“I wish I was at liberty,” said Arthur; “I would take them for you.”
“Look here, Channing,” said the organist. “Since I had this information of old Jupp’s, my brain has been worrying itself pretty well, as you may imagine. Now, there’s no one I would rather trust to take the week-day services than you, for you are fully capable, and I have trained you into my own style of playing: I never could get Jupp entirely into it; he is too fond of noise and flourishes. It has struck me that perhaps Mr. Galloway might spare you: his office is not overdone with work, and I would make it worth your while.”
Arthur, somewhat bewildered at the proposal, sat down on one of the stools, and stared.
“You will not be offended at my saying this. I speak in consequence of your telling me, this morning, you could not afford to go on with your lessons,” continued the organist. “But for that, I should not have thought of proposing such a thing to you. What capital practice it would be for you, too!”
“The best proof to convince you I am not offended, is to tell you what brings me here now,” said Arthur in a cordial tone. “I understood, this morning, that you were at a loss for some one to undertake the copying of the cathedral music: I have come to ask you to give it to me.”
“You may have it, and welcome,” said Mr. Williams. “That’s nothing; I want to know about the services.”
“It would take me an hour, morning and afternoon, from the office,” debated Arthur. “I wonder whether Mr. Galloway would let me go an hour earlier and stay an hour later to make up for it?”
“You can put the question to him. I dare say he will: especially as he is on terms of friendship with your father. I would give you—let me see,” deliberated the organist, falling into a musing attitude—“twelve pounds a quarter. Say fifty pounds a year; if you stay with me so long. And you should have nothing to do with the choristers: I’d practise them myself.”
Arthur’s face flushed. It was a great temptation: and the question flashed into his mind whether it would not be well to leave Mr. Galloway’s, as his prospects there appeared to be blighted, and embrace this, if that gentleman declined to allow him the necessary hours of absence. Fifty pounds a year! “And,” he spoke unconsciously aloud, “there would be the copying besides.”
“Oh, that’s not much,” cried the organist. “That’s paid by the sheet.”
“I should like it excessively!” exclaimed Arthur.
“Well, just turn it over in your mind. But you must let me know at once, Channing; by to-morrow at the latest. If you cannot take it, I must find some one else.”
Arthur Channing went out of the cathedral, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his heels. “Constance said that God would help us!” was his grateful thought.
Such a whirlwind of noise! Arthur, when he reached the cloisters, found himself in the midst of the college boys, who were just let out of school. Leaping, shouting, pushing, scuffling, playing, contending! Arthur had not so very long ago been a college boy himself, and enjoyed the fun.
“How are you, old fellows—jolly?”
They gathered around him. Arthur was a favourite with them; had been always, when he was in the school. The elder boys loftily commanded off the juniors, who had to retire to a respectful distance.
“I say, Channing, there’s the stunningest go!” began Bywater, dancing a triumphant hornpipe. “You know Jupp? Well, he has been and sent in word to Williams that he is going to die, or something of that sort, and it’s necessary he should be off on the spree, to get himself well again. Old Jupp came this morning, just as college was over, and said it: and Williams is in the jolliest rage; going to be left without any one to take the organ. It will just pay him out, for being such a tyrant to us choristers.”
“Perhaps I am going to take it,” returned Arthur.
“You?—what a cram!”
“It is not, indeed,” said Arthur. “I shall take it if I can get leave from Mr. Galloway. Williams has just asked me.”
“Is that true, Arthur?” burst forth Tom Channing, elbowing his way to the front.
“Now, Tom, should I say it if it were not true? I only hope Mr. Galloway will throw no difficulty in my way.”
“And do you mean to say that you are going to be cock over us choristers?” asked Bywater.
“No, thank you,” laughed Arthur. “Mr. Williams will best fill that honour. Bywater, has the mystery of the inked surplice come to light?”
“No, and be shot to it! The master’s in a regular way over it, though, and—”
“And what do you think?” eagerly interrupted Tod Yorke, whose face was ornamented with several shades of colour, blue, green, and yellow, the result of the previous day’s pugilistic encounter: “my brother Roland heard the master say he suspected one of the seniors.”
Arthur Channing looked inquiringly at Gaunt. The latter tossed his head haughtily. “Roland Yorke must have made some mistake,” he observed to Arthur. “It is perfectly out of the question that the master can suspect a senior. I can’t imagine where the school could have picked up the notion.”
Gaunt was standing with Arthur, as he spoke, and the three seniors, Channing, Huntley, and Yorke, happened to be in a line facing them. Arthur regarded them one by one. “You don’t look very like committing such a thing as that, any one of you,” he laughed. “It is curious where the notion can have come from.”
“Such absurdity!” ejaculated Gerald Yorke. “As if it were likely Pye would suspect one of us seniors! It’s not credible.”
“Not at all credible that you would do it,” said Arthur. “Had it been the result of accident, of course you would have hastened to declare it, any one of you three.”
As Arthur spoke, he involuntarily turned his eyes on the sea of faces behind the three seniors, as if searching for signs in some countenance among them, by which he might recognize the culprit.
“My goodness!” uttered the senior boy, to Arthur. “Had any one of those three done such a thing—accident or no accident—and not declared it, he’d get his name struck off the rolls. A junior may be pardoned for things that a senior cannot.”
“Besides, there’d be the losing his chance of the seniorship, and of the exhibition,” cried one from the throng of boys in the rear.
“How are you progressing for the seniorship?” asked Arthur, of the three. “Which of you stands the best chance?”
“I think Channing does,” freely spoke up Harry Huntley.
“Why?”
“Because our progress is so equal that I don’t think one will get ahead of another, so that the choice cannot be made that way; and Channing’s name stands first on the rolls.”
“Who is to know if they’ll give us fair play and no humbug?’ said Tom Channing.
“If they do, it will be what they have never given yet!” exclaimed Stephen Bywater. “Kissing goes by favour.”
“Ah, but I heard that the dean—”
At this moment a boy dashed into the throng, scattering it right and left. “Where are your eyes?” he whispered.
Close upon them was the dean. Arm in arm with him, in his hat and apron, walked the Bishop of Helstonleigh. The boys stood aside and took off their trenchers. The dean merely raised his hand in response to the salutation—he appeared to be deep in thought; but the bishop nodded freely among them.
“I heard that the dean found fault, the last time the exhibition fell, and said favour should never be shown again, so long as he was Dean of Helstonleigh,” said Harry Huntley, when the clergy were beyond hearing, continuing the sentence he had been interrupted in. “I say that, with fair play, it will be Channing’s; failing Channing, it will be mine; failing me, it will be Yorke’s.”
“Now, then!” retorted Gerald Yorke. “Why should you have the chance before me, pray?”
Huntley laughed. “Only that my name heads yours on the rolls.”
Once in three years there fell an exhibition for Helstonleigh College school, to send a boy to Oxford. It would be due the following Easter. Gaunt declined to compete for it; he would leave the school at Michaelmas; and it was a pretty generally understood thing that whichever of the three mentioned boys should be appointed senior in his place, would be presented with the exhibition. Channing and Yorke most ardently desired to gain it; both of them from the same motive—want of funds at home to take them to the university. If Tom Channing did not gain it, he was making up his mind to pocket pride, and go as a servitor. Yorke would not have done such a thing for the world; all the proud Yorke blood would be up in arms, at one of their name appearing as a servitor at Oxford. No. If Gerald Yorke should lose the exhibition, Lady Augusta must manage to screw out funds to send him. He and Tom Channing were alike designed for the Church. Harry Huntley had no such need: the son of a gentleman of good property, the exhibition was of little moment to him, in a pecuniary point of view; indeed, a doubt had been whispered amongst the boys, whether Mr. Huntley would allow Harry to take advantage of it, if he did gain it, for he was a liberal-minded and just man. Harry, of course, desired to be the successful one, for fame’s sake, just as ardently as did Channing and Yorke.
“I’m blessed if here isn’t that renowned functionary, Jack Ketch!”
The exclamation came from young Galloway. Limping in at one of the cloister doors, came the cloister porter, a surly man of sixty, whose temper was not improved by periodical attacks of lumbago. He and the college boys were open enemies. The porter would have rejoiced in denying them the cloisters altogether; and nothing had gladdened his grim old heart like the discussion which was said to have taken place between the dean and chapter, concerning the propriety of shutting out the boys and their noise from the cloisters, as a playground. He bore an unfortunate name—Ketch—and the boys, you may be very sure, did not fail to take advantage of it, joining to it sundry embellishments, more pointed than polite.
He came up, a ragged gig-whip in his hand, which he was fond of smacking round the throng of boys. He had never yet ventured to touch one of them, and perhaps it was just as well for him that he had not.
“Now, you boys! be off, with your hullabaloo! Is this a decent noise to make around gentlefolks’ doors? You don’t know, may be, as Dr. Burrows is in town.”
Dr. Burrows happened to live in a house which had a door opening to the cloisters. The boys retorted. The worst they gave Mr. Ketch was “chaff;” but his temper could bear anything better than that, especially if it was administered by the senior boy.
“Dear me, who’s this?” began Gaunt, in a tone of ultra politeness. “Boys, do you see this gentleman who condescends to accost us? I really believe it is Sir John Ketch. What’s that in his hand?—a piece of rope? Surely, Mr. Ketch, you have not been turning off that unfortunate prisoner who was condemned yesterday? Rather hasty work, sir; was it not?”
Mr. Ketch foamed. “I tell you what it is, sir. You be the senior boy, and, instead of restraining these wicked young reptiles, you edges ‘em on! Take care, young gent, as I don’t complain of you to the dean. Seniors have been hoisted afore now.”
“Have they, really? Well, you ought to know, Mr. Calcraft. There’s the dean, just gone out of the cloisters; if you make haste, Calcraft, you’ll catch him up. Put your best foot foremost, and ask him if he won’t report Mr. Gaunt for punishment.”
The porter could have danced with rage; and his whip was smacking ominously. He did not dare advance it too near the circle when the senior boy was present, or indeed, when any of the elder boys were.
“How’s your lumbago, Mr. Ketch?” demanded Stephen Bywater. “I’d advise you to get rid of that, before the next time you go on duty; it might be in your way, you know. Never was such a thing heard of, as for the chief toppler-off of the three kingdoms to be disabled in his limbs! What would you do? I’m afraid you’d be obliged to resign your post, and sink into private life.”
“Now I just vow to goodness, as I’ll do all I can to get these cloisters took from you boys,” shrieked old Ketch, clasping his hands together. “There’s insults as flesh and blood can’t stand; and, as sure as I’m living, I’ll pay you out for it.”
He turned tail and hobbled off, as he spoke, and the boys raised “three groans for Jack Ketch,” and then rushed away by the other entrance to their own dinners. The fact was, the porter had brought ill will upon himself, through his cross-grained temper. He had no right whatever to interfere between the boys and the cloisters; it was not his place to do so. The king’s scholars knew this; and, being spirited king’s scholars, as they were, would not stand it.
“Tom,” said Arthur Channing, “don’t say anything at home about the organ. Wait and see if I get it, first. Charley did not hear; he was ordered off with the juniors.”
CHAPTER VIII. – THE ASSISTANT-ORGANIST
Things often seem to go by the rule of contrary. Arthur returned to the office at two o’clock, brimful of the favour he was going to solicit of Mr. Galloway; but he encountered present disappointment. For the first time for many weeks, Mr. Galloway did not make his appearance in the office at all; he was out the whole of the afternoon. Roland Yorke, to whom Arthur confided the plan, ridiculed it.
“Catch me taking such a task upon myself! If I could play the organ like a Mendelssohn, and send the folks into ecstasies, I’d never saddle myself with the worry of doing it morning and afternoon. You’ll soon be sick of the bargain, Channing.”
“I should never be sick of it, if I did it for nothing: I am too fond of music for that. And it will be a very easy way of earning money.”
“Not so easy as making your mother stump up,” was the reply. And if your refinement turns from the expression, my good reader, I am sorry you should have to read it; but it is what Mr. Roland Yorke said. “I had a regular scene with Lady Augusta this morning. It’s the most unreasonable thing in the world, you know, Channing, for her to think I can live without money, and so I told her—said I must and would have it, in fact.”
“Did you get it?”
“Of course I did. I wanted to pay Simms, and one or two more trifles that were pressing; I was not going to have the fellow here after me again. I wish such a thing as money had never been invented!”
“You may as well wish we could live without eating.”
“So I do, sometimes—when I go home, expecting a good dinner, and there’s only some horrid cold stuff upon the table. There never was a worse housekeeper than Lady Augusta. It’s my belief, our servants must live like fighting cocks; for I am sure the bills are heavy enough, and we don’t get the benefit of them.”
“What made you so late this afternoon?” asked Arthur.
“I went round to pay Simms, for one thing; and then I called in upon Hamish, and stayed talking with him. Wasn’t he in a sea of envy when I told him I had been scoring off that Simms! He wished he could do the same.”
“Hamish does not owe anything to Simms!” cried Arthur, with hasty retort.
“Doesn’t he?” laughed Roland Yorke. “That’s all you know about it. Ask him yourself.”
“If you please, sir,” interposed Mr. Jenkins, at this juncture, “I shall soon be waiting for that paper. Mr. Galloway directed me to send it off by post.”
“Bother the paper!” returned Roland; but, nevertheless, he applied himself to complete it. He was in the habit of discoursing upon private topics before Jenkins without any reserve, regarding him as a perfect nonentity.
When Arthur went home in the evening, he found Mr. Galloway sitting with his father. “Well,” cried the proctor, as Arthur entered, “and who has been at the office this afternoon?”
“No one in particular, sir. Oh yes, there was, though—I forgot. The dean looked in, and wanted to see you.”
“What did he want?”
“He did not say, sir. He told Jenkins it would do another time.” Arthur left his father and Mr. Galloway together. He did not broach the subject that was uppermost in his heart. Gifted with rare delicacy of feeling, he would not speak to Mr. Galloway until he could see him alone. To prefer the request in his father’s presence might have caused Mr. Galloway more trouble in refusing it.
“I can’t think what has happened to Arthur this evening!” exclaimed one of them. “His spirits are up to fever heat. Tell us what it is, Arthur?”
Arthur laughed. “I hope they will not be lowered to freezing point within the next hour; that’s all.”
When he heard Mr. Galloway leaving, he hastened after him, and overtook him in the Boundaries.
“I wanted to say a few words to you, sir, if you please?”
“Say on,” said Mr. Galloway. “Why did you not say them indoors?”
“I scarcely know how I shall say them now, sir; for it is a very great favour that I have to ask you, and you may be angry, perhaps, at my thinking you might grant it.”
“You want a holiday, I suppose?”
“Oh no, sir; nothing of that sort. I want—”
“Well?” cried Mr. Galloway, surprised at his hesitation; but now that the moment of preferring the request had come, Arthur shrank from doing it.
“Could you allow me, sir—would it make very much difference—to allow me—to come to the office an hour earlier, and remain in it an hour later?” stammered Arthur.
“What for?” exclaimed Mr. Galloway, with marked surprise.
“I have had an offer made me, sir, to take the cathedral organ at week-day service. I should very much like to accept it, if it could be managed.”
“Why, where’s Jupp?” uttered Mr. Galloway.
“Jupp has resigned. He is ill, and is going out for his health. I’ll tell you how it all happened,” went on Arthur, losing diffidence now that he was fairly launched upon his subject. “Of course, this failure of the suit makes a great difference to our prospects at home; it renders it incumbent upon us to do what we can to help—”
“Why does it?” interrupted Mr. Galloway. “It may make a difference to your future ease, but it makes none to your present means.”
“There is money wanted in many ways, sir; a favourable termination to the suit was counted upon so certainly. For one thing, it is necessary that my father should try the German baths.”
“Of course, he must try them,” cried Mr. Galloway.
“But it will cost money, sir,” deprecated Arthur. “Altogether, we have determined to do what we can. Constance has set us the example, by engaging herself as daily governess at Lady Augusta’s. She goes on Monday.”
“Very commendable of her,” observed the proctor, who loved a gossip like any old woman. “I hope she’ll not let those two unruly girls worry her to death.”
“And I was casting about in my mind, this morning, what I could do to help, when I met the organist,” proceeded Arthur. “He chanced to say that he could find no one to take the music copying. Well, sir, I thought it over, and at one o’clock I went to ask him to give it to me. I found him at the organ, in a state of vexation. Jupp had resigned his post, and Mr. Williams had no one to replace him. The long and the short of it is, sir, that he offered it to me.”
“And did you accept it?” crossly responded Mr. Galloway.
“Of course I could not do that, sir, until I had spoken to you. If it were possible that I could make up the two hours to you, I should be very glad to take it.”
“And do it for nothing, I suppose?”
“Oh no. He would give me fifty pounds a year. And there would be the copying besides.”
“That’s a great deal!” cried Mr. Galloway. “It appears to me to be good pay,” replied Arthur. “But he would lose a great deal more than that, if he had to attend the cathedral himself. He said it would ruin his teaching.”
“Ah! self-interest—two for himself and one for you!” ejaculated the proctor. “What does Mr. Channing say?”
“I have said nothing at home. It was of no use telling them, until I had spoken to you. Now that my prospects are gone—”
“What prospects?” interrupted Mr. Galloway.
“My articles to you, sir. Of course there’s no chance of that now.”
Mr. Galloway grunted. “The ruin that Chancery suits work! Mark you, Arthur Channing, this is such a thing as was never asked a proctor before—leave of absence for two hours in the best part of the day! If I grant it, it will be out of the great friendship I bear your father.”
“Oh, sir! I shall never forget the obligation.”
“Take care you don’t. You must come and work for two hours before breakfast in a morning.”
“Willingly—readily!” exclaimed Arthur Channing, his face glowing. “Then may I really tell Mr. Williams that I can accept it?”
“If I don’t say yes, I suppose you’d magnify me into a sullen old bear, as bad as Ketch, the porter. You may accept it. Stop!” thundered Mr. Galloway, coming to a dead standstill.
Arthur was startled. “What now, sir?”
“Are you to be instructor to those random animals, the choristers?”
“Oh no: I shall have nothing to do with that.”
“Very good. If you had taken to them, I should have recommended you to guard against such a specimen of singing as was displayed the other day before the judges.”
Arthur laughed; spoke a word of heartfelt thanks; and took his way off-hand to the residence of the organist as light as any bird.
“I have obtained leave, Mr. Williams; I may take your offer!” he exclaimed with scant ceremony, when he found himself in that gentleman’s presence, who was at tea with his wife. “Mr. Galloway has authorized me to accept it. How do you do, Mrs. Williams?”
“That’s a great weight off my mind, then!” cried the organist. “I set that dolt of an apprentice of mine to play the folks out of college, this afternoon, when service was over, and—of all performances! Six mistakes he made in three bars, and broke down at last. I could have boxed his ears. The dean was standing below when I went down. ‘Who was that playing, Mr. Williams?’ he demanded. So, I told him about Jupp’s ill-behaviour in leaving me, and that I had offered the place to you. ‘But is Channing quite competent?’ cried he—for you know what a fine ear for music the dean has:—‘besides,’ he added, ‘is he not at Galloway’s?’ I said we hoped Mr. Galloway would spare you, and that I would answer for your competency. So, mind, Channing, you must put on the steam, and not disgrace my guarantee. I don’t mean the steam of noise, or that you should go through the service with all the stops out.”
Arthur laughed; and, declining the invitation to remain and take tea, he went out. He was anxious to declare the news at home. A few steps on his road, he overtook Hamish.
“Where do you spring from?” exclaimed Hamish, passing his arm within Arthur’s.
“From concluding an agreement that will bring me in fifty pounds a year,” said Arthur.
“Gammon, Master Arthur!”
“It is not gammon, Hamish. It is sober truth.”
Hamish turned and looked at him, aroused by something in the tone. “And what are you to do for it?”
“Just pass a couple of hours a day, delighting my own ears and heart. Do you remember what Constance said, last night? Hamish, it is wonderful, that this help should so soon have come to me!”
“Stay! Where are you going?” interrupted Hamish, as Arthur was turning into a side-street.
“This is the nearest way home.”
“I had rather not go that way.”
“Why?” exclaimed Arthur, in surprise. “Hamish, how funny you look! What is the matter?”
“Must I tell you? It is for your ear alone, mind. There’s a certain tradesman’s house down there that I’d rather not pass; he has a habit of coming out and dunning me. Do you remember Mr. Dick Swiveller?”
Hamish laughed gaily. He would have laughed on his road to prison: it was in his nature. But Arthur seemed to take a leap from his high ropes. “Is it Simms?” he breathed.
“No, it is not Simms. Who has been telling you anything about Simms, Arthur? It is not so very much that I owe Simms. What is this good luck of yours?”
Arthur did not immediately reply. A dark shadow had fallen upon his spirit, as a forerunner of evil.