"Gammon," said Pratt, shortly. "It's very well to talk about liking to be poor, and no one knows what poverty is better than I; but I like money as well as most men. I used to eat chaff, d.i.c.k; but I like corn, and wine, and oil, and honey better. Now, look here, d.i.c.k, once for all--if you want money, and don't come to me for it, you are no true friend."

"Franky," said Richard, turning away his face, "if ever I want money, I'll come to you and ask for it. As matters are, I have always a few shillings to spare."

As he spoke, he got up hastily, lit a pipe, and began to smoke; while Mrs Fiddison in the next room, heaved a sigh, took off her shoes, and went on tiptoe through the little house, opening every door and window, after carefully covering up all her widows' caps.

"There is one thing about noise," she said to herself, "it don't make the millinery smell."

"I knocked off a few days ago," said Frank, from out of a cloud.

"You are working too hard," said Richard, anxiously.

"'Bliged to," said Pratt. "Took a change--ran down to Cornwall."

Richard started slightly, and smoked hard.

"Thought I'd have a look at the old place, d.i.c.k--see how matters were going on."

Silence on the part of Richard, and Pratt breathed more freely; for he had expected to be stopped.

"First man I ran against was that Mervyn, along with the chap who was upset in the cab accident in Pall Mall, and gave you his card--a Mr John Barnard, solicitor, in Furnival's Inn--cousin or something of Mervyn's--knew me by sight, and somehow we got to be very sociable.

Don't much like Mervyn, though. Good sort of fellow all the same-- charitable, and so on."

Richard smoked his pipe in silence longing to hear more of his old home, though every word respecting it came like a stab.

"Heard all about Penreife," continued Pratt, talking in a careless, matter-of-fact way. "Our friend Humphrey is being courted, it seems, by everybody. Half the county been to call upon him, and congratulate him on his rise. I expected to find the fellow off his head when I saw him; but he was just the same--begged me to condescend to come and stay with him, which of course I didn't, and as good as told me he was horribly bored, and anything but happy."

There was a pause here, filled up by smoking.

"The old people are still there, and they say the new owner's very kind to them; but our little friend Polly's away at a good school, where she is to stay till the wedding. Humphrey wants to see you."

Richard winced.

"Asked me to try and bring about a meeting, and sent all sorts of kind messages."

Richard remained silent.

"Says he feels like as if he had deprived you of your birthright; and as for the people about, they say, d.i.c.k,"--Pratt paused for a few moments to light his pipe afresh--"they say, d.i.c.k, that you acted like a fool."

Richard faced round quietly, and looked straight at his friend.

"Do you think, Frank, that I acted like a fool?"

Pratt smoked for a moment or two, then he turned one of his fingers into a tobacco stopper, and lastly removed his pipe.

"Well, speaking as counsel, whose opinion is that you ought to have waited, and left the matter to the law to sift, I say yes."

"But speaking as my old friend, Frank Pratt," said Richard, "and as an honest man?"

"Well, we won't discuss that," said Frank, hopping off his perch.

"Good-bye, old chap."

He shook hands hastily, and left the house, glancing up once at Sam Jenkles's upper window, and then, without appearing to notice him, taking a side glance at Barney of the black muzzle, who was making a meal off a sc.r.a.p of hay, with his shoulders lending polish to a public-house board at the corner.

"There's some little game being played up here," said Frank to himself.

"I'll have a talk to Barnard."

Volume 3, Chapter VIII.

A PROPOSAL.

Frank Pratt had no sooner gone than Richard began to stride hastily up and down the little room, to the great endangering of Mrs Fiddison's furniture. As he neared the window he glanced across, to see Netta sitting there at work, and a faint smile and blush greeted him.

"Poor girl," he muttered. "But, no, it's nonsense. She can't think it.

Absurd! She's so young--so ill. There, it's childish, and I should be a vain fool if I thought so."

He stood thinking for a few moments, and as he paused there was the rattle of wheels in the street, and Sam Jenkles drove his hansom to the door and stopped, gave the horse in charge of a boy, and went in.

The next minute Richard had crossed too, for a plan had been formed on the instant.

Mrs Jenkles met him at the door, and at his wish led him to where Sam was seated at a table, hurriedly discussing a hot meal.

"Drops in, sir, if ever I drives a fare in this direction, and the missus generally has a snack for me. Eh, sir? Oh no, sir. All right, I'll wait," he said, in answer to a question or two.

And then Richard ascended the stairs, knocked and entered, to find that mother and daughter had just risen from their needlework, Mrs Lane to look grave, Netta with a bright look in her eyes, and too vivid a red in either cheek.

"Ah, you busy people," he said, cheerily, "what an example you do set me! How's our little friend to-day?"

The bright look of joy in Netta's face faded slightly as she heard their visitor speak of her as he would of some child, but there was a happy, contented aspect once more as she placed her hand in his, and felt his frank pressure.

"Mrs Lane," said Richard, speaking gaily, "I'm like the little boy in the story--I'm idle, and want some one to come and play with me, but I hope for better luck than he."

Mother and daughter looked at him wonderingly.

"I've come to tell you," he said, "that the sun shines brightly overhead; there's a deep blue sky, and silvery clouds floating across it; and six or seven miles out northward there are sweet-scented wild flowers, waving green trees, all delicious shade; the music of song-birds, the hum of insects, and views that will gladden your hearts after seeing nothing but smoke and chimneypots. I am Nature's amba.s.sador, and I am here to say 'Come.'"

As he spoke the work fell from Netta's hands, her eyes dilated, and a look of intense glad longing shone from her soft, oval face, while she hung upon her mother's lips, till, hearing her words, the tears gathered in her eyes, and she bent her head to conceal them.

Mrs Lane's words were very few; they were grateful, but they told of work to be done by a certain time, and she said it was impossible.

"But it would do you both good. Miss Netta there wants a change badly,"

said Richard; "and you haven't heard half my plan. Jenkles has his cab at the door, and I propose a drive right out into the country, and when we get back you will ask me to tea. It will be a squeeze, but you will forgive that."

Poor Mrs Lane's face looked drawn in its pitiful aspect. She felt that such a trip would be like so much new life to her child, but she could not go, and she shook her head.

"It may not be etiquette, perhaps," said Richard, quietly, "but I shall ask you to waive that, and let me take Netta here. You know it will do her good, and she will have Mr Jenkles, as well as your humble servant, to take care of her."

Mrs Lane looked him searchingly in the face, which was as open as the day, and then, glancing at Netta, she saw her parted lips and look of intense longing. The refusal that had been imminent pa.s.sed away, and laying her hand upon the young man's arm, she said, softly--