Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure by - (best self help books to read txt) đ
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âYouâre right, Mr Twitter. I always said so,â remarked Mrs Loper, adopting all these sentiments with a sigh of resignation. âIf we did not submit to fortune when it is adverse, why then weâd have toâhave toââ
âSuccumb to it,â suggested Mrs Larrabel, with one of her sweetest smiles.
âNo, Mrs Larrabel, I never succumbâfrom principle I never do so. The last thing that any woman of good feeling ought to do is to succumb. I would bow to it.â
âQuite right, maâam, quite right,â said Stickler, who now found time to speak, having finished his first cup of tea and second muffin; âto bow is, to say the least of it, polite and simple, and is always safe, for it commits one to nothing; but then, suppose that Fortune is impolite and refuses to return the bow, what, I ask you, would be the result?â
As Mrs Loper could not form the slightest conception what the result would be, she replied with a weak smile and a request for more sausage.
These remarks, although calculated to enlist the sympathies of Crackaby and excite the mental energies of Twitter, had no effect whatever on those gentlemen, for the latter was deeply depressed, and his friend Crackaby felt for him sincerely. Thus the black sheep remained victorious in argumentâwhich was not always the case.
Poor Twitter! He was indeed at that time utterly crestfallen, for not only had he lost considerably by the fireâhis house having been uninsuredâbut business in the city had gone wrong somehow. A few heavy failures had occurred among speculators, and as these had always a row of minor speculators at their backs, like a row of childâs bricks, which only needs the fall of one to insure the downcome of all behind it, there had been a general tumble of speculative bricks, tailing off with a number of unspeculative ones, such as tailors, grocers, butchers, and shopkeepers generally. Mr Twitter was one of the unspeculative unfortunates, but he had not come quite down. He had only been twisted uncomfortably to one side, just as a toy brick is sometimes seen standing up here and there in the midst of surrounding wreck. Mr Twitter was not absolutely ruined. He had only âgot into difficulties.â
But this was a small matter in his and his good wifeâs eyes compared with the terrible fall and disappearance of their beloved Sammy. He had always been such a good, obedient boy; and, as his mother said, âso sensitive.â It never occurred to Mrs Twitter that this sensitiveness was very much the cause of his fall and disappearance, for the same weakness, or cowardice, that rendered him unable to resist the playful banter of his drinking comrades, prevented him from returning to his family in disgrace.
âYou have not yet advertised, I think?â said Crackaby.
âNo, not yet,â answered Twitter; âwe cannot bear to publish it. But we have set several detectives on his track. In fact we expect one of them this very evening; and I shouldnât wonder if that was him,â he added, as a loud knock was heard at the door.
âPlease, maâam,â said the domestic, âMr Wellandâs at the door with another gentleman. âE says âe wonât come inââe merely wishes to speak to you for a moment.â
âOh! bid âem come in, bid âem come in,â said Mrs Twitter in the exuberance of a hospitality which never turned any one away, and utterly regardless of the fact that her parlour was extremely small.
Another moment, and Stephen Welland entered, apologising for the intrusion, and saying that he merely called with Sir Richard Brandon, on their way to the Beehive meeting, to ask if anything had been heard of Sam.
âCome in, and welcome, do,â said Mrs Twitter to Sir Richard, whose face had become a not unfamiliar one at the Beehive meetings by that time. âAnd Miss Diana, too! Iâm so glad youâve brought her. Sit down, dear. Not so near the door. To be sure there ainât much room anywhere else, butâget out of the way, Stickler.â
The black sheep hopped to one side instantly, and Di was accommodated with his chair. Stickler was one of those toadies who worship rank for its own sake. If a lamp-post had been knighted Stickler would have bowed down to it. If an ass had been what he styled âbarrow-knighted,â he would have lain down and let it walk over himâperhaps would even have solicited a passing kickâcertainly would not have resented one.
âAllow me, Sir Richard,â he said, with some reference to the knightâs hat.
âHush, Stickler!â said Mrs Twitter.
The black sheep hushed, while the bustling lady took the hat and placed it on the sideboard.
âYour stick, Sir Richard,â said Stickler, âpermitââ
âHold your tongue, Stickler,â said Mrs Twitter.
The black sheep held his tongueâbetween his teeth,âand wished that some day he might have the opportunity of punching Mrs Twitterâs head, without, if possible, her knowing who did it. Though thus reduced to silence, he cleared his throat in a demonstratively subservient manner and awaited his opportunity.
Sir Richard was about to apologise for the intrusion when another knock was heard at the outer door, and immediately after, the City Missionary, John Seaward, came in. He evidently did not expect to see company, but, after a cordial salutation to every one, said that he had called on his way to the meeting.
âYou are heartily welcome. Come in,â said Mrs Twitter, looking about for a chair, âcome, sit beside me, Mr Seaward, on the stool. Youâll not object to a humble seat, I know.â
âI am afraid,â said Sir Richard, âthat the meeting has much to answer for in the way of flooding you with unexpected guests.â
âOh! dear, no, sir, I love unexpected guestsâthe more unexpected the more IâMolly, dear,â (to her eldest girl), âtake all the children up-stairs.â
Mrs Twitter was beginning to get confused in her excitement, but the last stroke of generalship relieved the threatened block and her anxieties at the same time.
âBut what of Sam?â asked young Welland in a low tone; âany news yet?â
âNone,â said the poor mother, suddenly losing all her vivacity, and looking so pitifully miserable that the sympathetic Di incontinently jumped off her chair, ran up to her, and threw her arms round her neck.
âDear, darling child,â said Mrs Twitter, returning the embrace with interest.
âBut I have brought you news,â said the missionary, in a quiet voice which produced a general hush.
âNews!â echoed Twitter with sudden vehemence. âOh! Mr Seaward,â exclaimed the poor mother, clasping her hands and turning pale.
âYes,â continued Seaward; âas all here seem to be friends, I may tell you that Sam has been heard of at last. He has not, indeed, yet been found, but he has been seen in the company of a man well-known as a rough disorderly character, but who it seems has lately put on the blue ribbon, so we may hope that his influence over Sam will be for good instead of evil.â
An expression of intense thankfulness escaped from the poor mother on hearing this, but the father became suddenly much excited, and plied the missionary with innumerable questions, which, however, resulted in nothing, for the good reason that nothing more was known.
At this point the company were startled by another knock, and so persuaded was Mrs Twitter that it must be Sammy himself, that she rushed out of the room, opened the door, and almost flung herself into the arms of Number 666.
âIâIâbeg your pardon, Mr Scott, I thought thatââ
âNo harm done, maâam,â said Giles. âMay I come in?â
âCertainly, and most welcome.â
When the tall constable bowed his head to pass under the ridiculously small doorway, and stood erect in the still more ridiculously small parlour, it seemed as though the last point of capacity had been touched, and the walls of the room must infallibly burst out. But they did not! Probably the house had been built before domiciles warranted to last twenty years had come into fashion.
âYou have found him!â exclaimed Mrs Twitter, clasping her hands and looking up in Gilesâs calm countenance with tearful eyes.
âYes, maâam, I am happy to tell you that we have at last traced him. I have just left him.â
âAnd does he know you have come here? Is he expecting us?â asked the poor woman breathlessly.
âOh! dear, no, maâam, I rather think that if he knew I had come here, he would not await my return, for the young gentleman does not seem quite willing to come home. Indeed he is not quite fit; excuse me.â
âHow dâyou know heâs not willing?â demanded Mr Twitter, who felt a rising disposition to stand up for Sammy.
âBecause I heard him say so, sir. I went into the place where he was, to look for some people who are wanted, and saw your son sitting with a well-known rough of the name of North, who has become a changed man, however, and has put on the blue ribbon. I knew North well, and recognised your son at once. North seemed to have been trying to persuade your boy to return,â (âbless him! bless him!â from Mrs Twitter), âfor I heard him say as I passedââOh! no, no, no, I can never return home!ââ
âWhere is he? Take me to him at once. My bonnet and shawl, Molly!â
âPardon me, maâam,â said Giles. âIt is not a very fit place for a ladyâthough there are some ladies who go to low lodging-houses regularly to preach; but unless you go for that purpose itââ
âYes, my dear, it would be quite out of place,â interposed Twitter. âCome, it is my duty to go to this place. Can you lead me to it, Mr Scott?â
âOh! and I should like to go tooâso much, so very much!â
It was little Di who spoke, but her father said that the idea was preposterous.
âPardon me, Sir Richard,â said Mr Seaward, âthis happens to be my night for preaching in the common lodging-house where Mr Scott says poor Sam is staying. If you choose to accompany me, there is nothing to prevent your little daughter going. Of course it would be as well that no one whom the boy might recognise should accompany us, but his father might go and stand at the door outside, while the owner of the lodging might be directed to tell Sam that some one wishes to see him.â
âYour plan is pretty good, but I will arrange my plans myself,â said Mr Twitter, who suddenly roused himself to action with a degree of vigour that carried all before it. âGo and do your own part, Mr Seaward. Give no directions to the proprietor of the lodging, and leave Sammy to me. I will have a cab ready for him, and his mother in the cab waiting, with a suit of his own clothes. Are you ready?â
âQuite ready,â said the missionary, amused as well as interested by the good manâs sudden display of resolution. Mrs Twitter, also, was reduced to silence by surprise, as well as by submission. Sir Richard agreed to go and take Di with him, if Giles promised to hold himself in readiness within call.
âYou see,â he said, âI have been in similar places before now, butânot with my little child!â
As for Loper, Larrabel, Crackaby, Stickler, and Companyâfeeling that it would be improper to remain after the host and hostess were gone; that it would be equally wrong to offer to go with them, and quite inappropriate to witness the home-coming,âthey took themselves off, but each resolved to flutter unseen in the neighbourhood until he, or she, could make quite sure that the prodigal had returned.
It was to one of the lowest of the common lodging-houses that Sam Twitter the younger had resorted on the night he had been discovered by Number 666. That day he had earned sixpence by carrying a carpet bag to a railway station. One penny he laid out in bread, one penny in cheese.
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