The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes

Polly stooped down to awake him gently, when, at the slightest touch, he started at one bound to his feet, muttering incoherent words of terror and apprehension; his eyes rolled about wildly. He seized Polly, and held her at arms' length for an instant, until he fairly realized his actual situation, when he burst into a loud laugh, that chilled his poor wife's very blood.

"Ha! ha! Pol, is that you?" he cried, wildly. "I've been a bad boy, I know; but I'll make up for it gloriously, my girl. Ugh! what a dream I've had. Ah! the darkness is a terrible time to get over when one's conscience is filling the black night with fiery eyes." Then, turning to his wife, he said, loudly: "Polly, darling, I'm ashamed of myself; but it will be all right by and by. You were cut out for a rich woman, Pol."

"Dear Thomas, let me be rich in the happiness of our humble home; 'tis all I ask."

"Oh, nonsense! Suppose now you got a heap of money a prize in the lottery, wouldn't you like to elevate your little nose, and jostle against the big bugs in Broadway?"

"Not at the price of our comfort, Thomas," she answered, solemnly.

"You're a fool! Money can buy all sorts of comfort."

"What do you mean, Thomas, by those hints about money? has anything happened?"

"Oh! no – no!" he replied, quickly, turning his eyes away; "but there's no knowing when something might. Now I'll try her," thought he. "It's my dream, Pol. Shall I tell it to you?"

"Do, my dear Tom. Oh! I'm so glad to see you yourself once more."

"Well, dear," he continued, sitting close to her, and placing his arm around her waist, "I dreamed that as I was returning from a job, what should I see in the street, under my very nose, but a pocket-book, stuffed full of money. Presently the owner came along. He asked me if I had found it. I said no, and came home a rich man – oh! so rich!"

"I know your heart too well, Tom, to believe that such a thing could happen except in a dream," said his wife, to his great annoyance. He started up, and after one or two turns about the little, now untidy, room, exclaimed, angrily:

"Why not? I should like to know if fortune did – I mean – was, to fling luck in my way, do you think I'd be such a cursed fool as not to grab at it?"

"Thomas, you have been drinking too much," said she, sadly.

"No, no," he interrupted, "not enough; give me some more."

"Not a drop, husband," she replied, seriously, and with determination. "If you will poison yourself it shall not be through my hand."

"Don't be a fool," he cried, savagely, "or it may be the worse for you. I'm master of my own house, I think."

"Home! ah, Thomas, some evil spirit has stolen away our once happy home for ever," said Polly, as she slowly and sorrowfully returned again to weep in the silence of her own room.

"There has, there has," cried Tom, as she quitted him. "And this is it" – pulling out the pocket-book, which he had not left hold of for an instant, and frowning desperately at it – "Confound your skin, it's you that has stolen away our comfort. I'll take the cursed thing back; I wouldn't have Polly's eyes wet with sorrow to be made of money – I'll take it back this very blessed morning; and somehow that thought brings a ray of sunlight back to my heart." So saying, he thrust the pocket-book, as he thought, safely within his vest, but in his eagerness to take extra care of it, it slipped through, and dropped upon the floor; his mind being taken off for a moment by the entrance of Bryan, to tell him that the horse and truck were ready.

"Very well, I'm glad of it," cried Tom. "Now I'll see what the fine, bracing, morning air will do for this cracked head of mine; now then, to take this back," and he slapped his chest, under the full impression that the pocket-book was there. "Bryan, I don't want you for half an hour; just wait till I come back, will you?"

"That I will, sir, and welcome," said Bryan, and with a merry song once more at his lip, and a cheerful good-bye to Polly, to whose heart both brought comfort in her great sadness, Bobolink mounted his truck, and trotted off.

Meantime Bryan, now left alone in the room, dived into the recesses of his capacious coat-pocket, and producing from thence a piece of bread and cheese, moralized the while upon the pleasant change in his prospects.

"Long life to this tindher-hearted couple," said he. "Shure an' I'm on the high road to good luck at last; plenty of the best in the way of atin', and an elegant stable to sleep in, with a Christian-like quadruped for company; av I had only now a trifle o' money to get myself some clothes – these things doesn't look well in this part of the world," casting his eyes down in not over-delighted contemplation of his nether integuments. "A little bit o' money now would make me so happy an' industrious, I could take the buzz out of a hive o' bees. The saints between us and all mischief, what's that?" he continued, starting to his feet, as his glance fell upon the pocket-book which Tom had dropped. "It serves me right," he went on, his face suddenly becoming pale as paper, "to wish for any such thing. I don't want it – it was all a mistake," cried he, apologetically. "This is the devil's work; no sooner do I let a word out o' me mouth, that I didn't mane at all at all, but the evil blaggard sticks a swadge of temptation right before me. I won't have it – take it away."

At that instant Polly returned into the room. "Take care how you come – don't walk this way," said Bryan. "Look!"

"What is it?" cried Polly, in alarm.

"Timptation!" shouted Bryan. "I was foolish enough just now to wish for a trifle of money, and may I niver see glory if that lump of a pocket-book didn't sprout up before me very eyes."

"Pocket-book, eh?" cried Polly, seizing it in her hands, despite of the comic apprehension of Bryan, who insisted that it would burn her fingers. The whole truth flashed across her mind at once. Tom's dream was no dream, but a reality, and the struggle in his mind whether to keep or return it, had caused that sleepless and uncomfortable night. "Bryan," said she, quickly, "did you hear any one say that they had lost any money yesterday?"

"Let me see," replied the other. "Yes, to be sure, 44 came out of the hall-door, and axed me if I saw a pocket-book."

"It must be his. Thank God for this merciful dispensation," cried the agitated wife. "Quick, quick, my bonnet and shawl, and come you, Bryan, you know the place; this money must be that which was lost."

"I'm wid you, ma'am," answered Bryan. "Who knows but that may be the identical pocket-book; at any rate it'll do as well if there's as much money in it, and if there isn't, there'll be another crop before we come back."

CHAPTER VIII.

RETRIBUTION

Snugly ensconced in his own particular apartment, Mr. Granite had flung himself in post-prandial abandon into his easiest of easy-chairs. Leisurely, and with the smack of a true connoisseur, he dallied with a glass of exquisite Madeira. The consciousness of the enviable nature of his worldly position never imbued him so thoroughly as at such a moment. Business was flourishing, his health was excellent, and his son, on whom he concentrated all the affection of which his heart was capable, had recently distinguished himself at a college examination. Everything, in fact, seemed to him couleur de rose.

It can readily be imagined that to be disturbed at such a period of enjoyment was positive high treason against the home majesty of the mercantile monarch.

Fancy, therefore, what a rude shock it was to his quiet, when he was informed that Mr. Sterling wished to see him on a matter of the greatest importance. "I cannot, I will not see him, or anybody," said the enraged potentate; "you know, he knows, my invariable rule. It must not be infringed, for any one whatever, much less for such a person," and, closing his eyes in a spasm of self-sufficiency, he again subsided into calmness, slightly ruffled, however, by the outrageous attack upon his privacy.

He had just succeeded in restoring his disturbed equanimity, when he was once more startled into ill-humor by the sound of voices as if in altercation, and a sharp knock at the chamber-door.

The next instant, to his still greater surprise and anger, the old clerk, Sterling, who had been ignominiously dismissed since the last interview between him and Granite, stood before him. Every particle of his hitherto meekness and humility had apparently vanished, as for a few moments he regarded the merchant with a fixed and penetrating look.

"What villainous intrusion is this? Where are my servants? How dare they permit my home to be thus invaded?" cried Granite, with flashing eyes and lowering brow.

"I am here, not for myself," replied Sterling, calmly, "but for the victim of your rapacity – of your terrible guilt. I have intruded upon you at this unusual time to inform you of the extremity in which Travers is placed, and from my carelessness – my criminal carelessness. Will you not at least remedy that?"

"No!" thundered the exasperated merchant. "Your indiscreet zeal has ruined both you and those for whom you plead. I'll have nothing to do with any of ye – begone!"

"Not before I have cautioned you that my lips, hitherto sealed for fear of injury to him, shall henceforward be opened. Why should I hesitate to denounce one who is so devoid of common charity?"

"Because no one will believe you," responded the other, with a bitter sneer. "The denunciations of a discharged servant are seldom much heeded; empty sounds will be of no avail. Proof will be needed in confirmation, and where are you to find that?"

"Ah! where, indeed! you have taken care of that; but have you reflected that there is a power to whom your machinations, your schemes of aggrandizement, are as flimsy as the veriest gossamer web?" solemnly ejaculated Sterling.

"Canting sways me as little as your hurtless threats. What I have, I shall keep in spite of" —

"Heaven's justice?" interposed the old clerk.

"In spite of anything or everything," savagely replied the irritated merchant. "You have your final answer, nor is it in the power of angel or devil to alter it; and so, the sooner you relieve me from your presence the better I will like it, and the better it may be for your future prospects."

"Of my future, God knows, I take no care; but for the sake of those poor young things, so cruelly left to struggle with a hard, hard world, I feel that I have strength even to oppose the stern rock of your obstinacy, almost hopeless though the effort may be. I am going," he went on, seeing the feverish impatience working in Granite's face, "but, as a parting word, remember that my dependence is not in my own ability to unmask your speciousness, or contend against the harshness of your determination. No, I surrender my case and that of my clients into His hands who never suffers the guilty to triumph to the end. The avalanche falls sometimes on the fruitfullest vineyards, as well as on the most sterile waste."

"By Heaven! you exhaust my patience," roared the other, as he rung the servants' bell impetuously; "since you will not go of your own accord, I must indignantly thrust you forth into the street like a cur."

"There shall be no need of that," meekly replied the clerk, turning to leave the apartment, just as the servant entered, bringing a letter for Mr. Granite on a silver waiter.

The latter was about to address an angry sentence to the servant, when he perceived that the letter he carried was enclosed in an envelope deeply bordered with black.

His heart gave one mighty throb as he snatched it – tearing it open, and gasping with some terrible presentiment of evil, he but glanced at the contents, and with a fearful shriek fell prostrate.

Sterling rushed to his side, and with the aid of the servant, loosed his neckcloth, and placed him in a chair, using what immediate remedies he could command in the hope of restoring animation. It was some minutes before the stricken man, clutched from his pride of place in the winking of an eyelid, gave signs of returning vitality. During his unconsciousness, Sterling ascertained from the open letter lying at his feet, that the merchant's son, the sole hope of his existence, for whom he had slaved and toiled, set at naught all principle, and violated even the ties of kindred and of honesty, had died suddenly at college. No previous illness had given the slightest shadow of an apprehension. He had quietly retired to his bed at his usual hour on the previous night, and in the morning was found stark and cold. None knew the agony which might have preceded dissolution. No friendly tongue was nigh to speak of consolation; no hand to do the kindly offices of nature.

Slowly, slowly and painfully the wretched parent returned to consciousness, and with it, the terrible reality of his bereavement. Glaring around him fiercely: "Where am I? – what is this? – why do you hold me?" he cried, madly. At this instant his glance fell upon the fatal letter; "Oh, God! I know it all – all! my son! my son!" Turning upon Sterling, fiercely, he grasped him by the throat. "Old man," he cried, "you have murdered him! you, and that villain Travers!" Then he relaxed his gripe, and in an agony of tears, fell to supplication. "It cannot be – it shall not be – oh! take me to him – what am I to do? Sterling, my old friend, oh, forgive me – pity me – let us away." He tried to stand, but his limbs were paralyzed. "The judgment has fallen – I feared it – I expected it, but not so suddenly – it may be that there is still hope – hope, though ever so distant. Perhaps a quick atonement may avert the final blow. Quick, Sterling – give me paper, and pen." They were brought. "Now write," he continued, his voice growing fainter and fainter: "I give Travers all – all – if this late repentance may be heard, and my son should live. I know I can rely on his benevolence – quick, let me sign it, for my strength is failing fast."

With extreme difficulty, he appended his signature to the document Sterling had drawn up at his desire. When it was done, the pen dropped from his nerveless grasp, his lips moved for an instant as though in prayer – the next – he was – nothing!

CHAPTER IX.

SUNLIGHT

Our scene shifts back to Mrs. Grimgriskin's elegant establishment, where poor Travers' affairs are once more in a very dilapidated state, as may be inferred from the conversation now progressing.

"People as can't pay," said the now curt landlady, smoothing down an already very smooth apron, "needn't to have no objections, I think, to turn out in favor of them as can. I'm a woman of few words – very few indeed. I don't want to make myself at all disagreeable; but impossibles is impossibles, and I can't provide without I have the means to do so with."

"My good lady," interposed Travers, "do pray give me a little time; my friend Sterling has again applied to Mr. Granite" —

"Pooh! I'm sick of all such excuses; one word for all – get your trunks ready. I'd rather lose what you owe me than let it get any bigger, when there's not the remotest chance, as I can see, for its liquidation; and, dear me, how lucky – I declare there's the very truckman who came the other day. I'll tell him to stop, for I don't mind giving you all the assistance I can, conveniently with my own interest."

So saying, she hailed Tom Bobolink, who was indeed looking somewhat wistfully towards the house. He was just cogitating within his mind what excuse he could make to get into the place, and so rid himself of his unfortunate good fortune at once.

"Yon trunks, I presume from appearance, won't take a long time to get ready," said the delicate Grimgriskin. "Here, my man; just come in here," she continued, as Tom, in a state of considerable trepidation, entered the room; "this young man will have a job for you." The poor wife now joined Travers, and on inquiring the cause of the slight tumult, was told by Henry that she must prepare to seek an asylum away from the hospitable mansion which had recently afforded them a shelter.

"Come, my love," said he, with a tolerable effort at cheerfulness, "let us at once leave this mercenary woman's roof."

"Mercenary, indeed!" the landlady shrieked after them, as they entered their own room. "Because a person won't suffer themselves to be robbed with their eyes open, they're mercenary. The sooner my house is cleared of such rubbish, the better. Mercenary, indeed!" and with an indignant toss of her false curls, she flounced out of the room.

"Now for it!" cried Tom; "the coast is clear; what the deuce shall I do with it? I dare not give it openly; suppose I say I found it under the sophia. Egad, that will do famously; here goes." So saying, he plunged his hand into his bosom, and to his horror and consternation it was not there; his blood froze in his veins for an instant, then deluged him with a perfect thaw of perspiration. "Oh, miserable, miserable wretch, I've lost it, I've lost it; what is to become of me!" In vain he searched and searched; it was clean gone. "Oh, how can I face Polly again?" he groaned. "My life is made unhappy for ever; cursed, cursed luck. That ever my eyes fell upon the thing at all: ha!" a shadowy hope flitted across him, that he might have left it at home. "Could I have been so drunken a fool as to leave it behind me? if so, where is it now? At all events, I must go back as fast as I can, for if I cannot recover it, my God! I shall go mad." With a few big jumps he reached the street, and hastily mounting his truck, drove rapidly home, unmindful of the public observation his demented look and unusual haste produced.

A short time after Tom's sudden departure, which was a perfect mystery to Mrs. Grimgriskin, and also to Henry and his wife, a timid ring was heard at the hall-door, and soon Travers, to whom every sound brought increase of apprehension, trembled as he became aware of an altercation between his irate landlady and the new comers, whoever they were.

"I tell you I must see 44, the man that had the thrunks, goin' away a few days agone," said an unmistakably Irish voice, rich and round.

"Oh, if you please, ma'am," placidly continued a small, silvery one.

The dispute, however, was very suddenly cut short by the owner of the loud voice exclaiming, "Arrah, get out o' the road, you cantankerus witch of Endher," and O'Bryan and Polly rushed up the stairs without further ceremony. The door of Travers' room was flung open. "Ha! ha!" cried O'Bryan, "there he is, every inch of him; that's 44; long life to you; and it's glad I am I've found you, and glad you'll be yourself, I'm thinkin', if a trifle o' money will do yez any good."

"What's the matter with you, my friend, what do you seek from me?" demanded Travers.

"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon for breaking in upon you so suddenly," said Polly, "but have you lost any money!"

"I have, indeed," replied Henry, "a large sum; do you know anything about it?"

"Yes, sir," cried Polly, with a radiant flash of her eye. "Here it is;" handing over the wallet, with its contents, with a sigh of the greatest possible relief. "Tell me one thing, sir," she hesitatingly went on, "was it – was it – taken from you?"

"No, my good woman, it was lost by an old friend of mine, dropped, he believes, in the street."

"It was, sir, just as you say, thank Heaven for it. Yes, sir; my husband found it. Is it all there, sir? oh, pray relieve me by saying it is."

"Yes, every penny."

"Then, sir, whatever joy you may feel at its restoration cannot equal what I feel at this moment," said Polly, while the tears gushed forth unrestrainedly from her eyes.

"Here, my good woman, you must take a portion and give it to your honest husband," said Henry, handing to her a liberal amount of the sum.

"Not a shilling, sir, not a shilling," Polly firmly repeated. "I hate to look at it."

"Then would you, my friend, take some reward," continued he, addressing O'Bryan.

"Is it me? not av you were me father, I wouldn't," said the Irishman, with a look of horror. "I know where it came from; bedad I know the very soil it sprouted out of. I'll tell you how it was, sir. You see I was sittin' by myself, and, like an ungrateful blaggard as I am, instead of thankin' the blessed Heavens for the good luck that had fell a-top o' me, what should I do but wish I had a bit o' money, for to dress up my ugly anatomy, when all at once that swadge of temptation dropped on the floor before my very face."

"Don't heed him, sir, he knows not what he talks about," said Polly. "It is all as I told you, sir. My husband" —

She was interrupted by O'Bryan, who cried, "Here he comes. May I niver stir if he doesn't, skelpin' along the street in a state of disthractitude; by me sowl it's here he's coming, too."

"Yes, I know," said Henry, "he is employed, I believe, by our worthy landlady, to remove our things."

At this moment Tom burst into the room, but on seeing Polly and O'Bryan he stopped short, as if arrested by a lightning stroke. "You here, Polly? have you heard of my crime," he said, wildly: but she restrained him by gently laying her hand upon his arm.

"Yes, Tom," she said, quietly, "I know all about it, and so does this gentleman. I have restored the money."

"What?" exclaimed Bobolink, while a thrill of joy went through his frame; "is this true?"

"Hush! husband, dear, hush!" she continued; "I did as you told me, you know. I have brought and given back the lost money to its owner. You know you left it at home for me to take."

"Ah, Polly, I wish I could tell this fellow that," said Tom, laying his hand upon his heart; "but I did intend to give it back. I did, by all my hopes of happiness."

"I know you did, my dear Tom," replied Polly, earnestly. "Your true heart could not harbor a bad thought long."

"My good friend," said Travers, approaching the truckman. "Your wife has refused any reward for this honest act."

"She's right, sir, she's right," interrupted the other.

"At least you'll let me shake you by the hand, and proffer you my friendship?"

"I can't, Poll, I can't," said Tom, aside, to his wife. "I'm afraid – I'm half a scoundrel yet – I know I am; but I've learned a wholesome lesson, and while I have life I'll strive to profit by it."

Urged to it by Polly, he did, however, shake hands with Travers and his wife, just as old Sterling, his face shrouded in gloom, and Mrs. Grimgriskin, stiff and tigerish, entered the room.

"Ah, Sterling, my good old friend, rejoice with us – this honest fellow has found, and restored the money lost," said Travers, gaily; "but, how is this? you don't join in our gladness. Has that old rascal" —

"Hold!" interrupted the old clerk, in an earnest voice, and impressive manner; "Heaven has avenged your wrongs in a sudden and fearful manner. Mr. Granite is dead."

"Dead!" exclaimed Henry, in a subdued tone; "with him let his misdeeds be buried. His son will perhaps be more merciful; he will inherit" —

"He has inherited – his father's fate," solemnly replied the old clerk. "Justice may slumber for a while, but retribution must come at last. You are now, by the merchant's will, his sole heir."

"Ho, ho!" thought Mrs. Grimgriskin, who had been an attentive listener, "I'm a woman of few words, but if I had been a woman of less, perhaps it would be more to my interest; but sudden millionaires are usually generous;" and so, smoothing her feline demeanor into quietude, she approached Travers.

"Allow me most sincerely to congratulate you upon your good fortune," she simpered. "Apropos, the first floor is somewhat in arrear; lovely apartments, new carpet, bath, hot water."

"Plenty of that, I'll be bail," remarked O'Bryan; "arrah, howld yer prate, Mrs. Woman-of-few-words – don't you see there's one too many here?"

"Then why don't you go, you ignorant animal," sharply suggested the other.

"Because I'm not the one."

Suffice it to say, Henry, with his young wife, and dear old Sterling, were soon installed in a house of their own, and, to their credit, never lost sight of the interest of Tom Bobolink and Polly, who from that day increased in content and prosperity.

As for O'Bryan, the last intimation we had of his well-doing, was the appearance of sundry gigantic street-bills, which contained the following announcement: