Mr. Richard Catesby, second officer of the ss. Wizard, emerged from thedock-gates in high good-humour to spend an evening ashore. The bustle ofthe day had departed, and the inhabitants of Wapping, in search ofcoolness and fresh air, were sitting at open doors and windows indulgingin general conversation with any-body within earshot.
Mr. Catesby, turning into Bashford's Lane, lost in a moment all thislife and colour. The hum of distant voices certainly reached there, butthat was all, for Bashford's Lane, a retiring thoroughfare facing ablank dock wall, capped here and there by towering spars, set an exampleof gentility which neighbouring streets had long ago decided crossly wasimpossible for ordinary people to follow. Its neatly grained shutters,fastened back by the sides of the windows, gave a pleasing idea ofuniformity, while its white steps and polished brass knockers weresuggestive of almost a Dutch cleanliness.
Mr. Catesby, strolling comfortably along, stopped suddenly for anotherlook at a girl who was standing in the ground-floor window of No. 5. Hewent on a few paces and then walked back slowly, trying to look asthough he had forgotten something. The girl was still there, and met hisardent glances unmoved: a fine girl, with large, dark eyes, and acomplexion which was the subject of much scandalous discussion amongneighbouring matrons.
"It must be something wrong with the glass, or else it's the bad light,"said Mr. Catesby to himself; "no girl is so beautiful as that."
He went by again to make sure. The object of his solicitude was stillthere and apparently unconscious of his existence. He passed very slowlyand sighed deeply.
"You've got it at last, Dick Catesby," he said, solemnly; "fair andsquare in the most dangerous part of the heart. It's serious this time."
He stood still on the narrow pavement, pondering, and then, in excuse ofhis flagrant misbehaviour, murmured, "It was meant to be," and went byagain. This time he fancied that he detected a somewhat superciliousexpression in the dark eyes--a faint raising of well-arched eyebrows.
His engagement to wait at Aldgate Station for the second-engineer andspend an evening together was dismissed as too slow to be considered. Hestood for some time in uncertainty, and then turning slowly into theBeehive, which stood at the corner, went into the private bar andordered a glass of beer.
He was the only person in the bar, and the land-lord, a stout man in hisshirt-sleeves, was the soul of affability. Mr. Catesby, after variousgeneral remarks, made a few inquiries about an uncle aged five minutes,whom he thought was living in Bashford's Lane.
"I don't know 'im," said the landlord.
"I had an idea that he lived at No. 5," said Catesby.
The landlord shook his head. "That's Mrs. Truefitt's house," he said,slowly.
Mr. Catesby pondered. "Truefitt, Truefitt," he repeated; "what sort of awoman is she?"
"Widder-woman," said the landlord; "she lives there with 'er daughterPrudence."
Mr. Catesby said "Indeed!" and being a good listener learned that Mrs.Truefitt was the widow of a master-lighterman, and that her son, FredTruefitt, after an absence of seven years in New Zealand, was now on hisway home. He finished his glass slowly and, the landlord departing toattend to another customer, made his way into the street again.
He walked along slowly, picturing as he went the home-corning of thelong-absent son. Things were oddly ordered in this world, and FredTruefitt would probably think nothing of his brotherly privileges. Hewondered whether he was like Prudence. He wondered----
"By Jove, I'll do it!" he said, recklessly, as he turned. "Now for arow."
He walked back rapidly to Bashford's Lane, and without giving hiscourage time to cool plied the knocker of No. 5 briskly.
The door was opened by an elderly woman, thin, and somewhat querulous inexpression. Mr. Catesby had just time to notice this, and then he flunghis arm round her waist, and hailing her as "Mother!" saluted herwarmly.
The faint scream of the astounded Mrs. Truefitt brought her daughterhastily into the passage. Mr. Catesby's idea was ever to do a thingthoroughly, and, relinquishing Mrs. Truefitt, he kissed Prudence withall the ardour which a seven-years' absence might be supposed toengender in the heart of a devoted brother. In return he received a boxon the ears which made his head ring.
"He's been drinking," gasped the dismayed Mrs. Truefitt.
"Don't you know me, mother?" inquired Mr. Richard Catesby, in grievousastonishment.
"He's mad," said her daughter.
"Am I so altered that you don't know me, Prudence?" inquired Mr.Catesby; with pathos. "Don't you know your Fred?"
"Go out," said Mrs. Truefitt, recovering; "go out at once."
Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other in consternation.
"I know I've altered," he said, at last, "but I'd no idea--"
"If you don't go out at once I'll send for the police," said the elderwoman, sharply. "Prudence, scream!"
"I'm not going to scream," said Prudence, eyeing the intruder with greatcomposure. "I'm not afraid of him."
Despite her reluctance to have a scene--a thing which was stronglyopposed to the traditions of Bashford's Lane--Mrs. Truefitt had got asfar as the doorstep in search of assistance, when a sudden terriblethought occurred to her: Fred was dead, and the visitor had hit uponthis extraordinary fashion of breaking the news gently.
"Come into the parlour," she said, faintly.
Mr. Catesby, suppressing his surprise, followed her into the room.Prudence, her fine figure erect and her large eyes meeting his steadily,took up a position by the side of her mother.
"You have brought bad news?" inquired the latter.
"No, mother," said Mr. Catesby, simply, "only myself, that's all."
Mrs. Truefitt made a gesture of impatience, and her daughter, watchinghim closely, tried to remember something she had once read aboutdetecting insanity by the expression of the eyes. Those of Mr. Catesbywere blue, and the only expression in them at the present moment was oneof tender and respectful admiration.
"When did you see Fred last?" inquired Mrs. Truefitt, making anothereffort.
"Mother," said Mr. Catesby, with great pathos, "don't you know me?"
"He has brought bad news of Fred," said Mrs. Truefitt, turning to herdaughter; "I am sure he has."
"I don't understand you," said Mr. Catesby, with a bewildered glancefrom one to the other. "I am Fred. Am I much changed? You look the sameas you always did, and it seems only yesterday since I kissed Prudencegood-bye at the docks. You were crying, Prudence."
Miss Truefitt made no reply; she gazed at him unflinchingly and thenbent toward her mother.
"He is mad," she whispered; "we must try and get him out quietly. Don'tcontradict him."
"Keep close to me," said Mrs. Truefitt, who had a great horror of theinsane. "If he turns violent open the window and scream. I thought hehad brought bad news of Fred. How did he know about him?"
Her daughter shook her head and gazed curiously at their afflictedvisitor. She put his age down at twenty-five, and she could not helpthinking it a pity that so good-looking a young man should have lost hiswits.
"Bade Prudence good-bye at the docks," continued Mr. Catesby, dreamily."You drew me behind a pile of luggage, Prudence, and put your head on myshoulder. I have thought of it ever since."
Miss Truefitt did not deny it, but she bit her lips, and shot a sharpglance at him. She began to think that her pity was uncalled-for.
"I'm just going as far as the corner."
"Tell me all that's happened since I've been away," said Mr. Catesby.
Mrs. Truefitt turned to her daughter and whispered. It might have beenmerely the effect of a guilty conscience, but the visitor thought thathe caught the word "policeman."
"I'm just going as far as the corner," said Mrs. Truefitt, rising, andcrossing hastily to the door.
The young man nodded affectionately and sat in doubtful consideration asthe front door closed behind her. "Where is mother going?" he asked, ina voice which betrayed a little pardonable anxiety.
"Not far, I
hope," said Prudence.
"I really think," said Mr. Catesby, rising--"I really think that I hadbetter go after her. At her age----"
He walked into the small passage and put his hand on the latch.Prudence, now quite certain of his sanity, felt sorely reluctant to letsuch impudence go unpunished.
"Are you going?" she inquired.
"I think I'd better," said Mr. Catesby, gravely. "Dear mother--"
"You're afraid," said the girl, calmly.
Mr. Catesby coloured and his buoyancy failed him. He felt a little bitcheap.
"You are brave enough with two women," continued the girl, disdainfully;"but you had better go if you're afraid."
Mr. Catesby regarded the temptress uneasily. "Would you like me tostay?" he asked.
"I?" said Miss Truefitt, tossing her head. "No, I don't want you.Besides, you're frightened."
Mr. Catesby turned, and with a firm step made his way back to the room;Prudence, with a half-smile, took a chair near the door and regarded herprisoner with unholy triumph.
"I shouldn't like to be in your shoes," she said, agreeably; "mother hasgone for a policeman."
"Bless her," said Mr. Catesby, fervently. "What had we better say to himwhen he comes?"
"You'll be locked up," said Prudence; "and it will serve you right foryour bad behaviour."
Mr. Catesby sighed. "It's the heart," he said, gravely. "I'm not toblame, really. I saw you standing in the window, and I could see at oncethat you were beautiful, and good, and kind."
"I never heard of such impudence," continued Miss Truefitt.
"I surprised myself," admitted Mr. Catesby. "In the usual way I am veryquiet and well-behaved, not to say shy."
Miss Truefitt looked at him scornfully. "I think that you had betterstop your nonsense and go," she remarked.
"Don't you want me to be punished?" inquired the other, in a soft voice.
"I think that you had better go while you can," said the girl, and atthat moment there was a heavy knock at the front-door. Mr. Catesby,despite his assurance, changed colour; the girl eyed him in perplexity.Then she opened the small folding-doors at the back of the room.
"You're only--stupid," she whispered. "Quick! Go in there. I'll sayyou've gone. Keep quiet, and I'll let you out by-and-by."
She pushed him in and closed the doors. From his hiding-place he heardan animated conversation at the street-door and minute particulars as tothe time which had elapsed since his departure and the direction he hadtaken.
"I never heard such impudence," said Mrs. Truefitt, going into thefront-room and sinking into a chair after the constable had taken hisdeparture. "I don't believe he was mad."
"Only a little weak in the head, I think," said Prudence, in a clearvoice. "He was very frightened after you had gone; I don't think he willtrouble us again."
"He'd better not," said Mrs. Truefitt, sharply. "I never heard of such athing--never."
She continued to grumble, while Prudence, in a low voice, endeavoured tosoothe her. Her efforts were evidently successful, as the prisoner was,after a time, surprised to hear the older woman laugh--at first gently,and then with so much enjoyment that her daughter was at some pains torestrain her. He sat in patience until evening deepened into night, anda line of light beneath the folding-doors announced the lighting of thelamp in the front-room. By a pleasant clatter of crockery he becameaware that they were at supper, and he pricked up his ears as Prudencemade another reference to him.
"If he comes to-morrow night while you are out I sha'n't open the door,"she said. "You'll be back by nine, I suppose."
Mrs. Truefitt assented.
"And you won't be leaving before seven," continued Prudence. "I shall beall right."
Mr. Catesby's face glowed and his eyes grew tender; Prudence was asclever as she was beautiful. The delicacy with which she had intimatedthe fact of the unconscious Mrs. Truefitt's absence on the followingevening was beyond all praise. The only depressing thought was that suchresourcefulness savoured of practice.
He sat in the darkness for so long that even the proximity of Prudencewas not sufficient amends for the monotony of it, and it was not untilpast ten o'clock that the folding-doors were opened and he stoodblinking at the girl in the glare of the lamp.
"Quick!" she whispered.
Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted room.
"The front-door is open," whispered Prudence. "Make haste. I'll closeit."
She followed him to the door; he made an ineffectual attempt to seizeher hand, and the next moment was pushed gently outside and the doorclosed behind him. He stood a moment gazing at the house, and thenhastened back to his ship.
"Seven to-morrow," he murmured; "seven to-morrow. After all, there'snothing pays in this world like cheek--nothing."
He slept soundly that night, though the things that the second-engineersaid to him about wasting a hard-working man's evening would have lainheavy on the conscience of a more scrupulous man. The only thing thattroubled him was the manifest intention of his friend not to let himslip through his fingers on the following evening. At last, in sheerdespair at his inability to shake him off, he had to tell him that hehad an appointment with a lady.
"Well, I'll come, too," said the other, glowering at him. "It's verylike she'll have a friend with her; they generally do."
"I'll run round and tell her," said Catesby. "I'd have arranged itbefore, only I thought you didn't care about that sort of thing."
"Female society is softening," said the second-engineer. "I'll go andput on a clean collar."
Catesby watched him into his cabin and then, though it still wanted anhour to seven, hastily quitted the ship and secreted himself in theprivate bar of the Beehive.
He waited there until a quarter past seven, and then, adjusting his tiefor about the tenth time that evening in the glass behind the bar,sallied out in the direction of No. 5.
He knocked lightly, and waited. There was no response, and he knockedagain. When the fourth knock brought no response, his heart sank withinhim and he indulged in vain speculations as to the reasons for thisunexpected hitch in the programme. He knocked again, and then the dooropened suddenly and Prudence, with a little cry of surprise and dismay,backed into the passage.
"You!" she said, regarding him with large eyes. Mr. Catesby bowedtenderly, and passing in closed the door behind him.
"I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night," he said, humbly.
"Very well," said Prudence; "good-bye."
Mr. Catesby smiled. "It'll take me a long time to thank you as I oughtto thank you," he murmured. "And then I want to apologise; that'll taketime, too."
"You had better go," said Prudence, severely; "kindness is thrown awayupon you. I ought to have let you be punished."
"You are too good and kind," said the other, drifting by easy stagesinto the parlour.
Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following him into the room seatedherself in an easy-chair and sat coldly watchful.
"How do you know what I am?" she inquired.
"Your face tells me," said the infatuated Richard. "I hope you willforgive me for my rudeness last night. It was all done on the spur ofthe moment."
"I am glad you are sorry," said the girl, softening.
"All the same, if I hadn't done it," pursued Mr. Catesby, "I shouldn'tbe sitting here talking to you now."
Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them modestly tothe ground. "That is true," she said, quietly.
"And I would sooner be sitting here than any-where," pursued Catesby."That is," he added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, "excepthere."
Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and made as though to rise. Then shesat still and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from the corner of hereye.
"I hope that you are not sorry that I am here?" said that gentleman.
Miss Truefitt hesitated. "No," she said, at last.
"Are you--are you glad?" asked the modest Richard.
Miss Truefitt aver
ted her eyes altogether. "Yes," she said, faintly.
A strange feeling of solemnity came over the triumphant Richard. He tookthe hand nearest to him and pressed it gently.
"I--I can hardly believe in my good luck," he murmured.
"Good luck?" said Prudence, innocently.
"Isn't it good luck to hear you say that you are glad I'm here?" saidCatesby.
"You're the best judge of that," said the girl, withdrawing her hand."It doesn't seem to me much to be pleased about."
Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about to address anothertender remark to her when she was overcome by a slight fit of coughing.At the same moment he started at the sound of a shuffling footstep inthe passage. Somebody tapped at the door.
"Yes?" said Prudence.
"Can't find the knife-powder, miss," said a harsh voice. The door waspushed open and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about forty. Her redarms were bare to the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences of along and arduous day's charing.
"It's in the cupboard," said Prudence. "Why, what's the matter, Mrs.Porter?"
Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth was wide open and she was gazingwith starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby.
"Joe!" she said, in a hoarse whisper. "Joe!"
Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence. Miss Truefitt, with an airof great surprise, glanced from one to the other.
"Joe!" said Mrs. Porter again. "Ain't you goin' to speak to me?"
Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless astonishment. Sheskipped clumsily round the table and stood before him with her handsclasped.
"Where 'ave you been all this long time?" she demanded, in a higher key.
"You--you've made a mistake," said the bewildered Richard.
"Mistake?" wailed Mrs. Porter. "Mistake! Oh, where's your 'art?"
Before he could get out of her way she flung her arms round thehorrified young man's neck and em-braced him copiously. Over her bonyleft shoulder the frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of MissTruefitt, and, in a flash, he realised the trap into which he hadfallen.
"Mrs. Porter!" said Prudence.
"It's my 'usband, miss," said the Amazon, reluctantly releasing theflushed and dishevelled Richard; "'e left me and my five eighteen monthsago. For eighteen months I 'aven't 'ad a sight of 'is blessed face."
She lifted the hem of her apron to her face and broke into discordantweeping.
"Don't cry," said Prudence, softly; "I'm sure he isn't worth it."
Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly. He was beyond further astonishment, andwhen Mrs. Truefitt entered the room with a laudable attempt to twist herfeatures into an expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed her.
"It's my Joe," said Mrs. Porter, simply.
"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Truefitt. "Well, you've got him now; takecare he doesn't run away from you again."
"I'll look after that, ma'am," said Mrs. Porter, with a glare at thestartled Richard.
"She's very forgiving," said Prudence. "She kissed him just now."
"Did she, though," said the admiring Mrs. Truefitt. "I wish I'd beenhere."
"I can do it agin, ma'am," said the obliging Mrs. Porter.
"If you come near me again--" said the breathless Richard, stepping backa pace.
"I shouldn't force his love," said Mrs. Truefitt; "it'll come back intime, I dare say."
"I'm sure he's affectionate," said Prudence.
Mr. Catesby eyed his tormentors in silence; the faces of Prudence andher mother betokened much innocent enjoyment, but the austerity of Mrs.Porter's visage was unrelaxed.
"Better let bygones be bygones," said Mrs. Truefitt; "he'll be sorryby-and-by for all the trouble he has caused."
"He'll be ashamed of himself--if you give him time," added Prudence.
Mr. Catesby had heard enough; he took up his hat and crossed to thedoor.
"Take care he doesn't run away from you again," repeated Mrs. Truefitt.
"I'll see to that, ma'am," said Mrs. Porter, taking him by the arm."Come along, Joe."
Mr. Catesby attempted to shake her off, but in vain, and he ground histeeth as he realised the absurdity of his position. A man he could havedealt with, but Mrs. Porter was invulnerable. Sooner than walk down theroad with her he preferred the sallies of the parlour. He walked back tohis old position by the fireplace, and stood gazing moodily at thefloor.
Mrs. Truefitt tired of the sport at last. She wanted her supper, andwith a significant glance at her daughter she beckoned the redoubtableand reluctant Mrs. Porter from the room. Catesby heard the kitchen-doorclose behind them, but he made no move. Prudence stood gazing at him insilence.
"If you want to go," she said, at last, "now is your chance."
Catesby followed her into the passage without a word, and waited quietlywhile she opened the door. Still silent, he put on his hat and passedout into the darkening street. He turned after a short distance for alast look at the house and, with a sudden sense of elation, saw that shewas standing on the step. He hesitated, and then walked slowly back.
"Yes?" said Prudence.
"I should like to tell your mother that I am sorry," he said, in a lowvoice.
"It is getting late," said the girl, softly; "but, if you really wish totell her--Mrs. Porter will not be here to-morrow night."
She stepped back into the house and the door closed behind her.
THE CHANGING NUMBERS