of my children. You are doing this for me, Arthur.”
“Doing it a great deal for myself, papa. You do not know the gratification it will be to me, those two hours’ play daily!”
“I understand, my dear—understand it all!”
“Especially as—” Arthur came to a sudden stop.
“Especially as what?” asked Mr. Channing.
“As I had thought of giving up taking lessons,” Arthur hastily added, not going deeper into explanations. “I play quite well enough, now, to cease learning. Mr. Williams said one day, that, with practice, I might soon equal him.”
“I wonder what those parents do, Arthur, who own ungrateful or rebellious children!” Mr. Channing exclaimed, after a pause of thought. “The world is full of trouble; and it is of many kinds, and takes various phases; but if we can only be happy in our children, all other trouble may pass lightly over us, as a summer cloud. I thank God that my children have never brought home to me an hour’s care. How merciful He has been to me!”
Arthur’s thoughts reverted to Hamish and his trouble. He felt thankful, then, that it was hid from Mr. Channing.
“I have already accepted the place, papa. I knew I might count upon your consent.”
“Upon my warm approbation. My son, do your best at your task. And,” Mr. Channing added, sinking his voice to a whisper, “when the choristers peal out their hymn of praise to God, during these sacred services, let your heart ascend with it in fervent praise and thanksgiving. Too many go through these services in a matter-of-course spirit, their heart far away. Do not you.”
Hamish at this moment came in, carrying the books. “Are you ready, sir? There’s not much to do, this evening.”
“Ready at any time, Hamish.”
Hamish laid the books before him on the table, and sat down. Arthur left the room. Mr. Channing liked to be alone with Hamish when the accounts were being gone over.
Mrs. Channing was in the drawing-room, some of the children with her. Arthur entered. “Mrs. Channing,” cried he, with mock ceremony, “allow me to introduce you to the assistant-organist of the cathedral.”
She smiled, supposing it to be some joke. “Very well, sir. He can come in!”
“He is in, ma’am. It is myself.”
“Is young Mr. Jupp there?” she asked; for he sometimes came home with Arthur.
“Young Mr. Jupp has disappeared from public life, and I am appointed in his place. It is quite true.”
“Arthur!” she remonstrated.
“Mamma, indeed it is true. Mr. Williams has made me the offer, and Mr. Galloway has consented to allow me time to attend the week-day services; and papa is glad of it, and I hope you will be glad also.”
“I have known of it since this morning,” spoke Tom, with an assumption of easy consequence; while Mrs. Channing was recovering her senses, which had been nearly frightened away. “Arthur, I hope Williams intends to pay you?”
“Fifty pounds a year, And the copying besides.”
“Is it true, Arthur?” breathlessly exclaimed Mrs. Channing.
“I have told you that it is, mother mine. Jupp has resigned, and I am assistant-organist.”
Annabel danced round him in an ecstasy of delight. Not at his success—success or failure did not much trouble Annabel—but she thought there might be a prospect of some fun in store for herself. “Arthur, you’ll let me come into the cathedral and blow for you?”
“You little stupid!” cried Tom. “Much good you could do at blowing! A girl blowing the college organ! That’s rich! Better let Williams catch you there! She’d actually go, I believe!”
“It is not your business, Tom; it is Arthur’s,” retorted Annabel, with flushed cheeks. “Mamma, can’t you teach Tom to interfere with himself, and not with me?”
“I would rather teach Annabel to be a young lady, and not a tomboy,” said Mrs. Channing. “You may as well wish to be allowed to ring the college bells, as blow the organ, child.”
“I should like that,” said Annabel. “Oh, what fun, if the rope went up with me!”
Mrs. Channing turned a reproving glance on her, and resumed her conversation with Arthur. “Why did you not tell me before, my boy? It was too good news to keep to yourself. How long has it been in contemplation?”
“Dear mamma, only to-day. It was only this morning that Jupp resigned.”
“Only to-day! It must have been decided very hastily, then, for a measure of that sort.”
“Mr. Williams was so put to it that he took care to lose no time. He spoke to me at one o’clock. I had gone to him to the cathedral, asking for the copying, which I heard was going begging, and he broached the other subject, on the spur of the moment, as it seemed to me. Nothing could be decided until I had seen Mr. Galloway, and I spoke to him after he left here, this afternoon. He will allow me to be absent from the office an hour, morning and afternoon, on condition that I attend for two hours before breakfast.”
“But, Arthur, you will have a great deal upon your hands.”
“Not any too much. It will keep me out of mischief.”
“When shall you find time to do the copying?”
“In an evening, I suppose. I shall find plenty of time.”
As Hamish had observed, there was little to do at the books, that evening, and he soon left the parlour. Constance happened to be in the hall as he crossed it, on his way to his bedroom. Judith, who appeared to have been on the watch, came gliding from the half-opened kitchen door and approached Constance, looking after Hamish as he went up the stairs.
“Do you see, Miss Constance?” she whispered. “He is carrying the books up with him, as usual!”
At this juncture, Hamish turned round to speak to his sister. “Constance, I don’t want any supper to-night, tell my mother. You can call me when it is time for the reading.”
“And he is going to set on at ‘em, now, and he’ll be at ‘em till morning light!” continued Judith’s whisper. “And he’ll drop off into his grave with decline!—‘taint in the nature of a young man to do without sleep—and that’ll be the ending! And he’ll burn himself up first, and all the house with him.”
“I think I will go and speak to him,” debated Constance.
“I should,” advised Judith. “The worst is, if the books must be done, why, they must; and I don’t see that there is any help for it.”
But Constance hesitated, considerably. She did not at all like to interfere; it appeared so very much to resemble the work of a spy. Several minutes she deliberated, and then went slowly up the stairs. Knocking at Hamish’s door, she turned the handle, and would have entered. It was locked.
“Who’s there?” called out Hamish.
“Can I come in for a minute, Hamish? I want to say a word to you.”
He did not undo the door immediately. There appeared to be an opening and closing of his desk, first—a scuffle, as of things being put away. When Constance entered, she saw one of the insurance books open on the table, the pen and ink near it; the others were not to be seen. The keys were in the table lock. A conviction flashed over the mind of Constance that Judith was right, in supposing the office accounts to be the object that kept him up. “What can he do with his time in the day?” she thought.
“What is it, Constance?”
“Can you let me speak to you, Hamish?”
“If you won’t be long. I was just beginning to be busy,” he replied, taking out the keys and putting them into his pocket.
“I see you were,” she said, glancing at the ledger. “Hamish, you must not be offended with me, or think I interfere unwarrantably. I would not do it, but that I am anxious for you. Why is it that you sit up so late at night?”
There was a sudden accession of colour to his face—Constance saw it; but there was a smile as well. “How do you know I do sit up? Has Judy been telling tales?”
“Judy is uneasy about it, and she spoke to me this evening. She has visions of the house being burnt up with every one in it, and of your fatally injuring your health. I believe she would consider the latter calamity almost more grievous than the former, for you know you were always her favourite. Hamish; is there no danger of either?”
“There is not. I am too cautious for the one to happen, and, I believe, too hardy for the other. Judy is a simpleton,” he laughed; “she has her water-butt, and what more can she desire?”
“Hamish, why do you sit up? Have you not time for your work in the day?”
“No. Or else I should do it in the day. I do not sit up enough to hurt me. I have, on an average, three hours’ night-work, five days in the week; and if that can damage a strong fellow like me, call me a puny changeling.”
“You sit up much longer than that?”
“Not often. These light days, I sometimes do not sit up half so long; I get up in the morning, instead. Constance, you look grave enough for a judge!”
“And you, laughing enough to provoke me. Suppose I tell papa of this habit of yours, and get him to forbid it?”
“Then, my dear, you would work irreparable mischief,” he replied, becoming grave in his turn. “Were I to be prevented from doing as I please in my chamber in this house, I must find a room elsewhere, in which I should be my own master.”
“Hamish!”
“You oblige me to say it, Constance. You and Judy must lay your heads together upon some other grievance, for, indeed, for this particular one there is no remedy. She is an old goose, and you are a young one.”
“Is it right that we should submit to the risk of being set on fire?”
“My dear, if that is the point, I’ll have a fire-escape placed over the front door every night, and pay a couple of watchmen to act as guardians. Constance!” again dropping his tone of mockery, “you know that you may trust me better than that.”
“But, Hamish, how do you spend your time, that you cannot complete your books in the day?”
“Oh,” drawled Hamish, “ours is the laziest office! gossiping and scandal going on in it from morning till night. In the fatigue induced by that, I am not sure that I don’t take a nap, sometimes.”
Constance could not tell what to make of him. He was gazing at her with the most perplexing expression of face, looking ready to burst into a laugh.
“One last word, Hamish, for I hear Judith calling to you. Are you obliged to do this night-work?”
“I am.”
“Then I will say no more; and things must go on as it seems they have hitherto done.”
Arthur came running upstairs, and Hamish met him at the chamber door. Arthur, who appeared strangely agitated, began speaking in a half-whisper, unconscious that his sister was within. She heard every word.