The Old Adam. A tale of an army crammer

Front matter

THE OLD ADAM A NO VEL BY HUGH COLEMAN DAVIDSON AUTHOR OF 'CAST ON THE WATERS,' 'THE GREEN HILLS BY THE SEA,' ETC. 2Lon0on TRISCHLER & CO. 18 NEW BRIDGE STREET, BLACKFRIARS, E.C. 189 EDINBURGH COLSTON AND COMTANY PRINTERS CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. — ROBBED, ...... I II. — A FASHIONABLE CRAMMER, . . .10 III. — MR VALENTINE GAUNT, . . . .17 IV. — AN INQUISITIVE LANDLADY, . " . .23 V. — AN ALARMING DISCOVERY, . . .26 VI. — THE PROFESSOR AT HOME, . . .34 VII. — A PROPOSAL, ..... 41 VIII. — THE RIVAL TUTORS, . . . .46 IX. — THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA, . . -53 X. — FOUND, ...... 6l XI. — GREEK MEETS GREEK, . . . . 68 XII. — VICTOR AND VANQUISHED, . . -75 XIII. — AN ALLIANCE, . . . . . 8l XIV. — CRAMS AND CRAMMERS, . . . .89 XV. — GROPING IN THE DARK, . . . .99 XVI. — TOO LATE, . . . . . log XV!I. — A SUDDEN DEPARTURE, . . . . 117 XVIII. — AT SIXES AND SEVENS, . . . -123 XIX. — THE EXAMINATION, ....

I33 Contents. CHAP. PAGE XX. — NELLIE'S TROUBLE, . . . . I45 XXI. — AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE, . . . 152 XXII. — FALLEN AMONG THIEVES, . . . l6l XXIII. — A DIFFICULT PROBLEM, . . . . 1 70 XXIV. — DRIFTING, . . . . 1 79 XXV. — A STRANGE MISSION, .... 188 XXVI. — HEBE'S FLIGHT, . . . ... 196 XXVII. — FORCED TO MARRY, .... 205 XXVIII. — CAUTION VERSUS CUNNING, . . . 212 XXIX. — A BRIEF FAREWELL, .... 224 XXX. — RAISING THE SIEGE, .... 233 XXXI. — THE MISSING LINK, .... 24I XXXII. — ON THE BRINK, ..... 251 XXXIII.— A BOLD MANŒUVRE, .... 259 XXXIV. — CONFUSION, ..... 269 XXXV. — AFTER THE BATTLE, .... 279 XXXVI. — AN EXPLANATION, .... 288 XXXVII. — TOTTERING, . . . 298 XXXVIII. — THE END, . . . . — ♦ —

Chapter I. Robbed

'|B*gaS|XCUSE me, sir, but is that my arm or yours?' jj cgO ' Can't say. Is it marked ? ' 'I ' It ought to be marked !' returned the first speaker severely. ' Let me tell you, sir,' quietly said the other, a tall, well built young fellow, 'that I grow corns for my own incon venience, and not for the use of others.' 'Sapristi! il fait chaud,' exclaimed a Frenchman, struggling with his handkerchief. ' They ought to have provided beds if they intend to keep us here all night,' laughed a gaudily-dressed woman. ' Oh, my ribs !' ' Oranges — oranges — oranges ! who'll buy ? ' These and many similar exclamations proceeded from a crowd striving to push through the long narrow entrance to the Parnassus Theatre : a difficult task, as the doors were still closed. Arnold Cressingham, as the tall young fellow subsequently announced his name to be, was cast in a very powerful mould, yet his deliberate manner and drawling speech betokened anything but the active athlete.

Upon his broad, square shoulders was set a small but not unintelligent head, the forehead high, the chin firm, and the nose irre proachable. The corners of his mouth were slightly turned down, which gave his features a mournful expression not A altogether in keeping with his character. His grey eyes were usually depressed beneath their long dark lashes ; they seemed to lack the power of smiling spontaneously, but when they caught a smile elsewhere they seldom failed to reflect it. Judged by his face and dark moustache, he looked older than he really was, his age being only just twenty-two. His immediate neighbours in the crowd were the gaudily dressed woman in front ; a flashy-looking individual behind ; a pale-faced youth on the one hand ; and on the other the Frenchman, his nationality being shown not only by his voice and features, but also by the peculiarly fierce way in which he resented being compressed into a smaller space than he deemed consistent with his dignity.

When at length the doors were opened, the crowd made a simultaneous advance, the pressure increased, and the woman suddenly subsided into Arnold's arms. Many young fellows would have blushed to the roots of their hair at being placed in such a compromising position, but Arnold showed not the least discomposure as he pressed forward with his burden. It struck him, however, that a little more room would be an advantage, and, with this object in view, he stamped upon the Frenchman's toes. 'Sapristi !' indignantly cried the latter, 'you have some weight, you great fellow, you !' 'This, sir, is a struggle for the survival of the fittest. Weight always tells in the long run.' ' That is sure ; it has told upon my foots.' ' There are so many foots about,' observed Arnold coolly, ' that it is easier to stand upon other people's than upon one's own.' The Frenchman gave him a sharp, suspicious look.

He was completely puzzled by the phlegmatic Englishman, who measured out his words as if he were a draper anxious not to give a customer too many yards of ribbon for her money, and who seemed to be joking, yet with a face as grave as a judge. An angry retort rose to his lips, but his eyes resting upon the woman, he was mollified at once. And now ensued a somewhat surprising incident. Hastily disengaging one arm, Arnold turned partly round and hit out with all his might ; whereupon the flashy-looking indivi dual behind fell groaning to the ground. The human stream experienced a sudden check. It seemed to the bystanders that a most unprovoked attack had been committed, and they spoke their minds pretty freely. Arnold, however, took Robbed. 3 no notice of them. He had felt in his pocket a hand that he was quite sure was not his own, so he had only been pro tecting his own interests. ' I shall know where to find him if I want him,' he drawled ; and having by this time gained the barrier, pushed on and entered the theatre.

But he had scarcely deposited his burden upon a bench when some ungrammatical person said, — ' That's him, there ! ' And the next moment he was tapped on the shoulder by a policeman. ' You're wanted outside, sir.' ' Indeed ! ' said Arnold coolly ; ' I merely doubled the man up for future reference.' The policeman produced a pocket-book and made a note of the remark. Then, with his pencil held ready, and his eyes fixed upon Arnold, he said, — ' Remember you're not called upon to say anything that may criminate yourself.' ' The scoundrel has taken my purse ! ' He had only just made the discovery. ' Come with me, sir.' ' But what am I to do with this woman ? ' ' Woman, indeed ! ' she cried, recovering from her fainting fit with astonishing celerity, and springing to her feet. ' I'll teach you to call me a woman, young man.

Policeman, I give him in charge. I had seven shillings in my pocket when I came to the theatre, so help me — ask Jack, if you don't believe me — and where are they gone ? ' She turned her pocket inside out — it was empty. ' There ! now do you be lieve me ? All the time he was pretending to help me he was robbing me.' If it had been in Arnold's nature to manifest astonishment at anything, he would certainly have done so at being assailed in this unexpected way, but he merely glanced from the woman's flushed face to the official mask of the policeman. There could be no doubt that the whole thing had been a ' plant ' — that, while he was fully occupied in carrying her, her confederate had been picking his pocket. To lose his purse was bad enough, but to be charged with robbery was a thousand times worse.

It was a charge, too, that he might have a difficulty in refuting. She had named almost the exact sum that he had in his pocket, he had not a single friend in London, and he could only oppose his word against hers. ' Of course you don't believe her ? ' he said to the police man. ' I must take the charge.' ' Certainly you must take the charge,' she said ; ' you must do your duty, for you're paid for it.' ' It is a frightful swindle what she says,' declared the Frenchman, whose toes Arnold had treated so badly. He had been watching this little scene, and now stepped forward from the midst of a number of curious spectators. The woman turned angrily upon the new-comer. But before another word was said the policeman beckoned to them to follow him outside. ' They are rascals, these people,' whispered the Frenchman to Arnold, as they followed the other two down the passage, which was now almost deserted. ' She is in league with the fellpw you knocked down ; I am sure of that.

I shall be your bail, if you will allow me.' He handed to Arnold a card, on which was printed, with many flourishes : 'M. Dubarri, Histrionic Professor, 13 Momus Street, Bloomsbury.' ' You are very kind, sir,' said Arnold, feeling that it was unusual to gain a man's favour by treading on his toes, and wondering to what particular species a histrionic professor belonged ; ' but I trust I sha'n't require your services. I am anxious to make my debut, but not in a police-court.' ' You are going on the stage, then ? ' eagerly inquired M. Dubarri. ' If the stage will have me. ' 'The man has disappeared,' announced the policeman, coming back to them. ' But the woman, ' cried M. Dubarri, frantically waving his hand. ' Sapristi ! you have not allowed her to go ?' ' Why not ? ' ' Why not ? Parbleu ! you are stupid, you bobby fellow.

They are in league. Quick — quick — catch her. They have this gentleman's purse. Do you not see it?' And the ex cited Professor, unable to control himself any longer, dashed past the policeman, and gained the street. Too late, however. The woman also had vanished. It was a dreary September evening. The rain was falling in a steady downpour; the water in the gutters was running with a consistency and colour that rivalled the neighbouring Thames ; the gas-lamps were glimmering with just sufficient light to show their whereabouts at close quarters ; and most of the shops were closed. Yet the street was full of noise and Robbed. 5 bustle, caused by cabs and omnibuses in the roadway, and two contending streams of human beings upon the footpaths. To hunt for thieves in such a scene would be clearly absurd. ' Cest impossible ! ' muttered M. Dubarri.

Turning to the policeman, he asked, ' Did you think that the bird would wait for you to salt its tail ? That is your English proverb, I think.' ' How was I to know the two were working together ?' ' Ah, my good friend ! ' said M. Dubarri, playfully tapping the man on the shoulder, 'you must paint the whole world black until it whitens itself. The good persons are so few you can neglect them, as the mathematicians do all small quantities. It is for you to do with rules, is it not ? Very well, then ; you have nothing to do with exceptions. That is true, Mr — ?' He stopped and looked at Arnold, who said, ' Cressing ham.' ' Come with me, Mr Cressingham ; I would talk to you,' continued M. Dubarri, familiarly taking Arnold by the arm. ' He is simple, that bobby fellow,' added he, shaking his dis engaged hand, which was closed except for the forefinger, as the two walked along the street together. ' The Jack of whom she spoke, without doubt he was the rascal to whom you gave one for his nob.

Allons, egayez-vous ! We shall find your purse, never fear.' ' I daresay it may turn up — empty. But if we are going to talk, we had better do so in my rooms than in the rain.' They accordingly quickened their pace, and presently turned down a side street. At the door of a dismal little house Arnold stopped. They entered by the aid of a latch key. M. Dubarri's keen eyes noted every detail, from the dingy lamp suspended in the hall to the still dingier paper that threatened to tumble from the walls. Arnold's rooms were at the very top. He had selected them for two reasons — economy, and their nearness to the theatres. This being only the second day of his tenure, he had not had time to realise their inconvenience. His sitting-room was small and gloomy. Very little light could penetrate the dust-encrusted window, across which a pair of faded green curtains were partly drawn.

The furniture was old and rickety — a table, a few chairs, a broken backed couch, and little else. Arnold lighted a couple of candles, and pulled down the blind. It was with an expression of disappointment that M. Dubarri took his seat on the couch. He had evidently expected to see something better than this. Nevertheless, he was too fond of talking to allow his disappointment to take a firm hold of him. Let us take the opportunity of observing him, as he sits there volubly discussing the recent robbery, emphasising this point with an animated gesture, and that with a shrug of his sloping rounded shoulders, swaying his slight and rather shrivelled body excitedly to and fro, and, when his emotions become too strong to be conveyed in a sitting posture, rising to his feet to lay violent hands on Arnold.

His forehead is high, narrow, receding, and deeply furrowed, and the wrinkles run along it in waves until even his hair is moving up and down at times. Beneath brows arched almost like Gothic windows twinkle small cunning eyes, lighting up occasionally with a triumphant expression quite fierce in its intensity. Two bald gulleys run far into his dark hair tinged with grey ; and his beard, whiskers, and moustache are of the same colour. A funny little snub nose, on which his gold-rimmed pince-nez can perch as on a saddle ; clothes shockingly made, yet not without a certain attempt at spruceness ; the ribbon of the Legion of Honour in the button-hole of the coat ; plenty of shirt-front, not too spotless ; a massive gold chain, shown just a trifle too ostentatiously — these complete the picture. ' You wish to be an actor ? ' he said, when the question of the stolen purse had been turned inside out. ' I do,' replied Arnold solemnly.

He was standing with his back to the grate, his hands tucked up beneath his coat tails. ' You have no need of a nom-de-guerre, Mr Cressingham. Yours is an excellent name.' ' I have no reason to be ashamed of it.' ' And you are of good family ? ' said the curious Pro fessor, mentally contrasting the dingy room with Arnold's gentlemanly appearance, well-cut clothes, and gold chain, to which, as he had observed, a gold watch was attached. ' Neither my father nor my mother has been a notorious sinner.' ' Vous plaisantez, n'esl-ce pas ? ' exclaimed M. Dubarri, with a swift inquiring look; for the idea of being used as a butt is singularly irritating to the Gallic mind. ' N'importe — no matter. You are a good fellow' — he sprang up and seized the lappel of Arnold's coat — ' and I think I shall be able to help you.' ' No good offer refused,' said Arnold, complacently look- Robbed. 7 ing down at the excitable little Frenchman. 'Are you a theatrical manager in disguise, M. Dubarri?' ' No, no ; you mistake.

Have you not read my card ? I am a histrionic professor. You understand ? I teach elocu tion to those who have the grand passion to go on the stage. If you will allow me, I will teach you. Twelve lessons for one guinea — in advance. That is cheap, is it not?' 'Very,' answered Arnold drily. Now that he had lost his purse, he had exactly seven-and-sixpence left in the world. ' Eh, bien! that is what I offer to you. And after, you shall have introductions to the managers. I know some who are very good. They pay well, those managers ; but then it will be necessary for you to show ability. Have you ever practised ?' He dropped Arnold's coat and stood with his left hand laid on his chest, and his right extended like a semaphore, as if to point out the way it should be done. ' I have done a little in the amateur line, but I dare say that would be enough to hang a professional.' ' Bah ! that is nothing ; nothing.

You must learn ; you must work day and night like a slave ; and then you will win. You Englishmen are so statuesque. You move about like walking dreams ; there is no life in you. Excuse me, but you see I am frank. Suit the action to the word, that is my maxim. Faites attention!' M. Dubarri here gave a Shakesperian recitation, accompanied by suitable pantomimic gestures, his pronunciation of English being anything but correct. Among other things, the aspirate had proved a shibboleth that he could never master, hard as he had tried to get a grip of the slippery creature. He could speak fairly well at times ; but when he was strongly moved — a frequent occurrence with him — his thoughts were sent flying out in a parti-coloured garb, half French and half English, sometimes with a little colouring peculiarly his own. ' Ah, I see you admire me, my friend,' said he, breaking off the recitation abruptly. ' Well, I am not so bad.

But, you see, I have practised much ; I have worked hard. Some day I shall make you as good as myself; that is to say, if you will permit me. You will learn, eh ? And after, you shall have the introductions and go on the stage and make a fortune. Ah! it is good to have the grand passion ! ' 'And all for the outlay of one guinea,' commented Arnold, half to himself. ' In advance,' added the Professor correctively. ' For that, you shall have twelve lessons, and then we shall see how you go on. You need not decide now. Take my proposition into your consideration, and write to me. You have my address.' It is not pleasant to have to confess that one's worldly wealth is limited to seven-and-sixpence, and that this sum has to provide board and lodging for an unlimited period. It is far easier and far more agreeable to prevaricate by means of a letter.

This course Arnold resolved to adopt. He told M. Dubarri so, and the latter shortly afterwards departed. He had not been long gone when Arnold strolled out to get something to eat. He paused at the door of a neighbouring restaurant and looked in. A general air of grease and uncleanness pervaded the place. The waiters were slovenly, and bread-crumbs were lying upon the tables. Arnold hesitated ; hungry though he was, he would sooner have had bread-and-cheese upon a clean plate than the most sumptuous repast badly served. But, having made up his mind to be economical, and reflecting that economy and dirt might perhaps be inseparable companions, he resolved to make their acquaintance forthwith. On his previous visits to town, he had affected the West End, and dined as his fancy had dictated, without the need of any consultation with his pocket ; he had even acted in the same way on the previous day ; but, as a seven-and-sixpenny aspirant to the stage, he was obliged to turn over a new and very skimpy leaf. ' Roast beef, potatoes, and bread,' he said to the waiter, on taking his seat. 'Beer, sir?' 'Half a pint.' Then to himself: ' One-and-five for the dinner, and sixpence to the waiter ; if that isn't thrift, I don't know what is.' It will be seen that Arnold felt unable to reduce the waiter's tip in the same ratio as he had re duced the rest of his expenses.

His calculations were interrupted by hearing one waiter say to another, 'The gent that sat there has bolted. He ordered mutton, cabbage, potatoes, and a tankard of bitter, like a lord; and when I was attending to some other cus tomer, he just hooked it without paying a brass farthing.' 'That's like many a lord, too,' remarked the other. ' That may be, but he has let me in for the price of his supper.' This brief dialogue brought forcibly to Arnold's mind the Robbed. 9 fact that, unless he bestirred himself, his name also must soon be in the defaulter's list. For the first time in his life he was beginning to feel what it is to be short of cash. Being a terrible procrastinator, slow to think and move, and, when set in motion, carried forward by his own momentum, he had scarcely given the matter a thought before ; but now, unable to adopt the inexpensive mode of dining employed by 'the gent that bolted,' he felt the absolute necessity of procuring money at once.

The loss of his purse had placed him in a very awkward position. If, for example, his land lady should demand payment for his rooms in advance — and his goodly supply of luggage had been his only reference — a pretty fix he would be in ! ' I had better lend my watch and chain to my uncle,' he said, as he left the restaurant. ' There are plenty of clocks about if I want to know the time.' After having resolved upon taking this desperate step, he was greatly disgusted to find his uncle's establishment closed for the night. It was not until late in the following day that he put his design into execution, for he viewed the projected visit with anything but pleasurable feelings. In one respect fortune favoured him. A thick white mist was rolling along the street, enclosing each person in a fold impenetrable to eyes a few yards away ; and, under cover of it, he made his way to the pawnbroker's shop which he had noticed on the previous evening.

After satisfying himself that no one was in sight, he swiftly entered, and found him self confronted by a number of small doors, all apparently locked. Each in turn resisted his efforts, but at last one yielded to his pressure. He carefully fastened the door of the cell that he had temporarily appropriated, and then laid his watch and chain on the counter. 'How much?' demanded an assistant. 'Thirty pounds. They cost forty.' ' Pheugh ! Can't give you anything like that.' ' What will you give, then V 'Nine-five.' 'What?' ' I'll spring half-a-crown, but that's the very outside.' ' Needs must when the Old Gentleman handles the ribbons. Look sharp.' 'What for this gold pencil-case?' asked a man in the next cell. Arnold turned round sharply. Somehow or other the voice sounded familiar to him, though he was puzzled to know where he had heard it before.

The pawnbroker had the pencil-case in his hand when Arnold, who had been looking at it curiously, exclaimed, — ' By Jove ! that's mine.' A sharp click, the bolt of the next cell quickly drawn back, the door flung open, a scuffling of feet, and the man was rushing through the mist, with Arnold in pursuit.

Chapter II

A FASHIONABLE CRAMMER. Puddleton is three miles from Stilbury*, which is its nearest railway station. It is a small village, consisting merely of a single street. Its houses are of various styles of architecture, but all are antique, many being apparently held together only by the creepers and vines that are trailed so thickly over them. The windows are mostly latticed ; the doors are seldom shut, and never locked ; and the bricks have long since lost their maiden blush, and assumed a grey tint as more becoming to their age. At one end of the street are the Church, the Rectory, and the Hut, an imposing house for the curate ; at the other, live the doctor and the lawyer in suggestive proximity to the public-house and the police-station. The village is sheltered by a range of hills, the highest being Camelback, close at the base of which it nestles like a chicken under its mother's wing.

The Splashwater, a pretty little streamlet, babbles down the slopes, and crosses the road, which is spanned by a fine old bridge. The country around is well wooded, but on the hill line there are only a few stunted trees. All others have been cut down by the keen edge of the wind, and those that remain remind one of straggling hairs on an ill shaven face. But in the immediate neighbourhood of the village the scenery is charming. The lanes, sentinelled by oak and elm and chestnut, lie deep between lofty sloping banks, which are often nothing but continuous chains of wild flowers The very fields seem to be laid out with a view to please the eye rather than to benefit the farmer, for they are quaintly picturesque in size and shape. The roads, too, twist A Fashionable Crammer. 11 hither and thither, apparently for no other purpose than to lead to the prettiest spots, and over the steepest hills, and not infrequently they eddy around some grand old tree such as an artist delights to paint.

Situated in the beautiful quietude of the country, it is no wonder that Puddleton slept. If its annals had been written they would have resembled the first column of the Times for its only landmarks were births, marriages and deaths. John Hodge was born ; John Hodge was married, and begat little John Hodges ; John Hodge was gathered to his fathers and his sons toiled in his stead. Such had been the unvary ing round for centuries. But one autumn ' a change came o'er the spirit of its dream.' Puddleton awoke with a start to find a very tempt ing apple dangling before its eyes, and to be had, seemingly, for the plucking. For at that time the Rev. Claude Cyprian Copingstone, D.D., was presented to the living. Had he been accompanied merely by his family, the peaceful monotony of the village would not have been greatly disturbed ; but he brought with him a dozen aristocratic pupils, who gave themselves no end of airs, and treated the rustics as if they belonged to an inferior species.

However, the latter soon had their revenge. ' These young fellows are rich, let us bleed them,' said Gammon the butcher ; and he did his work in such an artistic style that he has long since re tired in affluence. Most of the other tradesmen followed Gammon's advice, and, as the pupils increased in numbers, enlarged their shops, added to their stock, and prospered amazingly. Doctor Copingstone's object in coming to such an out landish spot seemed plain enough. When the pupils de scribed it as a dismal hole, and asked what was to be done there, he replied, ' Work. For that purpose you were con fided to my care.' 'You dislike this place?' he said once to Lord Ernest Plantagenet, a younger son of the Duke of Tudor. ' I loathe it,' was the candid response. 'Then,' laughed the Doctor — and he had a very singular laugh, ending with -a long-drawn sound like the gasps of an organ when the performer is running up the scales and the bellows-boy has fallen asleep — 'do your utmost to get out of it as quickly as possible.

In that way you will benefit your self and me at the same time. Hunting' — Plantagenet's dress suggested the remark — ' is all very well for steady going old Heavisides, who seems to have made up his mind to spend his life here, but suppose you have to remain another year here !' ' Oh, Doctor, I should die !' ' No, don't do that. It would be awkward for me. Put your shoulder to the wheel, and push like a nigger. A capital place for work is Puddleton.' This explains his reason for pitching his tent in an isolated village. The pupils, cut off from every source of amusement, had to take to their books, and so passed their ex aminations with flying colours. But there were times when they sought for other ways of dispelling the emiui that hung like a millstone from their necks, and dragged them down to depths of unutterable dulness.

They haunted the Lark's Nest for the purpose of playing billiards, and samp ling 'the nut-brown,' though both diversions were strictly forbidden. The Doctor, however, knew all about this habit of theirs, and winked at it. So long as no actual harm was done, he cared very little what they did, or where they went. If they worked, he was satisfied ; they were welcome to break all such rules as were framed merely for the parental eye. At the time when our story opens — two years after his wife's death — he had upwards of forty pupils. His terms were two hundred guineas a year, and his living brought him another five hundred, so he was in the receipt of a very comfortable income. ' I suppose I am what the world calls a successful man,' he said one day to his lieutenant. ' Yes, I suppose I am. To what do you attribute my success ?' ' To your unbounded impudence,' audaciously replied the other. 'That's it, that's it,' laughed the Doctor. 'The Brazen has succeeded the Golden Age.' ' In your case they are contemporaneous.' There was much truth in this ; Doctor Copingstone would have made an excellent diplomatist.