Humplebee

by George Gissing

　　From The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories (1906).

　　The school was assembled for evening prayers, some threescore boysrepresenting for the most part the well-to-do middle class of amanufacturing county. At either end of the room glowed a pleasant fire, forit was February and the weather had turned to frost.Silence reigned, but on all the young faces turned to where the headmastersat at his desk appeared an unwonted expression, an eager expectancy, asthough something out of the familiar routine were about to happen. When themaster's voice at length sounded, he did not read from the book before him;gravely, slowly, he began to speak of an event which had that day stirredthe little community with profound emotion.'Two of our number are this evening absent. Happily, most happily, absentbut for a short time; in our prayers we shall render thanks to the goodProvidence which has saved us from a terrible calamity. I do not desire todwell upon the circumstance that one of these boys, Chadwick, had committedworse than an imprudence in venturing upon the Long Pond; it was indisregard of my injunction; I had distinctly made it known that the ice wasstill unsafe. We will speak no more of that. All we can think of at presentis the fact that Chadwick was on the point of losing his life; that in allhuman probability he would have been drowned, but for the help heroicallyafforded him by one of his schoolfellows. I say heroically, and I am sure Ido not exaggerate; in the absence of Humplebee I may declare that he noblyperilled his own life to save that of another. It was a splendid bit ofcourage, a fine example of pluck and promptitude and vigour. We have allcause this night to be proud of Humplebee.'The solemn voice paused. There was an instant's profound silence. Then,from somewhere amid the rows of listeners, sounded a clear, boyish note.'Sir, may we give three cheers for Humplebee?''You may.'The threescore leapt to their feet, and volleys of cheering made theschoolroom echo. Then the master raised his hand, the tumult subsided, andafter a few moments of agitated silence, prayers began.Next morning there appeared as usual at his desk a short, thin, red-headedboy of sixteen, whose plain, freckled face denoted good-humour and acertain intelligence, but would never have drawn attention amongst thelivelier and comelier physiognomies grouped about him. This was Humplebee.Hitherto he had been an insignificant member of the school, one of thoseboys who excel neither at games nor at lessons, of whom nothing isexpected, and rarely, if ever, get into trouble, and who are liked in arather contemptuous way. Of a sudden he shone glorious; all tongues werebusy with him, all eyes regarded him, every one wished for the honour ofhis friendship. Humplebee looked uncomfortable. He had the sniffybeginnings of a cold, the result of yesterday's struggle in icy water, andhis usual diffident and monosyllabic inclination were intensified by theposition in which he found himself. Clappings on the shoulder from biggerboys who had been wont to joke about his name made him flush nervously; tobe addressed as 'Humpy,' or 'Beetle,' or 'Buz,' even though in a new tone,seemed to gratify him as little as before. It was plain that Humplebeewould much have liked to be left alone. He stuck as closely as possible tohis desk, and out of school-time tried to steal apart from the throng.But an ordeal awaited him. Early in the afternoon there arrived, from agreat town not far away, a well-dressed and high-complexioned man, whoseevery look and accent declared commercial importance. This was Mr.Chadwick, father of the boy who had all but been drowned. He and theheadmaster held private talk, and presently they sent for Humplebee. Merelyto enter the 'study' was at any time Humplebee's dread; to do so under thepresent circumstances cost him anguish of spirit.'Ha! here he is!' exclaimed Mr. Chadwick, in the voice of bluff genialitywhich seemed to him appropriate. 'Humplebee, let me shake hands with you!Humplebee, I am proud to make your acquaintance; prouder still to thankyou, to thank you, my boy!'The lad was painfully overcome; his hands quivered, he stood like oneconvicted of disgraceful behaviour.'I think you have heard of me, Humplebee. Leonard has no doubt spoken toyou of his father. Perhaps my name has reached you in other ways?''Yes, sir,' faltered the boy.'You mean that you know me as a public man?' urged Mr. Chadwick, whose eyesglimmered a hungry vanity.'Yes, sir,' whispered Humplebee.'Ha! I see you already take an intelligent interest in things beyondschool. They tell me you are sixteen, Humplebee. Come, now; what are yourideas about the future? I don't mean'--Mr. Chadwick rolled a laugh--'aboutthe future of mankind, or even the future of the English race; you and Imay perhaps discuss such questions a few years hence. In the meantime, whatare your personal ambitions? In brief, what would you like to be,Humplebee?'Under the eye of his master and of the commercial potentate, Humplebeestood voiceless; he gasped once or twice like an expiring fish.'Courage, my boy, courage!' cried Mr. Chadwick. 'Your father, I believe,destines you for commerce. Is that your own wish? Speak freely. Speak asthough I were a friend you have known all your life.''I should like to please my father, sir,' jerked from the boy's lips.'Good! Admirable! That's the spirit I like, Humplebee. Then you have nomarked predilection? That was what I wanted to discover--well, well, weshall see. Meanwhile, Humplebee, get on with your arithmetic. You are goodat arithmetic, I am sure?''Not very, sir.''Come, come, that's your modesty. But I like you none the worse for it,Humplebee. Well, well, get on with your work, my boy, and we shall see, weshall see.'Therewith, to his vast relief, Humplebee found himself dismissed. Later inthe day he received a summons to the bedroom where Mr. Chadwick's son wasbeing carefully nursed. Leonard Chadwick, about the same age as hisrescuer, had never deigned to pay much attention to Humplebee, whom heregarded as stupid and plebeian; but the boy's character was marked by agenerous impulsiveness, which came out strongly in the presentcircumstances.'Hallo, Humpy!' he cried, raising himself up when the other entered. 'Soyou pulled me out of that hole! Shake hands, Buzzy, old fellow! You've hada talk with my governor, haven't you? What do you think of him?'Humplebee muttered something incoherent.'My governor's going to make your fortune, Humpy!' cried Leonard. 'He toldme so, and when he says a thing he means it. He's going to start you inbusiness when you leave school; most likely you'll go into his own office.How will you like that, Humpy? My governor thinks no end of you; saysyou're a brick, and so you are. I shan't forget that you pulled me out ofthat hole, old chap. We shall be friends all our lives, you know. Tell mewhat you thought of my governor?'When he was on his legs again, Leonard continued to treat Humplebee withgrateful, if somewhat condescending, friendliness. In the talks they hadtogether the great man's son continually expatiated upon his preserver'sbrilliant prospects. Beyond possibility of doubt Humplebee would some daybe a rich man; Mr. Chadwick had said so, and whatever he purposed came topass. To all this Humplebee listened in a dogged sort of way, now and thensmiling, but seldom making verbal answer. In school he was not quite thesame boy as before his exploit; he seemed duller, less attentive, and attimes even incurred reproaches for work ill done--previously a thingunknown. When the holidays came, no boy was so glad as Humplebee; his heartsang within him as he turned his back upon the school and began the journeyhomeward.That home was in the town illuminated by Mr. Chadwick's commercial andmunicipal brilliance; over a small draper's shop in one of the outskirtstreets stood the name of Humplebee the draper. About sixty years of age,he had known plenty of misfortune and sorrows, with scant admixture ofhappiness. Nowadays things were somewhat better with him; by dint of severeeconomy he had put aside two or three hundred pounds, and he was able,moreover, to give his son (an only child) what is called a sound education.In the limited rooms above the shop there might have been a measure ofquiet content and hopefulness, but for Mrs. Humplebee. She, considerablyyounger than her husband, fretted against their narrow circumstances, andgrudged the money that was being spent--wasted, she called it--on the boyHarry.From his father Harry never heard talk of pecuniary troubles, but themother lost no opportunity of letting him know that they were poor,miserably poor; and adding, that if he did not work hard at school he wassimply a cold-hearted criminal, and robbed his parents of their bread.But during the last month or two a change had come upon the household. Oneday the draper received a visit from the great Mr. Chadwick, who told awonderful story of Harry's heroism, and made proposals sounding so noblygenerous that Mr. Humplebee was overcome with gratitude.Harry, as his father knew, had no vocation for the shop; to get him a placein a manufacturer's office seemed the best thing that could be aimed at,and here was Mr. Chadwick talking of easy book-keeping, quick advancement,and all manner of vaguely splendid possibilities in the future. Thedraper's joy proved Mrs. Humplebee's opportunity. She put forward a projectwhich had of late been constantly on her mind and on her lips, to wit, thatthey should transfer their business into larger premises, and givethemselves a chance of prosperity. Humplebee need no longer hesitate. Hehad his little capital to meet the first expenses, and if need arose thereneed not be the slightest doubt that Mr. Chadwick would assist him. A kindgentleman Mr. Chadwick! Had he not expressly desired to see Harry's mother,and had he not assured her in every way possible of his debt and gratitudehe felt towards all who bore the name of Humplebee? The draper, if heneglected his opportunity, would be an idiot--a mere idiot.So, when the boy came home for his holidays he found two momentous thingsdecided; first, that he should forthwith enter Mr. Chadwick's office;secondly, that the little shop should be abandoned and a new one taken in abetter neighbourhood.Now Harry Humplebee had in his soul a secret desire and a secretabhorrence. Ever since he could read his delight had been in books ofnatural history; beasts, birds, and fishes possessed his imagination, andfor nothing else in the intellectual world did he really care. With poorresources he had learned a great deal of his beloved subjects. Whenever hecould get away into the fields he was happy; to lie still for hourswatching some wild thing, noting its features and its ways, seemed to himperfect enjoyment. His treasure was a collection, locked in a cupboard athome, of eggs, skeletons, butterflies, beetles, and I know not what. Hisfather regarded all this as harmless amusement, his mother contemptuouslytolerated it or, in worse humour, condemned it as waste of time. When atschool the boy had frequent opportunities of pursuing his study, for he wasin mid country and could wander as he liked on free afternoons; but neitherthe headmaster nor his assistant thought it worth while to pay heed toHumplebee's predilection. True, it had been noticed more than once that inwriting an 'essay' he showed unusual observation of natural things; this,however, did not strike his educators as a matter of any importance; it wasnot their business to discover what Humplebee could do, and wished to do,but to make him do things they regarded as desirable. Humplebee was markedfor commerce; he must study compound interest, and be strong at discount.Yet the boy loathed every such mental effort, and the name of 'business'made him sick at heart.How he longed to unbosom himself to his father! And in the first week ofhis holiday he had a chance of doing so, a wonderful chance, such as hadnever entered his dreams. The town possessed a museum of Natural History,where, of course, Harry had often spent leisure hours. Half a year ago ahappy chance had brought him into conversation with the curator, who couldnot but be struck by the lad's intelligence, and who took an interest inhim. Now they met again; they had one or two long talks, with the resultthat, on a Sunday afternoon, the curator of the museum took the trouble tocall upon Mr. Humplebee, to speak with him about his son. At the museum waswanted a lad with a taste for natural history, to perform at first certaineasy duties, with the prospect of further advancement here or elsewhere. Itseemed to the curator that Harry was the very boy for the place; would Mr.Humplebee like to consider this suggestion? Now, if it had been made to himhalf a year ago, such an offer would have seemed to Mr. Humplebee wellworth consideration, and he knew that Harry would have heard of it withdelight; as it was, he could not entertain the thought for a moment.Impossible to run the risk of offending Mr. Chadwick; moreover, who couldhesitate between the modest possibilities of the museum and such a careeras waited the lad under the protection of his powerful friend? With nervoushaste the draper explained how matters stood, excused himself, and beggedthat not another word on the subject might be spoken in his son's hearing.Harry Humplebee knew what he had lost; the curator, in talk with him, hadalready thrown out his suggestion; at their next meeting he discreetly madeknown to the boy that other counsels must prevail. For the first time Harryfelt a vehement impulse, prompting him to speak on his own behalf, toassert and to plead for his own desires. But courage failed him. He heardhis father loud in praise of Mr. Chadwick, intent upon the gratitude andrespect due to that admirable man. He knew how his mother would exclaim atthe mere hint of disinclination to enter the great man's office. And so heheld his peace, though it cost him bitterness of heart and even secrettears. A long, long time passed before he could bring himself to enteragain the museum doors.He sat on a stool in Mr. Chadwick's office, a clerk at a trifling salary.Everything, his father reminded him, must have a beginning; let him workwell and his progress would be rapid. Two years passed and he was in muchthe same position; his salary had increased by one half, but his workremained the same, mechanical, dreary, hateful to him in its monotony.Meanwhile his father's venture in the new premises had led to greatembarrassments; business did not thrive; the day came when Mr. Humplebee,trembling and shamefaced, felt himself drawn to beg help of his son'sso-called benefactor. He came away from the interview with empty hands.Worse than that, he had heard things about Harry which darkened his mindwith a new anxiety.'I greatly fear,' said Mr. Chadwick, 'that your son must seek a place insome other office. It's a painful thing; I wish I could have kept him; butthe fact of the matter is that he shows utter incapacity. I have no faultto find with him otherwise; a good lad; in a smaller place of business hemight do well enough. But he's altogether below the mark in an office suchas mine. Don't distress yourself, Mr. Humplebee, I beg, I shall make itmy care to inquire for suitable openings; you shall hear from me--you shallhear from me. Pray consider that your son is under notice to leave this daymonth. As for the--other matter of which you spoke, I can only repeat thatthe truest kindness is only to refuse assistance. I assure you it is. Thecircumstances forbid it. Clearly, what you have to do is to call togetheryour creditors, and arrive at an understanding. It is my principle never totry to prop up a hopeless concern such as yours evidently is. Good day toyou, Mr. Humplebee; good day.'A year later several things had happened. Mr. Humplebee was dead; hispenniless widow had gone to live in another town on the charity of poorrelatives, and Harry Humplebee sat in another office, drawing the salary atwhich he had begun under Mr. Chadwick, his home a wretched bedroom in thehouse of working-folk.It did not appear to the lad that he had suffered any injustice. He knewhis own inaptitude for the higher kind of office work, and he had expectedhis dismissal by Mr. Chadwick long before it came. What he did resent, andprofoundly, was Mr. Chadwick's refusal to aid his father in that lastdeath-grapple with ruinous circumstance. At the worst moment Harry wrote aletter to Leonard Chadwick, whom he had never seen since he left school. Hetold in simple terms the position of his family, and, without a word ofjustifying reminiscence, asked his schoolfellow to help them if he could.To this letter a reply came from London. Leonard Chadwick wrote briefly andhurriedly, but in good-natured terms; he was really very sorry indeed thathe could do so little; the fact was, just now he stood on anything but goodterms with his father, who kept him abominably short of cash. He enclosedfive pounds, and, if possible, would soon send more.'Don't suppose I have forgotten what I owe you. As soon as ever I findmyself in an independent position you shall have substantial proof of myenduring gratitude. Keep me informed of your address.'Humplebee made no second application, and Leonard Chadwick did not againbreak silence.The years flowed on. At five-and-twenty Humplebee toiled in the sameoffice, but he could congratulate himself on a certain progress; by doggedresolve he had acquired something like efficiency in the duties of acommercial clerk, and the salary he now earned allowed him to contribute tothe support of his mother. More or less reconciled to the day's labour, hehad resumed in leisure hours his favourite study; a free library suppliedhim with useful books, and whenever it was possible he went his way intothe fields, searching, collecting, observing. But his life had anotherinterest, which threatened rivalry to this intellectual pursuit. Humplebeehad set eyes upon the maiden destined to be his heart's desire; she was thedaughter of a fellow-clerk, a man who had grown grey in service of theledger; timidly he sought to win her kindness, as yet scarce daring tohope, dreaming only of some happy change of position which might encouragehim to speak. The girl was as timid as himself; she had a face of homelyprettiness, a mind uncultured but sympathetic; absorbed in domestic cares,with few acquaintances, she led the simplest of lives, and would have beenall but content to live on in gentle hope for a score of years. The twowere beginning to understand each other, for their silence was moreeloquent than their speech.One summer day--the last day of his brief holiday--Humplebee was returningby train from a visit to his mother. Alone in a third-class carriage,seeming to read a newspaper, but in truth dreaming of a face he hoped tosee in a few hours, he suddenly found himself jerked out of his seat, flungviolently forward, bumped on the floor, and last of all rolled into a sortof bundle, he knew not where. Recovering from a daze, he said to himself,'Why, this is an accident--a collision!' Then he tried to unroll himself,and in the effort found that one of his arms was useless; more than that,it pained him horribly. He stood up and tottered on to the seat. Then thecarriage-door opened, and a voice shouted--'Anybody hurt here?''I think my arm is broken,' answered Humplebee.Two men helped him to alight. The train had stopped just outside a smallstation; on a cross line in front of the engine lay a goods truck smashedto pieces; people were rushing about with cries and gesticulations.'Yes, the arm is broken,' remarked one of the men who had assistedHumplebee. 'It looks as if you were the only passenger injured.' Thatproved, indeed, to be the case; no one else had suffered more than a joltor a bruise. The crowd clustered about this hero of the broken arm,expressing sympathy and offering suggestions. Among them was a well-dressedyoung man, rather good-looking and of lively demeanour, who seemed to enjoythe excitement; he, after gazing fixedly at the pain-stricken face,exclaimed in a voice of wonder--'By jove! it's Humplebee!'The sufferer turned towards him who spoke; his eyes brightened, for herecognised the face of Leonard Chadwick. Neither one nor the other hadgreatly altered during the past ten years; they presented exactly the samecontrast of personal characteristic as when they were at school together.With vehement friendliness Chadwick at once took upon himself the care ofthe injured clerk. He shouted for a cab, he found out where the nearestdoctor lived; in a quarter of an hour he had his friend under the doctor'sroof. When the fracture had been set and bandaged, they travelled ontogether to their native town, only a few miles distant, Humplebee knowingfor the first time in his life the luxury of a first-class compartment. Ontheir way Chadwick talked exuberantly. He was delighted at this meeting;why, one of his purposes in coming north had been to search out Humplebee,whom he had so long scandalously neglected.'The fact is, I've been going through queer times myself. The governor andI can't get along together; we quarrelled years ago, there's not muchchance of our making it up. I've no doubt that was the real reason of hisdismissing you from his office--a mean thing! The governor's a fine oldboy, but he has his nasty side. He's very tight about money, and I--well,I'm a bit too much the other way, no doubt. He's kept me in low water,confound him! But I'm independent of him now. I'll tell you all about itto-morrow, you'll feel better able to talk. Expect me at eleven in themorning.'Through a night of physical suffering Humplebee was supported by a newhope. Chadwick the son, warm-hearted and generous, made a strong contrastwith Chadwick the father, pompous and insincere. When the young man spokeof his abiding gratitude there was no possibility of distrusting him, hisvoice rang true, and his handsome features wore a delightful frankness.Punctual to his appointment, Leonard appeared next morning. He entered thepoor lodging as if it had been a luxurious residence, talked suavely andgaily with the landlady, who was tending her invalid, and, when alone withhis old schoolfellow, launched into a detailed account of a greatenterprise in which he was concerned. Not long ago he had become acquaintedwith one Geldershaw, a man somewhat older than himself, personally mostattractive, and very keen in business. Geldershaw had just been appointedLondon representative of a great manufacturing firm in Germany. It was amost profitable undertaking, and, out of pure friendship, he had offered ashare in the business to Leonard Chadwick.'Of course, I put money into it. The fact is, I have dropped in for a fewthousands from a good old aunt, who has been awfully kind to me since thegovernor and I fell out. I couldn't possibly have found a betterinvestment, it means eight or nine per cent, my boy, at the very least! Andlook here, Humplebee, of course you can keep books?''Yes, I can,' answered the listener conscientiously.'Then, old fellow, a first-rate place is open to you. We want some one wecan thoroughly trust; you're the very man Geldershaw had in his eye. Wouldyou mind telling me what screw you get at present?''Two pounds ten a week.''Ha, ha!' laughed Chadwick exultantly. 'With us you shall begin at doublethe figure, and I'll see to it that you have a rise after the first year.What's more, Humplebee, as soon as we get fairly going, I promise you ashare in the business. Don't say a word, old boy! My governor treated youabominably. I've been in your debt for ten years or so, as you know verywell, and often enough I've felt deucedly ashamed of myself. Five pounds aweek to begin with, and a certainty of a comfortable interest in a thrivingaffair! Come, now, is it agreed?'Humplebee forgot his pain; he felt ready to jump out of bed and travelstraightway to London.'And you know,' pursued Chadwick, when they had shaken hands warmly, 'thatyou have a claim for damages on the railway company. Leave that to me; I'llput the thing in train at once, through my own solicitor. You shall pocketa substantial sum, my boy! Well, I'm afraid I must be off; I've got myhands full of business. Quite a new thing for me to have something seriousto do; I enjoy it! If I can't see you again before I go back to town, youshall hear from me in a day or two. Here's my London address. Chuck up yourplace here at once, so as to be ready for us as soon as your arm's allright. Geldershaw shall write you a formal engagement.'Happily his broken arm was the left. Humplebee could use his right hand,and did so, very soon after Chadwick's departure, to send an account of allthat had befallen him to his friend Mary Bowes. It was the first time hehad written to her. His letter was couched in terms of studious respect,with many apologies for the liberty he took. Of the accident he madelight--a few days would see him re-established--but he dwelt with someemphasis upon the meeting with Leonard Chadwick, and what had resulted fromit.'I did him a good turn once, when we were at school together. He is a good,warm-hearted fellow, and has sought this opportunity of showing that heremembered the old time.'Thus did Humplebee refer to the great event of his boyhood. Havingdespatched the letter, he waited feverishly for Miss Bowes' reply; but dayspassed, and still he waited in vain. Agitation delayed his recovery; he wassuffering as he had never suffered in his life, when there came a letterfrom London, signed with the name of Geldershaw, repeating in formal termsthe offer made to him by Leonard Chadwick, and requesting his immediateacceptance or refusal. This plucked him out of his despondent state, andspurred him to action. With the help of his landlady he dressed himself,and, having concealed his bandaged arm as well as possible, drove in a cabto Miss Bowes' dwelling. The hour being before noon, he was almost sure tofind Mary at home, and alone. Trembling with bodily weakness and theconflict of emotions, he rang the door bell. To his consternation thereappeared Mary's father.'Hallo! Humplebee!' cried Mr. Bowes, surprised but friendly. 'Why, I wasjust going to write to you. Mary has had scarlet fever. I've been so busythese last ten days, I couldn't even inquire after you. Of course, I sawabout your smash in the newspaper; how are you getting on?'The man with the bandaged arm could not utter a word. Horror-stricken hestared at Mr. Bowes, who had begun to express a doubt whether it would beprudent for him to enter the house.Mary is convalescent; the anxiety's all over, but--'Humplebee suddenly seized the speaker's hand, and in confused wordsexpressed vehement joy. They talked for a few minutes, parted withcordiality, and Humplebee went home again to recover from his excitement.A note from his employers had replied in terms of decent condolence to themessage by which he explained his enforced absence. To-day he wrote to theprincipal, announcing his intention of resigning his post in their office.The response, delivered within a few hours, was admirably brief and to thepoint. Mr. Humplebee's place had, of course, been already taken temporarilyby another clerk; it would have been held open for him, but, in view of hisdecision, the firm had merely to request that he would acknowledge thecheque enclosed in payment of his salary up to date. Not without someshaking of the hand did Humplebee pen this receipt; for a moment somethingseemed to come between him and the daylight, and a heaviness oppressed hisinner man. But already he had despatched to London his formal acceptance ofthe post at five pounds a week, and in thinking of it his heart grewjoyous. Two hundred and sixty pounds a year! It was beyond the hope of hismost fantastic day-dreams. He was a made man, secure for ever against fearsand worries. He was a man of substance, and need no longer shrink frommaking known the hope which ruled his life.A second letter was written to Mary Bowes; but not till many copies hadbeen made was it at length despatched. The writer declared that he lookedfor no reply until Mary was quite herself again; he begged only that shewould reflect, meanwhile, upon what he had said, reflect with all herindulgence, all her native goodness and gentleness. And, indeed, thereelapsed nearly a fortnight before the answer came; and to Humplebee itseemed an endless succession of tormenting days. Then--Humplebee behaved like one distracted. His landlady in good earnest thoughthe had gone crazy, and was only reassured when he revealed to her what hadhappened. Mary Bowes was to be his wife! They must wait for a year and ahalf; Mary could not leave her father quite alone, but in a year and a halfMr. Bowes, who was an oldish man, would be able to retire on the modestfruit of his economies, and all three could live together in London.'What,' cried Humplebee, 'was eighteen months? It would allow him to saveenough out of his noble salary to start housekeeping with something morethan comfort. Blessed be the name of Chadwick!'When his arm was once more sound, and Mary's health quite recovered, theymet. In their long, long talk Humplebee was led to tell the story of thatwinter day when he saved Leonard Chadwick's life; he related, too, all thathad ensued upon his acquaintance with the great Mr. Chadwick, memorieswhich would never lose all their bitterness. Mary was moved to tears, andher tears were dried by indignation. But they agreed that Leonard, afterall, made some atonement for his father's heartless behaviour. Humplebeeshowed a letter that had come from young Chadwick a day or two ago; everyline spoke generosity of spirit. 'When,' he asked, 'might they expect theirnew bookkeeper. They were in full swing; business promised magnificently.As yet, they had only a temporary office, but Geldershaw was in treaty forfine premises in the city. The sooner Humplebee arrived the better; fortuneawaited him.'It was decided that he should leave for London in two days.The next evening he came to spend an hour or two with Mary and her father.On entering the room he at once observed something strange in the lookswith which he was greeted. Mary had a pale, miserable air, and could hardlyspeak. Mr. Bowes, after looking at him fixedly for a moment, exclaimed--'Have you seen to-day's paper?''I've been too busy,' he replied. 'What has happened?''Isn't your London man called Geldershaw?''Yes,' murmured Humplebee, with a sinking of the heart.'Well, the police are after him; he has bolted. It's a long-firm swindlethat he's been up to. You know what that means? Obtaining goods on falsecredit, and raising money on them. What's more, young Chadwick is arrested;he came before the magistrates yesterday, charged with being an accomplice.Here it is; read it for yourself.'Humplebee dropped into a chair. When his eyes undazzled, he read the fullreport which Mr. Bowes had summarised. It was the death-blow of his hopes.'Leonard Chadwick has been a victim, not a swindler,' sounded from him in afeeble voice. 'You see, he says that Geldershaw has robbed him of all hismoney--that he is ruined.''He says so,' remarked Mr. Bowes with angry irony.'I believe him,' said Humplebee. His eyes sought Mary's. The girl regardedhim steadily, and she spoke in a low firm voice--'I, too, believe him.''Whether or no,' said Mr. Bowes, thrusting his hands into his pockets, 'theupshot of it is, Humplebee, that you've lost a good place through trustinghim. I had my doubts; but you were in a hurry, and didn't ask advice. Ifthis had happened a week later, the police would have laid hands on you aswell.''So there's something to be thankful for, at all events,' said Mary.Again Humplebee met her eyes. He saw that she would not forsake him.He had to begin life over again--that was all.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *