Chapter 42

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_ CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

Uncle James Brandon sat one morning a short time before the events of the night described in the last chapters, biting his nails, and looking old, yellow, and careworn. He was supposed to be quite well again, and the doctors had given up visiting him, but, as his son said in a very contemptuous, unfilial way to his mother--

"He's better in health than temper, and if things are going on like this I shall be off somewhere, for I'm sick of it."

For there had been quarrels daily between father and son, stormings against wife and servants, and poor Pringle the clerk had vowed to himself that he would not stay at the office for another week; but he always stayed, for there were reasons at home against his throwing himself out of work.

So Uncle James sat in his private room at the Gray's Inn office, looking old, yellow, and biting his nails, like the ancient ogre, sometimes making up his mind in one direction, sometimes in another.

At last he touched his table gong, and, as quickly as he could get there, Pringle presented himself.

"You ring, sir?"

"You know I rang, sir," cried Uncle James savagely. "Send him here directly."

"Cert'ny, sir, but--er--"

"I said send him here."

"Yes, sir. Who, sir?"

"Mr Samuel, you blockhead. Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yes, sir; but Mr Samuel's not in the office, sir."

"Bah!" ejaculated his employer; and Pringle made his escape.

Ten minutes later Sam entered the place, and the clerk whispered to him sharply--

"Gov'nor wants you, sir. Awful temper, sir."

"Oh, is he?" said Sam sullenly. And then to himself--"I'm not going to take any of his nonsense, so I tell him."

Pulling down his cuffs, and looking very pugnacious, he entered the private room ready to repel an attack, but to his surprise, his father, who the minute before had been seated looking very irresolute, now became very determined, and pointed to a chair.

"Sit down, my boy," he said in a low voice.

Sam felt relieved, and he drew forward a chair.

"Sam, my boy," continued James Brandon, "I'm in terrible trouble."

"What about, father--money?" James Brandon nodded.

"I've been too hasty, my boy. I was very ill, and I did what I should not have done in calmer moments."

There was a pause, and Sam waited, wondering what was to come next.

"You remember my sending for your cousin to come up?"

"Yes, father; you sent me away on business," said Sam, in rather a sneering tone, "so as to get me out of the way, but I heard all about it afterwards."

"All about it?" said his father, with an anxious look.

"I suppose so," replied Sam carelessly.

"No, my boy, you did not," said his father, leaning forward and taking his son by the coat as he spoke in a very low voice. "The fact is, Sam, while I was ill and low-spirited I got a number of curious fancies into my head--half-delirious, I suppose--about some deeds and documents left in my charge by your aunt, Tom Blount's mother, when she died."

"Yes?" said Sam, growing interested now.

"I fancied somehow, my boy, that it was my duty to give those deeds up to your cousin; and though I fought against it for some time, the idea grew too strong for me, and I felt that I must send for him and give them over into his charge."

"Were they his by rights, father?" said Sam sharply.

"They were given into my charge, my boy," replied his father evasively, "and I behaved very weakly and foolishly in giving them up to your cousin."

"Then you did give them up to Tom that day?"

"Yes, Sam, and it is a very troublesome matter. I tell you, I did not know what I was about then, and it will affect you very seriously by and by, if I don't get them back."

"You mean in money matters, father?" said Sam sharply.

"Yes; affect me now heavily, and you by and by."

"Get them back then at once," said Sam--the young lawyer giving the elder advice.

"Yes, Sam, my boy, that's what I want to do, but how?"

"Write and tell young Tom to bring them up."

James Brandon shook his head.

"No use--no use, my boy. I must have said a great many foolish things to the lad that day."

"But you must get the papers or whatever they are back again, father," cried Sam, who was now growing excited. "You'll have to go down there yourself."

"Impossible; but I have made up my mind to send you to try and get them."

"And suppose I did, father?"

"Suppose you did? Why then, my boy, I could--I mean we could laugh at them, treat anything that was said with contempt. Do you hear? With contempt."

"Stop a bit," said Sam quietly. "You always told me to be cautious in business matters, and that I was to keep one foot down firmly till I found a safe place for the other."

"Of course, my lad, of course."

"Well, suppose I go down to that country bumpkin's place?"

"Yes, if you went down you would find out where the papers were kept," said James Brandon eagerly.

"And if I did?"

"You could bring them away. The boy's too stupid to take very great care of them."

"But suppose he has given them to Uncle Richard?"

"Pish! what then? Your uncle would only pitch them into a drawer, and go away to forget them, and dream about the moon. You could go down on a visit, find out where they are, and bring them away."

"I say, dad," said Sam, with a sneer, "isn't that very much like stealing?"

"No, no, no, no," cried his father quickly; "only getting back some documents left in my charge--papers which I gave up during a severe illness, when I did not know what I was about. You understand?"

"Oh yes, father, I understand, but it looks ugly."

"It would look uglier for you to be left almost without a penny, Sam, and your cousin to be well off."

"Ye-es," said Sam quietly, as he stood with his brows knit; "that would be ugly, dad."

"Then you will go?"

"Perhaps. That depends. Not as you propose. They'd miss the papers, and I should get the credit of having taken them."

James Brandon stared at his son in surprise, forgetting the fact that he had been training and moulding him for years to become a self-satisfied, selfish man, with only one idea, that of taking care of himself, no matter who suffered.

"He's growing a sharp one," thought the father, half gratified, half annoyed. Then aloud--

"Oh no, Sam, I don't think that."

"You don't want to think that, father," said Sam, drawing himself up importantly.

"Oh yes, my boy," said James Brandon. "I don't want to get you into trouble."

"No, father, of course not; it would be getting you into a scrape as well. Look here, suppose I slip down and get the deeds without being seen--without any one being a bit the wiser?"

James Brandon shook his head.

"Oh, I don't want the job," said Sam coolly.

His father was silent for a few moments, and Sam took out a knife, threw himself back in his chair, and began to trim his nails.

"But look here, Sam," said James Brandon at last, and he seemed to be in a nervous, excited state. "It is of vital importance to me that I should have those papers."

"Then if I were you I should go down and get them, father," said Sam coolly.

"But that is impossible, my boy. Come, you will do that for me?"

"I don't see why I should," replied Sam; "you don't make things very pleasant for me."

"But I will, my boy, I will do anything you like; and don't you understand how important it is for you?"

"Yes, I begin to see," said Sam coolly. "You've got yourself into a scrape, father, over some of young Tom Blount's affairs, and you want to make cat's-paws of me."

"No, sir," cried his father angrily.

"Oh, but you do."

"I do want you to help me get those--those--"

"Chestnuts," said Sam, with a grin.

"Well, call them that if you like, my boy," said his father, trying to be jocose, but looking ghastly pale the while, and with the perspiration standing in tiny drops upon his forehead. "But you must help me, Sam. The money will all be yours by and by."

Sam sat back staring straight before him in silence for a few minutes, while his father watched him intently.

"Well, I don't want you to get into trouble, father," he said at last. "You don't open out to me frankly, but I can see as far into a millstone as most people. I'm not quite a fool."

"No, my boy, no," said James Brandon eagerly. "I'm delighted to find what a sharp man of business you are growing."

"But you never made yourself hoarse by telling me so, dad," said Sam, with a grin.

"Because I did not want to make you conceited, my dear boy," cried the father. "Then you will help me?"

"The money's no temptation to me, father," said Sam loftily.

"But it will be very useful to you by and by, my boy. Surely you don't want that ill-conditioned cub to inherit it."

"Of course I don't," said Sam. "There, all right, I'll go and get them for you somehow, but if there's any rumpus afterward you'll have to stand the racket, for I shan't. I shall say you sent me."

"Of course, my boy, of course. But you are too clever to make any mistake over the business, and--and you are beginning to be a great help to me, Sam. The time's getting on now towards when we must begin to think of your being a junior partner. Only about three or four years, Sam.--Then you will go down at once?"

"You leave that to me," said Sam importantly. "But I must have some money."

"Yes, my boy, of course. Half-a-sovereign will be plenty, I suppose?"

"No, you don't," said Sam, with a look full of contempt at the shrunken, degraded man before him, who was receiving the punishment already of his misdeeds, and suffering more keenly than from any which could have been inflicted by the law.

"But how much do you want, my boy?" he faltered--"fifteen shillings?"

"I want two pounds," said Sam coolly, "to pay my expenses. Perhaps I shall have to give some blackguard half-a-sovereign to get the papers for me, and if I come back with them all right, you'll have to give me five pounds."

"Five pounds!" gasped his father.

"Yes, dad; and if you make so much fuss about it I shan't go unless you give me ten pounds."

James Brandon looked in a ghastly way, which made his sickly face seem agonised, and he slowly drew out his purse and handed his son the money.

"When will you start?" he said.

"Now, directly," said Sam, rising from his chair; and his father's countenance brightened.

"Hah!" he exclaimed, "that's very prompt and business-like of you, Sam. You'll be careful though." And he whispered some instructions.

"You leave me alone for that, dad," said Sam. "I know what I'm about."

As he spoke he rose quickly from his chair, gave his father a short nod, and opened the door, to find himself face to face with Pringle, whose hand was raised.

"Oh!" cried the clerk, starting. "Beg pardon, sir, I was just going to knock."

"What is it?" cried James Brandon angrily, and turning pale in dread lest the clerk should have heard anything which had passed.

"These deeds, sir--finished the copying," said the man quietly, and with a look of surprise that his employer should have asked him what he wanted.

"Oh yes; put them down," said Brandon hastily.

"What shall I go on with next?"

"The letters I told you about last night."

"Cert'ny, sir, of course," said Pringle; and he hurried out of the room, leaving father and son staring at each other across the table.

"Think he heard, Sam?" said James Brandon, looking more ghastly than ever.

"No, not he. Couldn't have heard more than a word or two. He daren't listen."

"Think not, Sam?"

"Sure of it, dad. There, I'll be off now."

"Yes, do; and pray be careful. One moment, Sam: your uncle is not out with you?"

"Which means he is with you," said Sam, smiling.

"Yes, my boy, a little. We don't quite agree about--about a little matter; but he would be friendly to you. So don't you think you had better go down as a visitor?"

"No, father, I don't," said Sam shortly; and he went out at once.

"Gov'nor must have made a terrible mess of it, or he wouldn't be in such a stew," said Sam to himself, as he went thoughtfully away, and came to the conclusion that the best thing he could do would be to have a mouthful of something.

The mouthful took the form of a good dinner at a restaurant, and over this he sat thinking out his proceedings in a very cool, matter-of-fact way, till he thought it was time to make a commencement, when he summoned the waiter, and asked for the railway time-table. Then, after picking out a suitable train, he paid his bill with one of his father's sovereigns, called a cab, and had himself driven to the terminus, where he took his ticket for the station beyond Furzebrough Road, and soon after was on his way down into the wild part of Surrey. _

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