CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
HOW TOM DRIFT GETS LOWER STILL.
Two years passed.
They were, without exception, the dullest two years I, or, I venture tosay, any watch made, ever spent. There I lay, run down, tarnished andneglected, on the pawnbroker's shelf, never moved, never used, neverthought of. Week followed week, and month month, and still no claimantfor me came.
Other articles on the shelves beside me came and went, some remainingonly a day, some a week, but I survived them all. Even my friend thechain took his departure, and left me without a soul to speak to.
None of the hundreds of tickets handed in bore the magic number 2222,which would have released me from my ignoble custody, and, in time, Igave up expecting it, and settled down to the old-fogeydom of myposition, and exacted all the homage due to the "father of the shop"from my restless companions.
My place was at the end of a long shelf, next to the screen dividing theshop from the office, and my sole amusement during those two drearyyears was peeping through a crack and watching my master's customers.They were of all sorts and all conditions, and many of them becamefamiliar.
There was the little girl, for instance, the top of whose bonnet justreached as high as the counter, who, regularly every Monday morning,staggered in under the weight of a bundle containing her father's Sundayclothes, and, as regularly every Saturday evening, returned to redeemthem. It was evident her respectable parent did not attend many eveningparties between those two days, for I never remember his sending forthem except at the regular times.
Then there was the wretched drunkard, who crept in stealthily, with nowa child's coat, now a picture, now a teapot; and with the money thusraised walked straight across the road to the public-house. And therewas his haggard, worn wife, who always came next day with the ticket,and indignantly took back her household goods. There was the youngsailor's wife, too, with her baby in her arms, who came rarely at first,but afterwards more often, to pawn her few poor treasures, until atlength a glad day came when the brawny tar himself, with his pocketsfull of cash, came with her and redeemed them every one.
I could tell of scores of others if I wished, but I have my own life torecord, and not the transactions of my master, the pawnbroker.
One day, towards the end of the first year, the door opened softly andquickly, and there entered into the office a youth, haggard andreckless-looking, whom, I thought, surely I had seen before. I lookedagain.
Was it possible? Yes! this was none other than Tom Drift! But oh, howchanged! A year ago, erring and wayward as he had been, he was yetrespectable; his dress was the dress of a gentleman; his bearing wasthat of a gentleman too; his face had been naturally intelligent andpleasant; and his voice clear and cheerful. But now! There was a wild,restless roll about his eyes, a bright flush on his hollow cheeks, adulness about his mouth, a hoarseness in his voice, which seemed tobelong to another being. He was dissipated and seedy in appearance, andhung his head, as though ashamed to meet a fellow-being's look, and,instead of one, looked at least ten years older than he had.
Such a wreck will evil ways make of a youth! He looked eagerly round,to see that no one but he was in the office, and then produced from hispocket a scarf-pin.
"What will you give me for this?" he whispered.
The pawnbroker took it up and turned it over. It was a handsome pin,with a pearl in the front.
"Ten shillings," said the pawnbroker.
"What!" exclaimed Tom; "do you know what it's worth?"
"Ten shillings is all I can give you," curtly replied the pawnbroker.
Tom gulped down a groan. "Give me the money, then, for goodness' sake,"he said.
The pawnbroker coolly and deliberately made out the ticket, while Tomstood chafing impatiently.
"Be quick, please!" he said, as though fearful of some one detecting himin a crime.
"Don't you be in a hurry," said the pawnbroker.
"Here's the ticket."
"And the ten shillings?" broke in Tom.
"You shall have it," said my master, going to his drawer.
To Tom it seemed ages while the silver was being counted, and when hehad got it he darted from the shop as swiftly as he had entered it.
"That fellow's going wrong," muttered the pawnbroker to himself, as helaid the pin on the shelf beside me.
I recognised it at once as having often been my companion on Tom'sdressing-table at nights, but I myself was so discoloured and ill thatit did not at first know me. I was too anxious, however, to hear something about Tom to allow myself to remain disguised.
"Don't you know me, scarf-pin?" I asked.
He looked hard at me. "Not a bit," he said.
"I'm Tom Drift's old watch."
"You don't say so! So you are! How ever did you come here? Did hepawn you?"
"No; I was stolen from him one night at the music-hall, and pawned hereby the thief."
"Ah, that music-hall!" groaned the pin; "that place has ruined TomDrift."
"When I left him," I said, "he was just going to the bad as hard as hecould. He had broken with his best friend, and seemed completely--"
"Hold hard! what friend?" interposed the pin.
"Charlie Newcome, my first master; they had a quarrel the day I wasstolen."
"That must be nearly two years ago?" said the pin.
"Just," said I. "Do tell me what has happened since then."
"It's a long story," said the pin.
"Never mind, we've nothing else to do here," I said encouragingly.
"Well," said the pin, "the night you were lost Tom never turned up athome at all."
"He was utterly drunk," I said, by way of explanation.
"Don't you interrupt," said the pin, "or I won't tell you anything."
I was silenced.
"Tom never turned up at all until the next morning; and he sat all thatday in his chair, and did nothing but look at the wall in front of him."
"Poor fellow!" I could not help saying.
"There you go!" said the pin; "be good enough to remember what I said,and if you can't endure to hear of anybody sitting and looking at awail, it's no use my going on with my story."
"I only meant that I could imagine how miserable he was that day," saidI; "but go on, please."
"Two or three days after, Charlie Newcome called. Tom was alone, but herefused to see him. He cursed to himself when he heard the name.Charlie went back disappointed, but Tom made a great boast to his`friends' that same night of his `cold shoulder to the prig,' as hecalled it, and they highly applauded him for his sense.
"Again, a week later, Charlie called once more, but with the sameresult. He wrote letters, but Tom put them in the fire unread; he sentbooks, but they were all flung into a corner. In a thousand differentways he contrived to show Tom that, though ill-used and in suited, hewas still his friend, and ready to serve him whenever opportunity shouldoffer.
"All this while Tom was sinking lower and lower in self-respect. He wascontracting a habit of drinking, and in a month or two after you hadleft he rarely came home sober."
"And what about his bad friends?" asked I.
"There you are! why can't you let me tell my story in peace? His badfriends visited him daily at first, made a lot of him, and praised himloudly for his resolution in dismissing Charlie, and for his `growing aman at last.' They lent him money, they lost to him at cards andbilliards, and they made his downward path as easy for him as possible.
"At last, about six months ago, Tom was found tipsy in the dissecting-room at the hospital, and cautioned by the Board. A fortnight later hewas found in a similar state in one of the wards, and then he wassummarily expelled from the place, and his name was struck off the rollof students."
"Has it come to that?" I groaned.
"Come to that? Of course it has; I shouldn't have said so if ithadn't," replied the testy pin, who seemed unable to brook the slightestinterruption. "He took a fit of blues after that; he went to th
e Board,and begged to be allowed to return to his studies, representing that allhis prospects in life depended on his finishing his course there. Theygave him one more chance. In his gratitude he resolved to discard hiscompanions, and actually sat down and wrote a letter to Charlie, begginghim to come and see him."
"Did he really?" I exclaimed, trembling with eagerness.
"All right, I shall not tell you of it again. Stop me once more, andyou'll have to find the rest of my story out for yourself."
"I'm very sorry," said I.
"So you ought to be. When it came to the time, however, Tom'sresolutions failed him. Gus and his friends called as usual thatevening and laughed him to scorn. He dare not quarrel with them, darenot resist them. He crumpled up the letter in his pocket and neverposted it, and that night returned to his evil ways without a struggle.
"For a week or two, however, he kept up appearances at the hospital; butit could not last. A misdemeanour more serious than the former onecaused his second expulsion, and this time with an intimation that underno circumstances would he be readmitted. That was three months ago. Hebecame desperate, and at the same time the behaviour of Gus altered.Instead of flattering and humouring him, he became imperious andspiteful. And still further, he demanded to be repaid the money he hadadvanced to Tom. Tom paid what little he could, and borrowed the restfrom Mortimer. He got behindhand with his rent, and his landlady hasgiven him notice. As usual, everybody to whom he owes money has foundout his altered circumstances, and is down on him. The keeper of themusic-hall, the tailor, the cigar merchant, are among the most urgent."
"And your being here is a result of all this, I see," said I, knowingthe story was at an end, and considering my tongue to be released.
"Find out!" angrily retorted the pin, relapsing into ill-temperedsilence.
I had little enough inclination to revert to the sad topic, and for therest of that day gave myself up to sorrow and pity for Tom Drift. Onething I felt pretty sure of--it would not be long before he came again;and I was right.
In two days he entered the office, wild and haggard as before, but withless care to conceal his visit.
This time he laid on the counter the famous lance-wood fishing-rod whichCharlie had given him months ago, and which surely ought to have been areminder to him of better times.
He flung it down, and taking the few shillings the pawnbroker advancedon it, hurried from the shop.
The next time he came some one else was in the shop. A passing flushcame over Tom's face on discovering a witness to his humiliation; but hetransacted his business with an assumed swagger which ill accorded withhis inward misery. For even yet Tom Drift had this much of hope left inhim--that he knew he was fallen, and was miserable at the thought. Hisself-respect and sensitiveness had been growing less day by day, and hehimself growing proportionately hardened; but still he knew what remorsewas, and by the very agony of his shame was still held out of the lowestof all depths--the depths of ruthless sin.
The stranger in the shop eyed him keenly, and when he had gone said tothe pawnbroker, "He's a nice article, he is!"
"Not much good, I'm thinking," observed the pawnbroker, dryly.
"So you may say; I know the beauty. He banged me on the 'ed with achair once, when he was screwed. Never mind, I know of two or three asis after him."
And so saying, the disreputable man departed.
After that Tom came daily. Now it was an article of clothing, now somebooks, now some furniture, that he brought. It was soon evident thatnot only was he miserable and destitute, but ill too; and when presentlyfor a fortnight he never passed the now well-known door, I knew that thefever had laid him low.
Poor Tom Drift! I wondered who was there now to nurse him in hisweakness and comfort him in his wretchedness. He must be untended andunheeded. Well I knew his "friends" (oh, sad perversion of the sacredtitle!) would keep their distance, or return only in time to quench thefirst sparks of repentance. If only Charlie could have seen him at thistime, with his spirit cowed and his weary heart beating about in vainfor peace and hope, how would he not have flown to his bedside, and fromthose ruins have striven to help him to rise again to purity andhonesty.
But no Charlie was there. Since the last appealing letter so scornfullyrejected, Tom had heard not a word of him or from him. What wonderindeed if after so many disappointments and insults, the boy should atlength leave his old schoolfellow to his fate?
With returning health there came to Tom no returning resolutions orefforts. The friends who had deserted his sick-bed were ready, as soonas ever he rose from it, with their temptations and baneful influence.One of his first visits after his recovery was to my master with a pairof boots. He looked so pale and feeble that the pawnbroker inquiredafter his health--a most unusual departure from business on the part ofthat merchant.
"Hope you're feeling better," he said.
"Yes; so much the better for you," replied Tom with a ghastly smile."What can you give me for these, they are nearly new?"
"Five shillings?"
"Oh, anything you like; I've to pay two pounds to-morrow. What you giveme is all I shall have to do it with--I don't care!"
The pawnbroker counted out the five shillings, and handed them acrossthe counter.
"Good-bye!" said Tom, with another attempt at a smile; "I shall have tochange my address to-morrow."
And with that he turned on his heel. I watched him through the windowas he left the shop. He walked straight across the road and went in atthe public-house opposite.
And that glimpse was the last sight I had of Tom Drift for many, manymonths.