The Story of Antony Grace

I burst out laughing, and, weak as it may sound, the tears came to my eyes again, as I saw him draw from up his sleeve a long clay pipe broken in three, and once more the old scenes in the deserted rifled house came back.

“Never mind the pipe, Mr Rowle,” I cried. “You shall have a dozen if you like, twice as long as that. But you must be hungry and tired. I am glad to see you.”

“Thankye, young ’un,” he said, smiling; and the old man’s lip quivered a little as he shook my hand. “I didn’t expect it of you, but I thought I’d come and see if you’d forgotten me.”

I ran to the bell, and Mary came up directly, and smiled and nodded at my visitor.

“Mary,” I said, “let’s have some supper directly – a bit of something hot. And, I say, bring up that long pipe of Revitts’ – the churchwarden, you know. I’ve got some tobacco.”

“I’ve got a bit of tobacco,” said Mr Rowle, “and – you’ve taken my hat away – there’s something in it. Thankye. I thought, maybe, they might come in useful. They’re quite fresh.”

As he spoke he took out a great yellow silk handkerchief, and from underneath that, fitting pretty tightly in the hat, a damp-looking paper parcel, that proved to contain a couple of pounds of pork sausages, which Mary bore away, and returned directly with a kettle of hot water and a long churchwarden clay pipe, which Mr Rowle proceeded to fill from my tobacco-jar, lit, sat bolt-upright in his chair, and began to smoke.

All the intervening years seemed to have slipped away as I saw the old man sitting there, a wonderfully exact counterpart of Mr Jabez in shabby clothes; and, as his eyes once more wandered round the place, I half expected to see him get up and go all over the house, smoking in each room, and mentally making his inventory of the goods under his charge.

I went to a little cellaret, got out the glasses, spirit-stand, and sugar, and mixed the old man a steaming tumbler, which he took, nodded, and sipped with great satisfaction. Then, puffing contentedly away at his pipe, he said:

“Not all your own, is it?” And his eyes swept over the furniture.

“Yes, to be sure,” I said, laughing at his question, for I took a good deal of pride in my rooms, which were really well furnished.

“You’ve grow’d quite a swell, young ’un,” he said at last; and then stopped smoking suddenly. “I ain’t no right here,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind the pipe.”

“I’m going to have a cigar with you presently,” I said, laughing, “only we’ll have some supper first.”

“Only fancy,” he said; “just a bit of a slip as you was when you made up your mind to cut, and now grow’d up. I should have liked to have seen what come between. You are glad to see me, then?”

“Glad? Of course,” I cried; and then Mary came bustling in to lay the cloth.

“She’s altered, too,” said the old man, who went on smoking away placidly. “Got crummier; and she don’t speak so sharp. Think o’ you two living in the same house.”

“Mary’s my landlady,” I said. “But this is a surprise.”

“Ah! Yes,” he said; “I’ve often thought I’d come up and see Jabez, and look you up same time. I had a bit of a job to find you, for Jabez wasn’t at home.”

“Mr Jabez is here,” I said.

“Yes; they said he’d come to see you, and they wouldn’t give me the address at first. I’d lost it, or forgotten it, but here I am.”

“I’ll go up and tell him you are here,” I cried; and before my visitor could say a word, I had run upstairs and completely upset all Mr Jabez Rowle’s calculations, which might or might not have ended in his gaining the odd trick, and was soon taking him downstairs on the plea or important business.

“Anything the matter, Grace?” he said – “anything wrong with Hallett?”

“No,” I said; “he’s in his bedroom. Come in here.”

If I had expected to startle or surprise Mr Jabez, I should have been disappointed, for, upon entering my room, where his brother was composedly smoking the long clay pipe, with his yellow silk handkerchief spread over his knees, he only said:

“Hallo, Peter, you here?” and went and sat down on the other side of the fire.

“How do, Jabez?” said my old friend, without taking his pipe out of his mouth; and then there was silence, which I did not care to break, but sat down, too, and looked on.

“Come up to-day, Peter?” said Mr Jabez.

“Yes.”

“When are you going back?”

“Don’t know.”

“Oh!”

Then there was a pause.

“Stick to your pipe still,” said Mr Jabez, taking a loud pinch of snuff.

“Yes; never could manage snuff.”

“Oh!”

Here there was another pause, broken once more by Mr Jabez.

“Where are you going to stay?”

“Long o’ you.”

“Oh!”

A great many puffs of smoke followed here, and several pinches of snuff, as the two old men sat on either side of the fire and stared hard at each other, their likeness being now wonderful, as far as their heads were concerned.

“Hard up?” said Mr Jabez at last.

“No. Want to borrow a sov?”

“No,” said Mr Jabez shortly; and there was again a silence.

“I’ll have a drop of gin and water, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, after a very long and awkward pause for me.

I mixed it for him with alacrity.

“You two friendly?” said Mr Peter at last, making a strenuous effort to thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe without removing the waxed end from his lips, but finding it impossible, without apparently swallowing a goodly portion, from the length of the stem.

“Friendly? of course we are. Can’t you see?” replied Mr Jabez snappishly.

“No! How should I know? Like him to know anything about your affairs?” said Mr Peter, turning to me.

“Oh yes,” I said. “Mr Jabez Rowle is a very great friend of mine.”

“Right!” said that individual, giving his head a nod.

“I didn’t come up on purpose to see you, Jabez,” said Mr Peter.

“Who said you did?” snapped Mr Jabez. “What did you come for? About what you said?”

“Yes.”

There was another awkward pause, fortunately broken by Mary, who entered with a tray odorous with hot rump-steak and onions: and as soon as he smelt it, Mr Peter stood his pipe up in the corner of the fireplace, and softly rubbed his hands.

His brother made no scruple about joining the meal, and as the brothers rose, Mr Jabez held out his hand with —

“Well, how are you, Peter?”

“Tidy,” said Mr Peter, and they shook hands as if they were cross with each other, and then they each made a hearty meal.

“Got a latchkey, Jabez?” said Mr Peter, as, after supper, we all drew up round the fire and the visitor from Rowford refilled and lit his pipe, causing Mr Jabez to draw off from him as far as was possible.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“That’s right,” said Mr Peter; “don’t want to go to bed, do you, young ’un?”

“Oh, no,” I said; “I’m too glad to see you again.”

The old man’s eyes twinkled, as he looked at me fixedly.

“Been a good boy, Jabez?” he said at last.

“Who? – me?”

“No, no; young ’un here.”

“Oh, yes. Can’t you see?”

“Thought he would be, or I shouldn’t have sent him.”

“Humph!”

I wanted to talk, but I found that it would be of no use now, so I contented myself with studying the brothers, and, just then, Tom Girtley came in.

“Won’t disturb you,” he said quickly; “just off. Good-night, Mr Rowle, good-night, Tony.”

“Who’s he?” said Mr Peter, as the door closed.

“A friend of mine – a young solicitor.”

“Any good? – Trust him?” said Mr Peter quickly.

“Yes, he is very clever in his profession,” I said wonderingly.

“Call him back, then,” said Mr Peter. “I’ve got something for him to hear.”

Chapter Fifty Four.

Peter Rowle’s Bargain

I was just in time to call Tom Girtley back as he reached the corner of the street, and he came up into my room, wondering, for the hour was getting late; but he took a chair quietly, and waited for what Mr Peter had to say.

“Well, it ain’t much,” said the latter; “but it may mean a good deal. S’pose, sir, you just cast your eye over them there?” He took a packet of papers, tied with red tape, and docketed, out of his pocket, and passed them over to Tom Girtley, who immediately opened them in a very business-like way, and proceeded rapidly to mentally summarise their contents.

This took him some little time, during which we all sat very still, Mr Peter giving me a very knowing look or two in the interval.

“These are very important documents, sir,” said Tom Girtley quietly. “I must, of course, warn you that I am only a young member of my profession, and wanting in experience; but, as far as I can judge, these are the private memoranda and certain deeds and documents of Mr Edward Grace, of – ”

“My father!” I exclaimed excitedly. “How did you get these papers, Mr Rowle?”

“Bought ’em,” said the old gentleman quietly.

“You bought them?”

“To be sure I did. Old Blakeford thought he’d taken possession of all your father’s papers, my boy, after his death, but he didn’t.”

“How did you get them, then?” said Mr Jabez sharply.

“Bought ’em, I tell you. It was like this: old Blakeford put me in possession at the house of a man who had borrowed money of him, and he was going to sell him up – you know his ways, young ’un – I mean Mr Grace. Well, I went there one night, and very wild the poor fellow was, and he went straight to a bureau, that I seemed to have seen before, and began to go over his papers, tying up some and burning others, and going on and calling old Blakeford names all the while. ‘Ah,’ he says, all at once, ‘I bought this writing-table and drawers at Grace’s sale, when Blakeford sold the furniture. Look here,’ he said, ‘this lot of papers was in one of the back drawers. They belonged to old Grace, I suppose,’ and he was about to pitch them into the fire with his own letters and things, of which there was quite a heap.

“‘Don’t do that,’ I says; ‘they may be of value.’

“‘Not they,’ he says; ‘if they’d been worth anything old Blakeford wouldn’t have left them. They aren’t worth tuppence!’

“‘I’ll give you tuppence for them,’ I says.

“‘Pay up,’ he says, and I handed him the twopence, and took the papers. I’ve read ’em, and think they’re worth the money.”

“Worth the money!” cried Tom Girtley; “why, they may be worth ten thousand pounds; but I can say nothing till I have gone into the case; and I daresay it would be necessary to make Mr Blakeford supply some of the connecting links.”

“Which he won’t do,” said Mr Peter quietly.

“Unless he’s obliged,” said Tom Girtley. “There are means of making even a solicitor speak, Mr Rowle,” he continued. “Will you take these papers?”

“No,” said Mr Peter; “give ’em to Mr Grace there. They were his father’s. Blakeford’s pitched me over, because I got old and useless, so I shan’t try to screen him in the least.”

Tom Girtley folded and tied up the papers, and handed them to me but I refused to take them.

“Keep them and study them,” I said; “perhaps they will not prove to be so valuable when you have given them a fresh perusal.”

He nodded and placed the packet in his breast-pocket, all three then rising to go, for it was past twelve, and as Tom Girtley and I stood at the door, we saw the two old men go down the street, arm-in-arm, till they passed by the lamp-post and disappeared. Then, after a hearty good-night, Tom Girtley took his departure, and I went up to bed, to lie for hours thinking about my life with Mr Blakeford, and wondering whether he had defrauded me over the question of my father’s property. I had always felt that I was in his debt, and meant some day to repay him all he said that my father owed; in fact, Miss Carr had been so liberal to me in the way of pocket-money, that I had forty pounds saved up for that purpose; but now this came like a revelation, and there was a delightful feeling of triumph in the idea that I might perhaps bring a thorough scoundrel to book. Then all at once I began to think about Hetty – pretty, gentle little Hetty, who had been so kind to me when I was a miserable unhappy boy, and the hours when I saw her seemed like gleams of light, amongst so much darkness.

What would Hetty be like after all these years, I wondered; and then I began to blame myself for not asking Mr Rowle more about her, and at last, with the memory of the bright affectionate child filling my thoughts, I dropped off to sleep, to dream once more about Mr Blakeford, and that I was on the road, with him in full chase.

It was quite a treat to get out of bed and away from the nightmare-like dreams of the past, and after a sharp walk and breakfast, I made my way round by Mr Jabez Rowle’s lodgings, to have a few words with Mr Peter, before going to Lambeth.

I found the old man alone, smoking a long pipe with his hat on, and his brother gone.

His face lit up as he saw me, and after a little conversation about the past —

“When are you going back to Rowford?” I said.

“Want to get rid of me?” he replied.

“No, no, of course not.”

“Don’t know that I’m going back at all,” he said. “Jabez and I haven’t seen much of each other lately. Think I shall stay.”

“Did – have – did you ever see much of Miss Blakeford?” I said, feeling conscious as I spoke that I was growing hot.

“Often,” said the old man, looking at me intently. “She often asked about you.”

“About me?” I said.

“Yes: how you got on, and whether you were coming back.”

“What is she like now?” I said. “Of course she is not a little girl now.”

“Little girl? No: I should think not. Grow’d into an angel, that’s what she is.”

I could not ask any more, but promising to go in and see him in the evening, I hurried off to the works, thinking that I should very much like to see Hetty Blakeford again, and wondering whether she would see much change in me.

In another hour Rowford was forgotten, and I was deep in the preparations for Hallett’s machine, which was rapidly approaching completion; while a fortnight later I was dining with Miss Carr, and bearing her the news of the successful point to which Hallett had climbed, making her flush with pleasure, as I told her that the machine was to be set up at Mr Ruddle’s place of business, and be tried there.

“Send me word the day and hour of the trial, Antony,” she said, in a low voice.

“Will you come?” I said eagerly.

“No, Antony, no,” she said softly. “I could not come, but I shall pray for a triumphant success.”

She spoke warmly, for she seemed off her guard, and then hurriedly changed the conversation.

Chapter Fifty Five.

The Day of Triumph

The day of trial came at last; and after a sleepless night, I was trying to make a good breakfast before going down to Mr Ruddle’s with the inventor.

I believe I felt as nervous and excited as Hallett himself; for Mr Ruddle had spoken to me the night before about some unpleasant suspicions that he had.

“I don’t like to accuse any body, Grace,” he said; “but I’m afraid a certain person who shall be nameless has been setting some of the ignorant, drunken loafers of the trade against the machine.”

That was all then, but it was enough to make me uneasy, though I did not believe in the possibility of any trade outrage in the middle of London.

Hallett looked very pale, but I never saw him seem more manly, thoughtful, and handsome, as he stood there in his mother’s room, holding her hands.

“I shall come back, dear,” he said, kissing her tenderly, “telling you of my success. No, no, don’t shake your head. Good-bye, dear, wish me success. Good-bye, Linny, darling! Ah! Mr Girtley, you here?”

“To be sure,” cried Tom Girtley; “I’ve come to wish you success. Linny and I are going to throw old shoes after you. Mind! a champagne supper if you succeed. Tony and I will find the champagne. Hallo! here’s Papa Rowle.”

There was no mistaking that step, without the sound of the old man taking snuff, and he entered directly after; got up in grand style, and with a flower in his button-hole.

He had a bunch of flowers, too, for Mrs Hallett, and a kiss for Linny; and then, shaking hands all round, he began to rub his hands.

“It’s a winner, Hallett – a winner!” he exclaimed. “Come along, Girtley, you’ll make one. We want some big boys to cry ‘Hooray!’”

“I’ll come, then,” said Tom merrily; and directly after we went off, trying to look delighted, but all feeling exceedingly nervous and strange.

Hallett and Girtley went on in front, and Mr Jabez took my arm, holding me a little back.

“I’m glad Girtley’s coming, Grace,” he said; “he’s a big, strong fellow, and we may want him.”

“Why?” I said excitedly.

“I don’t know for certain, my boy, but I’m afraid there’s mischief brewing. I can’t swear to it, but I believe that devil, John Lister, has been stirring up the scoundreldom of the trade, with stuff about the machine taking the bread out of their mouths, and if the trial passes off without a hitch, I shall be surprised.”

“Mr Ruddle hinted something of the kind, last night,” I said.

“Yes, but don’t let Hallett know, poor fellow! He’s weak and ill enough already. He might break down. Ruddle had men watching the place all last night, so as to guard against any malicious attempts.”

“But do you think they would dare to injure the machine?” I exclaimed.

“Fools will do anything if they are set to do it,” said the old man, sententiously.

“If Lister is at the bottom of any such attempts he deserves to be shot,” I cried indignantly.

“And his carcase given to the crows,” said the old man. “But I say, Antony Grace, my boy, is Miss Carr likely to come to see the trial?”

“No,” I replied; “she asked me to let her know the time, but she said she could not come.”

“Humph! I should have liked her to see it,” he said. “But come along; don’t let’s lag behind; and mind this, my ideas may only be suspicions, and worth nothing at all.”

There was a group or two of men hanging about the rival office, bearing Lister’s name, at the end of the street, as we went up to the great building, and as I passed the timekeeper’s box I could not help thinking of the day when, a shivering, nervous boy, I had gone up only to meet with a rebuff; while now one of the first persons to come bustling up, looking very much older, but as pugnacious and important as ever, was Mr Grimstone, who was quite obsequious as he shook hands first with me, and then with Hallett.

“Very, very proud, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “very proud indeed. Great changes since you used to honour us with your assistance.”

“Yes, Mr Grimstone,” I said, laughing as I wondered how I could ever have trembled before him, “and time hasn’t stood still.”

“No, indeed, but we wear well, Mr Jabez Rowle and I, sir. Ha-ha-ha! Yes, old standards, sir, both of us, and we stand by the old establishment. We don’t want to go away inventing great machines.”

“Oh, Grimstone! the men are still there with the machine?” said Mr Ruddle, coming up.

“No, sir, not now. They went off when I came, but I’ve put the new watchman on.”

“Confound it all, Grimstone! You’ve never put a stranger there?” exclaimed Mr Ruddle furiously.

“But I have, sir,” said the overseer importantly. “Here he is, sir. Bramah lock,” and he held out a bright new key.

“Oh, I see,” said Mr Ruddle, laughing. “Here’s Mr Girtley, senior.”

The great engineer came up, nodded to his son and me, shook hands with Hallett, and then we all went to the room where the machine had been set up, glistening, bright, and new, with the shaft and bands of the regular engine gear passing through above it.

The first thing noticed was that the window was open; and annoyed that the mist of a damp morning should be admitted, I hurriedly closed it, thinking then no more of the matter.

It wanted quite an hour to the time appointed, and the interval was employed in superintending the alteration of a few bolts and nuts, which Mr Girtley wanted tightened, and as I watched the great engineer, a man whose name was now an authority throughout Europe, and who was constantly refusing contracts, pull off his coat, take a spanner, and help his men, I began to realise that it was his personal attention to small matters and his watchful supervision that had raised him to his present position.

“Nice hands!” he said, laughing, as he held them out all over blacklead and oil. “Wise lad, you were, Tom, to leave it, and take to your parchment and pounce.”

There was a covert sneer in his words, which Tom seemed to take, for he said quickly:

“Perhaps, father, I may help you as much with my brain as I used to help you with my hands.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my boy, and we must have lawyers. Well, Grace, how do you feel about it now?”

“I think I’d ease that nut a little, sir,” I said, pointing to one part of the machine.

“Why?” he said sharply.

“I fancy that there will be so much stress upon that wheel that it will be better to give it as much freedom as we can, and, perhaps I am wrong, sir, but it strikes me – ” I glanced at Hallett, and felt the blood flush to my face, for I felt that what I was about to say must sound very cruel to him.

“Go on, Antony,” he said kindly; but I saw that he was very pale.

“It strikes you?” said Mr Girtley.

“That this is the weak part of the contrivance. Here falls the stress; and, when it is running at full speed, I feel sure that the slight structure of this portion will tell against the machine doing good work, and it may result in its breaking down.”

“Go on,” said Mr Girtley bluntly; for I had stopped, feeling uncomfortable at the dead silence that had fallen upon the group.

“It is not a question of efficiency,” I said, “but one of detail, of substantiality and durability. At first sight it seems as if it would make the machine cumbersome, but I feel sure that if we made that shaft and its wheel four times the thickness – that is to say, excessively massive, we should get a firm, solid regularity in the working, a fourth of the vibration, and be able to dispense with this awkward fly-wheel. My dear Hallett,” I exclaimed hurriedly, as I saw how his pallor had increased, “pray forgive me. I was quite led away by my thoughts. These are but suggestions. I daresay I was wrong.”

“Wrong!” exclaimed Mr Girtley, catching my hand in his, and giving it a grip that made me wince. “Every word you have said, my boy, is worth gold. Tom, I’d have given ten thousand pounds to have heard you speak like that.”

“But then, you see, I could not, father,” said his son good-humouredly. “Antony Grace here is a born engineer, and you’ll have to make him a partner one of these days.”

I hardly heard their words, for my anxiety about Hallett. I seemed to have been trampling upon his hopes, and as if I had been wanting in forethought after having the superintendence of the manufacture for so long.

“I ought to have suggested these alterations before,” I faltered.

“How could you?” said Mr Girtley gruffly. “You only saw the failing just now. I can see it, of course, when you point it out. We only climb by our falls, Grace. Locomotives were only got to their present perfection after no end of failures. Well, Mr Hallett, what do you say?”

“Antony Grace is quite right,” he replied. “That is undoubtedly a failing spot, and where, if driven at high speed, the machine would break down. I have had no training as an engineer, and have had to work blindfold, and in the midst of difficulties.”

“Mr Hallett,” said the great engineer, “I have had training as an engineer – a long and arduous training – and I tell you that if you had had twice as much experience as I, you would not have succeeded with your contrivance the very first time. I threw myself into this affair as soon as I saw it, for I felt that it was one of those machines that make their mark in history; and now that we are going to try it, even if it does not come up to our expectations, I say, don’t be discouraged, for I tell you it must and will succeed. I’m not a proud man, as a rule, but I am proud of my reputation, and if money is wanted to bring your great invention to perfection, the cash shall be forthcoming, even if we have to borrow.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Mr Jabez, and a slight flush appeared in Hallett’s pale face.

“I’m very sorry I spoke, Hallett,” I whispered to him, as I took his hand.

“What, for giving me such great help?” he said, smiling. “You foolish fellow, Antony, I am not a spoilt child, that I cannot bear to listen to my mistakes.”