“What had I better do?” is the question that Ted is turning over and over in his mind, for the time has come for Ted to do something, and there are more difficulties confronting him than any one has an idea of. He has not even taken Harry6 Allyn fully4 into his confidence, so proud is this same foolish Ted. Besides, Harry Allyn, who, as you know, is in dead earnest about his “new leaf,” is up at Oxford delving7 away, midsummer though it is, at some back work that was sadly neglected in the spring term, and has actual need to be made up.
Finally Ted, who finds himself simply reasoning in a circle, decides to lay the whole matter before Donald; for Donald, boy that he is, has opinions of his own which he does not fear to express, and, what is more, Ted in desperation feels that he simply must turn to somebody. And so it comes about that at the close of an August afternoon, when Ted has the house to himself (Chris having taken the old keeper and his wife off for a drive), that he calls to Donald, who, coming up from a day’s work in the kitchen garden, is on his way to put his tools away in the barn.
“Well, what is it, Mr. Harris?” leaving rake and hoe against the cottage shingles8 and slipping into the chair nearest the door, out of regard for Mrs. Hartley’s clean-swept carpet.
“It’s just this, Donald. I’m in a fix, and I want you to help me out.”
“A new fix, Mr. Harris?” with a long breath, as though he thought there had really been rather too much of that sort of thing already.
“No, an old one, Donald, and I fancy you know enough of my record these last four years to imagine what it is.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if you’re in debt,” for Ted had hinted as much once or twice to Donald.
“Exactly, head over heels in debt;” and although Ted’s words were light enough, his manner was very serious.
“And you want me to help you out?” said Donald, remembering the three or four sovereigns knotted up sailor fashion in a handkerchief with a few other treasures, and representing all his worldly store.
“No, I’m not going to take any savings9 of yours,” said Ted, imagining that Donald might so have understood him; “but I want to put the case to you, and have you tell me what to do;” and Donald listened attentively10 while Ted “put his case” plainly and without any mental reservations whatever.
“It’s a terrible big sum,” said Donald, when all was told, “but you say you have money enough to pay it several times over if you could only get at it.”
“Exactly; but I can’t get at it any more than though it didn’t belong to me—not till I’m twenty-five, and that’s two years off. You see, my father thought he had given me a generous income, and he had—rather too generous for my good, it seems.”
“I suppose the people you owe it to would wait two years if they felt sure they would get the money then for Donald, with the wisdom of an older head, was trying to look at the matter from all sides.
“No, Donald, that wouldn’t do. They’re trades-people, most of them, and they’ve waited longer than they can afford to already. I must manage to borrow the money somewhere—but where, that’s the question.”
“Couldn’t Harold help you a little?”
“Not to any extent. Harold can’t touch his money any more than I; besides, Harold is not to know,” and Ted spoke11 decidedly, as though in that direction his mind was fully made up, and he needed advice from no one.
“Aren’t there men up in London who make a business of lending money?” for Donald hadn’t knocked about the world without gaining some knowledge of men and affairs.
“Yes, there are, but I want to keep this thing just as quiet as possible. I do wish I had some friend to turn to.”
“Mr. Harris,” said Donald, looking Ted squarely in the face, “it’s an awful pity about you; there is no sense at all in your going on the way you have. When a fellow has a home and friends and money, there isn’t any excuse for that sort of thing. Seems to me it would be so easy then to keep straight.”
Ted winced12 a little under Donald’s frankness, knowing all that lay beneath it. It had sometimes been very difficult for the boy there before him, to whom home and money had been always lacking, and friends as well until within these last few weeks, to live up to the best that he knew. No boy puts to sea, as Donald had done, without coming face to face with some sore temptations, but his whole look and bearing showed how manfully he had resisted them, and the earnest honesty of his eyes preached a sermon as they met Ted’s.
“It is an awful pity,” said Ted, echoing Donald’s words, and hating his own record more than any one else could hate it; “but all that is left me is to try and mend matters. The only comfort is that I’ve come to my senses at last. A great many never do, you know.”
“Mr. Harris,” said Donald, who had been listening to Ted and doing his own thinking at one and the same time, “there was an Englishman came over on the steamer with us, who grew to be great friends with Marie-Celeste, and Marie-Celeste told me all about him one of those afternoons when I was too weak to do anything but lie in my berth13, and she tried to entertain me. She said he was a bachelor, and rich as could be, and she thought the best thing that could happen to him would be to do somebody a good turn with his money. If you feel that you want to keep this matter sort of quiet, just between gentleman and gentleman (which was a phrase Donald had heard Mr. Harris use, and was glad to be able to appropriate), why don’t you go up to London and hunt him up? He lives at one of the big clubs. You could easily find him. His name was Belden.”
At this Ted gave a start of surprise, as did Miss Dorothy Allyn when Marie-Celeste made the same announcement the day of their talk in St. George’s Chapel14. And then Ted asked, as had she: “Are you sure it was Belden? You see, Donald,” he continued, “I’ve an old bachelor uncle whose name is Selden—my mother’s brother—and who answers to your description to a dot—a surly old customer, who would do little enough for me, or any one else, I imagine.”
“No; it was Belden sure. Everybody called him Mr. Belden, and it was so on the passenger list; I’ve got one in my chest upstairs; I’ll bring it, and you can see for yourself.”
“Donald,” said Ted, when, the list having been produced, he felt that the balance of evidence was not in favor of Mr. Belden and Mr. Selden being one and the same, “that is a happy thought of yours, and up to London I will go.”
“You oughtn’t to go alone, Mr. Harris; you’re not strong enough for that yet.”
“I wonder if Chris would let you turn valet for me and go too.”
“I’d give a great deal to see London again,” said Donald enthusiastically.
“Would wages have to be taken into account?” laughed Ted; “you know the state of my finances, Donald.”
“Board and expenses—that is all, sir,” and so the serious talk ended with this bit of pleasantry; and Ted realizing that he had not been disappointed in feeling that Donald would somehow be able to help him, found himself entering into the new scheme with rather more hope than circumstances would seem to justify15.
It was by no means a cheery announcement to the household in the little thatched cottage when Ted told them that evening, that two days later he must gather his belongings16 together and turn his back on the home and the friends that had formed his little world during all the long weeks of convalescence17; and then when he asked if Donald might perhaps be permitted to go up to London with him, Mrs. Hartley felt that all the brightness of the summer was fast slipping away. No one could appreciate what new life had opened up for the old couple with the coming of Chris and Ted and Donald, and now two were proposing to go at once, and only five weeks more, and Chris would be bidding them farewell on his way to the Majestic18 down at Liverpool, and on which it had been arranged that Donald at the same time should once more put to sea. So no wonder that at first they all declared that the boy could not be spared; but the more they thought of it the more they felt that Ted really needed him. As a result, a telegram was finally sent to Mr. Harris, which caught the driving party at Windemere, asking if he would approve of Donald’s going up to London with a convalescent gentleman who greatly needed his services. The telegram was signed Christopher Hartley; and Mr. Harris, concluding that Donald and Chris were quite able to decide what was best in the matter, telegraphed back, “No objection, of course, if you think it advisable;” and its welcome message brought more joy to the hearts of Ted and Donald than they could graciously give expression to in the face of Mr. and Mrs. Hartley’s regret at their departure.
It was astonishing with what celerity Donald had seemed to merge20 the sailor-boy in the farm-hand, and now in turn the farm-hand in the valet. He brushed away at Ted’s clothes as vigorously as though that had been his calling from his youth up, and stowed away his belongings in the boxes that Harry Allyn had sent down from Oxford with an economy of space that was truly amazing. And now at last there was no more to be done, and Mrs. Hartley bade her boys God-speed with lips that from trembling could hardly frame the blessing21, and on which face—Ted’s or Donald’s—loving gratitude22 found deeper expression it would have been difficult to have told. The old keeper pressed Ted’s hands, and actually said something about feeling he had been a little hard on him at first; and then turning to Donald, made him promise to count Nuneham as his home ever afterward23, and run down for a Sunday between voyages whenever he could manage it; and the words were about the most precious that had ever fallen on Donald’s ears.
The hotel to which the two travellers betook themselves in London was a modest one, as befitted their circumstances. Ted, however, who, in spite of himself, had still considerable regard for appearances, could not resist the temptation of investing—though Donald urgently protested against such extravagance—in a suit of clothes, somewhat less conspicuous24 than the nautical25 blue jersey26 and wide-flapping trousers of Donald’s Sunday best, and better adapted to his new calling.
“Now, Donald,” said Ted, who found himself relying on Donald’s advice in truly remarkable27 fashion, “what’s to be the first step in the programme? Shall we try to look up your Mr. Belden in the London Directory?”
“As you say, sir,” said Donald, who was amusing himself and Ted as well by endeavoring to acquit28 himself as the most respectful of valets. So forth29 they fared together, for the little hostelry was by far too unpretentious to boast a city directory; but the morning was so fine, notwithstanding mid-August weather, that they were tempted30 to stroll on and on, deferring31 a little, by tacit consent, the immediate32 object of their expedition. Along the Thames embankment they strolled from their quarters up near Blackfriar’s Bridge, past the Savoy Hotel, and keeping near the river until, reaching Northumberland Avenue, they turned in the direction of Trafalgar Square.
“Mr. Harris,” said Donald, attracted by a sign over a doorway33, when they had gone a few squares farther on, “I believe this is Mr. Belden’s club. Marie-Celeste told me its name once, and I’m almost sure this is it.” Whereupon Ted straightway found himself feeling very much dismayed at the announcement, and his heart misgave34 him, as hearts have a way of doing when the time has come for mere19 intention to take the more definite form of action. The object of this search of theirs seemed all at once to Ted the most ridiculous thing imaginable. The idea of expecting that a stranger, to whom his only introduction was that of a cabin-boy of the White Star Line, would be likely to take an interest in him to the extent of making him a loan of a large sum of money at rather a low rate of interest; and then Ted realized what some of us have realized before, that all he had practically to build upon was Marie-Celeste’s remark to Donald, “that she felt very sure that the best thing that could happen to this same rich Mr. Belden would be to do a good turn to somebody and Ted once more scored himself a fool to have seriously considered the thing for a moment. But it was too late now to retreat, for Donald was having an animated35 talk with the buttons of the door of the Reform Club; and Ted, who stood just out of earshot, was the victim of all sorts of uncomfortable sensations as to what the result might be.
“It looks,” said Donald, coming down the steps and back to Ted, with a puzzled frown on his face, “as though there really might be a mistake somewhere. I am perfectly36 sure this is the name of the club, and the buttons says they have a Mr. Selden, but no Mr. Belden.”
“Donald,” said Ted almost savagely37 “let us walk away just as quickly as possible. There is no doubt about it now. The man you mean is my uncle, and I wouldn’t put myself in his way for all the world. Can’t you walk faster, Donald?” But meantime, the uncle in question was hastening to put himself in Ted’s way with all possible speed, or rather in Donald’s, which, as it happened, was one and the same thing. It seemed that Mr. Selden (circumstances permitting, it is better to call people by their real names) had discovered Donald from the dining-room window just as he was descending38 the steps, and recognizing him instantly flung his napkin onto the table, and hurrying from the room seized his hat from the rack as he passed.
“Bring that boy back!” was his breathless older to the buttons; but the door being open, he rushed through it himself, deciding that the matter was too important to be delegated to any one less interested than himself.
“Donald,” he called, overtaking him at last, a whole square away—“Donald, were you looking for me?”
Donald turned, and the next moment was shaking hands warmly with Mr. Selden, his face fairly beaming with glad surprise; but Ted stood by, the picture of hopeless despair. His first absurd impulse had been to run, for though first impulses are magnificent things as a rule, they do sometimes suggest the most outlandish performances. His second, which was fortunately the one upon which he acted, was to stand and see the thing through, giving himself over to his fate with an air of most woebegone resignation to whatever might be in store for him.
“Who is your friend?” said Mr. Selden, politely lifting his hat to Ted; for his own greeting over, poor Donald was at his wit’s end, not knowing whether Ted would wish to be introduced or no. What was his relief, then, when Ted, lifting his hat politely in return, said: “You don’t recognize me then, Uncle Everett?”
Why, yes I do, Theodore for although it was years since he had seen him, the momentarily uncovered head had at once established his identity; “but how do you and Donald happen to be in each other’s company? Marie-Celeste told me Donald was on a farm down in Oxfordshire, and that you—well, that nobody knew where you were exactly.”
“It’s rather a long story,” said Theodore slowly; and then remembering his uncle’s stolid39 indifference40 to things in general, he added coldly, “I doubt if it would have much interest for you.”
Mr. Selden understood the case perfectly, knowing that his former record with Ted would justify his speaking in this fashion; but he only said: “All the same, I would like to know about it. Will you come back to the club with me?”
The eyes of the valet waited upon his master, but they said very plainly, “Do let us go;” and the master, after hesitating a moment, accepted this most unexpected of invitations.
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1
ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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7
delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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8
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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14
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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15
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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16
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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18
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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19
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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20
merge
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| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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22
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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29
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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30
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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31
deferring
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| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的现在分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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32
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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33
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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34
misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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35
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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37
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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38
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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39
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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40
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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