Sawn Off: A Tale of a Family Tree

“He must be very rich,” said Max at last, as he tapped the mahogany table with his fingers.

“Not saved much, I should say,” replied Hopper; “but he’s making money fast. So are you.”

“Um – no. I’m very heavily insured, though.”

“Not in the Oldwives’ Friendly?” said Hopper, with a curious look, though he knew the fact well.

“Well – er – er – yes, I am,” said Max.

“They’ll go to smash,” said Hopper eagerly. “Haven’t you heard the rumours?”

“Ye-es,” faltered Max.

“The scoundrels! And you such a good man, too, who has saved up and toiled for his family. I tell you what I’d do,” he said earnestly.

“What?” cried Max, turning to him with the eagerness of one in peril.

“They must last another twelvemonth, and pay up liabilities till then.”

“Yes, they must do that, I should say,” said Max.

“Then die at once, and let your people draw the money!” cried Hopper, slapping him in the breast, and gazing at him with the most serious of aspects. “So good and self-denying! You all over.”

Max started back, with horror in his countenance, and glared at Hopper, whose countenance, however, never for a moment changed; and he hastily poured himself out a glass of port and tossed it off.

“Very hard upon you, Max. I wish I was rich, and could help you. For you have been hit hard, of course. Never mind: you’ve that violent girl’s money in hand – six thousand. Make one of your boys marry her, and that’ll be all right.”

Max winced visibly.

“Haven’t spent it, have you?” continued Hopper, watching him from the corners of his eyes. “No, you’re too good a man for that? and it would be ugly.”

“Shall we go up to the drawing-room?” said Max, rising.

“Hey? Go upstairs? No, not to-night, thankye. Say good-bye to the ladies. I’ll be off now. Thankye for a bad dinner. More wine? No, I’m going to my lodging, for a quiet pipe and a glass of toddy before bed. Wretched weather, ain’t it? All right: I can get my coat on. Thankye, Max, thankye. I sha’n’t die yet, you know; your secret’s all right. Stop till I put on my respirator, so as to keep my lungs all right for your sake. Now my hat and stick. Thankye.”

He buttoned his coat tightly, looped the elastic of his respirator over his ears, and then stumbled to the door, gave the mat an ugly stab with his stick, nodded, did not shake hands, and went stumping down the street, talking to himself the while.

“I wonder whether that Tom is a trump at bottom?” he said. “I don’t know yet, but there’s a bit of a mystery over it all; and about Fred and that girl Jessie. She’s a puzzle, too. I wouldn’t have thought it of her; but I never did understand women. And so old Max is hit hard. Well, it’s the old saying, ‘Money got over old What’s-his-name’s back’s spent under his chest;’ and I’m sure of it. I’d swear it. He’s spent every penny of that violent girl’s fortune, as sure as my name’s Hopper, which it really is.”

Volume Two – Chapter Nine.

A Great Change

Richard Shingle was seated in his study – his own special room, tabooed, as he said, to every one but the specials – the specials being those whom he admitted. The place had a gay bachelor look about it, with a smoking-cap putting out a fiery bronze Amazon, and the green shade of a gas globe perched on one side, giving it a rakish air, as if it had been out all night. Cigars were in a box on a table, a handsome soda-water and spirit stand was on a sideboard, ready for use.

The furniture of the room was handsome, and in excellent taste; but it seemed as if finishing touches had been put by the owner himself, the said touches not being in keeping with the rest of the arrangements. There was an absence of books, too, in the place, which certainly had not a studious air. There were, however, plenty of newspapers and reviews; and it was observable that while the Saturday and Spectator were in an uncut state, Reynold’s and Lloyd’s were crumpled with much reading.

Richard Shingle, Esquire, was lolling idly back in a comfortable easy chair, in a rather loud-patterned shawl dressing-gown; one leg was thrown negligently over the chair-arm, a good cigar was in his lips, and as he smoked he diligently read the Times.

There was an appearance about Richard Shingle of having been dressed and had his hair brushed by somebody else, with the result that he was not quite comfortable; and every now and then he looked at the stubby fingers of his right hand, and had a bite at the hard skin at the sides, as if to help them to grow soft and genteel; for though as clean as if he had boiled them every day, to get them rid of old stains, they looked as thorough a pair of workman’s hands as it was possible to encounter in friendly grasp or clenched in warfare unpleasantly near your nose.

“Phew! this is hard work,” said Dick, pulling out a crimson silk handkerchief and wiping his forehead.

Then, laying down the paper, he rose, crossed the room, and poured himself out a little brandy from a decanter, before taking up a bottle of soda-water.

There was a sharp explosion: the cork struck a gas globe with a loud ring, and before Dick could pour out the contents of the bottle, half of it was on the Turkey carpet, drenching his hands and the front of his dressing-gown.

“If it was only genteel to swear,” he thought, “I’d have such a good one. Yah, it’s as gassy as brother Max. Wonder he has never found me out. Here’s a pretty mess! Ah! that’s better, though,” he continued, as he poured out and drank the refreshing draught before returning to his seat, wiping his hands upon his crimson silk handkerchief. “It’s very good sort of stuff, brandy and soda, specially the brandy; but I don’t know that I like it so well as half a pint of beer just drawn up cool out of a cellar, with plenty of head. Ah, those were days after all!” he said, sorrowfully. “One can’t go and have half-pints now. Hold hard, my lad! Taboo! taboo! That’s all taboo, you know.

“Well, I was always grumbling then, and wanting to be well off; but, somehow, we was very happy,” he continued, reseating himself in his easy chair. “Now I’m well off, I’m always feeling as if I wanted something else. But I don’t know: if Jessie would only look all right again, and matters be square, I don’t think I should grumble much. Well, here goes once more.”

He gave the paper a fierce shake, got his leg well over the arm of the chair, and went on reading aloud.

”‘The Chancellor of the Ex-exchequer ap-peal-ed to the ’Ouse to give doo con-sid-e-ra-tion to the wote – vote – and said – plead – ’ Blow the paper! it’s awfully dry work going through all this ’Ouse of Commons business every morning. Not half so interesting as the little bits about the accidents and murders and ’saults down at the bottom of the weekly papers. – One never knows where one is; and the way I get the two sides of the ’Ouse mixed up together makes me thankful I ain’t in Parlymint, or I should be doing some mischief. I wish Jessie would come. The members don’t seem to talk quite so much stuff when she reads. Poor lass! I’d give a thousand pounds down – and I could give it, too,” he added, with a fierce slap on his knee – “to see her looking as well and happy as she used to.”

He stopped, thinking for a few minutes.

“No,” he said aloud, “I haven’t done wrong. I’ve said it a dozen times, and I says it again. ‘No, my lass, I ask no questions about it,’ I says; ‘but that was an unpleasant piece of business about Fred Fraser, as is a reg’lar scamp; and if you loved Tom you didn’t do right. You says he came and threw up something at the window, and you opened it, thinking it was Tom. Well, my gal, you didn’t do right then, after what had happened.’ But there, it’s all over now – they belong to another set, unless they find out as we’re well off now, and Max wants to be friends. Ha! ha! ha! I shouldn’t wonder if he did some day. Ah, well! let’s have some more paper.”

He went on reading for five minutes, and then threw the sheet impatiently away.

“If it wasn’t for seeming so ignorant, I wouldn’t read a blessed line of it,” he cried. “Talk, talk, talk! Why, they might say it all in half an hour; only one seems so out of everything if one can’t talk about politics. No one ever says a word about the interesting paragraphs. I’m getting very tired of it all, and if ever I go into Parlymint I shall try for a comfortable seat below the gangway, or a hammock in the cabin.”

He pulled out a handsome self-winding gold watch, looked at the time with a sigh, and turned it over in his hand.

“Yes, you’re very pretty, and very valuable; but now I’ve had you six months I don’t care tuppence about you, ’specially as I don’t want to serve you as we used the old thirty-shilling silver vertical. ‘Make it ten shillings this time, Mr Dobree – do, please,’ I says, one night, ‘and I’ve got tuppence in my pocket for the ticket.’ ‘No,’ he says; ‘seven shillings – the old price; take it or leave it,’ he says. ‘Take it,’ I says. And so it went on till we lost it. Taboo – taboo!” exclaimed Richard, giving himself a tap on the mouth and putting away his timekeeper. “But I often wonder what’s become of the old watch. It was a rum one. You never knowed what it meant to do. One week it was all gain, and another all lose; and the way in which it would shake hands with itself, as if it enjoyed having such a lark, was fine, only it forgot to leave go, and the two hands went round together. Ah, well! – the cases was worth the seven shillings; so Uncle D. didn’t lose very much by the last transaction.”

The door opened, and Mrs Shingle entered, looking plump and well; and, having been very tastefully dressed by a good modiste, she was a fair example of what money will do.

It must be certainly owned that if she were to be calculated by the standard of refinement, it would have been necessary for her to hold her peace, as at the first words a considerable amount would have had to be taken from her value; but, all the same, there was very little trace left of the homely mechanic’s wife.

“Well, mother,” said Dick, smiling, as she entered, “what’s the best news?”

“Bad.”

“Isn’t Jessie any better?” he exclaimed anxiously.

Mrs Shingle shook her head.

“What does she say?”

“Nothing,” said Mrs Shingle sharply: “she’s like her father – has her secrets, and keeps them.”

“Don’t – don’t, mother! don’t go on like that!” cried Dick imploringly. “I’ve only got one secret from you.”

“One, indeed!” said Mrs Shingle, growing red in the face; “but it’s such a big one that it’s greater than all the things you’ve told me all your life.”

“Well, it is a big one, certainly,” said Dick, caressing his chin and smiling blandly. “But it’s been the making of us.”

“And you keep it from your own wife, who’s been married to you over twenty years.”

“Over twenty years!” said Dick, smiling at her – “is it, now? Well, I suppose it is. But lor’, who’d have thought it? Why, mother, you grow younger and handsomer every day!”

“Do I?” said Mrs Shingle, evidently feeling flattered, but angry all the same. “If I do, father, it’s not from ease of mind.”

“Come, come, mother,” he said, getting up and putting his arm round her, “don’t turn cross about it. I made a sort of promise like, when I thought of the idea that I’ve worked out into this house and this style of grounds for you, and your watch and chain and joolery, that I’d keep it all a secret.”

“Then it isn’t honest, father.”

“That’s what you’ve often said, mother, when you’ve been a bit waxy with me, and that’s what I felt you might say when I first thought it out and promised to keep it a secret.”

“Who did you promise?”

“Him,” said Dick, taking up an envelope and pointing to it with pride. “See —

”‘Richard Shingle, Esq., The Ivy House, Haverstock Hill,’” he went on, reading the address. “That’s the man I promised.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle, trying to escape from his arm, but very feebly; “and kept it from your own wife.”

“Well, yes,” said Dick, with the puzzled look very strong in his face. “I have kept it from you; but it’s a sort of religious oath – like freemasonry.”

“Like free stuffery!” cried Mrs Shingle. “When we were poor you never had any secrets from me.”

“No, my dear,” said Dick, kissing her – “never had one worth keeping; and see how badly it worked – how poor we were! Now I have got a secret from you – see how nicely it works, and how well off we are!”

“I’d rather be poor again, then.”

“Well, they was happy times,” said Dick; “but there was a very rough wrong side. It was like wearing a good pair of boots with the nails sticking up inside.”

“If I’ve asked you to tell me that secret night and day – I say, if I’ve asked you once,” cried Mrs Shingle, excitedly, “I’ve asked you – ”

“Two thousand times at least,” said Dick, interrupting her: “you have, mother, you have – ’specially at night.”

“Then I’ll make a vow too,” cried Mrs Shingle, throwing herself into a chair. “Never more – no, not even when I’m lying on my dying bed, will I ask you again.”

She leaned back, and looked at him angrily, as if she expected that this fearful vow would bring him on his knees at her feet. And certainly Dick did come over to her; but it was with a look of relief on his countenance as he bent down and kissed her.

“Thankye, mother,” he said – “thankye. You see, it’s a very strange secret, and mightn’t agree with you.”

“It’s agreed with you.”

“Well, yes, pretty well,” he said, smiling complacently; “but there, I’ve never told a soul – not even old Hopper; and fine and wild he’s been sometimes about it.”

“I should think not, indeed!”

“There, there, don’t look like that, mother,” cried Dick; “you have got such a sweet, comfortable sort of face when it’s not cross; and – there – it’s all right, isn’t it?”

It seemed to be, for Mrs Shingle smiled once more, and Dick drew a chair close to her.

“Now, look here,” he said: “I want to talk to you about Jessie.”

Mrs Shingle sighed, and laid her head upon his shoulder.

“Poor Jessie!” she said.

“Now, what’s to be done about – ”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Do you think she cares about Tom now? Because, if she does, I’ll swallow all the old pride and hold out the ’and of good fellowship to him – that is, if he’s a honest, true sorter fellow; if he ain’t, things had better stop as they are.”

“But that’s what I don’t know,” said Mrs Shingle; “she won’t talk about it. You know as well as I do that it’s all come on since that night at the old home.”

“Taboo! taboo!” muttered Dick.

“That letter was the worst part of it.”

“What, the one that come from Tom next day?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle; “it must have been very bitter and angry, for she turned red, and then white, and ended by crumpling it up and throwing it into the fire.”

“And Tom’s never tried to come nigh her since?” said Dick, musing.

“No.”

“Well, p’r’aps that’s pride,” said Dick. “He’s waiting to be asked. I don’t think the less of him for that.”

“No,” said Mrs Shingle, “Jessie won’t talk about it; but it’s my belief that Tom must have seen Fred come to see her that night, and he told her so, and threw her off, and she’s been fretting and wearing away ever since.”

“Fred’s often hanging about, though. Does she see him, do you think?”

“Oh no,” said Mrs Shingle, “I don’t think she does. Heigho! I don’t know how it’s to end. She’s getting as thin as thin, and hardly eats a bit; and she’s always watching and listening in a weary, wretched way, that makes me wish she was married.”

“Well, that’s it,” cried Dick; “let’s get her married.”

“Are you in such a hurry to part with her, then?” said Mrs Shingle bitterly.

“Part with her? Not I! I’m not going to part with her. Whoever it is as has her will have to come and live here.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Nice thing, for a young couple to be always having their father and mother in the house! Suppose whoever it is should want to bring his too?”

“Well, that would be awkward,” said Dick, rubbing his nose. “Hush! here she is.”

For Jessie came in just then, very gently, and her aspect justified Mrs Shingle’s words. She looked thin and wasted, while a sad, weary smile played about her lips, as if she were in constant pain and trying to hide it from those around. “Why, Jessie, my gal,” said Dick, “where have you been all this long time? Come along. I’ve got to leave soon – 11:20 sharp,” he continued, glancing at his watch, and shutting it with a loud snap as Mrs Shingle rose and left the room.

Jessie went to his side, and kissed him, staying leaning upon his shoulder; but soon after walked away to the window and looked out.

“That’s what she’s always doing,” muttered Dick – “always looking for some one as never comes. It must be about one of those two fellows. Jessie!” he cried.

“Yes, father.”

“I met Fred Fraser yesterday.”

She started round, and looked at him with dilated eyes.

“And Tom Fraser, his brother, the day before.”

Her face flushed, and an angry look darted from her eyes as he spoke, but she turned away.

“It must be Fred,” he muttered. “I don’t like it,” he continued; “I never did see such things as gals – girls. If she wants such and such a fellow, why don’t she say so? and if money’ll get him, why, he’s hers; but I’m not going to see her die before my eyes. I’d sooner she married a scamp – if she loves him. But he don’t have the playing with any money I may give her. Now, if Max would only make the first advances, we might be friendly again. I can afford to be, and I will; but I don’t like to make the first step. Jessie, my girl, if – I say if – if I was to become friends with your uncle again – ”

“Friends with Uncle Max?” cried Jessie, starting.

“I’ve been thinking of it, you know; and I was going to say he did give you – us, I mean – the rough side of his tongue once.”

“That’s – that’s all forgotten now, father,” faltered Jessie softly.

“You forgive him, my gal, for what he said to you?”

“Yes, father, yes,” she cried, with a sob.

“And you wouldn’t mind meeting him again?”

“N-no, father, I think not,” she faltered.

“And you wouldn’t mind meeting your cousin Fred, eh?”

“I – I don’t think so, father; I would try not to mind.”

“I wouldn’t press you, my dear,” he said; “but you know Uncle Max is my brother, and blood is thicker than water, eh? I say blood is thicker than water; and some day I must die, and I should like to be friends first.”

“Die, father!” said Jessie, with a weary look. “Would it be very hard to die?”

“Here, I say, Jessie, my pet, don’t talk in that way. How should I know? I never tried. What makes you say that?”

“Because – because, father – ”

She stopped short.

“Oh, there, my gal, no one’s going to die yet; but I say, Jessie, your cousin Tom – you wouldn’t mind meeting him, too?”

She turned upon him a mingled look of joy and dread; and then, shaking her head —

“No, no, father,” she exclaimed, closing her eyes, and with the veins in her forehead standing out – “I could not bear to meet him.”

“It’s Fred! I said it was,” exclaimed Dick to himself. “Well, I’m sorry; but it can’t be helped. I’ll talk to him like a father, and bring him round. Now, if – What do you want, John?”

He turned sharply round, for the door opened, and a page in a neat livery, hardly recognisable as the ’prentice of the shoemaker’s workshop, entered the room.

“Please, sir, here’s a gentleman to see you.”

“Who is it?” cried Dick; “and what are you grinning at?”

“Please, sir, it’s Mr Maximilian Shingle; and ’ere’s his card.”

Max Shingle had made up his mind, without any allusion to blood being thicker than water, to make the first advance to his brother. For it was very evident that Dick had hit upon some means of making money rapidly, whilst of late matters had been turning out very badly in his own business arrangements. No matter what he tried, or how he speculated, everything went wrong; until, in a kind of reckless gambling fit, to try and recoup himself for past losses, he had plunged himself more deeply in the mire.

He had broached his intentions to his wife and ward at breakfast time, and Mrs Max had shed tears.

“I’m sure I don’t know what to say, Max,” she whimpered, “unless it be —oh!”

She uttered a loud shriek.

“My poor darling! what is it?” cried Max. “Another of your little fits? There, go to her, Violante. She will be better soon.”

“Yes, yes – it is nothing,” faltered the unhappy woman. “I shall be better directly.”

She looked in a frightened way at her smooth, smiling lord, as she ground her teeth and pressed her lips together, to keep from moaning aloud.

Violante, who did not know what was the matter, jumped up and went to Mrs Max’s assistance; while the cat, who did know, having felt Max Shingle’s boot whisk by her ears as it struck Mrs Max, crept out of harm’s way, and curled up on the mat.

Tom Fraser and his brother Fred had risen and left the table, the one for Somerset House, the other for the office, before this incident occurred, or probably it would not have taken place; but Max had his reasons for not speaking sooner – one being that he fully intended Tom to marry his ward, and the other that he wished to pay his visit before the young men were aware of the fact.

On reaching his brother’s house, it was with a feeling of annoyance that he was ushered by the boy into the handsome dining-room, opening upon a conservatory, where, amongst other pictures, that of Dick and his wife occupied conspicuous places.

“So you say your master is at home, my man?” said Max, with his most urbane smile, as the boy came back from the study.

“Yes, sir; he don’t go out till nearly midday on Toosdays. He says will you wait five minutes, sir?”

“You didn’t know me again,” said Max, smiling in an ingratiating manner.

“Oh, don’t I just know you again, sir!” cried the boy. “You’re master’s brother, as used to come to the old place.”

“Quite right, my man, quite right; I am your master’s brother.”

“You didn’t know me again, sir?”

“No, my man, no,” said Max, putting up his glass and gazing at the boy with great interest; “you have improved so wonderfully. Ah! you look better than you did in those old days.”

“I should think I did, sir. Things is altered now. Master never talks about the shoemaking; he always calls it taboo.”

“Does he really?”

“Yes, sir, and everything’s different. Never feel hollow now – nothing never gnaws inside; and master says it’s all because my ’gestion’s better. He knows.”

“Stop a moment, my man,” said Max insinuatingly; “here’s a shilling.”

“Thankye, sir: shall I go now?”

“In a moment. So he’s in his study, is he? Making patent boots and shoes?”

“Bless your ’art, no, sir; it’s patent, but he don’t make no boots and shoes now. He buys all the very best. Look at that,” said the boy, holding out a foot.

As he spoke, Dick made his appearance behind them at the conservatory door, when, on seeing Max talking to the boy, he drew back.

“Ah, yes,” said Max, “that’s a handsome boot; and you’ve got a good foot, my lad.”

“Them’s the best boots in the trade, sir,” said the boy proudly.

“He’s going to pump him,” muttered Dick. “Well, if he plays those games, I shall do the artful too.”

“So you never feel hungry and hollow now, my man?” said Max.

“I should think not, sir. Master gave orders that I was always to have as much as I liked to eat. And I do,” he added unctuously.

“He don’t know much,” muttered Dick; “but if he gets putting old Max on the scent, I’ll smother him.”

“So you eat and drink as much as you like, do you, my man?” continued Max.

“Don’t I?” said the boy, laughing. “I should just think I do. Why, I’ve growed out of two suits of livery since we’ve been here.”

“And how long’s that?”

“Twelve months, sir; and these is getting too tight.”

“You were not in quite such a fine house as this before were you?”

“Oh no, sir, nothing like; but we’ve been doing very well lately.”

“You young villain!” muttered Dick; “if you get telling tales I’ll never forgive you.”

“So I suppose,” said Max. “And so you are very happy and comfortable?”

“It’s lovely, sir.”

“Master and mistress very kind, I suppose?”

“They jest are, sir. Missus and miss seems like two angels, sir.”