Reginald Cruden by Talbot Baines Reed (free e novels .txt) 📕
Nevertheless, no one ever questioned the wealth of the Crudens, least of all did the Crudens themselves, who took it as much for granted as the atmosphere they breathed in.
On the day on which our story opens Mr Cruden had driven down into the City on business. No one knew exactly what the business was, for he kept such matters to himself. It was an ordinary expedition, which consisted usually of half a dozen calls on half a dozen stockbrokers or secretaries of companies, with perhaps an occasional visit to the family lawyer or the family bank.
To-day, however, it had consisted of but one visit, and that was to the bank. And it was whilst returning thence that Mr Cruden was suddenly seized with the stroke which ended in his death. Had immediate assistance been at hand the calamity might have been averted, but neither the coachman nor footman was aware of what had happened till the carriage was some distance on its homeward journey, and a passer-by caught sight of the senseless figure wi
Read free book «Reginald Cruden by Talbot Baines Reed (free e novels .txt) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Talbot Baines Reed
- Performer: -
Read book online «Reginald Cruden by Talbot Baines Reed (free e novels .txt) 📕». Author - Talbot Baines Reed
Sam, in fact, whether he liked it or not, happened just now to hold the fortunes of the family of Cruden pretty much in his own hands.
A few days before the conversation with his mother already reported, he had been sitting in his room at the office, his partner and the head clerk both being absent on County Court business.
Samuel felt all the dignity of a commander-in-chief, and was therefore not at all displeased when the office-boy had come and knocked at his door, and said that a lady of the name of Wrigley had called, and wished to see him.
“Show the lady in,” said Sam grandly, “and put a chair.”
Mrs Wrigley was accordingly ushered in, the dust of travel still on her, for she had come direct from Liverpool by the night train, determined to put her wrongs in the hands of the law. Mr Crawley, Samuel’s principal, had been legal adviser to the late Mr Wrigley; it was only natural, therefore, that the widow, not liking to entrust her secret to the pettifogging practitioner of her own village, should make use of a two hours’ break in her journey to seek his aid.
“Your master’s not in, young man?” said she, as she took the proffered seat. “That’s a pity.”
“I’m sure he’ll be very sorry,” said Sam; “but if it’s anything I can do—”
“If you can save poor defenceless women from being plundered, and punish those that plunder them—then you can.”
Here was a slice of luck for Samuel! The first bit of practice on his own account that had ever fallen in his way. If he did not make a good thing out of it his initials were not S.S.!
He drew his chair confidentially beside that of the injured Mrs Wrigley, and drank in the story of her woes with an interest that quite won her heart. At first he failed to recognise either the name of the delinquent Corporation or its secretary, but when presently his client produced one of the identical circulars sent out, with the name Cruden Reginald at the foot, his professional instincts told him he had discovered a “real job, and no mistake.”
He made Mrs Wrigley go back and begin her story over again (a task she was extremely ready to perform), and took copious notes during the recital. He impounded the document, envelope and all, cross-examined and brow-beat his own witness—in fact, did all a rising young lawyer ought to do, and concluded in judicial tones, “Very good, Mrs Wrigley; I think we can do something for you. I think we know something of the parties. Leave it to us, madam; we will put you right.”
“I hope you will,” said the lady. “You see, as I’ve been all the way up to Liverpool and back, I think I ought to be put right.”
“Most certainly you ought, and you shall be.”
“And to think of his brazen-faced impudence in calling me ‘Love,’ young man. There’s a profligate for you!”
Samuel was knowing enough to see that it would greatly please the outraged lady if he took a special note of this disclosure, which he accordingly did, and then rising, once more assured his client of his determination to put her right, and bade her a very good morning.
“Well, if that ain’t a go,” said he to himself, as he returned to his desk. “I never did have much faith in the chap, but I didn’t fancy he was that sort. Cruden Reginald, eh? Nice boy you are. Never mind! I’m dead on you this time. Nuisance it is that ma’s gone and mixed herself up with that lot. Can’t be helped, though; business is business; and such a bit of practice too. Cruden Reginald! But you don’t get round Sam Shuckleford when he’s once round your way, my beauty.”
To the legal mind of Sam this transposition of Reginald’s name was in itself as good as a verdict and sentence against him. Any one else but himself might have been taken in by it, but you needed to get up very early in the morning to take in a cute one like S.S.!
He said nothing about the affair to his principal when he returned, preferring to “nurse” it as a little bit of business of his own, which he would manage by himself for once in a way.
And that very evening fortune threw into his way a most unexpected and invaluable auxiliary.
He was down at his “club,” smoking his usual evening pipe over the Rocket, when a man he had once or twice seen before in the place came up and said,—
“After you with that paper.”
“All serene,” said Sam; “I’ll be done with it in about an hour.”
“You don’t take long,” said the other.
“Considering I’m on the committee,” said Sam, with ruffled dignity, “I’ve a right to keep it just as long as I please. Are you a member here?”
“No, but I’m introduced.”
“What’s your name?”
“Durfy.”
“Oh, you’re the man who was in the Rocket. I heard of you from a friend of mine. By the way,” and here his manner became quite civil, as a brilliant idea occurred to him, “look here, it was only my chaff about keeping the paper; you can have it. I’ll look at it afterwards.”
“All right, thanks,” said Durfy, who felt no excuse for not being civil too.
“By the way,” said Sam, as he was going off with the paper, “there was a fellow at your office, what was his name, now—Crowder, Crundell? Some name of that sort—I forget.”
“Cruden you mean, perhaps,” said Durfy, with a scowl.
“Ah, yes—Cruden. Is he still with you? What sort of chap is he?”
Durfy described him in terms far more forcible than affectionate, and added, “No, he’s not there now; oh no. I kicked him out long ago. But I’ve not done with him yet, my boy.”
Sam felt jubilant. Was ever luck like his? Here was a man who evidently knew Reginald’s real character, and could, doubtless, if properly handled, put him on the scent, and, as he metaphorically put it to himself, “give him a clean leg up over the job.”
So he called for refreshments for two, and then entered on a friendly discourse with Durfy on things in general, and offered to make him a member of the club; then bringing the conversation round to Reginald, he hinted gently that he too had his eye on that young gentleman, and was at the present moment engaged in bowling him out.
Whereupon Durfy, after a slight hesitation, and stipulating that his name should not be mentioned in the matter, gave Sam what information he considered would be useful to him, suppressing, of course, all mention of the real promoters of the Select Agency Corporation, and giving the secretary credit for all the ingenuity and cunning displayed in its operations.
The two new friends spent a most agreeable evening, Sam flattering himself he was squeezing Durfy beautifully into the service of his “big job,” and Durfy flattering himself that this bumptious young pettifogger was the very person to get hold of to help him pay off all his old scores with Reginald Cruden.
We left Reginald in a somewhat comfortable frame of mind after his interview with the pleasant clergyman and the stroke of business he had transacted on behalf of the Corporation. It had been refreshing to him to converse in terms of peace with any fellow-mortal; and the ready satisfaction of this visitor with the method of business adopted by the Company went far to dispel the uneasy impressions which Mrs Wrigley’s visit had left earlier in the day.
After all, he felt that he was yet on probation. When Christmas came, and he was able to discuss matters personally with the directors, he had no doubt his position would be improved. He flattered himself they might think he was useful enough to be worth while keeping; and in that case of course he would have a right to ask to be put on rather more comfortable a footing than he possessed at present, and to be entrusted with a certain amount of control over the business of the Corporation. He would also be able mildly to suggest that it would be more convenient to him to receive his salary monthly than quarterly, so as to enable him not only to live respectably himself, as became their secretary, but also to give regular help to his mother at home. As it was, with a beggarly thirteen shillings a week to live on, he was little better than a common office-boy, he would have said to himself, but at that particular moment the door opened, and the very individual whom his thoughts connected with the words appeared before him.
It was the very last apparition Reginald could have looked for. He had given up all idea of seeing the young desperado any more.
Though he could not exactly say, “Poverty had come in at the door and Love had flown out of the window”—for the young gentleman had departed by the door—he yet had made up his mind that Cupid had taken to himself wings and flown away, with no intention of ever returning to the scene of his late struggle.
But a glance at the starved, emaciated figure before him explained very simply the mystery of this strange apparition. The boy’s hands and lips were blue with cold, and his cheek-bones seemed almost to protrude through his pallid, grimy cheeks. He looked, in fact, what he was, the picture of misery, and he had no need of any other eloquence to open the heart of his late “governor.”
“Say, what’s yer name,” he said, in a hollow imitation of his old voice, “beg yer pardon, gov’nor—won’t do it no more if yer overlook it this time.”
“Come in out of the cold and warm yourself by the fire,” said Reginald, poking it up to a blaze.
The boy obeyed, half timidly. He seemed to be not quite sure whether Reginald was luring him in to his own destruction. But at any rate the sight of the fire roused him to heroism, and, reckless of all consequences, he walked in.
“Don’t do nothink to me this time, gov’nor,” whimpered he, as he got within arm’s length; “let us off, do you hear? this time.”
“Poor boy,” said Reginald kindly, putting a stool for him close beside the fire; “I’m not going to do anything but warm you. Sit down, and don’t be afraid.”
The boy dropped almost exhausted on the stool, and gazed in a sort of rapture into the fire. Then, looking up at Reginald, he said,—
“Beg your pardon, gov’nor,—ain’t got a crust of bread you don’t want, ’ave yer?”
The hint was quite enough to send Reginald flying to his little “larder.”
The boy devoured the bread set before him with a fierceness that looked as if he had scarcely touched food since he had gone away. He made clear decks of all Reginald had in the place; and then, slipping off the stool, curled himself up on the floor before the fire like a dog, and dropped off into a heavy sleep. Reginald took the opportunity to make a hurried excursion to the nearest provision shop to lay in what store his little means would allow. He might have spared himself the trouble of locking the door behind him, though, for on his return the boy had never stirred.
The little sleeper lay there all night, until, in fact, the coals could hold out no longer, and the fire went out. Then Reginald woke him and carried him off to his own bed, where he dropped off into another long sleep which lasted till midday. After partaking of the meal his benefactor had ready for him on waking, he seemed more like himself, and disposed to make himself useful.
“Ain’t got no envellups to lick, then?” said he, looking round the deserted room.
“No, there’s
Comments (0)