Читать книгу Jim Mortimer - R. S. Warren Bell - Страница 4

CHAPTER IV.

A HANDMAID TO MERCURY.

Mortimer was in such haste to reach Milverton Street, that it was all Koko could do, with his short legs, to keep pace with him.

"I shall send one to myself to start with," explained Jim, "and then I shall go in at intervals and send wires to you, and the fellows at the hospital."

"Won't you find it rather expensive?"

"My boy, what is money for?" exclaimed the Long 'Un with enthusiasm. "Could I employ it better than in----"

"Yes, a good deal better," retorted Koko; "couldn't you go in and buy halfpenny stamps, and just glance over in her direction?"

"The stamp girl wouldn't like that," returned Mortimer with frank vanity; "but, I say, old man, isn't all this reckoning up of the cost rather sordid?"

"Well, perhaps it is," agreed Koko; "but apart from that, I don't quite see how you can effect anything. She doesn't look the sort of girl you can even discuss the weather with, unless you have been properly introduced to her."

"Never mind that for the present," said Jim. "Try and suggest a suitable telegram for me to send to myself."

"Do you wish to impress her with the fact that you have means?"

"Just as well," said Jim; "I shall have a tidy amount some day, you know."

"Then wire and tell me to put a pot of money for you on a horse."

"And then?"

"Make the next something about shares--'Buy me ten thousand Canadian Pacifics,' let us say."

"Well, and what's the third wire to be about? I can't put money on gees or buy shares every time."

"Make her jealous. Send a wire to 'Maggie Mortimer' at your Pimlico address, and put 'Best love, darling,' at the end of it," suggested Koko, demurely.

The Long 'Un stopped dead, and faced round on his small companion.

"Look here, Koko," he exclaimed, "I've taken your advice in several--er--affairs of this sort, and they've all turned out badly."

"In each case it was your own fault," said Koko.

"In each case you really managed the business, and it came to nothing. The fact is, you don't know anything about women. You may be all very well at a trotting match----"

"All right," said Koko, shortly, as he turned on his heel, "you can manage this by yourself."

"I apologise," cried Jim.

"In that case," said Koko, relenting, "I'll come. But I don't want you to round on me if it's a failure."

"I promise I won't," the Long 'Un declared, and so once more Koko stretched his short legs to the utmost in order to keep in step with Jim.

Miss Dora Maybury was quite one of the handsomest girls that ever obtained employment--by competitive examination--in the London Post-Office. It was, therefore, not at all surprising that the susceptible Jim Mortimer should have been so affected by her beauty. Dora's hair was chestnut brown; the dreamy depths of her dark eyes were fringed o'er with long lashes, from beneath whose graceful shadow she gazed upon the world with an expression that was at once distracting and unconsciously coquettish; her lips closed in exquisite lines upon teeth that were as white as you could wish them to be; and the whole form of her face--from forehead to chin--was such as the most censorious judge of a human countenance would not have desired to be other than what it was. Dora was tall, too, and of graceful figure--in brief, she was as comely a maid as you could well behold in a year's journeying.

It sometimes occurs that a girl brought up in luxury finds herself suddenly plunged into genteel poverty. Such was the case with Dora. Not so very long since she had lived in a great house, and ridden in carriages; then Fortune, in a sudden freak of fancy, had turned her back upon her, and, as if by a sweep of a fairy's wand, the mansion had changed to much humbler quarters in London, and the carriages into penny and halfpenny omnibuses.

It was natural that the unusually prepossessing girl behind the counter of the post-office in Milverton Street should attract a good deal of attention. Those who had occasion to send away telegrams pretty often--busy, preoccupied men though most of them were--soon came to notice this particular clerk's refined voice and manner. She had not been engaged in post-office work long enough to have acquired the slap-dash, curt style of the lady-clerk who has sat at the telegraphic seat of custom for several years; she was still sufficiently of an amateur, indeed, to display some human interest in many of the messages which were handed in to her. Not that a telegraph clerk is supposed to do this; but Dora could not forbear a smile when she was counting the many words of a wire from a love-sick swain to his lady-love, nor could she feel quite indifferent when a telegram bearing the direst ill-news--news of grave illness or even death--passed through her hands.

But we do not wish to have it supposed that we are holding up Dora Maybury as an angel of pity--or, indeed, as a perfect character in any sense. When business was slack, and Dora had time to think about herself, a pettish and discontented expression might often have been observed to flit across her pretty face. As a post-office clerk, Dora felt that she was not filling her proper niche in the world--and probably a good many other people thought so too.

There were five other girls behind the counter of the Milverton Street post-office, in addition to telegraphists in the room above, several male clerks, and a small gang of telegraph boys. Dora's great friend among the other girls was Rose Cook, a fat, good-natured, sentimental creature, who was at present desperately in love with a gentleman she had met at a dance--a Mr Somers, who wrote for the newspapers. Mr Somers was a friend of some friends of Miss Cook's, and that was how she had come to meet him, and to hear of his very tall friend, Mr Mortimer. But it should be added that Mr Somers had seen very little of Miss Cook, had no idea of the passion that consumed her, and was certainly wholly ignorant of the fact that she was employed in the Milverton Street post-office. He had only been in this particular post-office once in his life, and then he had had eyes for none save the young lady who took in the telegrams.

Now, earlier in this very day that witnessed the journey of the Long 'Un and Koko to Milverton Street, Miss Cook had been bemoaning the fact that "Mr Somers" had actually been in the post-office a few days previously, and had not so much as glanced at her.

"He was looking at you--they all do!" she had exclaimed, while discussing the matter at lunch with Dora.

Dora made no reply, but she was thinking over Miss Cook's complimentary complaint later that day, when a very tall man entered the post-office and proceeded to one of the compartments where telegram forms and pointless pencils attached to pieces of string were supplied for the convenience of the public.

Dora noticed that the tall man occasionally glanced towards the door, and presently began to beckon to somebody who was presumably standing in the doorway. After a time the person beckoned to entered the post-office, and, as he did so, Miss Cook, who was sitting next to Dora, gave vent to a little gasp.

"What's the matter, dear?" inquired Dora.

"That--that's--Mr Somers!" exclaimed Miss Cook.

"And who is the other?" asked Dora, who was not greatly impressed by Mr Somers's appearance.

"That must be his friend, Mr Mortimer."

Quite unconscious of the fact that their identity was no secret in the post-office, the Long 'Un and Koko proceeded to compile telegrams.

"What a lot of forms Mr Mortimer is tearing up!" whispered Dora to her friend.

"Evidently sending a telegram to a girl," replied Miss Cook, who was still looking agitated, and whose thoughts were naturally trending in a sentimental direction.

Dora smiled. The sight of Koko standing on tip-toe, and craning his head over the Long 'Un's arm, was certainly smile-inspiring. So Dora smiled.

Presently Mortimer withdrew his head and shoulders from the compartment, and turned towards the counter. It should be added that the various communications suggested by Koko had all been condemned as worthless by the Long 'Un, who, with some pains, had finally evolved the following bald and uninspiring message: "Annie arrives nine to-night. Please meet. Jim."

Koko turned towards the counter at the same time as Jim, and as he did so his face underwent a striking change. For there, gazing ardently upon him, sat Miss Rose Cook. In a flash Koko took in the situation, and saw that here was Jim's chance. He could introduce Jim straight away.

It was too late to stop Jim from sending the telegram, for he was already handing in the message and gazing with undisguised admiration at Miss Maybury. And as Miss Maybury bent her beautiful head over the form, and with a swiftly moving--far too swiftly moving--pencil, proceeded to count the words thereon, Jim's heart thumped wildly against his ribs, Jim's brain seemed to reel, and Jim fell head over ears--hopelessly, irretrievably---IN LOVE.

CHAPTER V.

JIM REJOICES.

Five minutes later Jim Mortimer was sailing down Milverton Street in a state of mild delirium. Instead of having to wait for months for an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the girl whose face had so captivated his fancy, the whole thing had been accomplished in a briefer time than it takes to write of it.

Koko it was who had effected this desirable consummation--Koko who had offered up himself on the altar of friendship. Koko saw as plain as daylight that Miss Cook was exceedingly pleased to see him, and knew that the introduction he contemplated would result in his having to meet with undesirable frequency a lady in whom he took no interest whatever. A few words of greeting were exchanged; then Miss Cook--who had an axe of her own to grind--introduced him to Miss Maybury, and then, as a matter of course, Koko made Mortimer known to the two girls.

Dora Maybury! So that was her name! What a sweet name! Dora! The Long 'Un dwelt lovingly on those two dear syllables.

He proceeded to murmur the name in an abstracted manner until they reached St Matthew's Hospital. Here Jim's hosts of friends greeted him in the heartiest fashion, and bottled beer flowed freely in the students' common-room. Koko knew many of Jim's friends, and always enjoyed himself when in the company of the light-hearted happy-go-lucky crew at "Matt's." Jim sat down and rattled off a comic song on a piano which, by reason of much hard usage, had long since lost its purity of tone. Jim played cleverly by ear; and, as he could sing songs by the score, he was consequently the star artiste of "Matt's."

"Chorus, boys!" he roared, and the boys, forming up in a line behind a red-haired youth from Wales--with a voice worthy of his nationality--pranced round the table as they let go the taking refrain at the top of their voices:--

Oh, follow the man from Cook's!

The wonderful man from Cook's!

And, whether your stay be short or long,

You'll see the sights, for he can't go wrong.

Oh, follow the man from Cook's!

The wonderful man from Cook's!

For it's twenty to one that there's plenty of fun,

If you follow the man from Cook's!

The last words of the chorus were ringing out into the quadrangle, when a porter entered the room and informed the pianist that a lady wished to see him.

"Lady!" exclaimed Jim.

"Yes, sir; wishes to see you very particular."

"Go on, Long 'Un!" yelled the students, "next verse."

But Jim's head was filled with romantic ideas. What if, for some strange, inexplicable reason, it should happen to be Dora! True, it was not very likely, but he had read in books of things like this happening.

"Half a second, you men," he said; "I've got to see somebody."

"Girl?" queried the red-haired youth from Wales.

But Jim (hoping it was) hurried out without replying to him. He found his fair visitor to be no other than Mrs Freeman, his landlady.

"Mr Mortimer, sir," she said, in some agitation, "this came for you just now, sir. I hope it's not bad news, sir."

For in the homely eyes of the landlady a telegram generally loomed large as a portent of ill. Jim opened the flimsy envelope, and read:

"Annie arrives nine to-night. Please meet. Jim."

Until this moment he had forgotten all about the wire he had sent himself. Now it had reached him in all its imbecile meaninglessness.

Mrs Freeman regarded his face anxiously.

"Not bad news, I 'ope, sir?"

Jim crushed the thing into his pocket somewhat impatiently.

"No; it's all right, thanks, Mrs Freeman. It's--it's nothing. Thanks for bringing it."

And so Mrs Freeman had to retrace her steps to Pimlico, feeling (it must be confessed) somewhat disappointed at the non-tragic contents of the message she had so carefully conveyed to the hospital.

Jim imbibed more beer and sang more songs, and finally, when the party broke up, dragged Koko off to dine at the Trocadero. All through the meal Jim was excessively merry, his bursts of laughter causing many of the diners to glance curiously in his direction. Koko, knowing by long experience that he could do nothing to stem Jim's methods of letting off steam, decided that his place to-night must be by Mortimer's side; so he hastily scribbled a note asking a colleague to report the fight at the National Milling Club for which he (Koko) had been booked, and despatched it to the Sporting Mail office by a special messenger. Koko felt easier in his mind when he had done this; he saw that Jim intended to make a night of it, and that his programme would be a variegated one.

Dinner over, the Long 'Un hailed a hansom, and, Koko having stowed himself away inside, took his place with a brief "Exhibition!" to the driver.

"Dora!" breathed Jim, as the cab sped across the Circus and headed for Piccadilly.

"I expect she likes nice, quiet men," said Koko.

"Not she," returned Jim with conviction.

"A nice, quiet, home-loving man--not a man who shouts, and swears, and behaves like an over-grown schoolboy," persisted Mr George Somers.

"You're very severe to-night, my bald-headed young friend," quoth the Long 'Un, with supreme good-humour.

"Never mind about my head," said Koko; "think what yours will be like in the morning."

"But it is to-night!" cried the Long 'Un, "it is to-night, and I mean to go the whole hog. Let the morning take care of itself. It is to-night; I have seen her; I know her; and now I am enjoying myself very much."

"You are also," added Koko, "on the verge of intoxication."

"Very near the verge," whooped the Long 'Un.

The cab was approaching Hyde Park Corner when Jim raised the little trap-door above his head.

"I've changed my mind, cabby; drive back to the Empire."

"Empire? Yessir!"

"You'll be chucked out of there to a certainty," said Koko, despairingly.

"Not me," said Jim.

But at the music-hall Mortimer was politely refused admittance by a man as tall as himself, and considerably broader.

"No, sir; you gave us trouble the last time you were here. I haven't forgotten you, sir."

"But that was Boat Race night," protested Jim.

"No matter, sir; can't let you in."

And the official squared his great shoulders and glanced at another official, almost as big as himself, who was standing a few yards away. Simultaneously Koko gave Jim's sleeve a tug.

"Come on," he said; "no good getting into a row."

Reluctantly Jim turned on his heel; he was in a mood for battle, and he had an idea that, big as the official was, he (Jim) could have rendered a pretty good account of himself had it come to a scrap.

The cab they had employed was lingering in the vicinity of the entrance. Jim hailed it and again gave the order "Exhibition." And in the course of thirty minutes or so, Koko and he found themselves passing through the turnstiles at that popular resort.

Very pleasant it was, too, sauntering through the bazaars and make-believe old streets, and round the band-stands, while eye and ear were charmed with colour and music respectively, and the promenading multitude laughed and chattered, forgetting the day's cares in a spell of enjoyable indolence.

But Jim was bent on celebrating the great event of the day--his introduction to Miss Maybury. He was desirous of applying more rebellious liquor to his young blood, and intimated the fact to a little Swiss waiter.

"Dora!" Jim gave the toast and drained his glass at a gulp. Up came Carlo again with a smile of appreciation. "As before," said Jim, and again toasted Dora.

Just then a pale, well-dressed young man, passing by in the company of two ladies, trod on Jim's outstretched foot. Jim gave vent to an exclamation, but the doer of the harm simply glanced over his shoulder without vouchsafing an apology.

"Why don't you look after your feet, sir!" cried Jim, angrily. To do him justice, he did not notice the presence of the ladies.

The perambulating crowd was thick just there, and the proprietor of the feet alluded to was brought to a standstill close to Jim by people coming in the opposite direction.

"It is never nice here," he observed to one of his companions in a tone evidently intended to reach Jim's ears, "on early closing nights."

For all Jim knew, the man who had trodden on his toes was making this remark to another man, but Koko had noticed the ladies, and now perceived that while one of them was regarding Jim with haughty disfavour, the other kept her face turned resolutely towards the bandstand.

"I'll show you what sort of a shop-boy I am!" exclaimed Jim, in a fury, and was jumping up when his leg got into difficulties with the little round table at which he was sitting, the result being that he fell over and broke the back of the chair he was occupying. In his struggle to retain his balance he swept the glasses off the table and smashed them, and, when the little Swiss waiter requested payment for the goods, rudely declined to give any compensation.

When the waiter beckoned to a policeman, men sitting at neighbouring tables rose to their feet, evidently expecting trouble. People in the vicinity stopped promenading, in order to look on. They talked about what followed for days afterwards.

The constable was not one of the gentlest of his species. He asked Jim for his name and address, and Jim produced his card; then the policeman told him he must leave the Exhibition, and, as Jim appeared reluctant to obey this order, gave him a push in the direction of the nearest exit.

Now, the policeman, regarding Jim's long, slim form, had not anticipated much trouble from this customer. How was he to know that Mr James Mortimer (that being the name on the card) had a marvellous way of hitting straight from the shoulder? Rough and unscientific he might be, but his blows came pat like a donkey's kicks, and hurt almost as much.

When the policeman had picked himself up and blown his whistle, the bystanders fairly tingled with excitement. They saw a little man urging the tall one to submit quietly, and they saw the tall man shake off the little man as one would brush away a fly. The tall man's hat had fallen off, and the little man was holding it. The tall man was a good-looking fellow, the bystanders remarked, and as he drew himself up, and glared defiance at the approaching enemy, he reminded certain spectators of some heroic subject in sculpture or painting. Of course, this was because they were inclined to be romantic. The bulk of those present saw in Jim merely a young man the worse for drink and spoiling for a fight.

A burly sergeant strode up.

"Now, then, none of this nonsense," he said roughly.

Crack! That peculiar straight left met him on the jaw, and the sergeant collapsed on to the gravel. Two more policemen rushed at Jim. Again the long arms shot out. One policeman fell, and the other staggered. Jim followed the latter up and delivered the coup de grâce. At that moment Jim felt a muscular hand gripping his neck. He lashed round furiously, then closed with his antagonist, and they fell among the chairs. Jim was on top, and wrenched himself free as a fifth policeman charged at him. A bit of a boxer was this man, young and active, and Jim and he hammered each other with the lustiness of schoolboys. Up and down among the chairs they went, and then Jim, seeing an opening, got home on the point, and turned swiftly to receive the sixth policeman, an enormous fellow who was unfortunately given to over-much beer. He hit Jim on the chest, and Jim gasped; then he hit at Jim again, and Jim, dodging the blow, retaliated with a sledge-hammer slap across the back of the big man's neck. The big man clutched at a table, and Jim hit him in the spine and upset man and table. Then three policemen, sore and furious, rushed at Jim together, and there was Jim's close-clipped poll towering above them, and there were Jim's long arms dealing out donkey kicks, and leaving marks every time. And then Jim retired in good order, face and fists to the foe, towards the buffet, and then, suddenly altering his tactics, he put his head down and butted the middle man of the trio in the stomach, and so made his way through them, and ran into the burly sergeant, who hit at Jim with his truncheon, but missed him, and got a crashing blow in the mouth by way of exchange. And that was Jim's last good donkey kick, for one of them got him by the leg, another hit him over the hip with his truncheon, and next moment Jim was rolling about the gravel with four of them clinging to him. And, of course, he at length surrendered, and was marched off between two of the policemen to the police-station, the faithful Koko following a few yards behind to bail him out.

CHAPTER VI.

THE DOCTOR KEEPS HIS WORD.

The whole fight did not last two minutes. It was short, sharp, and, to sport-loving members of the crowd, very sweet. Certain pugilistic souls among the visitors to the Exhibition went home that night and dreamt about it. Many of the women, it is true, shuddered, and clutched convulsively at the arms of their male companions as Jim's mighty hits went home and the policemen, by turn, bit the dust of the promenading ground, but quite a number watched the combat with bright, marvelling eyes, and lips parted half in admiration and half in horror.

For Jim looked very handsome and terrible in his fighting wrath. One old gentleman who had come from his club dinner in evening dress to listen to the band, returned to St James's Street chuckling with delight. Numbers of times he repeated to himself, "A bonny lad--a bonny lad!" and actually, instead of going home and to bed at a respectable hour, as an old gentleman of his years and gouty tendencies should have done, fought the battle over again at great length for the benefit of some other old club fogies, and finally had to be helped into a cab--at 2 A.M.--still chuckling with wicked joy.

It was, of course, a tremendous output of nervous energy--accentuated by the spirits he had imbibed--on Jim's part. It was a supreme effort, and died out suddenly. That smash over the hip--a policeman's favourite aiming-point--from the truncheon numbed him strangely, and when he fell, his capture was an easy matter. There was no more fight left in him when they led him off--he would have gone with entire docility, indeed, without a hand being laid on him.

Arrived at the police-station, he was conducted into the charge-room and placed in the narrow little dock facing the inspector's desk. The inspector, a quiet-looking man, glanced up in a casual fashion and then proceeded with the writing on which he was employed when they entered. This done, he inquired what the charge was, and, on being informed of its nature in the curt, unadorned phraseology of the man in blue, entered the particulars on a charge-sheet that lay before him, and finally allowed Koko to bail his friend out for £2.

Those who had witnessed the conflict would have been astonished by the inspector's imperturbable, cool tone, as he asked his brief questions. It was regarded as a matter-of-course case--youthful "medical "--too much to drink--dispute with waiter--resisted police. All very ordinary--very matter-of-course--nothing out of the way. The inspector even said "Good-night, sir," as Jim left the charge-room with Koko; previously the inspector had gazed at the ceiling as Jim presented a sovereign to his two custodians, who also bade him a "Good-night, sir," in a manner which showed that they bore him not the slightest ill-will on account of the hard usage they had received at his hands.

On the following day, Jim and Koko attended at the police-court and hung about in a fusty corridor for two hours before the name "Mortimer" was sharply called, and Jim, frock-coated, neatly gloved, and with a new hat in his hand, walked into the dock. Then the sergeant who had taken part in the fracas told his tale in the same unadorned manner of speech that his subordinate had used on the previous night.

"Anything to say?" inquired the magistrate, glancing at Jim.

"Nothing, your worship," replied Jim, who had been previously warned by Koko that "the less said the better" was a golden maxim to adopt on an occasion like the present.

"I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY, YOUR WORSHIP."

The magistrate, who for two hours had been hearing the usual sordid charges--most of them associated with petty thefts and drunkenness--had been somewhat interested by the sergeant's account of what Jim had done. Now, as he looked at Jim's tall, lithe form, and fair, open countenance, and noted Jim's gentlemanly bearing, he decided to give the young fellow a seasonable word of advice.

"I am sorry to see you here, Mortimer," he said, "because a man of your position, by acting as you have done, not only sets a bad example, but runs the risk of imperilling the success of his future career. You have rendered yourself liable to a term of imprisonment, and you know well that if I were to inflict such a punishment on you the fact would act as a serious obstacle to you hereafter, as you would not be allowed to fill any responsible medical post were it known that you had been in prison. It appears from the evidence that you were the worse for drink at the time you resisted the police. I need hardly remind you of the view the public take of a medical man who gives way to such habits. It means, in the long run, utter ruin to him. As I said before, I should be acting within my rights by sending you to prison, but as I understand that after you had been taken into custody you gave the police no further trouble, I shall only inflict a fine upon you. You will pay forty shillings--and take care I don't see you here again."

Jim bowed. "I am greatly obliged to your worship," he said. Then, at a sign from a policeman stationed near by, he quitted the dock, and, having paid his fine, joined Koko in the corridor.

They lose no time in London police-courts. Hardly had Jim left the dock than the name of "Hodgkins" was uttered by the magistrate's clerk, repeated by the sergeant, bawled down the corridor by the constable at the door, and echoed by other policemen lounging in the outer precincts of the court.

"Hodgkins!"

"Hodgkins!"

"HODGKINS!"

As Jim joined Koko, a blear-eyed, decrepit old dame brushed past him at a rapid hobble. She had to answer a summons for assaulting a neighbour by striking her over the head with a fire-shovel. This, in fact, was "Hodgkins."

As Jim glanced at the old creature he realised that this quarrelsome, ill-favoured hag and he were companions in distress--united by a law-breaking bond! He, inflamed by whisky, had fought six policemen; she, supping cheap gin, had burst into a senile frenzy and set upon some other hag with her claw-like nails and the weapon that came first to hand. The same law applied to both of them--she, a rag-picker, and he, the heir to a bountiful fortune and many smiling acres in Eastfolkshire.

"Pah!" he exclaimed, as he hastened to reach cleaner air, "let's get out of this! Thank goodness that's over!"

"No harm done," said Koko, cheerily. "I know the two men in the reporters' box, and they both promised not to write a word about you."

"By George! that's jolly of them!" exclaimed the Long 'Un. "My grand-guv'nor won't get to hear of it after all, then."

"It would have made a tasty little par," said Koko, with a pressman's instinctive knowledge of what newspapers like.

"It would," said Jim. "I can imagine how it would have read."

"But they won't write a word. They're good sorts," said Koko.

And so the Long 'Un made his way back to Matt's, lighter, it is true, of purse, but very much lighter of heart as well, than when he set out to the police-court that morning.

News of Jim's display of pugilistic prowess had preceded him to the hospital--for one of the students had been an eye-witness of the battle--and he was saluted by the unruly crew there with acclamation. But Jim still had the taste of the police-court air in his mouth, and did not feel at all heroic. But for Koko's intervention his name would have been in a good many papers on the following day, and perhaps a briefer notice of "Hodgkins" and her misuse of domestic implements would have followed the account of the young doctor's "disorderly conduct."

That day he went home early, and tried to do some reading. He ended up, however, by going to a theatre with Koko. On the next evening he really did do some reading, and this studious fit lasted for quite a week.

"The Long 'Un," said the red-haired student at Matt's, "is turning over a new leaf. I will buy him a prize."

When Jim, on reaching the hospital next day, entered the students' common-room, he found a neat package, addressed to himself, occupying a prominent position on the mantelpiece. On opening the package he found that it consisted of a nice little one-and-sixpenny book, of the kind published by religious societies, entitled "Jim's Repentance: The Story of a Bad Boy Who Saw the Evils of His Ways."

The red-haired youth took the precaution of putting the table between himself and the Long 'Un ere he said: "Had to go through a catalogue before I found a suitable prize for you, Jim. Girl in the shop helped me."

Jim flung it at his head.

"Naughty, angry Jim!" said the red-haired student, reprovingly, as he dodged the book. "I shall take your prize away from you now."

Presently Jim found himself at the piano, and a little later out in the quad with the red-haired one and half-a-dozen others, "wondering what to do."

Eventually they solved the problem by going to a music-hall and joining vociferously in the choruses--it was one of those music-halls where the audience does join in the choruses--and the end of it was that Jim got home sometime between one and two in the morning, feeling uncommonly merry and not at all repentant.

But that was Jim's last night round the town with the Matt's lot. Even while he was chirruping choruses, an epistle was winging its way towards him by express train. He got that missive at breakfast time, and Koko, who called in just then, found him looking thoughtful.

"Read that," he said to Koko. And Koko read as follows:--

"Pangora," Threeways,

Sept. 20th.

MY DEAR JAMES,--You may possibly remember that in the course of the conversation I held with you over the telephone on the day of your departure for town, I expressed myself quite plainly with regard to your future conduct. My attention has to-day been drawn to a paragraph in the local Liberal journal--I am, as you know, a Conservative in politics--to the effect that a medical man named James Mortimer, who gave his address as St Matthew's Hospital, behaved in a disgraceful fashion at the Exhibition one night earlier in the month, and was eventually fined forty shillings and severely reprimanded by the magistrate. As I happen to know that you are the only Mortimer at St Matthew's, and as I am aware of your liking for drunken brawls, I can only conclude that you disregarded my injunctions at the first opportunity that presented itself. I am obliged, therefore, to keep my part of the compact by informing you that my doors are henceforth closed to you, and that you need never look to me for another penny.

I am,

Your affectionate grandfather,

JOHN MORTIMER.

CHAPTER VII.

SIR SAVILE'S OFFER.

"But," said Koko as he handed the letter back to Jim, "how on earth did your local rag get hold of it? I've seen both my friends since, and they assured me they didn't write a line about you."

"I give it up," said Jim; "the fact remains that the old man has got wind of it."

"But isn't this action on his part a bit sudden?" demanded Koko.

"He said he would," said Jim, munching a piece of watercress (Mrs Freeman's unvarying Tuesday breakfast was ham and watercress), "but I didn't think he meant it."

"Perhaps he doesn't mean it," said Koko, hopefully.

"I am very much afraid," returned Jim, "that he does, though. You see, he was already wild with me, as he had had to stump up for that big window I broke--you remember! Twelve quid--that was the bill. He told me about it over the telephone. I wish I'd been able to have a square talk with him, face to face; he wouldn't have been half so wild, I put all this down to that rotten telephone."

"Don't quite perceive how it's to blame," said Koko.

"Don't you! Why, if he tackled me face to face, I could have filled him up with all sorts of promises of reformation, and sent him off for his drive feeling sorry that I was going away. Instead of which he went off in a beastly huff. I should have reminded him--as touching the window--that some fellows charge their paters and grandpaters hundreds and even thousands. I should have explained that twelve pounds was a very light let-off. Hang the telephone!"

"The question is," said Koko, "do you think he means it?"

"Yes," replied the Long 'Un, with conviction.

"Then," continued the other, "what are you going to do?"

"I dunno! Turn sporting reporter very likely!"

"Well," said Koko, "with your knowledge of sporting matters you might be able to earn about twelve and sixpence a week just now--say by reporting football matches. That would hardly keep a man of your expensive tastes."

Jim laughed.

"Couldn't I do the fights at the National?" he suggested.

"No, my boy; you've had no experience--of reporting, I mean. But, seriously, Jim, can't you get a doctoring job?"

"I shall have a look round for something," said Jim.

Koko gazed at the ceiling.

"If it hadn't been for that girl," he mused sorrowfully, "this would never have happened. You were off your head about her----"

"Absolutely!" agreed Jim.

Koko sighed. "Women are always at the bottom of man's undoing. Avoid them in future, Jim."

"Not I," said Jim; "I'm not built that way."

"Well, you've lost any chance you had of getting this one," said Koko.

Jim's face fell.

"By George! I hadn't thought of that. I'm glad I didn't send that wire about Canadian Pacifics. We shall meet on more level terms now."

"Upon my word," said Koko, "I think you are the most optimistic man I have ever met. Here are you--disowned--kicked out--cut off without a shilling by your grandfather--and you are still thinking----"

"I still hope," breathed Jim, devoutly.

Mr Somers walked towards the door. However, he turned back to say one more thing.

"If, Jim, you should find it necessary to approach another kind of relative----"

"I fear I shall find it necessary," sighed the Long 'Un.

"I was going to say," continued Koko, "that if you want to pawn anything, I'll pawn it for you. I can nip in easier than you." And with that he went quietly on his way.

Having shaved and dressed, Jim set out, as a matter of course, for the hospital. As he walked along he reviewed the situation, and the awkwardness of his present plight became clearly apparent to him.

Yesterday he was the heir to a fortune and a flourishing practice. (The asylum he left out of his calculations, as he was aware that a private institution of this kind can now--according to the law of the land--only descend from father to son, and on the death of the latter must cease to exist.) To-day he was a young man of four-and-twenty, with a medical qualification, various surgical implements, a small collection of well-thumbed works relating to his craft, a sufficient wardrobe, and some thirty shillings in cash. Thus provided, the world was before him, and he was wondering what sort of a job he and the world would make of it, when, as he blundered absent-mindedly round the corner of the street in which St Matthew's Hospital was situated, he ran plump into the stalwart form of Sir Savile Smart, the eminent specialist of whom mention has already been made.

"What--Mortimer!"

"How do you do, Sir Savile?"

The great man's moustache hid a smile as he observed: "And how many more policemen's helmets have you added to your collection?"

Jim blushed.

"You'll get a fine wigging from your grandfather if he hears of your latest adventure," added Sir Savile.

"He has heard of it, sir," said Jim, and forthwith told the specialist of what had befallen him.

Sir Savile bit his moustache.

"No hope of a reprieve, I suppose?"

"No hope whatever, I fear," said Jim.

Sir Savile hailed a cab. "I'm due at Harley Street in fifteen minutes, but I can talk to you on the way."

He laid his hand kindly on the Long 'Un's arm as the cab approached them, and to Jim's credit be it said that he felt, at that moment, that he had more good friends than he deserved to have.

"Practically," said Sir Savile, as the cab sped westwards, "you want a billet?"

Jim ruefully acknowledged that he couldn't live on air.

"You want a billet? Good. I've got one for you."

He pulled a letter out of his pocket.

"My friend Taplow--'the ladies' doctor' they call him--has a surgery over the water. As you may know, it's not an uncommon thing for a man with a fat West-end practice to run a shilling and six-penny shop in the slums. Anything for money, Mortimer! Well, as I said, he's got a surgery over the water--in the Blackfriars district--and he wants a man to look after it. He'll pay about a hundred and twenty a year. Any good to you?"

"Better than living on air," said Jim.

"Experience, too," continued Sir Savile; "heaps. It's a rough, poverty-stricken quarter--very rough. You'll make acquaintance with the masses. The man lately in charge of the place was not quite up to the work--too old. And he was unfortunate in his end----"

"End!" said Jim. "Is he dead, then?"

"Dead as a door-nail."

"What did he die of?" queried Jim.

"Boots and knives. He was killed by Hooligans."

The Long 'Un opened his eyes wide.

"Perhaps," said Sir Savile, "you will now think that even living on air is better than risking one's chances of living on anything?"

"Not at all, sir," said Jim, stoutly; "I'm quite willing to take it on."

"I believe you are. Well, go and try it. Taplow's out of town, and has asked me to put somebody in temporarily. I will put you in. Any morbid objections to sleeping in your predecessor's bedroom?"

"None at all," said Jim.

"Right! You had better go to the place where he lodged, then. The surgery has no living rooms attached to it--it's just a surgery and waiting-room. When we get to Harley Street I'll give you full particulars. Quite sure you don't mind going?"

"Quite," replied Jim.

"I do like a man that knows his own mind," said the specialist in a tone of approval. "You needn't stay there for ever, you know--you're too good for that sort of work."

Jim blushed again.

"Still, it'll tide you over the present difficulty. That's the point. Ah, yes--and I must also give you the address of the place where you're to lodge. Better send them a wire. House is about ten minutes' walk from the surgery; people are gentlefolk, I believe--family--come down in the world. I remember Taplow speaking of them to me--knows something of them, and recommended his man there. One of the daughters is a post-office clerk--very pretty--that'll suit you, eh?"

"I intend to devote myself entirely to work in future, sir," said Jim.

"Ah, yes! Quite so--quite so!" said the specialist chuckling. "Let's see, yes--I recollect--the name is--er--Marcombe--Mayflower--Maybury--that's it."

Jim uttered an exclamation.

"Eh?--what?" inquired Sir Savile.

"N--nothing, sir, nothing!"

"Oh," returned the specialist, "I thought you were going to say something."