The Battery and the Boiler by Robert Michael Ballantyne (manga ereader txt) 📖

that when he brought it here, an' there's no clo'es in it, that I can see, when he opens it, to get at the few pence he wants now an' again. An' he starves hisself, an' says he's not fit to live, an' calls hisself sitch awful names, an'--"

"Well, well, show me his room," said Slagg, with as much decision in his tone as compelled immediate obedience.

In the corner of a small room, on a truckle-bed, with scant bedding, lay the emaciated form of John Shanks, _alias_ Stumps, _alias_ James Gibson. He had raised himself on one elbow, and was gazing with great lustrous invalid eyes at the door, when his old comrade entered, for he had been watching, and heard the first sound of footsteps in the passage.

"Oh! Jim Slagg," he cried, extending a hand which bore strong resemblance to a claw, it was so thin. "Come to me, Jim, How I've wished an' longed, an'--"

He stopped and burst into tears, for he was very weak, poor fellow, and even strong men weep when their strength is brought low.

"Come now, Stumps," said Slagg, in a serious voice, as he sat down on the bed, put an arm round his old comrade's thin shoulders, and made him lie down, "if you go to excite yourself like that, I'll--I'll--quit the room, an' I won't come back for an hour or more."

"No! O no!" exclaimed the sick man; clutching Slagg's arm with a trembling grip, "don't leave me, Jim--don't, don't! I shall die if you do! I'm dyin' anyhow, but it will kill me quicker if you go."

"Well, I won't go. There, keep quiet, my poor old Stumps."

"Yes, that's it--that's it--I like to hear the old name," murmured the sick man, closing his eyes. "Say it again, Jim--say it again."

"Stumps," said Slagg, getting down on his knees, the better to arrange and grasp his former comrade, "don't be a fool now, but listen. I have come to look after you, so make your mind easy."

"But I've been such a beast to you, Jim; it was so awful shabby," cried Stumps, rousing himself again, "and I've been _so_ sorry ever since. You can't think how sorry. I have repented, Jim, if ever a man did. An' I'd have come back and confessed long ago, if I'd had the chance, but I can get no rest--no peace. I've never spent a rap of it, Jim, except what I couldn't help--for you know, Jim, body an' soul wouldn't stick together without a little o' suthin' to eat an' drink; an' when I was ill I couldn't work, you know. See, it's all here--all here--except what little--"

He stopped abruptly, having raised himself to open the lid of the box at his elbow, but his strength failed, and he sank on the pillow with a groan.

"Stumps," said Slagg, "come, old boy, you an' me will have a bit of prayer together."

The sick man opened his great eyes in astonishment. It was so unlike his old friend's brusque rollicking character to propose prayer, that he fancied he must be dreaming, and the possibility of the visit turning out unreal, induced an expression of distress on his haggard countenance. On being ordered, however, in the peremptory and familiar tones of former days, to shut his eyes, he felt reassured and became calm, while his friend prayed for him.

It was not a set or formal prayer by any means. It sounded strangely like a man asking a friend, in commonplace terms, but _very_ earnestly, to give him what he stood in great need of; and what Jim asked for was the salvation of his friend's soul and his restoration to health. The petition, therefore, was remarkably brief, yet full of reverence, for Jim, though naturally blunt and straightforward, felt that he was addressing the great and blessed God and Saviour, who had so recently rescued his own soul.

After saying "Amen!" which the sick man echoed, Slagg pulled out his Bible and read through the fourteenth chapter of John's gospel, commenting quietly as he went along, while his comrade listened with intense earnestness. At the first verse Jim paused and said, "This wasn't written to holy and sinless men. `Let not your heart be troubled,' was said to the disciples, one o' them bein' Peter, the man who was to deny Jesus three times with oaths and curses, and then forsake Him. The Lord came to save _sinners_. It would be a poor look-out for you, Stumps, if you thought yourself a good man."

"But I don't--oh! I don't, and you _know_ I don't!" exclaimed the sick man vehemently.

"Then the Lord says, `Let not your heart be troubled,' and tells you to believe in God and Himself."

At the second verse Slagg remarked that it would be a sad, sad thing if the mansion prepared, among the many mansions, for his friend were to be left empty.

"But how am I to get to it, Jim; how am I ever to find the way?"

"Just what the disciple named Thomas asked--an' he _was_ a very doubting follower of Jesus, like too many of us. The Master said to him what He says to you and me, `_I_ am the way and the truth and the life; no one cometh unto the Father but by _me_.'"

At the ninth verse the sailor-missionary said, "Jesus is God, you see, so we're safe to trust Him," and, at the thirteenth verse, "Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name that will I do," he said. "Now, we have asked Jesus to save you, and He will do it, by His Holy Spirit, as He has saved me--has saved millions in time past, and will save millions more in time to come. Why, you see, in the sixteenth verse He tells you He will pray the Father to send you a Comforter, who will stay with you for ever. Has He not reason then for beginnin' with `let not your heart be troubled'? And that same Comforter, the Holy Spirit, is to `teach us all things,' so, you see, every difficulty is taken out of our way. `Arise, let us go hence.' Now, my old messmate, I have arisen. Will you not arise and go with me, both of us looking unto Jesus?"

"I _will_--God helping me!" cried the sick man, literally arising from his couch and raising both arms to heaven.

"There, now--thank the Lord; but you must lie down again and keep quiet," said Jim, gently and kindly forcing his friend backward.

Stumps did not resist. He closed his eyes, and the restful feeling that had suddenly arisen in his heart when he said the momentous words, "_I will_," coupled with exhaustion, resulted almost instantaneously in a quiet slumber.

"When did he eat last?" asked Slagg of the old woman, in a low voice, for he had been taught, or had learned intuitively, that few things are more disheartening in a sick-room than a whisper.

"This morning he breakfasted at six, but it was on'y a hap'orth o' bread and a drink o' cold water."

"And how dare you starve your lodger in that way?" demanded Slagg, leading the astonished woman into the passage and closing the door. "Don't you know that starving a man is equal to murdering him, and that you'll be liable to be hung if he dies? There, take this half-sov, and be off to the nearest shop, an' buy--let me see--sassengers and steaks and--oh, _you_ know better than me what a sick man wants. Get along with you, and be back sharp. Stay! where are your matches? Ah! Any coals? Good, now away with you and fetch a doctor too, else I'll fetch a policeman, you bolster of bones."

Thus ordered, threatened, and adjured, the landlady, half-amused, and more than half-frightened at the visitor's gushing energy, hurried from the house, while Slagg returned to the miserable room, and did his best to render it less miserable by kindling a splendid fire.

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add, that a breakfast soon filled that room with delicious odour, such as had not been felt in that lowly neighbourhood for many years; that Stumps, after a refreshing sleep, partook of the feast with relish; that Jim Slagg also partook of it--of most of it, indeed--and enjoyed it to the full; that the old landlady was invited to "fall to," and did fall to with alacrity; that the domestic cat also managed to fall to, surreptitiously, without invitation, and not the less enjoyably on that account; that a miserable semi-featherless but unconquerable canary in a cage in the window took care that it was not forgotten; and that several street boys, smelling the viands from afar, came round the outer door, became clamorous, and were not sent empty away.

It may, however, be advisable to add, that Stumps did not die; that joy of heart, good feeding, and--perhaps--the doctor, brought him round, and that he afterwards went to the country to spend the period of convalescence in the cottage by the roadside, with Slagg's mother.


CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.


IN WHICH THE STORY FINDS A "FAULT," AND THE ELECTRICAL CURRENT ENDS.

Now, it is not in the nature of things that man, in his present state, should attain to full satisfaction. He may, indeed he should, attain to contentment, but as long as there are higher and better things within his reach, he must of necessity remain in some degree unsatisfied.

Some such idea must have been passing through Robin Wright's brain one fine morning, as he slowly paced the deck of a small schooner with his friend Sam Shipton, for he suddenly broke a prolonged silence with the following remark:--

"I don't know how it is, Sam, but although I am surrounded with everything that should make a fellow happy, I'm--I'm _not_ happy. In fact, I'm as miserable as it is possible to be!"

"Come now, Robin, don't exaggerate," said Sam in a remonstrative tone. "Hyperbole is very objectionable, especially in young men. You know that if you were tied to a huge gridiron over a slow fire, you would be more miserable than you are at present."

Robin smiled and admitted the truth of this, but nevertheless reiterated his assertion that he was decidedly unhappy.

This conversation, we may remark, took place on board of Sam Shipton's yacht, off the west coast of Scotland, several years after the events narrated in the previous chapter.

"Well, now, it is strange," said Sam, with an earnestly sympathetic air and tone of voice, but with the faintest possible twinkle in the extreme corner of one of his eyes. "Let me see--everything, as you justly remark, ought to make you happy here. The weather, to begin with-- people always begin with the weather, you know--is splendid, though there is a thundery look about the horizon to the west'ard. Then our yacht, the Gleam, is a perfect duck, both as to her sea-going and sailing qualities, and Captain James Slagg is a perfect seaman, while Stumps is a superlative steward and cook. Our time is our own, and the world before us where to choose. Then, as to our companionship, what female society could be more agreeable than that of my wife Madge, and her bosom friend Letta, who, since she has grown up, has become one of the most beautiful, fascinating, charming,--but why go