Fighting the Flames by Robert Michael Ballantyne (read novels website txt) 📖

chuckling still, went at noon to Beverly Square, where he discovered Mr Auberly standing, gaunt and forlorn, in the midst of the ruins of his once elegant mansion.


CHAPTER SIX.


"WHEN ONE IS ANOTHER WHO IS WHICH?"

"Well, boy, what do you want? Have you anything to say to me?"

Mr Auberly turned sharp round on Willie, whose gaze had gone beyond the length of simple curiosity. In fact, he was awe-struck at the sight of such a very tall and very dignified man standing so grimly in the midst of such dreadful devastation.

"Please, sir, I was sent to you, sir, by--"

"Oh, you're the boy, the son of--that is to say, you were sent to me by your mother," said Mr Auberly with a frown.

"Well, sir," replied Willie, hesitating, "I--I--was sent by--by--"

"Ah, I see," interrupted Mr Auberly with a smile that was meant to be gracious, "you were sent by a fireman; you are not the--the--I mean you're the _other_ boy."

Poor Willie, being of a powerfully risible nature, found it hard to contain himself on hearing his own words of the previous evening re-echoed thus unexpectedly. His face became red, and he took refuge in blowing his nose, during which process--having observed the smile on Mr Auberly's face--he resolved to be "the other boy."

"Yes, sir," he said, looking up modestly, "I was sent by a fireman; I _am_ the other boy."

Mr Auberly smiled again grimly, and said that the fireman was a brave fellow, and that he had saved his daughter's life, and that he was very glad to do anything that lay in his power for him, and that he understood that Willie was the fireman's brother; to which the boy replied that he was.

"Well, then, come this way," continued Mr Auberly, leading Willie into the library of the adjoining house, which his friend had put at his disposal, and seating himself at a writing-table. "You want a situation of some sort--a clerkship, I suppose?"

Willie admitted that his ambition soared to that tremendous height.

"Let me see," muttered Mr Auberly, taking up a pen and beginning to write; "yes, she will be able to help me. What is your name, boy?"

"Willie, sir."

"Just so, William; and your surname--your other name?"

"Willders, sir."

Mr Auberly started, and looked Willie full in the eyes. Willie, feeling that he was playing a sort of double part without being able to avoid it, grew red in the face.

"What did you say, boy?"

"Willders," replied Willie stoutly.

"Then you're _not_ the other boy," said Mr Auberly, laying down his pen, and regarding Willie with a frown.

"Please, sir," replied Willie, with a look of meekness which was mingled with a feeling of desperation, for his desire to laugh was strong upon him, "please, sir, I don't rightly know _which_ boy I am."

Mr Auberly paused for a moment.

"Boy, you're a fool!"

"Thank 'ee, sir," said Willie.

This reply went a long way in Mr Auberly's mind to prove the truth of his assertion.

"Answer me, boy," said Mr Auberly with an impressive look and tone; "were you sent here by a fireman?"

"Yes, sir," replied Willie.

"What is his name?"

"Same as mine, sir--Willders."

"Of course, of course," said Mr Auberly, a little confused at having put such an unnecessary question. "Does your _mother_ know you're here?"

This brought the slang phrase, "Does your mother know you're out?" so forcibly to the boy's mind, that he felt himself swell internally, and had recourse again to his pocket-handkerchief as a safety-valve.

"Yes, sir," said he, on recovering his composure; "arter I saw Blazes-- Frank, I mean, that's my brother, sir--I goes right away home to bed. I stops with my mother, sir, an' she saw me come off here this mornin', sir. She knows I was comin' here."

"Of course; yes, yes, I see," muttered Mr Auberly, again taking up his pen. "I see; yes, yes; same name--strange coincidence, though; but, after all, there are many of that name in London. I suppose the _other_ boy will be here shortly. Very odd, very odd indeed."

"Please, sir," observed Willie, in a gentle tone, "you said _I_ was the other boy, sir."

Mr Auberly seemed a little annoyed at his muttered words being thus replied to, yet he condescended to explain that there was another boy of the same name whom he expected to see that morning.

"Oh, then there's _another_ other boy, sir?" said Willie with a look of interest.

"Hold your tongue!" said Mr Auberly in a sharp voice; "you're a fool, and you're much too fond of speaking. I advise you to keep your tongue quieter if you wish to get on in life."

Willie once more sought relief in his pocket-handkerchief, while his patron indited and sealed an epistle, which he addressed to "Miss Tippet, Number 6, Poorthing Lane, Beverly Square."

"Here, boy, take this to the lady to whom it is addressed--the lane is at the opposite corner of the square--and wait an answer."

"Am I to bring the answer back to you, sir?" asked Willie with much humility.

"No; the answer is for yourself," said Mr Auberly testily; "and hark 'ee, boy, you need not trouble me again. That note will get you all you desire."

"Thank you, sir," said Willie, making a bow, and preparing to retire; "but please, sir, I don't very well know, that is to say--ahem!"

"Well, boy?" said the patron sternly.

"Excuse me, sir; I can't help it, you know; but please, sir, I wish to explain about that other boy--no, that's me, but the _other_ other boy, you know--"

"Begone, boy!" cried Mr Auberly in a voice so stern that Willie found himself next moment in the street, along which he ran chuckling worse than ever.

A little reflection might have opened Mr Auberly's eyes to the truth in regard to Willie, but a poor relation was to him a disagreeable subject of contemplation, and he possessed the faculty, in an eminent degree, of dismissing it altogether from his mind. Having care enough on his mind at that time, poor man, he deliberately cast the confusion of the two boys out of his thoughts, and gave himself up to matters more interesting and personal.

We may add here that Mrs Willders was faithful to her promise, and never more addressed her brother-in-law by word or letter. When Willie afterwards told her and Frank of the absurdity of his interview, and of the violent manner in which Mr Auberly had dismissed him when he was going to explain about the "other" boy, his mother thought it best to let things rest as they stood, yet she often wondered in her own quiet way what Mr Auberly would think of her and of the non-appearance of the "other" boy; and she felt convinced that if he only put things together he _must_ come to understand that Willie and Frank were her sons. But Mrs Willders did not know of the before-mentioned happy facility which her kinsman possessed of forgetting poor relations; so, after wondering on for a time, she ceased to wonder or to think about it at all.


CHAPTER SEVEN.


THOUGHTS IN REGARD TO MEN.

Miss Emelina Tippet was a maiden lady of pleasing countenance and exceedingly uncertain age.

She was a poor member of a poor branch of an aristocratic family, and feeling an unconquerable desire to breathe, if not the pure unadulterated atmosphere of Beverly Square, at least as much of it as was compatible with a very moderate income, she rented a small house in a very dark and dismal lane leading out of that great centre of refinement.

It is true that Beverly Square was not exactly the "West End," but there are many degrees of West-endiness, so to speak, in the western neighbourhood of London, and this square was, in the opinion of Miss Tippet, the West-endiest place she knew, because there dwelt in it, not only a very genteel and uncommonly rich portion of the community, but several of her own aristocratic, though distant, relations, among whom was Mr Auberly.

The precise distance of the relationship between them had never been defined, and all records bearing on it having been lost in the mists of antiquity, it could not now be ascertained; but Miss Tippet laid claim to the relationship, and as she was an obliging, good-humoured, chatty, and musical lady, Mr Auberly admitted the claim.

Miss Tippet's only weakness--for she was indeed a most estimable woman-- was a tendency to allow rank and position to weigh too much in her esteem. She had also a sensitive abhorrence of everything "low and vulgar," which would have been, of course, a very proper feeling had she not fallen into the mistake of considering humble birth lowness, and want of polish vulgarity--a mistake which is often (sometimes even wilfully) made by persons who consider themselves much wiser than Miss Tippet, but who are not wise enough to see a distinct shade of true vulgarity in their own sentiments.

The dark, dismal lane, named Poorthing Lane, besides forming an asylum for decayed and would-be aristocrats, and a vestibule, as it were, to Beverly Square, was a convenient retreat for sundry green-grocers and public-house keepers and small trades-people, who supplied the densely-peopled surrounding district, and even some of the inhabitants of Beverly Square itself, with the necessaries of life. It was also a thoroughfare for the gay equipages of the square, which passed through it daily on their way to and from the adjoining stables, thereby endangering the lives of precocious babies who could crawl, but could not walk away from home, as well as affording food for criticism and scandal, not to mention the leaving behind of a species of secondhand odour of gentility such as coachmen and footmen can give forth.

Miss Tippet's means being small, she rented a proportionately small residence, consisting of two floors, which were the upper portion of a house, whose ground floor was a toy-shop. The owner of the toy-shop, David Boone, was Miss Tippet's landlord; but not the owner of the tenement. He rented the whole, and sublet the upper portion. Miss Tippet's parlour windows commanded a near view of the lodging opposite, into every corner and crevice of which she could have seen, had not the windows been encrusted with impenetrable dirt. Her own domestic arrangements were concealed from view by small green venetian blinds, which rose from below, and met the large venetians which descended from above. The good lady's bedroom windows in the upper floor commanded a near view--much too near--of a stack of chimneys, between which and another stack, farther over, she had a glimpse of part of the gable end of a house, and the topmost bough of a tree in Beverly Square. It was this prospect into paradise, terrestrially speaking, that influenced Miss Tippet in the choice of her abode.

When William Willders reached the small door of Number 6, Poorthing Lane, and raised his hand to knock, the said door opened as if it had been trained to admit visitors of its own accord, and Miss Matty Merryon issued forth, followed by a bright blue-eyed girl of about twelve years of age.

"Well, boy, was ye comin' here?" inquired Matty, as the lad stepped aside to let them pass.

"Yes, I was. Does Miss