CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
SUCCESS AND FUTURE PLANS.
Punctual to the minute Zook presented himself to Mrs Butt next morningand demanded audience.
Mrs Butt had been forewarned of the impending visit, and, although sheconfessed to some uncomfortable feelings in respect of infection anddirt, received him with a gracious air.
"You've come to breakfast, I understand?"
"Well, I believe I 'ave," answered the little man, with an involuntaryglance at his dilapidated clothes; "'avin' been inwited--unless," headded, somewhat doubtfully, "the inwite came in a dream."
"You may go in and clear up that point for yourself," said the landlady,as she ushered the poor man into the parlour, where he was almoststartled to find an amiable gentleman waiting to receive him.
"Come along, Zook, I like punctuality. Are you hungry?"
"'Ungry as a 'awk, sir," replied Zook, glancing at the table and rubbinghis hands, for there entered his nostrils delicious odours, the causesof which very seldom entered his throat. "W'y, sir, I _know'd_ you wasa gent, from the wery first!"
"I have at least entered my native shell," said Charlie, with a laugh."Sit down. We've no time to waste. Now what'll you have? Coffee, tea,pork-sausage, ham and egg, buttered toast, hot rolls. Just helpyourself, and fancy you're in the lodging-house at your own table."
"Well, sir, that _would_ be a stretch o' fancy that would strain mea'most to the bustin' p'int. Coffee, if you please. Oh yes, sugar an'milk _in course_. I never let slip a chance as I knows on. W'ichbread? well, 'ot rolls is temptin', but I allers 'ad a weakness forsappy things, so 'ot buttered toast--if you can spare it."
"Spare it, my good man!" said Charlie, laughing. "There's a whole loafin the kitchen and pounds of butter when you've finished this, not tomention the shops round the corner."
It was a more gratifying treat to Charlie than he had expected, to seethis poor man eat to his heart's content of viands which he sothoroughly appreciated and so rarely enjoyed. What Zook himself felt,it is impossible for well-to-do folk to conceive, or an ordinary pen todescribe; but, as he sat there, opposite to his big friend and champion,stowing away the good things with zest and devotion of purpose, it waseasy to believe that his watery eyes were charged with the tears ofgratitude, as well as with those of a chronic cold to which he wassubject.
Breakfast over, they started off in quest of the old woman with teetotalproclivities.
"How did you come to know her?" asked Charlie, as they went along.
"Through a 'ouse in the city as I was connected with afore I got runover an' lamed. They used to send me with parcels to this old 'ooman.In course I didn't know for sartin' w'at was in the parcels, but 'avin'a nose, you see, an' bein' able to smell, I guessed that it was acompound o' wittles an' wursted work."
"A strange compound, Zook."
"Well, they wasn't 'zactly compounded--they was sometimes the one an'sometimes the other; never mixed to my knowledge."
"What house was it that sent you?"
"Withers and Company."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Charlie in surprise. "I know the house well. Thehead of it is a well-known philanthropist. How came you to leave them?They never would have allowed an old servant to come to your pass--unless, indeed, he was--"
"A fool, sir, or wuss," interrupted Zook; "an' that's just what I was.I runned away from 'em, sir, an' I've been ashamed to go back since.But that's 'ow I come to know old Missis Mag, an' it's down 'ere shelives."
They turned into a narrow passage which led to a small court at the backof a mass of miserable buildings, and here they found the residence ofthe old woman.
"By the way, Zook, what's her name?" asked Charlie.
"Mrs Mag Samson."
"Somehow the name sounds familiar to me," said Charlie, as he knocked atthe door.
A very small girl opened it and admitted that her missis was at 'ome;whereupon our hero turned to his companion.
"I'll manage her best without company, Zook," he said; "so you be off;and see that you come to my lodging to-night at six to hear the resultof my interview and have tea."
"I will, sir."
"And here, Zook, put that in your pocket, and take a good dinner."
"I will, sir."
"And--hallo! Zook, come here. Not a word about all this in thelodging-house;--stay, now I think of it, don't go to the lodging-houseat all. Go to a casual ward where they'll make you take a good bath.Be sure you give yourself a good scrub. D'ye hear?"
"Yes, sir." He walked away murmuring, "More 'am and hegg an' butteredtoast to-night! Zook, you're in luck to-day--in clover, my boy! inclover!"
Meanwhile, Charlie Brooke found himself in the presence of a bright-eyedlittle old woman, who bade him welcome with the native grace of one whois a born, though not a social, lady, and beautified by Christianity.Her visitor went at once straight to the point.
"Forgive my intrusion, Mrs Samson," he said, taking the chair to whichthe old woman pointed, "but, indeed, I feel assured that you will, whenI state that the object of my visit is to ask you to aid in the rescueof a friend from drink."
"No man intrudes on me who comes on such an errand; but how does ithappen, sir, that you think _I_ am able to aid you?"
To this Charlie replied by giving her an account of his meeting andconversation with Zook, and followed that up with a full explanation ofhis recent efforts and a graphic description of Isaac Leather.
The old woman listened attentively, and, as her visitor proceeded, withincreasing interest not unmingled with surprise and amusement.
When he had concluded, Mrs Samson rose, and, opening a door leading toanother room, held up her finger to impose silence, and softly bade himlook in.
He did so. The room was a very small one, scantily furnished, with alow truckle-bed in one corner, and there, on the bed, lay the object ofhis quest--Isaac Leather! Charlie had just time to see that the thinpale face was not that of a dead, but of a sleeping, man when the oldwoman gently pulled him back and re-closed the door.
"That's your man, I think."
"Yes, that's the man--I thank God for this most astonishing andunlooked-for success."
"Ah! sir," returned the woman, sitting down again, "most of oursuccesses are unlooked for, and, when they do come, we are not too readyto recognise the hand of the Giver."
"Nevertheless you must admit that some incidents do seem almostmiraculous," said Charlie. "To have found _you_ out in this great city,the very person who had Mr Leather in her keeping, does seemunaccountable, does it not?"
"Not so unaccountable as it seems to you," replied the old woman, "andcertainly not so much of a miracle as it would have been if you hadfound him by searching the lodging-houses. Here is the way that Godseems to have brought it about. I have for many years been a pensionerof the house of Withers and Company, by whom I was employed until thesenior partner made me a sort of female city-missionary amongst thepoor. I devoted myself particularly to the reclaiming of drunkards--having special sympathy with them. A friend of mine, Miss Molloy, alsoemployed by the senior partner in works of charity, happened to beacquainted with Mr Leather and his family. She knew of his failing,and she found out--for she has a strange power, that I never couldunderstand, of inducing people to make a confidant of her,--she foundout (what no one else knew, it seems) that poor Mr Leather wished toput himself under some sort of restraint, for he could not resisttemptation when it came in his way. Knowing about me, she naturallyadvised him to put himself in my hands. He objected at first, butagreed at last on condition that none of his people should be toldanything about it. I did not like to receive him on such conditions,but gave in because he would come on no other. Well, sir, you came downhere because you had information which led you to think Mr Leather hadcome to this part of the city. You met with a runaway servant ofWithers and Company--not very wonderful that. He naturally knows aboutme and fetches you here. Don't you see?"
"Yes, I see," replied Charlie, with
an amused expression; "still Icannot help looking on the whole affair as very wonderful, and I hopethat that does not disqualify me from recognising God's leading in thematter."
"Nay, young sir," returned the old woman, "that ought rather to qualifyyou for such recognition, for are not His ways said to be wonderful--ay,sometimes `past finding out'? But what we know not now, we shall knowhereafter. I thought that when my poor boy went to sea--"
"Mrs Samson!" exclaimed Charlie, with a sudden start, "I see it now!Was your boy's name Fred?"
"It was."
"And he went to sea in the _Walrus_, that was wrecked in the SouthernOcean!"
"Yes," exclaimed the old woman eagerly.
"Then," said Charlie, drawing a packet from the breast-pocket of hiscoat, "Fred gave me this for you. I have carried it about me eversince, in the hope that I might find you. I came to London, but foundyou had left the address written on the packet, and it never occurred tome that the owners of the _Walrus_ would know anything about the motherof one of the men who sailed in her. I have a message also from yourson."
The message was delivered, and Charlie was still commenting on it, whenthe door of the inner room opened and Isaac Leather stood before them.
"Charlie Brooke!" he exclaimed, in open-eyed amazement, not unmingledwith confusion.
"Ay, and a most unexpected meeting on both sides," said Charlie,advancing and holding out his hand. "I bring you good news, MrLeather, of your son Shank."
"Do you indeed?" said the broken-down man, eagerly grasping his youngfriend's hand. "What have you to tell me? Oh Charlie, you have no ideawhat terrible thoughts I've had about that dear boy since he went off toAmerica! My sin has found me out, Charlie. I've often heard that saidbefore, but have never tally believed it till now."
"God sends you a message of mercy, then," said our hero, who thereuponbegan to relieve the poor man's mind by telling him of his son's welfareand reformation.
But we need not linger over this part of the story, for the reader caneasily guess a good deal of what was said to Leather, while old MrsSamson was perusing the letter of her dead son, and tears of mingledsorrow and joy coursed down her withered cheeks.
That night however, Charlie Brooke conceived a vast idea, and partiallyrevealed it at the tea-table to Zook--whose real name, by the way, wasJim Smith.
"'Ave you found 'er, sir?" said Mrs Butt, putting the invariable, andby that time annoying, question as Charlie entered his lodging.
"No, Mrs Butt, I haven't found _'er_, and I don't expect to find _'er_at all."
"Lawk! sir, I'm _so_ sorry."
"Has Mr Zook come?"
"Yes, sir 'e's inside and looks impatient. The smell o' the toast seemsa'most too strong a temptation for 'im; I'm glad you've come."
"Look here, Zook," said Charlie, entering his parlour, "go into thatbedroom. You'll find a bundle of new clothes there. Put them on. Wrapyour old clothes in a handkerchief, and bring them to me. Tea will beready when you are."
The surprised pauper did as he was bid, without remark, and re-enteredthe parlour a new man!
"My own mother, if I 'ad one, wouldn't know me, sir," he said, glancingadmiringly at his vest.
"Jim Smith, Esquire," returned Charlie, laughing. "I really don't thinkshe would."
"Zook, sir," said the little man, with a grave shake of the head;"couldn't think of changin' my name at my time of life; let it be Zook,if you please, sir, though in course I've no objection to esquire, w'enI 'ave the means to maintain my rank."
"Well, Zook, you have at all events the means to make a good supper, sosit down and go to work, and I'll talk to you while you eat,--but, stay,hand me the bundle of old clothes."
Charlie opened the window as he spoke, took hold of the bundle, anddischarged it into the back yard.
"There," he said, sitting down at the table, "that will prove an objectof interest to the cats all night, and a subject of surprise to goodMrs Butt in the morning. Now, Zook," he added, when his guest wasfairly at work taking in cargo, "I want to ask you--have you anyobjection to emigrate to America?"
"Not the smallest," he said, as well as was possible through a fullmouth. "Bein' a orphling, so to speak, owin' to my never 'avin' 'ad afather or mother--as I knows on--there's nothin' that chains me to oldEngland 'cept poverty."
"Could you do without drink?"
"Sca'sely, sir, seein' the doctors say that man is about three parts--orfour, is it?--made up o' water; I would be apt to grow mummified withoutdrink, wouldn't I, sir?"
"Come, Zook--you know that I mean _strong_ drink--alcohol in all itsforms."
"Oh, I see. Well, sir, as to that, I've bin in the 'abit of doin'without it so much of late from needcessity, that I don't think I'd findmuch difficulty in knocking it off altogether, if I was to bringprinciple to bear."
"Well, then," continued Charlie, "(have some more ham?) I have justconceived a plan. I have a friend in America who is a reformeddrunkard. His father in this country is also, I hope, a reformeddrunkard. There is a good man out there, I understand, who has had agreat deal to do with reformed drunkards, and he has got up a large bodyof friends and sympathisers who have determined to go away into the farwest and there organise a total abstinence community, and found avillage or town where nothing in the shape of alcohol shall be admittedexcept as physic.
"Now, I have a lot of friends in England who, I think, would go in forsuch an expedition if--"
"Are _they_ all reformed drunkards, sir?" asked Zook in surprise,arresting a mass of sausage in its course as he asked the question.
"By no means," returned Charlie with a laugh, "but they are earnestsouls, and I'm sure will go if I try to persuade them."
"You're sure to succeed, sir," said Zook, "if your persuasions isaccompanied wi' sassengers, 'am, an' buttered toast," remarked thelittle man softly, as he came to a pause for a few seconds.
"I'll bring to bear on them all the arguments that are available, youmay be sure. Meanwhile I shall count you my first recruit."
"Number 1 it is, sir, w'ich is more than I can say of this here slice,"said Zook, helping himself to more toast.
While the poor but happy man was thus pleasantly engaged, hisentertainer opened his writing portfolio and began to scribble off noteafter note, with such rapidity that the amazed pauper at his elbowfairly lost his appetite, and, after a vain attempt to recover it,suggested that it might be as well for him to retire to one of thepalatial fourpence-a-night residences in Dean and Flower Street.
"Not to-night. You've done me a good turn that I shall never forget"said Charlie, rising and ringing the bell with needless vigour.
"Be kind enough, Mrs Butt, to show Mr Zook to his bedroom."
"My heye!" murmured the pauper, marching off with two full inches addedto his stature. "Not in there, I suppose, missis," he said facetiously,as he passed the coal-hole.
"Oh, lawks! no--this way," replied the good woman, who was becomingalmost imbecile under the eccentricities of her lodger. "This is yourbedroom, and I only 'ope it won't turn into a band-box before morning,for of all the transformations an' pantimimes as 'as took place in this'ouse since Mr Brooke entered it, I--"
She hesitated, and, not seeing her way quite clearly to the fitting endof the sentence, asked if Mr Zook would 'ave 'ot water in the morning.
"No, thank you, Missis," replied the little man with dignity, while hefelt the stubble on his chin; "'avin left my razors at 'ome, I prefersthe water cold."
Leaving Zook to his meditations, Mrs Butt retired to bed, remarking, asshe extinguished the candle, that Mr Brooke was still "a-writin' like a'ouse a fire!"