A Drake by George!

"I guessed as much," said George.

"And he used to tell me, if you wanted to make a man real angry you had only to say the opposite of what you meant in the most polite language you could find. He told Robert the like, I fancy."

"My uncle generally found the soft answer a success," said George. "He told me once how another captain once called him 'a bullying old scoundrel with a face like a lobster-salad,' and he replied, 'You're a ewe-lamb.' The other man got madder than ever though, as my uncle said, you can't find anything much softer than a ewe-lamb. But Robert isn't always calling you a rich man. He's in our kitchen every evening, and he talks pretty freely when he has a drop of cocoa in him."

"He ain't got nothing against me. Me and the missus ha' been a father to him," said the baker, with suspicious alacrity.

"He thinks he has a grievance."

"Then I suppose he's still worrying over his honeymoon. A man what's been married years and years ought to be thinking of his future state and his old-age pension. He might as well be asking vor his childhood back again."

"He says you cheated him out of his honeymoon," said George, who knew the story: how Dyer's wedding present to his assistant had been leave of absence, without pay, from Saturday to Monday; coupled with a promise of a week's holiday, with half pay, at some future date when business might be slack; which promise belonged to that fragile order of assurances declaimed so loudly at election time.

"'Tis a lot too late now," said the baker.

"I suppose a deferred honeymoon is better than none at all," George remarked. "Anyhow, Robert and his wife are grumbling a good bit and, as I'm staying here, they asked me to remind you of your promise, business being very slack at present."

"I ha' never known it to be anything else, but 'tis funny it should be picking up a little just now. I got a big order vor cakes this morning, as there's a school treat next week. Me and Robert will be kept very busy all this month – but it's a losing business. There's no profit in cakes, nor yet in bread. There used to be a profit in doughnuts, but that's gone now."

The cautious George said no more, being content with the knowledge that he had given Dyer something to worry about. The baker would certainly not mention the matter so long as Robert kept silent; and Robert had probably forgotten all about the promise, although many months back George had overheard him assuring Bessie it would be time to think of a new dress when master's wedding present came along.

"One thing is certain: nobody can get the better of me," George chuckled as he left the bakehouse. "I beat Hunter at his own game, I diddled Crampy in his, I scared Percy out of the country – at least that's my belief – and now I'm going to make old Dyer set a trap to catch the furniture snatchers."

The Mudges, unsuspecting treachery, were glittering like two stars of fashion; Robert lolling at ease in the parlour until Bessie summoned him to supper in the dining room. If it was their duty to look after the house, it was also their pleasure to take care of themselves. They did not regard George as either friend or enemy; they despised and pitied a poor fellow who possessed no visible means of support, while attributing his presence in Highfield to a cat-like habit of returning to a house which might have been his had he behaved with propriety.

The only person they feared was Kezia, who certainly did appear to have almost as much right to the Captain's furniture as themselves. This suspicion was in Robert's mind when, the shutters having been closed and the lamps lighted, he stood beside the round table upon which were spread various scraps of paper beginning to show signs of wear and tear.

"If we takes all that Mrs. Drake sees we'm to have, what do Kezia get?" he asked.

"Not much," replied Bessie.

"If Kezia takes all the things Mrs. Drake said she could have, what do we get?" continued Robert.

"Nought," said Bessie.

"When property be left this way, volks sometimes share and share alike; or they sells the stuff, and each takes half the money," continued Robert.

"Kezia won't neither sell nor share. She'll bide quiet till Miss Sophy dies, and then she'll see a lawyer," declared Bessie.

"Our bits o' paper are as gude as hers."

"Kezia would sooner lose everything than see us take any little old bit of stuff. She'm a spiteful toad."

"The nicest thing we can do, Bess, is to go on shifting, one bit now and agin. Kezia won't notice nothing, if us takes 'em gradual."

"Where can us hide them?" asked Bessie. "We can't put 'em over in the cottage. Kezia ain't such a vule as you think. If I wur to take a kitchen spine she'd miss it."

"She never found out about the last lot," Robert reminded her.

"Policeman went away sudden and forgot to tell her. We'll have to shift those things, vor rainy weather'll be starting soon, and that musical box will spoil inside the peatstack."

"I'll get 'em out avore they comes back home; I b'ain't ashamed of claiming what be rightly ours. I told policeman we'd took what belonged to us, and he said 'twas all right this time, but us mustn't do it too often. I'm going to shift a few more pieces across the way in a day or two."

"Best wait till Miss Sophy dies," said Bessie nervously.

"We'll let the big furniture bide till then. Where's Miss Sophy going to be buried?"

"Somewhere in London, she ses. Said she wouldn't be buried here if they paid her vor it."

"That's got it!" cried Robert. "When Kezia goes to the funeral, I'll shift the furniture."

"Don't that seem like trying to get the better of her?"

"Ain't she trying to deprive us of our rightful property? Don't she want to see me and you cut off wi' a fry pan? See what's wrote on this paper – 'I want Bessie to have all the furniture in the spare bedroom.' And on this one – 'all the furniture in the dining room.' And on this here – 'all the stuff in the kitchen.' Ain't that clear?"

"Sure enough," said Bessie.

"Then there's the house and garden; worth a thousand pounds, I reckon."

"It seems as how Mrs. Drake never left the place to no one, unless it wur to Miss Sophy. But, I tell ye, Kezia means to have it."

"Parson had best keep his eyes open, or she'll slip off wi' the church," said Robert grimly.

"If Miss Sophy ha' got it, 'tis only vor her life. She can't keep it afterwards," explained Bessie. "So Nellie can't get it, and Mr. George ain't to have nothing, and I'll watch Kezia don't have it, though I wouldn't mind letting her the attic where they keeps the boxes."

"What about Mr. Percy!"

"Well, there! I never thought of him. But the house belonged to Captain Drake, and he didn't like Mr. Percy, so it don't seem right the place should go to him."

"Mr. George would know."

"'Tis him, I fancy, who's been knocking such a lot," said Bessie.

"Go and let 'en in," directed Robert. "He can't do us any harm, and he may do us a bit of gude."

Bessie obeyed, and George entered, beaming in the most sunny fashion, assuring the Mudges he too had frequently been deluded into the belief that a loose branch had been tapping against the door, when in reality somebody was knocking and ringing. It was a mistake, he thought, to plant umbrageous perennials so close to the front doorstep, which had been nicely purified since Miss Teenie stood upon it. Their plan of acting the part of caretakers with the thoroughness of ownership he commended highly; as, with autumn approaching, it was necessary to keep the house warm and the furniture dry; and the only satisfactory way of doing so was for Robert to smoke his pipe in the parlour while Bessie reclined upon the easy chairs which, he went on to suggest, would be her own some day.

"Us might as well take t'em now as wait vor 'em, Robert ses," replied Bessie, delighted at the geniality of her visitor. "Won't you sit down, Mr. George, and make yourself comfortable? I was surprised to hear you had gone to Mrs. Dyer's. I'd have asked ye to come here, if I'd known you wur going to stay."

"Thank you very much," said George simply. "I should have been far more comfortable here; but I am not making a long stay, and I felt sure you would be wanting to turn out these rooms."

"Kezia said you weren't coming back again," observed Robert, hoping to obtain raw material for gossip.

"What do she know?" snapped Bessie.

"Nothing," replied George. "I had to come back on business in connection with the railway. You see, I'm civil engineer to the company, and I have to prepare a report."

"They did say you had given up the railway," remarked Bessie, beginning to understand the politeness of George's manner, although she did not know why engineers had to be more civil than other people.

"That railway has been in the air a long time, but I shall never rest until I've made it," said George with energy. "Everything is arranged now except a few preliminary details, such as issuing the prospectus, collecting the money, and obtaining of Parliamentary powers. I have an idea of turning this garden into the terminus, and making the house the station. This will make a good waiting room, while the dining room can be converted into the booking office. The station-master and his family can live upstairs. I shall be station-master, as well as general manager."

Bessie gulped and Robert whistled.

"Your cottage will do for a goods' station. I shall build a platform round it, put up a crane – "

"What about the street?" cried Robert.

"I shall divert that, if necessary. If I find the church is in my way, it must come down."

"But you won't start till Miss Sophy dies. Mrs. Drake said nothing wur to happen till Miss Sophy died," said Bessie.

"We can't possibly wait for her. We have got to make progress," replied George firmly.

"What about Mr. Percy?" asked the crafty Robert.

"What has he got to do with our affairs?"

"Ain't he to have the house and garden?"

"The whole of this property belongs to me, and Miss Sophy is my tenant," replied the far more crafty George; for this was the question he had been leading up to.

"Kezia won't have it anyhow," Robert muttered with satisfaction, removing his boots from the sofa. He wanted to go out into the village and talk.

"You never did tell us much about that paper what Mrs. Drake left vor you," said Bessie reproachfully.

"It was just an ordinary will, leaving me some money and the house. She couldn't deprive me of that, as the property belonged to my uncle, and he made her promise I should have it. If you don't believe me, you can ask Miss Blisland," George added lightly.

"Of course we believes you. I always thought it funny Mrs. Drake shouldn't have left you nothing," said Bessie.

"What do you think she meant to do about the furniture, sir?" asked Robert boldly.

"Ah, that's a troublesome question," said George cautiously.

"I fancy she meant to leave half to Kezia and half to me; but she wur such a kind-hearted lady that she left all of it to both of us," observed Bessie.

"Not all – tell the truth, Bess. We ain't going to claim what don't belong to us. She never left you the carpet on the stairs, nor yet the old bed in the attic," said Robert severely.

"You can't be too honest in business, and that means, if you are too honest, some one else will get the better of you," said George. "If Mrs. Drake had left the furniture to Mr. Taverner and myself, as she has left it to Kezia and you – "

"What would you ha' done, sir?" asked Robert eagerly.

"I should have looked after my own interests," George answered, as he reached for his hat.

The Mudges escorted him to the door of his own house, and hoped he would look in any time he was passing.

"It's right about the house," said Robert, as he too reached for his hat. "And it's right about the railway. I know Captain Drake meant to build it; he talked a lot about it, and he brought gentlemen down to look round the place; they pretended to be fishing, but we knew what they wur up to. Mr. George ain't clever like his uncle. He made a vule of hisself when he said the American gentleman come here to buy a pair of vases – all the way from America to buy a bit o' cloam! Everybody knew he'd come about the railway. Mr. George ain't clever – that's a sure thing. He can't talk so as to deceive a child. 'Twas the American gentleman what put him up to the idea o' turning this house into the terminus. He would never ha' thought of it."

CHAPTER XVIII

SOWING THE SEED

Next morning George invited the dreary Dyer to step into the parlour with a view to continuing the diplomatic conversation commenced the previous day. The baker responded with a certain amount of trepidation, as he thought it possible Mr. Drake might desire to buy a share in the business, and he did not at all relish the idea of confessing that the profits were considerable. His relief, therefore, was only equalled by his amazement when George inquired:

"Did you ever buy a penny weekly journal, Mr. Dyer?"

"Never in my life, sir," replied the baker.

"Then you know nothing about picture puzzles?"

"Never heard of 'em avore, sir."

"A penny weekly journal exists upon its picture puzzles," George continued. "The last time I went away I bought one of these papers. The competition interested me, as the pictures represented the names of certain railway stations, and that's a subject I know as much about as any man in England."

"I don't know as I quite get your meaning," said the baker.

"I'll explain. Suppose the picture is intended to represent Marylebone. You may be shown a drawing of a little girl eating a mutton chop. Of course, you are expected to have some brains."

"I wouldn't use mine vor such a purpose," said the baker somewhat sharply.

"It's quite simple when you've got the trick. You have to assume the little girl's name is Mary, and le is French for the, and there's more bone than anything else in a mutton chop. Well, I went in for this competition, and I've won second prize. I don't know why I didn't get the first, but perhaps that was suppressed for economic reasons."

"I suppose it would be the same sort of thing as a flower show," suggested Dyer. "I got second prize for carrots once. It should ha' been half a crown, but they ran short o' money, so I got only eighteen pence, and I never showed again."

"My prize was worth winning," said George, who had really received a solatium of ten shillings. "It was fifty pounds."

Dyer repeated the amount, firstly as a shout of admiration, secondly as a whisper of covetousness; then he released all kinds of exclamations for some moments; and presently observed with emotion:

"Education does it, sir! If I could ha' gone to a big school, and to the University, I might ha' gone in vor them pictures too. Little gal eating a mutton chop – well done, sir! They'm nought but bone as you ses. You found out her name wur Mary, and you talked French, and you learned all about the railways. Ah, that's wonderful! But I fancy, sir, you must ha' used a map."

"I did it by skill entirely, but of course I had an advantage over my competitors owing to my connection with the railways. Now you are wondering why I'm telling you this?"

"We all knows you does business in railways," said Dyer absently.

"I find myself with a large sum of money, and I mean to make a good use of it. I propose spending the whole amount in giving happiness to others; but I want to do it unobtrusively. I intend to give a meat tea to the old folk of this parish, but I shall hand the money to the vicar and request him to keep my name out of it."

"Perhaps, sir, you'm a-paying vor the cakes ordered yesterday," cried Dyer.

"Don't mention the matter," said George.

"You can trust me, sir."

"Another thing I am anxious to do is to give the Mudges a real good holiday. That's what I wanted to see you about, Mr. Dyer. I know you wish to keep your promise – about the wedding present, you know – but, of course, you can't afford it. My idea is to send them away for a week to the seaside. Bessie served my uncle and aunt faithfully for a number of years, while Robert was always ready to make himself useful in the house; but I've done nothing for either of them. We could give them the best week of their lives for five pounds."

"Did you say anything about me, sir?" asked the baker.

"Yes, because I felt sure you would insist upon contributing something, though I should like them to think the whole amount comes from you. Suppose I give three pounds. You can make up the other two."

"Can't be done, sir. Can't possibly be done. Besides, sir, business is looking up, owing to your generosity, and I can't spare Robert."

"It will give you a splendid reputation for liberality. Everybody in the parish will know you have given the Mudges five pounds and a week's leave of absence."

"I works vor my reputation, sir. Two pounds would ruin me. I can't tell ye how bad things be; I'd be ashamed to speak the truth, sir; I don't hardly like to think on it. Often, when missus fancies I'm asleep, she has a gude cry. She knows we can't pay five shillings in the pound if miller wur to call vor what us owes 'en."

"I'll subscribe four pounds, if you will give the other," said George.

"Where would I get a pound from?" asked Dyer, more drearily than ever. "I'd have to borrow, or sell the bed I tries to sleep on, but can't vor all the trouble. A sovereign, sir, is more to me than to any one else in this parish."

"I've heard that before, and I believe it."

"And it's the truth. Twenty shillings might make the difference between pulling down the blinds today, or keeping 'em up till next week."

"Will you give ten shillings?" George inquired desperately.

The baker shook his head like one in pain, muttering something about last straws and poor relief.

"Will you give anything?"

"Well, sir, to show my heart's in the right place I'll sacrifice a shilling. I'll grab it from the till when missus ain't looking."

"Here is the money," said George, counting out five sovereigns. "You had better see Robert at once: tell him to get away tomorrow. This is September, and fine weather may break any day."

Such a rush of philanthropy numbed the baker's faculties; but even in that semi-paralysed condition he remained a man of business. His fingers closed upon the coins, his feet carried him to the door; then he turned back to face this benefactor, who was shedding sovereigns in the reckless fashion of a tree casting its autumnal leaves. The old folk were to be provided with a meat tea; the Mudges were to be given a week at the seaside; the donor was to remain anonymous. Dyer in all his dreariness could not understand why Mr. Drake should desire to benefit his fellow creatures at all; but, more than that, he was actually proposing to do good stealthily. Where then was the advertisement?

"It's a lot of money, sir. You could buy a bit of land vor this," he said at last.

"I do not require any land," George answered.

"You don't get any profit so far as I can see," the baker proceeded.

"I am helping you to give Robert and Bessie the first real holiday they have ever known; I am enabling you to keep your promise; and I am enjoying the satisfaction of performing an unselfish action."

"'Tis there I'm beat. Why don't ye give the money to Robert, and tell 'en 'tis a present from me and you?"

"I will, if you like, and tell him your share is one shilling."

Dyer again moved towards the door; but still he hesitated.

"They could do it on less than five pounds, sir."

"Give them four, then, and keep the other sovereign for yourself," George replied, breaking out into bribery.

"What about the shilling?" asked Dyer eagerly.

"I'll let you off that."

The baker became a reformed character at once. He did not profess to understand Mr. Drake's extraordinary conduct, but he was quite willing to benefit by the eccentricities of any man. His meanness had become a by-word in the parish. Now Mr. Drake was offering to purchase him a reputation for generosity, which was almost as good as an annuity, and was giving him a sovereign for himself. Dyer was not the man to shrink from duty that was profitable.

"You're the son of your uncle, sir," he said with feeling.

"I have always set his example before me," replied George.

"I'll spare Robert a week from tomorrow. Don't ye think, sir, four pounds are a bit too much?"

"I couldn't let them do it on less," said George firmly.

"And you don't want me to tell 'em part of the money comes from you?"

"I want them to think you are keeping your promise."

The baker retired, muttering, "He wants to get 'em out of Highfield House vor certain. But that don't matter to me so long as I get my profit."

George went for a long walk to refresh himself, not bothering about his popularity any longer, as he was contemplating an act which would make future residence in Highfield impossible; but he met the Wallower in Wealth, who demanded his musical box; and the Dumpy Philosopher, who put searching questions concerning the railway and the amount of compensation for wounded feelings he was likely to receive; and the Yellow Leaf, who had just lost his wife and was going courting. Returning, during the late afternoon, he stopped at his own house, knocked, but received no answer from that side of the street. Bessie looked out from the cottage window opposite and invited him to step in that direction.

"Have ye heard the news, Mr. George?" she whispered excitedly. "Master ha' given Robert three pounds and a week."

"Three pounds!" cried George fiercely.

"Us can't make any one believe it. Three solid sovereigns, sir! Robert ha' got teethache through biting 'em."

"I am not surprised," said George. "Dyer has been left a lot of money – he told me yesterday. An uncle, who went to New Zealand years ago, has just died and left him thousands. He can buy up the whole village if he wants to."

"Master never told Robert he'd been left money. He gave 'en the sovereigns and said 'twas a reward vor the way Robert had worked. Couldn't spare 'em, he said, but his conscience worried him. They do say the Dyers ha' never given away anything avore 'cept the water what they boiled their cabbage in."

"When are you off?"

"First thing tomorrow. We'm going to my home, so it won't cost nothing 'cept the railway. I'm getting our things together now."

"Where's Robert?"

"Going round wi' the bread – that's him a-whistling. He'm fair mazed, Mr. George."

"Who is to take care of the house?"

"I'll lock it up and take the keys away wi' me. Why shouldn't us go? No one won't go near the house, wi' you and policeman about."

"I think you ought to wait until Miss Yard comes back," said George, who knew enough about women to be aware how the spirit of opposition acts upon them.

"And lose our holiday! The only real holiday we've had, and the chance to see my folks again. Not likely, Mr. George! If we don't go tomorrow, master will ask vor them three sovereigns back again. How did you manage to find out he'd been left all this money?"

"I was talking with him yesterday and – it just slipped out. You will hear more when you come back."

"I'll make Robert ask 'en vor a rise. How long be you staying, Mr. George?"

"I might be here when you return or, on the other hand, I might go tomorrow. Do you want me to take charge of the keys?"

"Somebody ought to go in and open the windows."

"I don't mind doing you a favour. If I'm called away I will leave the keys with Mrs. Dyer."

"Not wi' she. Leave 'em wi' Mrs. Cann to the post office. You come this evening, and I'll give ye the keys."

"All right," said George. "But you know I don't approve of your going after having been left in charge."

"If I don't go, Robert will, and he ain't going home without me," said Bessie. "I wouldn't like leaving if Kezia wur here, vor I'd dread her selling some of my things; but Robert ha' told the volks the house belongs to you, so there's no fear of any one breaking in, unless it be the Brocks. Policeman ha' promised to keep his eye on them."

George went on to punish the baker, who had succeeded with grievous pangs in handing over three sovereigns, but had failed in his endeavour to part with the fourth. Dyer affirmed Robert had lied, by no means for the first time; but, when George threatened to call the Mudges that they might give evidence upon oath, Dyer admitted it was just possible the missing coin might have slipped through a hole in his pocket; so he called his wife to light a candle and to sweep the floor. The elusive piece of gold, however, had passed entirely out of vision, although neither of the Dyers could feel surprised at that; the lady declaring it was wonderful how easily things lost themselves; while her husband said he had done nothing except drop money all his life.