'Cornered.'

Front matter

"CORNERED" "CORNERED" BY NORMAN PORRITT " I wonder whether Monsieur Blanc, in his splendid palaces, with his rcfaiti and zeros, has broken more hearts and disseminated more ruin, than that scrupu lously washed and dressed gentleman, whom on a Sunday you may see walking so decorously to church, who occupies two dirty rooms in Throgmorton Street, and is a shareholder in that mighty gambling-house, The Stock Exchange." Sergeant Ballantine's Reminiscemes. Kp) 's|s j LONDON : The Leadenhall Prefs, E.C. Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent &* Co., Ltd: New York ; Scriiner &> Welford, 743 & 74S, Broadway. THE LEADENHALL PRESS, LONDON, E.C. (T. "CORNERED."

CHAPTER L

' ' The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow." Shelley. IT is said that London is the healthiest city in Great Britain. This is an enviable distinction, due in a measure to its parks, its places of recreation, and to the zest with which the true born Cockney, on every excusable and inexcusable occasion, takes advantage of the facilities railway, steamboat, and bus proprietors offer for transporting him from the warehouse, the office, and the shop to the delightful fragrance of the country or the bracing freshness of the sea-shore. But besides relaxations and recreations; and in addition to the efforts of medical officers and boards of health ; the routine of life of a considerable proportion of Londoners is a not unimportant factor in determining a condition of health.

Chapter II

"Landlord. Turn down the lane — then strike across the common, and you will see his mother's cottage. Beauseant. True, he lives with his mother." The Lady of Lyons. ROBERT METTLEBY was not long in settling into the old grooves. Every morning saw him stepping citywards ; every evening saw him returning to the quiet little home at Chelsea. There was at first a pleasant strangeness in the return to work, and in the substitution of the desk and ledgers of the bank for the hills and dales of Cumberland. But the newness soon wore away, and the days of the vacation remained only as a happy memory, gradually fading into indistinctness. Robert Mettleby lived with his mother at Chelsea, in the house she had taken on the death of her husband. Mr. Mettleby died before Robert was old enough to know him.

He was cut off in the prime of life, leaving to his widow a modest competency, upon which she had brought up and educated her only child. Mrs. Mettleby made the care and education of her son the one object of her life, so that Robert hardly knew the loss he had sustained by the death of his father. Robert left boarding school when he was seventeen years old, and by the help of some friends of his father obtained a situation in the Union Bank of London, Calcutta, and Bombay. Commencing at the lowest position in the bank, he had risen by gradual steps to his present position of ledger clerk. " CORNERED!' 10 As Robert grew up he realised all that his mother had done for him, and with all the fervour of filial affection, he endeavoured to repay her now that she had reached the decline of years.

They were all in all to each other, and each had the supremest confidence in the other. On the first evening after his return Robert recounted the events of his holiday. After giving his mother various affectionate messages from his aunt, Miss Mettleby, he w7ent on to describe in glowing language the beauties of the Vale of Keswick; the glories of Helvellyn ; the peaceful charms of Grasmere as it nestles by the lake side at the foot of the mountains ; the cold grandeur of the Kirkstone Pass, ending in the luxuriance of Patterdale and Ulleswater ; the quaint ness of Ambleside, with its church, its coaches and char-a bancs, and its ever changing groups of tourists; ending with the sylvan shore and the grand old man of Coniston, and the aquatic characteristics of Bowness and Windermere. Robert waxed eloquent as he proceeded.

Holidays are the bright spots in the routine of life, and it would have been strange indeed if Robert had not enjoyed the glorious scenery of one of Nature's fairest paradises. But hovering above all the pleasures and excitements of mountain climbing, illuminating the bright masterpieces of Nature with a warmer glow than the commencing autumn shed upon them, were the face and form of a woman. Robert had sat next to her at the table d'hote at Ulleswater. A few words at dinner made the way for further intercourse, and the quiet after-dinner hour found them sauntering along the wood-covered road which runs by the side of the lake. This was near the beginning of his tour; and although Robert did not see her again, the recollection of that walk not only lingered with him during the remainder of his holiday, but accompanied him to London, and was present w7ith him as he described his tour to his mother.

He had not asked the name of this fair creature, and had she not casually mentioned that she was a nurse at one of the " CORNERED." 11 London hospitals, he would have known absolutely nothing concerning her. He had long been looking for his ideal of womanhood. Till this eventful journey he had not been satisfied that he had found it. But the goddess, at whose shrine he had become a worshipper, seemed to have some of the essential attributes of his ideal ; and his youthful imagination un consciously supplied her with the others. He felt a hidden inclination to tell his mother about her. But he did not even know her name ; he had seen her only once, and perhaps he would never see her again. His mother would probably make light of the whole circumstances, and read him a short lecture for his foolishness.

And as days passed by Robert Mettleby was nursing vrithin himself the beginnings of what was ready to burst into the devouring flame of true and perfect love. He himself hardly knew by what power he was influenced. He had met many accomplished women before his fated journey. But his goddess was so different from all the others — a being entirely to herself — the sole representative of her class. He was endowed with more than an average share of youthful hopefulness, and never gave up thoughts of meeting her ; but how, where, or when, he could not tell. Then another thought took possession of him. When ever the meeting took place he would be worthy of her. He was filled with a sense of his own unworthiness. He would make himself worthy of her ; and his life should be such that he could point to it with pride and confidence, should he ever be able to seek her favour.

He now worked with fresh vigour and delight, for it was not merely work, it was a means to an end, and every step upwards would enable him the more effectually to press his suit. To his mother he was ever the same considerate son ; and he salved his conscience of keeping this, his first secret, from her, by picturing to himself the joy she must feel on the happy realisation of his hopes and aspirations. Moreover, he had " CORNERED!' 12 nothing to tell her now ; and no practical good could come of relating what might be, after all, nothing more than a feat of aerial castle building. Men speak of the uncertainty of the law ; but it is as nothing when compared with the glorious uncertainty, the delicious uncertainty, of an aspiring love-stricken youth. Several times he found himself loitering near, and peering with anxious gaze into the grounds of one of the hospitals.

But days passed by; week succeeded week; and, hoping against hope, at one time in the depth of despair, at another buoyant and sanguine, Robert seemed doomed to dis appointment. Whilst Robert was dividing his thoughts between ledgers and love, and trying to stifle the latter by the closeness of his application to the former, a circumstance occurred, exciting him in no small degree, and gave fresh vigour to his hopes. Johnson, the oldest of the bank's porters, in going down the granite staircase leading from the head of London Bridge into Upper Thames Street, fell and broke his thigh. A crowd gathered round the old man ; a policeman appeared on the scene, and soon had a hansom on the spot. There was no St. John's Ambulance in those days ; but the repre sentative of the much-abused police, first moistening the lips of the old man wdth brandy, tenderly and gently lifted him into the hansom.

The hansom then drove to Guy's Hospital. Whatever be the shortcomings of some of the members of the London police force — and among everybody of men there are sure to be some discreditable examples — they are more than atoned for by the kind hearts of the others ; by the courage, the bravery, and the thousand and one unheard of acts of tenderness and mercy, performed amid the most unfavourable surroundings, every day and night, in this great metropolis of ours. It was Thursday when Johnson was taken to Guy's " CORNERED." 13 Hospital ; and although, when the tidings of his mishap reached the bank, there was a general commiseration for the old man, yet when Sunday came the newness of the event had worn off, and, with one exception, all had for gotten that Sunday was the visiting day at the hospital.

That exception was Robert Mettleby, who, on the Sunday following the accident, joined the throng which had assembled in the waiting-room of the hospital. He reached the hospital besore visitors were allowed to enter the wards, and found ample food for reflection in the mass of people who were there on an errand similar to his own. The day was bleak and cold. A drenching Scotch mist had fallen since morning, and he was glad to gain the shelter the large bare room afforded. In the room the atmosphere was close and stuffy, and redolent of the exhalations of those to whom the bath is a great luxury. The quiet buzz of conversation, mingled with the cries of fractious babies, filled the air. The company was essentially a working class one, and while some had been at considerable trouble to array themselves in fine attire, there were 'few who had not been at some pains to impart a more than everyday smartness to garments which had long ago lost all claim to that character.

There were collarless men and boys in corduroy and fustian ; wan, pallid women with threadbare shawls and boots down at heel from the East End ; here might be seen two flashly dressed girls, come fresh from the streets, to visit one of their comrades ; and there a meek-looking young man, evidently a Sunday School teacher, come to see one of his class, and re-tell by the sick bed the good tidings he had so often declared in the class-room. Here is a woman from Finsbury Park nearly distracted by the baby and two baby children who have come to see daddy, and bring a smile to his pale face in spite of illness and affliction ; and there a sturdy, bluff looking man, the cut of whose clothes stamp him from the country. He has walked from Croydon to see " CORNERED." 14 his little boy, and, unable to afford the railway fare, will return in the same manner.

And others there were from greater distances than this. Nearly all brought bundles, containing a change of linen for their sick friend, and perchance some forbidden dainty or delicacy, which mistaken kindness prompted them to smuggle in with the change of clothes. From these same bundles and baskets buns, cakes, and pastry, along with suspicious-looking bottles, were produced, and their owners seemed to be making a very enjoyable picnic of their visit ; while a drinking fountain on one side of the room was well patronised. But there was an anxious expectancy in the faces of those present. Thoughts of father, mother, son, daughter, or friend ; thoughts of some who were never to leave the hospital alive ; thoughts of little ones, reft from the loving arms of father and mother by the stern necessities of accident or disease; thoughts of some who were shortly to undergo some serious operation, and hold grim death at arm's length, filled their minds with dreadful doubts and uncertain fears.

Some were joyous, for their loved one had passed through all the perils, and had triumphed over the dangers which had threatened him, and would soon exchange the hospital ward for the home fireside or the sea-shore. At length the hour arrived. The dense crowd, larger now than when Robert arrived, was allowed to file off to the different wards. Following the stream of those who were going to the same ward as himself, Robert reached a long oblong room, down each side of which was a row of beds This was his first visit to a hospital, and he was agreeably surprised to find, instead of a better sort of prison filled with men who were suffering all kinds of refined torture a warm, cheerful apartment, the occupants of which seemed'as happy and smiling as it was possible for sick folks to be Bright pictures hung upon the walls, and Nature— ever " CORNERED." 15 welcome to the invalid — in the form of some pots of hyacinth and spirea, enhanced, rather than put to shame, the examples of mural art.

A canary at one of the windows was singing blithely ; and the roaring fire at each end of the room, the snow white beds, with their red coverlets, the clean floors, the subdued sense of stillness and peace, and the kind face of the Sister, in her dark blue uniform and snow-white cap, moving about with noiseless tread, spoke of more comfort than exists in many homes. And how shall we describe the meeting of patient and visitor ? How as the wife caught sight of her husband in the distance she would involuntarily quicken her step, as her partner raised himself in bed, and beckoned her on with a smile ; and, if there were little ones, each had to be kissed and petted : then chairs would be drawn round the bed, mutual confidences would be renewed, news related, and the future discussed till the time — arrived too soon — came for their departure.

To see that touch of nature which makes the whole world kin one has only to follow the example of our hero, and visit a hospital ward on visiting day. Robert found Johnson halfway up the ward. The old man beamed with delight when he saw his visitor, and held out both hands long before Robert could reach them to receive and return the warmth of his greeting. At first Johnson could only give evidence of his pleasure in abrupt phrases — " So good of you. Who'd have thought you'd 'ave come to see an old man like me ? But I always said to everyone I see that you had a good heart. Well, I am pleased. And to think you should trouble about an old man like me." And Johnson rubbed his hands with glee, and chuckled with pride, till he brought on a fit of coughing. "You see my old friend don't leave me," he said, as soon as he had recovered his breath.

" No," said Robert. " But you look very well, notwithstanding your accident." " CORNERED." " Ay ! ay ! A thousand times better than I expected. But then they treat you so well here. To be sure, they did hurt me a bit when they set my poor old leg ; but, sez I, ' Now, Johnson, you've gone and got yourself into a mess, and other folk has to help you out, and you'll have to grin and bide it.' And, bless you, Master Mettleby, 'twas soon over ; and if you'd a seen 'ow gently Dr. Evans and Sister lifted it, you'd a thought they 'ad hold of a new-bom baby instead of a leg belonging to an old broken-down man like me. And when they'd done it, it felt a bit strange, 'cause it was new ; but it soon got easy, and it's been better ever since. And all I 'as to do, ifl feel a bit uneasy, is to tell the nurse, or Sister, and she tells the doctor, who comes here many a time a day, and he sets it right in a minute."

" I am sure you could not be in a better place," said Robert " I couldn't, Master Mettleby. Then Dr. Brian came yesterday, and brought nearly a hundred other doctors to see me. And he looked at my leg, and asked me how I felt, and how I'd done it ; then he turned to the other doctors and told 'em, afore my very face, that my leg 'd be as good as new. Just fancy, bringing all them doctors to see me — though some of 'em did look youngish like." " We'll soon have you back as lively as ever," answered Robert, encouragingly. " Ay, if it wasn't for this plaguy cough I should scarce know anything ailed me. But Sister told Dr. Evans, and he's gave me some medicine what's done it a wonderful deal o' good, so I don't grumble." " No, you might be much worse." " You say true, Master Mettleby. There's lots in here far worse nor me, and I am real thankful I am as well as I am.

And here when I lies in bed I often wonders about you all at the bank, and if all the doors is locked and barred, and everythink in its place as it should be." Then Robert told him all the latest events at the bank, " CORNERED." 17 not forgetting to assure him of the sympathy of all who were there. The old man listened intently, and seemed to regard his accident as a small price to pay for being made so much of. Whilst they were chatting merrily, Johnson's married daughter, who had come from Cambridgeshire to see her father, joined them ; and a very happy time was spent till the tones of the bell announced that visitors must take their leave. As Robert sat by Johnson's side, as well as during his passage to the outside, his eyes were constantly on the alert. The nurses that he met, or saw in the distance, were sub jected to a scrutiny which they no doubt set down to curiosity.

But, though he saw several in the corridors, looking very neat and pretty in their grey or print uniform, none of them showed him the beautiful features which had made such an impression on him at Ulleswater. c '• CORNERED." 18

Chapter III

" He hoped that time would some day get The better of love's flame, however bright ; A thing that time has never compassed yet, For love, we know, is an immortal light ; Like that old fire, that, quite beyond a doubt Was always in — for none have found it out." HOOD. MRS. METTLEBY was as much interested as Robert in the welfare of Johnson ; and when Robert returned home, disappointed but undismayed, she made more inquiries than Robert could answer. He had not thought it necessary to ask the old man if he needed beef tea or jelly or flannels ; and Mrs. Mettleby was horrified to learn that he hankered only after a pipe of his favourite weed. She declared that Robert was not fit to visit a sick person ; although if she had seen Robert at Johnson's bedside she might have changed her opinion. To pay a visit to an invalid requires as much tact as does a call upon some exalted personage whose favour we are seeking ; and to be cheerful without being boisterous, to be sanguine without exaggeration, and sympathetic without being doleful, is not as easy in practice as it is beautiful in theory.

Though, during the following week, Robert returned to work with renewed vigour, his thoughts w7ere far away. On the next visiting day he could have been seen at Johnson's bedside. The old man was in good spirits, very contented, and full of gratitude for what had been done for him since " CORNERED." 19 he came to the hospital. Doctors, dressers, Sister, and nurses — each, in turn, had their praises sung. His cough alone gave him trouble, and Robert did not fail to notice that the paroxysms were more frequent and severe than on his last visit. But Johnson jocosely observed that he " would be a coughin' till he got into his coffin ; an' havin' had the brown-kitus werry bad three times, there were'nt no wonder he should have a touch of it again." Robert thought the touch was more comprehensive than he should like himself, and left, hoping that it would not develop into a firm embrace.

During his departure his eyes were here, there, and everywhere, but their anxious scrutiny was not rewarded as he had wished. Poor Robert ! he had gone to the hospital with renewed hope ; he returned from it with those hopes dashed to the ground. He was angry with himself; displeased with everybody and everything. The aerial castles, whose building he was so fond of superintending, fell to the ground with a mournful crash. He made a long detour home ; and had you seen him striding along, drawing at his pipe till the bowl was like a little furnace ; making way for no one, pushing harmless little boys and girls on one side, rubbing past older passengers without a " by your leave," and treading on favourite corns without any apology, you would have said he ' was in a frame of mind in which it was decidedly dangerous to meddle with him.

He began to think he was making a fool of himself; to wonder what his mother and friends would say if they suspected that his visits to the hospital were not of that disinterested and benevolent character he had led them to suppose. The result of his cogitations — self-pride, reinforced by reason, battling with young love — was, that he would make himself ridiculous no more; would not let his peace of mind be disturbed any longer ; and would cast this unknown lady out of his thoughts for ever. Alas ! poor dissembler ! " CORNERED." 20 you have succeeded in hoodwinking other people, and you think it is as easy to deceive yourself. Three days had not passed over his head, when a note from the house-surgeon informed Robert that Johnson was worse, and Mr. Mettleby was desired to come and see him without delay.

Who could then have been more eager to leave the bank behind ? He just mentioned the fact of the old porter's condition, and was hurrying to him before any of the other clerks had left the premises. And, as he drew near the hospital, back to his heart flew the old desires, filling it with a sweet unrest; driving out pride, subduing reason, extinguishing self, and engulfing him more hope lessly than ever in the abyss, which, but a short time before, he had flattered himself he had escaped. Johnson had been removed to a small ward, and to reach it Robert had to traverse a part of the hospital he had not previously visited. There was a marked change for the worse in Johnson. He was propped up in bed, panting for breath, and support ing himself on his hands. His face was dark and livid ; his look, that of restlessness and distress ; whilst his head seemed ready to drop on to his breast from sheer weariness.

The head of the bed was protected by a canopy of blankets, into which the pipe from a kettle on the ribs projected, and sent a constant flow of steam around him ; whilst screens were placed between the bed and the window and door"; and a roaring fire kept the room at a comfortable heat. A nurse sat near him endeavouring to sew, but the frequent coughing and restlessness of her patient did not allow her to remain long undisturbed ; but she smoothed his pillows, wiped his brow, cleared the viscid phlegm from his mouth, or gave him a drink, with as much tenderness and kindness at each repetition as at first. Robert's vague fears had been realised. The "touch" of bronchitis, of which Johnson spoke so lightly, had developed in an alarming manner, and now was of graver " CORNERED." 21 import than the broken thigh.

Robert, who had had no sick room experience, was greatly distressed at the sight of the old man, apathetically bending his head upon his chest regardless of his presence. " He's dozing a little now," said the nurse ; " but he will soon rouse up again. He never loses himself for more than a few minutes. You are Mr. Mettleby, I suppose ? " " That is my name," said Robert, his eyes still fixed upon Johnson. " I am glad you have come. He has been asking for you all the afternoon." " I am sorry I did not know sooner. Will he ever get better ? What does the doctor say ? " " You had better see him before you go home," replied the nurse, cautiously. "Poor fellow !" muttered Robert, almost in soliloquy. A round of coughing woke Johnson, and before the increased panting it caused had passed off, he began, some what querulously, in interrupted gasps, " Where is Master Mettleby ?

You said he was coming." "Here I am, Johnsom I'm here," spoke up Robert, going to him and touching one of the hands, which were firmly dug into the bed. " Can I do anything for you ? I am sorry to see that you are so ill." " Ugh ! werry ill," said the old man, after a pause for breath. Then he wandered off into chaotic rambling, talking of those things and people who had been familiar to him — of his work, and of his long-buried wife. Robert could make no sense of his disjointed words, which were accompanied by a picking of the bed-clothes, whenever he was able to get the hands at liberty. Several times Robert repeated his question, asking if he could be of any service to him ; but if Johnson had sent for him for some special reason, he was now unable to tell what it was. The interview had, thus far, been very painful to Robert.

" CORNERED." 22 He felt he could do no more than the nurses and doctors were doing so well. And, as the old man ceased wander ing, and fell into one of his dozes, he bade the nurse "good-day"; and, though doubtful if Johnson would live the day, promised to come again on the morrow. To the young it is inexpressibly sad to contemplate the dissolution of one they have known; and, as Robert retraced his steps along the hospital corridors, the solemn significance of the scene he had just witnessed did not allow other and more worldly thoughts. He was too deep in his meditations to notice those whom he passed. Thoughtful still, he had arrived at the bottom of a flight of steps, and was passing the end of one of the wards, when he was roused from his reverie by loud shrieks. This was the first time, since coming to the hospital, that he had heard any sound of pain or suffering.

He stopped, and as the cries continued, went close to the doors, from the other side of which they seemed to come. The shrill notes sounded hke the cries of a boy suffering extreme terror or acute pain. Not daring to open the doors, Robert, his pity and curiosity alike aroused, stood with his ear close to them, to catch every sound. The screams went on; and Robert, in an agony of sympathy, made a mental vow of vengeance against the author of them. A moment later a man's voice cried out — " Leave the lad alone, can't you ? Give up and get into bed." This seemed to divert the boy's tormentor, for the screams softened down to sobs. Almost immediately after wards Robert heard a woman's voice say in tones of authority and command — " Now, Smith, what are you doing out of bed ? Didn't the doctor tell you you were to stay in bed ?

Get back to bed this minute." There was no reply to this, and the noise which had been going on became hushed. The boy's sobbing alone broke the silence. But soon the woman's voice resumed, in the louder tones of vexed authority — " CORNERED." 23 " Do you hear me ? Am I to stand here much longer ? You will get into bed at once." Another short pause, and then there were sounds of a scuffle. The boy's shrieks began again with redoubled force and shrillness. Cries of " Give up ! Help ! help ! " arose above a general hubbub of fright and terror ; and Robert, unable to restrain himself any longer, burst into the ward. It was well that he did so. Half way down the right hand side of the ward stood a tall, powerful man. His face was fiery, and his eyes glared with the wild fierceness of a madman.