Somehow Good by William Frend De Morgan (best short novels TXT) 📕

father. She was always so anxious to please him that she tumbled over her own anxiety, and in this present case didn't tell her story as well as she might have done. He began considering how he could get back to the shreds of Bopsius, if any were left, and looked at his watch.

"Well, that was very funny--very funny!" said he absently. "Now, don't forget the heroic rescue before you go."

Tishy perceived the delicate hint, and picked up the paper with "I declare I was forgetting all about it!" But she had scarcely cast her eyes on it when she gave a cry. "Oh, papa, papa; it's _Sally_! Oh dear!" And then: "Oh dear, oh dear! I can hardly see to make it out. But I'm sure she's all right! They say so." And kept on trying to read. Her father did what was, under the circumstances, the best thing to do--took the paper from her, and as she sank back with a beating heart and flushed face on the chair she had just risen from read the paragraph to her as follows:

"HEROIC RESCUE FROM DROWNING AT ST. SENNANS-ON-SEA.--Early this morning, as Mr. Algernon Fenwick, of Shepherd's Bush, at present on a visit at the old town, was walking on the pier-end, at the point where there is no rail or rope for the security of the public, his foot slipped, and he was precipitated into the sea, a height of at least ten feet. Not being a swimmer, his life was for some minutes in the greatest danger; but fortunately for him his stepdaughter, Miss Rosalind Nightingale, whose daring and brilliant feats in swimming have been for some weeks past the admiration and envy of all the visitors to the bathing quarter of this most attractive of south-coast watering-places, was close at hand, and without a moment's hesitation plunged in to his rescue. Encumbered as she was by clothing, she was nevertheless able to keep Mr. Fenwick above water, and ultimately to reach a life-buoy that was thrown from the pier. Unfortunately, having established Mr. Fenwick in a position of safety, she thought her best course would be to return to the pier. She was unable in the end to reach it, and her strength giving way, she was picked up, after an immersion of more than twenty minutes, by the boats that put off from the shore. It will readily be imagined that a scene of great excitement ensued, and that a period of most painful anxiety followed, for it was not till nearly four hours afterwards that, thanks to the skill and assiduity of Dr. Fergus Maccoll, of 22A, Albion Crescent, assisted by Dr. Vereker, of London, the young lady showed signs of life. We are happy to say that the latest bulletins appear to point to a speedy and complete recovery, with no worse consequences than a bad fright. We understand that the expediency of placing a proper railing at all dangerous points on the pier is being made the subject of a numerously signed petition to the Town Council."

"That seems all right," said the Professor. And he said nothing further, but remained rubbing his shaved surface in a sort of compromising way--a way that invited or permitted exception to be taken to his remark.

"All right? Yes, but--oh, papa, do think what might have happened! They might both have been drowned."

"But they weren't!"

"Of course they weren't! But they _might_ have been."

"Well, it would have proved that people are best away from the seaside. Not that any further proof is necessary. Now, good-bye, my dear; I must get back to my work."

* * * * *


That afternoon Julius Bradshaw went on a business mission to Cornhill, and was detained in the city till past five o'clock. It was then too late to return to the office, as six was the closing hour; so he decided on the Twopenny Tube to Lancaster Gate, the nearest point to home. There was a great shouting of evening papers round the opening into the bowels of the earth at the corner of the Bank, and Julius's attention was caught by an unearthly boy with a strange accent.

"'Mail and Echo,' third edition, all the latest news for a 'apeny. Fullest partic'lars in my copies. Alderman froze to death on the Halps. Shocking neglect of twins. 'Oxton man biles his third wife alive. Cricket this day--Surrey going strong. More about heroic rescue from drowning at St. Senna's. Full and ack'rate partic'lars in my copies only. Catch hold!..." Julius caught hold, and thought the boy amusing. Conversation followed, during cash settlements.

"Who's been heroically rescued?"

"Friend of mine--young lady--fished her governor out--got drownded over it herself, and was brought to. 'Mail' a 'apeny; torkin' a penny extra! Another 'apeny." Julius acquiesced, but felt entitled to more talking.

"Where was it?"

"St. Senna's, where they make the lectury--black stuff.... Yes, it _was_ a friend o' mine, mister, so I tell you, and no lies! Miss Rosalind Nightingale. I see her in the fog round Piccadilly way.... No, no lies at all! Told me her name of her own accord, and went indoors." Julius would have tried to get to the bottom of this if he had not been so taken aback by it, even at the cost of more pence for conversation; but by the time he had found that his informant had certainly read the paragraph, or at least mastered Sally's name right, the boy had vanished. Of course, he was the boy with the gap in his teeth that she had seen in the fog when Colonel Lund was dying. We can only hope that his shrewdness and prudence in worldly matters have since brought him the success they deserve, as his disappearance was final.

Even the Twopenny Tube was too slow for Julius Bradshaw, so mad was he with impatience to get to Georgiana Terrace. When he got there, and went upstairs two steps at a time, and "I say, Tishy dearest, look at _this_!" on his lips, he was met half-way by his young wife, also extending a newspaper, and "Paggy, just _fancy_ what's happened! Look at _this_!"

They were so wild with excitement that they refused food--at least, when it took the form of second helpings--and when the banquet was over Laetitia could do nothing but walk continually about the room with gleaming eyes and a flushed face waiting furiously for the post; for she was sure it would bring her a letter from Sally or her mother. And she was right, for the rush to the street door that followed the postman's knock resulted firstly in denunciations of an intransitive letter-box nobody but a fool would ever have tried to stuff all those into, and secondly in a pounce by Laetitia on Sally's own handwriting.

"You may just as well read it upstairs comfortably, Tish," says Julius, meanly affecting stoicism now that it is perfectly clear--for the arrival of the letter practically shows it--that nobody is incapacitated by the accident. "Come along up!"

"All right!" says his wife. "Why, mine's written in pencil! Who's yours from?"

"I haven't opened it yet. Come along. Don't be a goose!" This was a little cheap stoicism, worth deferring satisfaction of curiosity three minutes for.

"Whose handwriting is it?" She goes on devouring, intensely absorbed, though she speaks.

"It looks like the doctor's."

"Of course! You'll see directly.... All right, I'm coming!"

Take your last look at the Julius Bradshaws, as they settle down with animated faces to serious perusal of their letters. They may just as well drink their coffee, though, and Julius will presently light his cigar for anything we know to the contrary; but we shall not see it, for when we have transcribed the two letters they are reading we shall lay down our pen, and then, if you want to know any more about the people in this story, you must inquire of the originals, all of whom are still living except Dr. Vereker's mother, who died last year, we believe. Here are the letters:

"MY DEAREST TISHY,

"I have a piece of news to tell that will be a great surprise
to you. I am engaged to Conrad Vereker. Perhaps, though, I
oughtn't to say as much as that, because it hasn't gone any
farther at present than me promising not to marry any one
else, and as far as I can see I might have promised any man
that.

"Now, don't write and say you expected it all along, because
I shan't believe you.

"Of course, tell anybody you like--only I hope they'll all say
that's no concern of theirs. I should be so much obliged to
them. Besides, so very little has transpired to go by that I
can't see exactly what they could either congratulate or twit
about. Being engaged is so very shadowy. Do you remember our
dancing-mistress at school, who had been engaged seven years
to a dancing-master, and then they broke it off by mutual
consent, and she married a Creole? And they'd saved up enough
for a school of their own all the time! However, as long as
it's distinctly understood there's to be no marrying at
present, I don't think the arrangement a bad one. Of course,
you'll understand I mean other girls, and the sort of men they
get engaged to. With Prosy it's different; one knows where one
is. Only I shouldn't consider it honourable to jilt Prosy,
even for the sake of remaining single. You see what I mean.

"The reason of pencil (don't be alarmed!) is that I am writing
this in bed, having been too long in the water. It's to please
Prosy, because my System has had a shake. I _am_ feeling very
queer still, and can't control my thumb to write. I must tell
you about it, or you'll get the story somewhere else and be
frightened.

"It was all Jeremiah's fault, and I really can't think what
he was doing. He admits that he was seedy, and had had a bad
night. Anyhow, it was like this: I followed him down to the
pier very early before breakfast, and you remember where the
man was fishing and caught nothing that day? Well, what does
Jeremiah do but just walk plump over the edge. I had all but
got to him, by good luck, and of course I went straight for
him and caught him before he sank. I induced him not to kick
and flounder, and got him inside a life-belt they threw from
the pier, and then I settled to leave him alone and swim to
the steps, because you've no idea how I felt my clothes, and
it would have been all right, only a horrible heavy petticoat
got loose and demoralised me. I don't know how it happened,
but I got all wrong somehow, and a breaker caught me. _Don't
get drowned_, Tishy; or, if you do, _don't be revived again_!
I don't know which is worst,