Fighting the Flames by R. M. Ballantyne (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📕

the drunken figure in their arms, and laid it like some loathsome object on one of the beds in the adjoining room.

“How can you stay with him?” asked Auberly, after they had returned to the other room and seated themselves at the fire.

“He is an old schoolfellow of mine,” said Barret in a low voice. “I’m sorry you’ve seen him in this state. He was a very different fellow once, I assure you; and if it were not for that accursed drink he would be as pleasant a companion as exists. You know I have no friends in London save yourself, Fred, and this young fellow.—I came to stay with him at first, not knowing his character, and now I remain to try to—to—save him; but I fear his case is hopeless. Come, Fred, we won’t talk of it. You were saying, as we came along, that your father is sterner than ever, were you not?”

“Ay,” said Fred, with a sigh, “he won’t even let me call to see my sister too—that’s the worst of it. For the rest I care not; my brush has sustained me hitherto, and my love for my profession increases every hour. I feel towards it, John, as a man may be supposed to feel towards the sweet, young girl whom wicked guardians had for a long time refused to let him wed. Nothing but death shall separate us now!”

Barret smiled, and was about to make some rejoinder, but he checked himself and changed the subject.

“How is your sister?” said he, “I have not heard of her for a long time.”

“Not well,” answered Fred; “the doctors shake their heads and speak of the shock having been too much for her. Dear Loo, she never was strong, and I’m afraid that she has received fatal injury on the night of the fire. I’m told that my poor father is sadly cut up about her—attends on her night and day, and humours her every whim. This is so unlike him that it fills me with anxiety on account of dear Loo, whom I have not seen since I went to live at Kensington.”

“Kensington, Fred? I did not know you had gone to live there.”

“I was just going to mention that when we came in. I have got a very comfortable lodging with—who do you think? you’ll never guess—Mrs Willders, the mother of our young friend Willie who works with old Tom Tippet upstairs. You may well look surprised. I came upon the lodging quite accidentally, and, finding that it suited my inclinations and my purse, I took it at once for a few weeks. It’s in a very poor locality, no doubt, but you know a man must cut his coat according to his cloth, and my cloth is not broad at present. But then,” continued Fred, with sudden animation, “it’s a splendid place for a painter! There are such picturesque regions and bits near it. Why, Kensington Gardens are sufficient to make the fortune of a landscape-painter—at least in the way of trees; then an hour’s walk takes you to rural scenery, or canal scenery, with barges, bridges, boats, old stores, cottages, etcetera. Oh! it’s a magnificent spot, and I’m hard at work on a picturesque old pump near Shepherd’s Bush Common, with a bit of old brick wall behind it, half-covered with ivy, and a gipsy-like beggar-girl drinking at it out of her hand; that—that’ll make an impression, I think, on the Royal Academy, if—if they take it in.”

“Ah! if they take it in,” said John Barret, smiling.

“Well,” retorted Fred Auberly, “I know that is a point of uncertainty, and I’m not very sanguine, because there is great lack of room. Nevertheless, I mean to send it. And you know, John, ‘faint heart never won fair lady,’ so—”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by a shrill whistle at the top of the house, which, as it drew nearer, became identified with the air of “Rule Britannia!”

“That’s Willie Willders,” said Barret, laughing.

“I guessed as much, and with your leave I’ll call him in. He knows of my having become an inmate of his mother’s house, and as he is probably going home I would like to send a message to his mother. Hallo, Willie.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the youth, in the tones of a thoroughbred seaman. Not that Willie had ever been at sea, but he was so fond of seamen, and had mingled with them so much at the docks, as well as those of them who had become firemen, that he tried to imitate their gait and tones.

“Come here, you scamp, and stop your noise.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Willie, with a grin, as he entered the room, cap in hand.

“Going home, lad?” asked Fred.

“Yes, sir—at least in a permiscuous sort of way entertainin’ myself as I goes with agreeable talk, and improvin’ obsarvation of the shop winders, etceterrer.”

“Will you take a message to your mother?”

“Sure-ly,” answered Willie.

“Well, say to her that I have several calls to make to-night and may be late in getting home, but she need not sit up for me as I have the door-key; tell her not to forget to leave the door on the latch.”

“Wery good, sir,” said Willie. “May I make so bold as to ask how Miss Loo was when you seed her last?”

“Not well, I regret to say,” replied Fred.

“Indeed! I’m surprised to hear that, for she’s agoin’ out to tea to-morrow night, sir.”

“My surprise is greater than yours, lad; how d’you know that, and where is she going to?” asked Auberly.

Here Willie explained in a very elaborate manner that a note had arrived that forenoon from Miss Tippet, inviting Mr Tippet to tea the following evening, and expressing a hope that he would bring with him his clerk, “Mister” Willders, the brother of the brave fireman who had saved Loo’s life, and that Miss Louisa Auberly was to be there, and that Mr Tippet had written a note accepting the same.

“Then you’ll have to take another message from me, Willie. Tell Miss Tippet when you go to-morrow that I will give myself the pleasure of looking in on her in the course of the evening,” said Fred. “Mr Auberly is not to be there, is he?”

“No, not as I knows of.”

“Well, good-night, Willie.”

Willie took his departure, marching to the usual national air, and soon after Fred Auberly bade his friend good-night and left him.