Dick's wandering, a novel

Chapter I

The world had been very kind of late to John Wilmading Kirby, Member for Redgate. Mr. Kirby was fond of acknowfedging the kindness of the world ; but he always added to this frank acknowledgment an abrupt nod and a smile, which seemed to hint that it would have gone ill with the world if it had not been kind to him. It was well for the world that (to use one of the Member’s good plain words) it had squared Mr. Kirby. Had it been necessary for the success of this determined person that the framework of Society should fall in ruins about him, he would have been found among the shattered fragments of the Philistine temple, still conscious of his justice and of his uncommon tenacity.

Perhaps Mr. Kirby had never been better pleased with the order of the universe than on this evening in April. The causes of his contentment were many and sufficient. In the first place Nature was doing her duty. The evening was so soft and beautiful that one of the curtains of the dining-room had been drawn aside, and the long window stood open to the air. The politician, sitting at ease in a big arm-chair, with his glass of good claret at his hand and the wood-fire cheerful at his feet, in a comfortable corner where there was no suspicion of dick’s wandering.

draughts, allowed his eyes to rest on the smooth lawn, where above the dark mass of a great cedar a single star was shining. Nor was his pleasure limited by his vision ; for his progressive mind went leisurely out into the twilight, and considered the wide park, all grassy slopes and hollows and majestic trees ; the stables ; the flower-garden ; the kitchen-garden ; the orchard ; the coverts ; the cricket-ground ; the prosperous farms, whose occupants were punctual with their rent. Now all these things were very pleasant to this sanguine gentleman, though none of them would ever come to him. It made him glow and chuckle to think that this fine property was waiting for his young cousin, Dick Hartland ; and that every day of the boy's long minority was increasing its value in the market. Mr. Kirby’s heart, which always warmed towards prosperity, glowed with sevenfold ardor at the prosperity of a kinsman. lie had a very strong and genuine feeling for his kin. He liked to push on a relation almost as well as to push on himself. He could not stand a fellow, as he would say with or without an oath, who would not stick through thick and thin to his own flesh and blood. In Mr. Kirby himself the family blood was of the reddest, and the family flesh bountiful and firm. Too luxurious a diet was not good for him ; and so it may be said that the second cause of his contentment on this April evening was the care which he had taken of himself since the end of last year’s session. He had been living in the bosom of his family, taking regular exercise, avoiding political discussion where there was any possibility of irritating contradic tion, eating less than usual, and counteracting his moderate cups with frequent bumpers of Vichy water. He was like a giant refreshed ; and he had brought his vig dick’s wandering.

Drous digestion to a most comfortable old English country - house, where the cook was above criticism. Moreover, the lady of the house, his cousin, mother of the heir (and this may be reckoned as another cause of contentment), was a charming hostess. He liked to say of her that she was the nicest little woman in the world. To the pleasant abode of a most pleasant lady he had come without his wife and with all the freedom of a bachelor ; and the man, who had been asked to meet him, was his old friend, Mrs. Hartland’s brother-in-law, Hervie Langdon, who, clever fellow though he was, liked better to listen than to talk.

Ail these were causes of pleasure ; but stronger than any one of these was the fact that, after a silence long as the winter-sleep of the dormouse, he was going to make a speech, and to make it under the most favorable conditions. He was to be conveyed in a comfortable carriage to the neighboring town of Redgate ; and to speak in the famous “ Institute,’’ which he knew to be well warmed and well ventilated. He knew the audience well, too, and knew that they admired their stout member heartily. He knew also that all reporters were to be excluded.

Mr. Kirby was happy. His glass stood on a little table beside him ; his napkin lay loose across his ample waistcoat ; his big legs were pushed towards the fire. He was every inch a prosperous gentleman, — and there were many inches.

“ You may depend upon it,” said Mr. Kirby, with a slow wink, “ that they won’t last another session. Their policy is the dam’dest stuff and nonsense. The country is sick of it.”

“And who is the country ? ” asked Hervie Langdon, dick’s wandering.

who was silting on the other side of the fire with one of his short legs crossed over the other ; he was smiling under his thick beard, as his manner was.

‘‘ Everybody ’s sick of them,’’ continued the politician. “ Society ’s tired of ’em, and wants a change of performers ; the workingmen bate ’em ; and the middle class are angry, because trade ’s bad.”

“ Is that the fault of the Government ? ”

Mr. Kirby pulled himself up in his chair, pulled down his waistcoat, took his coffee from the footman, and finally winked. “ That ’s as may be,” he answered.

Those fellows don’t discriminate. They ain’t educated up to it. Nobody knows better than you, my dear Hervie, what English middle-class education is.”

Hervie Langdon nodded and raised his fine eyebrows.

“ They are taught to calculate interest,” continued the other ; that ’s what middle-class education is. And when they go into business they find tables where the interest is calculated for them. They are strong enough to smash this Government, or any Government, if it comes to that ; but they are the stupidest class in Europe, bar none.” Here Mr. Kirby paused, struck a match, lighted the cigar which he had been holding between two of his big fingers, blew a light cloud, and then removing the cigar from his lips, delivered himself of this remarkable statement : “ The middle class are fools.”

The smile which had been twinkling in Hervie Langdon’s eyes and lifting the corners of his moustache changed suddenly into one of those hearty bursts of laughter, which had never failed to surprise Mr. Kirby during a friendship of twenty years or more. Mr. Langdon lay back in his chair, and laughed as he never dick’s wandering.

laughed at any of his friend’s jokes, till he was obliged to wipe his eyes. As the noise of his laughter died away, a small boy, who was half hidden behind his chair, asked innocently, “ Are they all fools ? ”

“ Hullo ! ” said Hervie Langdon ; what are you doing here, young man ? Why did n’t you go with the other children ? ”

He put his hand back and drew his little nephew into the fuller light. In this light Dick Hartland’s brown hair, which was rather rough, showed a decidedly yellow tinge. In his mother’s possession was a fine pale wisp, which proved to her satisfaction at least that her baby had been a golden-haired baby. Everybody liked the boy’s looks, though perhaps he had few claims to beauty. His skin was clear, if somewhat freckled ; his forehead was wide, and there was good space between his blue eyes ; the cheek-bones looked as if they might be prominent when the cheeks had lost their childish roundness, and the chin was rather square. Dragged from his post of observation, this little hero showed no embarrassment in the presence of his elders. He looked his uncle Hervie in the face with his inquiring eyes, as he answered him.

“ I like to stay with the men,” he said ; and I like politics.”

Ho, ho ! ” cried Mr. Kirby, who was sucking at his big cigar ; he blew a great ring of smoke, and chuckled.

But is it true, uncle Hervie,” asked the boy, that all the middle class are fools ? ” Mr. Langdon drew his nephew on to the arm of his chair, and, pointing his cigarette at his distinguished friend, said shortly, Ask him ; he ’s a great Liberal ; he ought to know.”

“I won’t speak ex said Mr. Kirby, with a dick’s wandering.

wondrous knowing look ; not ex cathedra^ as I may say, ha, ha ! He laughed, but on this occasion his friend did not.

“ You be oft to your mother,” Mr. Langdon said to Dick ; “ and tell Ossie and Betty to go to bed. Good-night, dear boy ; and put off being a politician as long as you can.”

“ Why ? ” asked Dick, pushing his hair back from his forehead, and preparing to receive instruction ; but his uncle only patted his cheek, and smiled as usual. His uncle Hervie’s smiles were very mysterious to Dick, in part, perhaps, because they took place under cover of his beard. They seemed to mean a great deal to the little boy. He used to* think about them when he was alone.

Now it happened that on that evening Mr. Langdon’s son had not waited for his father’s commands, but had gone to bed because he felt lazy, as he often did. There fore Master Osbert was already drifting peacefully towards slumber, when he was disturbed by the sudden entrance of his cousin. Dick was very wide awake, and seemed even more so ; he had the air of a conspirator ; he advanced on tiptoe, and spoke in a hoarse, unnatural whisper ; he was possessed by a mighty purpose, intent on great adventure. “ Ossie, Ossie ! ” he whispered. There was no answer but a kind of grunt. Get up,” said Dick. There came from under the bedclothes a sound like “ Whoffor.”

Encouraged by this sign of intelligence, Dick took a lying leap on to the bed. ‘‘ Oh, do get up,” he said, dragging the clothes from his reluctant cousin’s chin ; “ don’t be so awfully lazy. It ’s such a splendid plan ; we ’ll get out, and get on to the back of the carriage, and dick’s wandering.

go to Redgate without old Peter knowing, and hear him speak.’’ Now Peter ” was the name which these little boys, for some humorous reason only known to themselves, had conferred upon Mr. John Wilmading Kirby.

‘‘ There is n’t any fun in hearing a speech,” said Ossie sle^ily.

‘‘ Not if we make a row in the middle of it ? ” asked Dick triumphantly.

Ah ! ” Ossie’s interest was at last aroused, but not for long. It ’s very jolly here,” he said plaintively, after a minute; ‘‘good-night.” He had been secretly getting a good hold on the blankets.

“ Ah, would you ? ” cried Dick, and with a dexterous jerk he pulled all the bedclothes on to the floor.

Thus suddenly deprived of the warmth and drowsiness which he loved, defenceless and almost naked. Master Osbert Langdon had a good chance of displaying his extraordinary amiability. He sat up on his bed, clasped his hands in front of his shins, rested his chin on his knees, yawned, and stared at his cousin with eyes which seemed to be opened to an unnatural roundness. He even smiled as he said plaintively, “ You always expect everybody to do what you want.”

“ No, I don’t,” said Dick ; “ I only want them to do what they ought. You ought to get up. Oh, do look sharp, or we shall be too late ; here ’s your shirt ; I ’ll help you.” As Ossie grew more wakeful; his natural taste for mischief grew stronger and stronger. It was not long before the two little boys were stealing down Jie passage, with their shoes in their hands, and the spirit of adventure in their hearts.

CHAPTER 11.

Mr. Kirby was in great force, and knew it. The sound of his own voice was pleasant in his ears. It may be said that for six months or more he had not heard that voice raised to public pitch ; for during the short session before Easter he had scarcely opened his full lips. As he spoke, his mind was half busy with fragments of other speeches, which delivered in his other manner would soon be persuading or denouncing his fellow-members of the Lower House. But if his thoughts strayed sometimes to the more important arena, he continued to address with due weight and friendly heartiness his admiring audience of the Redgate Institute.

The hall of the Institute was full and fusty. Since the consumption of gas was most liberal, it was hard to account for the subtle smell of the smoke of cheap candles. Hervie Langdon, who was fond of speculating on matters of this sort, connected it in some way with muffins and tea in the parlor behind the shop. Certainly the greater part of the audience might well have come from such succulent tea-tables as his fancy painted ; for the small tradesmen of Redgate were there in force, and had brought with them their wives and daughters. Nor were these latter slack in their zeal for the distinguished politician ; for if they held him second to the itinerant conjurer, who sometimes appeared on that same platform, it was only by so much as conjuring seemed more important than politics. But though the body of the hall was dick’s wandering.

filled by Redgate shopkeepers and their womankind, there was still room on the floor for a small audience of a widely different character. Behind the tradesfolk there was a small company of laborers, who had plodded in from a suburban beer-shop under the guidance of old Durley, professional rat-catcher, frequent poacher, and occasional sub-agent in seasons of political excitement. Old Durley bore an unfortunate likeness to one of his own ferrets. It is to be feared too that he regarded ferrets and politicians with somewhat similar feelings ; he liked to see them at work, and he loved to profit by their labors. On the platform with the orator there were, besides Mr. Langdon, a gentleman supposed to be of Portuguese origin, with fat dark hands, who repi'esented the landed interest ; a very substantial farmer, who was Dick Hartland’s chief tentant ; and the Vicar, a large pale man, determined not to be fidgety, who, in spite of his conscientious efforts after an air of good-fellowship and equality, could not but look like a shepherd with a nervous eye upon his flock. In the centre of the stage, with his broad back turned to the picture of the late Mayor, to whose munificence the town was indebted for that useful building, stood Mr. Kirby and addressed his countrymen. In every corner of the room before him was brilliant light, except under the gallery opposite, which had been designed for a band, if ever a ball should be given in that place. Under the gallery was darkness, if not vacancy.

The orator had warmed to his work ; the greater part of his task was done ; every moment he became more knowing, more friendly, more popular. It is no good my trying to deceive you,” he said, — to humbug you, if you will forgive the expression. You know as well dick’s wandering.

as I do what this Government has done ; or rather what they have left undone. It don’t need much of a man to tell us what they have done ; for it ’s next to nothing. They tell us that their great claim to our confidence is — that they have let us alone — that they have not worried our industries. But what I say — and I am a practical man — that ’s my boast — what I say is that we don’t pay a lot of fellows to do nothing. (“ Hear, hear,” cried one of the retail traders.) The public servants must earn their wages. Then they tell us that they have no time to do anything for us. Why ? Because they are so busy with foreign affairs. But I say that it is time to let our neighbors alone. Mind your own business, say I, and let these foreigners alone. Do something for me — for us. We ain’t foreigners. (“ Hear, hear,” cried Mr. Leon Gonzales, conscious of his stake in the country.)

“ Now perhaps you will ask me — for you are sensible practical men, as I hope I am — perhaps you will ask me what we — that is, what our party will do for you, if we come in — and come in we shall — and soon. (“ The sooner the better,” cried Mr. Hopkins the chemist, who frequently took part in penny-readings, and was not afraid to be heard. This criticism from one of themselves was greeted with much approval, and some cries of “ ’Ear, ’ear, ’Opkins,” “ Good for you. Bill,” and such like. During the clamor the orator had the air of one who is agreeably surprised by the discovery of extraordinary local talent.) Yes, gentlemen, the sooner the better, if I may borrow the felicitous phrase of my good friend William Hopkins. (Applause.) Now I have no right to speak for the coming Government

Yes, you have,” cried Mr. Hopkins.) No, no, my dick’s wandering.

friend. I wish I never had to disagree with you. I feel safer when you and I are of one mind. But I say, No. I speak to you as a plain man to plain men — a friend among friends. And as a friepd among friends — (applause) — I may speak my mind freely. I ’ll tell you what I think our people will do for you, when they come in. I speak for myself. I never was afraid to speak my mind. I am not afraid now. (Hear, hear.) What I think, I speak ; and what I speak may go forth from this place — this beautiful hall of yours — - (loud applause) — may go forth I say, and be repeated through the length and breadth and depth and height of this great country. (Loud applause and stamping of the feet, during which demonstration the orator whispered to Mr. Langdon, You are sure there ’s not a reporter ? ” Certain,” answered his friend ; “ Hopkins saw to it. Give it them strong; they like it.” Hervia Langdon seemed to derive a peculiar pleasure from the performance.) It is not hard to tell you what we — what they will do for you. They will institute a great policy of economy, a far-reaching and minute economy. Everything shall be done a little cheaper. AJl of you shall be a little richer on account of our care and pains. We are practical men ; we appeal to your pocket. (Laughter and applause. As the sounds subsided, Mr. Kirby caught the eye of old Durley the rat-catcher, and he gave him something like a wink as he began again.) But there is something else which, unless I am much mistaken — (“ Not likely,” said Mr. Hopkins, with a knowing nod) — you will get out of the Government which is to be. That something is a great Liberal measure. I for one am not afraid to trust the people of England, There may be more prudent men than I. Don’t let us dick’s wandering.

undervalue prudence. (Applause from the body o£ the hall.) But there are other virtues besides prudence. There are courage and honesty. Give me the honest and the brave, and I will give them votes. (A voice, “ And they ’ll give their votes to you.” It was the high, peculiar voice of old Durley.) And I am not above taking ’em. (Laughter.) Some people want to draw nice distinctions. Some say, — Give the vote to Tom, and not to Dick ; or to Dick, and not to Harry. But I don’t value these nice distinctions. I am of a wider generosity. My heart has room for you all. I say, Give ’em all votes — give a vote to Tom, to Dick, and to Harry. (Here Durley jogged the elbow of the man next to him, and from his little knot of laborers came presently a slow bovine cheer.) I don’t want to give a vote to the man who pays £10, and to refuse it to the man who pays £9, 10s. Some people value this sort of wire-drawing business. I don’t. I am well content that the Government of this great country should be done by this great people ; not by him who has so much, or by him who has so little ; but by all who have that chief possession — that inestimable wealth — that proud title by which the pomp of emperor and king grows pale — the sacred name of Englishman. (The applause was led by Mr. Gonzales, who in the enthusiasm of the moment almost made up his mind to double his subscription to the Hunt.) But don’t let us be in a hurry. (Applause from the body of the hall, where the enthusiasm had been visibly cooling.) Fairly, and softly. When are we to have this great democratic measure ? W^hcn ? I can’t tell you. Can you tell me? You can judge at least as well as I — you the able and honest gentlemen whom I see before me — you the representatives of that dick’s wandering.

commerce which is the pride and glory of England — that commerce so safe and so enterprising — Hear, hear,” from Peaseley the grocer, who had just opened a little branch-shop in the village of Glaring) — you who are for reform without revolution, for progress on the straight lines of the ledger — you the bone and sinew of our country — you the representatives of that great middle class, from which I am myself so proud to have sprung,”

When the orator paused, there was a moment’s silence, during which old Dunderd the clerk woke with a start, and probably under a false impression cried, ‘‘ Amen.” Then laughter was smothered in applause ; and boots and umbrellas thumped the floor. As the surging sounds subsided, there was heard a clear young voice calling — “ Peter ! Peter ! ” Hervie Langdon leaned quickly forward in his chair, and stared into the darkness under the opposite gallery. Mr. Kirby, who was not very quick to hear, held up a large hand with fingers outspread; and, when silence was secured, asked in his fullest and most patronizing tone, ‘‘Did I not hear somebody ask a question ? ” He waited with a tolerant smile ; he had the air of one who was about to crush a beetle in the kindest possible manner, but to crush it. Then uttered in the same clear treble came the words, “ You said the middle class were fools.”

“ Eh ? what ? what ? ” cried Mr. Kirby astonished : “ what ’s that ? ”

“ Did n’t he, uncle Hervie ? It was when you were smoking after dinner. Did n’t he tell you that the middle class were fools ? ”

After these words there was a remarkable silence. Then old Durley’s beery chuckle was heard : “ So they dick’s wandering.

be,” he muttered. Then Mr. Langdon, on the elevated platform, in the face of that important assembly of his countrymen, burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Still wiping his eyes he rose from his chair ; and, while the worthy tradesmen stared with profound wonder at the extraordinary humor of the thick-set bearded gentleman before them, he called over their heads to his friend Durley. ‘‘ Durley,” he said, ‘‘ just look under the gallery for my nephew.” The venerable rat-catcher slipped back quick as a ferret in a rabbit-warren ; but he presently emerged from’ the darkness with his head shaking, and protested that he could find nothing but an open window. The solid shopkeepers were still staring suspiciously at Mr. Langdon ; and that gentleman now took his hands out of his pockets and addressed them. “ That was my nephew,” he said ; he is a nice boy, but mischievous. You all know what boys are. You were boys yourselves — except the best of you who were lucky enough to be girls — are girls how if my shortsighted eyes don’t deceive me.” This well-timed allusion set all the ladies bridling and giggling, while it turned the thoughts of their male companions into a familiar channel of jocosity. After a time of nudging and laughter, during which Hervie Langdon put his hands back in his pockets and stood smiling, he wound up his oration with great speed. “ One does not answer little boys,” he said, — “ except with the birch-rod. You know our distinguished friend — the great statesman who has talked to us this evening. You know him ; and you won’t call him names, nor he you. I need hardly repeat that he won’t call you namesi There is confidence and mutual respect between you; All I have to do is to ask you to join cordially and unanimously with dick’s wandering.

me in passing by acclamation a vote of thanks to our distinguished friend, the Member for this enlightened borough, John Wilmading Kirby.” As he sat down, there was a great moving of chairs, and the bustle of departure began. With all this noise there was enough applause to cover the retreat of Mr. Kirby. As the brougham was whirled away from a side door, he said with a thoughtful manner. “ I think I ’ll make my subscription to that damned pump as much as £50.” It was thus that he spoke of the new Gothic fountain, which was to be erected in the market-place of Redgate. As they drove through Glaring Park, he asked with some warmth, Why does n’t Sophie Hartland send that boy to school ? ”

“ It is about time,” said Hervie Langdon, who felt himself richer by a memory which he could laugh at when he was alone.

Chapter III

Sophie Hartland knew well that her boy must go to school. It would have been strange if she had not grasped the idea, since she thought of Dick far more than of any other person or thing in all the world. F rom that awful day when after a single year of married life she was left a widow and a mother, herself almost a child, her son had been the most important of the race of men. He had been a source of strength too. When she knew that her husband, on whom she had already learned to lean with absolute trust, had been crushed under his horse and was dead, she turned to her baby with an instinct of self-preservation. But for her baby she thought that she should not be strong enough to live. A helplessness greater than her own appealed to her. She prayed for her baby before she prayed for herself. She prayed that he might be like his father.

When the young mother could think more calmly of her husband, her thoughts passed always naturally from him to his child. The sense of responsibility absorbed her more and more. She felt as if she had charge of a sacred creature, who was by nature noble, and in whom any weakness would be justly laid to her charge. And this sense of responsibility made her stronger day by day. Her life was full of little tasks ; she would do everything for her boy. And so daily her confidence in herself increased. She found that she could do what she set herself to do. She began to value herself meekly dick’s wandering.

on the power of doing unpleasant things for Dick’s sake ; and so, one after another, most of them ceased to be unpleasant. She found a quiet pleasure in planning, in arranging, in managing. She was proud of the extreme neatness of the fine old house, which belonged to her baby boy. She liked to be consulted by the agent, who felt for her a chivalrous devotion, and would scarcely mend a gate without her sanction. She troubled herself with the reckoning of many figures, that she might foresee the future value of Dick’s propert3\ She studied political economy with the help of her brother-in-law, Hervie Langdon, who derived no little amusement from her strange ambition ; and she learned to speak with intelligence of freehold and copyhold, of the natural law of rent, of the necessary limit of wages. For the land laws of her country she acquired an immense respect, partly due no doubt to the difficulty which she found in understanding them, but partly also to that respect for all law and distrust of change which lie deep in all but the few revolutionary women.

Out of doors Mrs. Hartland rode about the property, and saw things for herself. She paid friendly visits to the farmers with the grace and kindliness of a young queen. She went more often into the laborers’ cottages, and would carry small gifts to their wives and children. She was at home in the village, which nestled at the park gates ; and indeed she was seen so often there that people would have forgotten to look at her, had she not been so pleasant to the eye. For in spite of her Quaker-like simplicity of dress, few women were prettier than Sophie Hartland. The girlish pouting lips had been schooled to an innocent precision ; the cheek was a little thinner and paler than it was on her marriage morning ;