The Definite Object

Chapter 15

WHICH INTRODUCES JOE AND THE OLD UN

The clocks were striking nine as, according to his custom of late, Geoffrey Ravenslee trundled his barrow blithely along Thirty-eighth Street, halting now and then at the shrill, imperious summons of some small customer, or by reason of the congestion of early traffic, or to swear whole-heartedly and be sworn at by some indignant Jehu. At length he came to Eleventh Avenue and to a certain quarter where the whistle of a peanut barrow was seldom heard, and peanuts were a luxury.

And here, in a dismal, small street hard by the river, behold Ravenslee halt his gaily painted pushcart, whereat a shrill clamour arises that swells upon the air, a joyous babel; and forth from small and dismal homes, from narrow courts and the purlieus adjacent, his customers appear. They race, they gambol, they run and toddle, for these customers are very small and tender and grimy, but each small face is alight with joyous welcome, and they hail him with rapturous acclaim. Even the few tired-looking mothers, peeping from windows or glancing from doorways, smile and nod and forget awhile their weariness in the children's delight, as Ravenslee, the battered hat c****d at knowing angle, proceeds to "business." Shrill voices supplicate him, little feet patter close around him, small hands, eagerly outstretched, appeal to him. Anon rise shrieks and infantile crowings of delight as each small hand is drawn back grasping a plump paper bag--shrieks and crowings that languish and die away, one by one, since no human child may shriek properly and chew peanuts at one and the same time. And in a while, his stock greatly diminished, Ravenslee trundles off and leaves behind him women who smile still and small boys and girls who munch in a rapturous silence.

On he went, his oven whistling soft and shrill, his long legs striding between the shafts, until, reaching a certain bleak corner, he halted again, though to be sure there were few people hereabouts and no children. But upon the opposite corner was a saloon, with a large annex and many outbuildings behind, backing upon the river, and Ravenslee, lounging on the handles of his barrow, examined this unlovely building with keen eye from beneath his hat brim, for above the swing doors appeared the words:

O'ROURKE'S SALOON

He was in the act of lighting his pipe when the doors of the saloon were swung open, and three men came out, in one of whom he recognised the tall, powerful figure and broad shoulders of Bud M'Ginnis; his companions were remarkable, but in very opposite ways, the one being slender and youthful and very smartly dressed, with a face which, despite its seeming youth, was strangely haggard and of an unhealthy pallor, while the other was plethoric, red-faced and middle-aged, a man hoarse of voice and roughly clad, and Ravenslee noticed that this fellow lacked the upper half of one ear.

"Saturday night, mind!" said M'Ginnis, loud and authoritative.

"But say, Bud," demanded the smartly dressed youth, "what's coming to us on that last deal?"

"Nix--that's what you get, Soapy!" The youth's pale cheek grew livid.

"So you've got the deck stacked against us, eh, Bud?" said he.

"I got a close mouth, Soapy, I guess you don't want me t' open it very wide--now or any other old time. Saturday night, mind!" and nodding, M'Ginnis turned away. The youth looked after him with venomous eyes, and his right hand made a sinister movement toward his hip pocket.

"Aw--quit it; are ye crazy?" grunted his companion. "Bud's got us cinched."

"Got us--hell!" snarled the youth. "Bud's askin' for it, an' some day he's goin' t' get it--good!"

Toward afternoon, Ravenslee was trundling light-heartedly eastward, his barrow emptied to the last peanut. Having reached Fifth Avenue, he paused to mop his perspiring brow when a long, low automobile, powerfully engined, that was creeping along behind, pulled up with a sudden jerk, and its driver, whose immense shoulders were clad in a very smart livery, pushed up the peak of his smart cap to run his fingers through his close-cropped hair, while his mild blue eyes grew very wide and round.

"Crikey!" said he at last. "Is that you, sir, or ain't it?"

"How much?" demanded Ravenslee gruffly.

"Crumbs!" said the chauffeur. "Sir, if you--ain't you, all I say is--I ain't me!"

"Aw--what's bitin' ye, bo?" growled Ravenslee.

"Well, if this ain't the rummest go, I'm a perisher!"

"Say, now, crank up d' machine an' beat it while d' goin' 's good. How's that, Joe?"

"Lord, Mr. Ravenslee--so you are my guv'nor, and blow me tight--shoving a barrer! I knowed it was you, sir; leastways I knowed your legs an' the set o' them shoulders, but--with a barrer! Excuse me, sir, but the idea o' you pushing a perishing peanut barrer so gay an' 'appy-'earted--well, all I can say is love-a-duck!"

"Well now, cut along, Joe, and get ready. I mean to put in some real hard work with you this afternoon."

"Right-o, sir!" nodded Joe eagerly. "Lord, but we've missed you terrible--the Old Un an' me."

"Glad of it, Joe! Tell Patterson to have my bath ready when we've finished. Off with you--drive in the Fifth Avenue entrance."

Joe nodded, and the big car turned and crept silently away, while Ravenslee, trundling onward, turned off to the left and so into a very large, exceedingly neat garage where stood five or six automobiles of various patterns in one of which, a luxurious limousine, an old, old man snored blissfully. At the rumble of the barrow, however, this ancient being choked upon a snore, coughed, swore plaintively, and finally sat up. Perceiving Ravenslee, he blinked, rubbed his eyes, and stepping from the car very nimbly despite his years, faced the intruder with a ferocious scowl.

He was indeed a very ancient man, though very nattily dressed from spotless collar to shiny patent leather shoes, a small, dandified, bright-eyed man whose broken nose and battered features bore eloquent testimony to long and hard usage.

"'Ook it!" he croaked, with square bony jaw fiercely outthrust. "We don't want no peanuts 'ere, d'j 'ear? 'Op off, 'ook it before I break every blessed bone in yer bloomin' body!"

"What, Old Un, don't you know me, either?"

"Lumme!" exclaimed the little old man, blinking beneath hoary brows. "Ho, lor' lumme, it's 'im! Blimy, it's the Guv'nor--'ow do, Guv!" and shooting immaculate cuffs over bony wrists he extended a clawlike hand.

"How are you, Old Un?"

"Well, sir, what with the rheumatix an' a stiff j'int or two an' a touch o' lumbager, not to mention all my other ailments, I ain't quite s' spry as I was!"

"But you look very well!"

"That's where your heyes deceives you, Guv. A great sufferer I be, though patient under haffliction, ho, yus--except for a swear now an' then which do me a power o' good--yus! If I was to tell you all the woes as my poor old carkiss is hair to, you could write a book on 'em--a big 'un. I got everything the matter wi' me, I 'ave, from a thick ear an' broke nose as I took in Brummagem sixty an' five years ago to a hactive liver."

"A what?" enquired Ravenslee.

"A hactive liver. Lord, Guv, my liver gets that hactive lately as I can't set still--Joe knows, ax Joe! All as I ain't got o' human woes is toothache, not 'avin' no teeth to ache, y' see, an' them s' rotten as it 'ud make yer 'eart bleed. An' then I get took short o' breath--look at me now, dang it!"

"Why, then, sit down, Old Un," said Ravenslee, drawing up a somewhat worn armchair. "Joe and I are going at it hard and fast this afternoon, and I want you to time the rounds." And he proceeded to remove his garments.

"Oh, j'y!" cried the Old Un, hugging himself in bony arms. "Oh, j'yful words. Ah, but you peels like a good un, sir," he croaked, viewing white flesh and bulging muscle with knowing old eyes, "good an' long in the arm an' wide slope o' shoulder. You might ha' done well in the ring if you'd been blessed wi' poverty an' I'd 'ad the 'andling of ye--a world's unbeat champion, like Joe. A good fighter were I an' a wonnerful trainer! Ho, yus, I might ha' made a top-notcher of ye if you 'adn't been cursed wi' money."

"I suppose," said Ravenslee thoughtfully, "I suppose Joe was one of the best all-round fighting men that ever climbed into a ring?"

"Ah--that 'e were! Joe were better 'n the best--only don't let 'im 'ear me say so, 'e 'd be that puffed up--Lord! But nobody could beat Joe--black, yaller or white; they all tried danged 'ard, but Joe were a world-beater--y' see, I trained Joe! An' to-day 'e 's as good as ever 'e was. Y' see, Joe's allus lived clean, sir, consequent Joe's sound, wind an' limb. Joe could go back an' beat all these fancy bruisers and stringy young champs to-day--if 'e only would--but don't let 'im 'ear me say so."

"You're fond of Joe, Old Un?"

"An' why for not, sir--s' long as 'e don't know it? Didn't 'e look arter poor old me when 'e 'ad money, an' when 'e lost everything, didn't 'e look arter me still? An' now 'e 's your shuvver, don' 'e keep a roof over me poor old 'ead like a son--don't 'e give me the run o' jour garridge an' let me watch 'im spar wi' you an' your gentlemen friends? Ain't 'e the best an' truest-'earted man as ever drawed breath? Ah, a king o' men is Joe, in the ring an' out, sir--only never let 'im 'ear me say so--'e 'd be that proud, Lord! there'd be no livin' wi' 'im--sh, 'ere 'e be, sir."

Joe had laid by his chauffeur's garb and looked even bigger and grimmer in flannels and sweater.

"Ho you, Joe," cried the old man, scowling, "did ye bring me that 'bacca?"

"S'posin' I didn't?" demanded Joe.

"Then dang ye--twice!"

"An' s'posin' I did?"

"Then--give it 'ere!"

"An' that's his gratitood, sir!" growled Joe, shaking his head and giving the packet into the old man's clutching fingers. "A unnat'ral old bag-o'-bones, that's what 'e is, sir!"

"Bones!" croaked the Old Un viciously. "Bag-o'-bones am I? Yah--look at ye'self--pork, that's what you are, all run to pork an' blubber an' fat, Joe, me pore lad--"

"Fat!" growled Joe. "Y' know I ain't fat; y' know I'm as good a man as ever I was--look at that, you old sarpent!" And he smote himself with mighty fist--a blow to fell an ox. "Fat, am I?"

"As--lard!" nodded the old man, filling half an inch of blackened clay pipe with trembling fingers, "as a 'og--"

"Now my crumbs--" began Joe fiercely.

"You're flabby an' soft, me pore lad," grinned the old man. "Flabby as a babby an' soft as a woman an' fat as a--"

Joe reached out very suddenly, and picking up the old man, armchair and all, shook him to and fro until he croaked for mercy.

"Lor' gorramighty!" he panted, as Joe set him down again.

"Fat, am I?" demanded Joe, scowling.

"Fat as a 'og--fat as forty bloomin' 'ogs!" cried the old man vindictively. "An' what's more, your wind's all gone--you couldn't go five rounds wi' a good 'un!"

"Couldn't I?"

"No!" shrieked the Old Un, "you'd be 'anging on an' blowing like a grampus!"

"Should I?"

"Ah--like a grampus!"

"Right-o!" nodded Joe, turning away, "no jam for your tea to-night."

"Eh, what--what, would ye rob a pore old man of 'is jam, Joe--a pore afflicted old cove as is dependent on ye 'and an' fut, Joe--a pore old gaffer as you've just shook up to that degree as 'is pore old liver is a-bobbin' about in 'is innards like a jelly. Joe, ye couldn't be so 'eartless!"

"Ah, but I can!" nodded Joe. "An' if ye give me any more lip, it'll be no sugar in ye tea--"

"No sugar!" wailed the Old Un, then clenching a trembling old fist, he shook it in Joe's scowling face. "Then dang ye--three times!" he cried. "What's the old song say?

"'Dang the man with three times three Who in 'is 'eathen rage Can 'arm a 'armless man like me Who's 'ead is bowed wi' age!'

"An' there's for ye. Now listen again:

"'Some men is this an' some is that, But 'ere's a truth I know: A fightin' cove who's run to fat Is bound t' puff an' blow!'

"An' there's for ye again!"

Saying which, the Old Un nodded ferociously and proceeded to light his fragmentary pipe. During this colloquy Ravenslee had laid by his shabby clothes and now appeared clad and shod for the ring.

"Sir," said Joe, taking a set of gloves from a locker, "if you are ready to box a round or so--"

"Why, no," answered Ravenslee, "I don't want to box to-day, Joe."

"Eh?" said Joe, staring, "not?"

"I want to fight, Joe."

"To--fight, sir?" repeated Joe.

"Fight?" cried the Old Un rapturously. "Oh, music--sweet music t' me old ears! Fight? Oh, j'yful words! What's the old song say?

"''Appy is the first as goes To black a eye or punch a nose!'"

"Get the mufflers on, Joe; get 'em on an' don't stand staring like a fool!"

"But, sir," said Joe, his mild eyes kindling, "d' ye mean as you want--the real thing?"

"To-day," said Ravenslee, "instead of boxing a round or two with Joe Madden, my chauffeur and mechanic, I want to see how long I can stand up to Joe Madden, undefeated champion of the world."

Joe's lean cheek flushed and he looked Ravenslee over with eyes of yearning; noted the thin flanks and slender legs that showed speed, the breadth of shoulder and long arms that spoke strength, and the deep, arched chest that showed endurance; Joe looked and sighed and shook his head.

"Sir," said he, "I honour and respect you to that degree as it would be a joy to fight such a man as you and a rare privilege t' knock you down--but, sir, if I was to knock ye down--"

"You'd earn a five-dollar bill."

"Five dollars--for knockin' you down, sir?"

"Every time!" nodded Ravenslee.

"But Lord, sir--"

"Shut up, Joe, shut up," snarled the Old Un, hopping out of the armchair. "Don't gape like a perishin' fish; come on up-stairs an' knock the Guv'nor down like 'e tells ye--an' 'arves on the money, mind; it was me as taught ye all you know or ever will, so 'arves on the money, Joe, 'arves on the money. Come on, Joe--d'j 'ear?"

"Crumbs!" said Joe.

"Look at 'im. Guv--look at 'im!" shrieked the old man, dancing to and fro in his impatience, "'ere's a chance for 'im to earn a pore old cove a bit o' 'bacca money, an', what's better still, t' show a pore old fightin' man a bit o' real sport--an' there 'e stands, staring like a perishing pork pig! Blimy, Guv, get behind an' 'elp me to shove 'im up-stairs."

"But, crikey, sir!" said Joe, "five dollars every time I--"

"Yus, yus, you bloomin' hadjective--two dollars fifty for each of us! 'Urry up, oh, 'urry up afore 'e changes 'is mind an' begins to 'edge."

So Joe follows his "Guv'nor" and the Old Un up a flight of stairs and into a large chamber fitted as a gymnasium, where are four roped and padded posts socketed into the floor; close by is a high-backed armchair in which the Old Un seats himself with an air of heavy portent.

But when Joe would have ducked under the ropes, the Old Un stayed him with an imperious gesture, and, clambering into the ring, advanced to the centre and bowed gravely as if to a countless multitude.

"Gentlemen," he piped in his shrill old voice, "I take pleasure to introduce Joe Madden, undefeated 'eavyweight champion o' the world, an' the Guv--both members of this club an' both trained by me, Jack Bowser, once lightweight champion of England an' hall the Americas. Gentlemen, it will be a fight to a finish--Markis o' Queensberry rules. Gentlemen--I thank ye." Having said which, the Old Un bowed again, gravely stepped from the ring, and ensconcing himself in the armchair, drew out a large and highly ornate watch, while Ravenslee and Joe vaulted over the ropes.

Behold them facing each other, the brown-skinned fighting man wise in ringcraft and champion of a hundred fights, and the white-fleshed athlete, each alike clean and bright of eye, light-poised of foot, quivering for swift action, while the Old Un looks needfully from one to the other, watch in one bony hand, the other upraised.

"Get ready!" he croaked. "Go!"

Comes immediately a quick, light tread of rubber-soled feet and the flash of white arms as they circle about and about, feinting, watchful and wary. Twice Ravenslee's fist shoots out and twice is blocked by Joe's open glove, and once he ducks a vicious swing and lands a half-arm jolt that makes Joe grin and stagger, whereat the Old Un, standing upon his chair, hugs himself in an ecstasy, and forgetful of such small matters as five-dollar bills, urges, prays, beseeches, and implores the Guv to "wallop the blighter on the p'int, to stab 'im on the mark, and to jolt 'im in the kidney-pit."

"Go it, Guv!" he shrieked, "go it! In an' out again, that's it--Gorramighty, I never see sich speed. Oh, keep at 'im, Guv--make 'im cover up--sock it into 'im, Guv! Ho, lumme, what footwork--you're as quick as lightweights--oh, 'appy, 'appy day! Go to it, both on ye!"

And "to it" they went, with jabs and jolts, hooks and swings, with cunning feints and lightning counters until the place echoed and reechoed to the swift tramp of feet and dull thudding of blows, while the Old Un, hugging himself in long, bony arms, chuckled and choked and rocked himself to and fro in an ecstasy; moreover, when Joe, uttering a grunt, reeled back against the ropes, the Old Un must needs shriek and dance and crow with delight until, bethinking him of his duty, he checked his excitement, seated himself in the armchair again, and announced: "Time! End o' round one."

And it is to be noticed that as they sit down to take their two minutes' rest, neither Ravenslee nor Joe, for all their exertions, seem unduly distressed in their breathing.

"Sir," says Joe, looking his pupil over, "you're uncommon quick on your pins; never knowed a quicker--did you, Old Un?"

"No, me lad--never in all me days!"

"An' you've sure-ly got a punch, sir. Ain't 'e, Old Un?"

"Like a perishin' triphammer!" nodded the Old Un. "Likewise, sir, you've a wonderful judgment o' distance--but, sir, you need experience!"

"That's what I'm after, Joe."

"And you take too many chances; you ain't larned caution yet."

"That you must teach me, Joe."

"Which I surely will, sir. In the next round, subject to no objection, I propose to knock ye down, sir."

"Which means two dollars fifty for each on us, Joe--mind that," added the Old Un.

"So fight more cautious, sir, do," pleaded Joe, "and--look out."

"Time!" croaked the Old Un. "Round two! And Guv, look out for yer p'int, cover yer mark, an' keep a heye on yer kidney-pit!"

Once again they faced each other, but this time it was Joe who circled quick and catlike, massive shoulders bowed, knees bent, craggy chin grim and firm-set, but blue eyes serene and mild as ever. A moment's silent sparring, a quick tread of feet, and Joe feints Ravenslee into an opening, swings for his chin, misses by an inch, and ducking a vicious counter, drives home a smashing body-blow and, staggering weakly, Ravenslee goes down full length.

"Shook ye up a bit, sir?" enquired Joe, running up with hands outstretched, "take a rest, now do, sir."

"No, no," answered Ravenslee, springing to his feet, "the Old Un hasn't called 'Time' yet."

"Not me!" piped the old man, "not bloomin' likely! Go to it, both on ye--mind, that's two-fifty for me, Joe!"

What need is there to tell the numerous feints, the lightning shifts, the different tricks of in-fighting and all the cunning strategy and ringcraft that Joe brought to bear and carefully explained between rounds? Suffice it that at the end of a certain fierce "mix up", as Ravenslee sat outstretched and panting, the white flesh of arms and broad chest discovered many livid marks and patches that told their tale; also one elbow was grazed and bleeding, and one knee showed signs of contact with the floor.

"Joe," said he, when his wind was somewhat recovered, "that makes it thirty dollars I owe you, I think?"

"Why, sir," said Joe, who also showed some slight signs of wear, but whose breathing was soft and regular, "why, sir, you couldn't call that last one a real knockdown--"

"You 'm a liar, Joe, a liar!" cried the Old Un. "Blimy, Guv, Joe's a-tellin' you crackers, s' help me--your 'ands touched the floor, didn't they?"

"And my knees, too," nodded Ravenslee, "also my elbow--no, that was last time or the time before."

"Well, then, tell this lying Joe-lad o' mine as 'e surely did knock ye down. Lord, Joe!" cried the Old Un, waxing pathetic, "'ow can ye go takin' money from a pore old cove like I be. Joe, I blushes for ye--an'--Time, Time there, both on ye!"

"But we don't want any more, do we, sir?" enquired Joe.

"Why, yes, I think I can go another round or so."

"There y' are, Joe, the Guv's surely a game cove. So get at it, me lad, an' try an' knock it up to fifty dollars--'arves, Joe, mind!"

"But, sir," began Joe, eyeing the livid blotches on Ravenslee's white skin, "don't ye think--"

"Time--oh, Time, Time!" shrieked the Old Un. Whereupon Ravenslee sprang to the centre of the ring, and once again the air resounded with tramp of feet and pant of breath. Twice Ravenslee staggers beneath Joe's mighty left, but watchful ever and having learned much, Ravenslee keeps away, biding his time--ducks a swing, sidesteps a drive, and blocking a vicious hook--smacks home his long left to Joe's ribs, rocks him with a swinging uppercut, drives in a lightning left and right, and Joe goes down with a crash.

Even while the Old Un stared in wide-eyed, gaping amaze, Joe was on his feet again, serene and calm as ever, only his great chest laboured somewhat, but Ravenslee shook his head.

"I guess that'll be about enough, Joe," said he.

"Guv," cried the Old Un, seizing Ravenslee's right hand, boxing glove and all, and shaking it to and fro, "you're a credit to us, you do us bloomin' proud--strike me pink, ye do! 'Ere 's Joe 'ammered you an' 'ammered you--look at your bloomin' chest--lumme! 'Ere 's Joe been knockin' ye down an' knockin' ye down, an' you comin' up smilin' for more an' gettin' it--'ere's Joe been a-poundin' of ye all over the ring, yet you can finish strong an' speedy enough to put Joe down--blimy, Guv, you're a wonder an' no error!"

"I don't think Joe fought his hardest, Old Un."

"If 'e didn't," cried the old man, "I'll punch 'im on the nose so 'e won't never smell nothink no more."

"Sir," said Joe, "in the first round p'raps I did go a bit easylike, but arter that I came at you as 'ard an' 'eavy as I could. I 'it you where an' 'ow I could, barrin' your face."

"I hope I shall soon be good enough for you to go for my face as well, Joe."

"But, sir--if I give you a black eye--"

"How will--say, ten dollars do?"

"Ten dollars! For blacking your eye, sir?"

"Lumme, Joe!" cried the Old Un, "get back into the ring and black 'em both--"

"Shut up!" said Joe, scowling down into the Old Un's eager face, "you 'eartless old bloodsucker, you!"

"Bloodsucker!" screamed the old man, "w'ot, me? I'll punch you on the ear-'ole, Joe, so's you never 'ear nothin' no more."

"Are you on, Joe?" asked Ravenslee, while the Old Un, swearing softly, unlaced his gloves.

"But, crumbs, sir--axin' your pardon, things'll come a bit expensive, won't they? Y' see--"

"So much the better, ye blighted perisher!" snarled the Old Un, "an' don't forget as the Guv owes you thirty dollars a'ready--an' 'arves, mind."

"Stow it, you old bag o' wickedness--"

"Bag o'--" the Old Un let fall the boxing gloves and turning on Joe, reached up and shook a feeble old fist under the champion's massive chin. "Look at this, me lad--look at this!" he croaked. "Some day I shall ketch you sich a perishin' punch as'll double ye up till kingdom come, me lad, and--Lord, the Guv's countin' out our money--"

"Thirty of 'em, Joe," said Ravenslee, holding out a wad of bills.

"Why, sir," said Joe, backing away, "axing yer pardon, but I'd rayther not--you give me such uncommon good wages, sir, and a bonus every race we run, win or lose--so, sir, I--I'd rayther not--"

"Not?" cried the Old Un, "not take money as is 'arf mine--Oh, kick 'im, somebody--kick 'im! Pound 'im for a pigeon-'earted perishin' pork pig--"

"That'll be no sugar in your tea t'night, old viciousness! But, sir, I'd rayther not--"

"Don't 'eed 'im, Guv--don't 'eed the flappin' flounder. If 'e wont obleege ye in a little matter like thirty dollars, I will--I'll always obleege you--"

"That's enough from you, old tombstones."

"Tombstones!" hissed the Old Un, scowling darkly and squaring his trembling fists, "all right, me lad, 'ere 's where I ketch ye one as'll flatten ye out till the day o' doom--"

Hereupon Joe caught him above the elbows, and lifting him in mighty hands that yet were gentle, seated the snarling old fellow in the armchair.

"Old Un," said he, shaking his finger, "if ye give me any more of it--off t' bed I take ye without any tea at all!" The Old Un, cowering beneath that portentous finger, swore plaintively and promptly subsided.

"And now," said Ravenslee, thrusting the money into Joe's reluctant hand, "when I make a bargain, I generally keep it. I wish all my money had been spent to such good purpose."

"What about me?" whined the old man humbly, "don't I get none, Joe-lad?"

"Not a cent, you old rasper!"

"Blimy, Guv, you won't forget a old cove as 'ud shed 'is best blood for ye?"

"The Guv'nor don't want yer blood, old skin-and-bones. And now, come on, sir--"

"Stay a minute, Joe, the Old Un generally keeps time for us when we spar rounds."

"That I do, Guv," cried the old man, "an' give ye advice worth its weight in solid gold; you owe me a lot, s' 'elp me."

"About how much?"

"Well, Guv, I ain't got me ledger-book 'andy, but roughly speakin' I should say about five or six 'undred dollars. But seein' you 's you an' I'm me--a old man true-'earted as never crossed nobody--let's say--fifteen dollars."

"Why, you old--thievin'--vagabone!" gasped Joe, as Ravenslee gravely handed over the money.

"Vagabone yourself!" said the Old Un, counting the bills over in trembling fingers. "The Guv wants a bath--take 'im away--'ook it, d'j 'ear?"

"Has Patterson got everything ready, Joe?" enquired Ravenslee, taking up his clothes.

"No, sir," mumbled Joe, "but I'll have ye bath ready in a jiffy, sir."

"But where's Patterson?"

"Well, 'e--'e 's out, sir."

"And the footmen?"

"They're out, sir."

"Oh! And the housekeeper--er--what's her name--Mrs. Smythe?"

"Gone to call on her relations, sir."

"Ah! And the maids?"

"Mrs. Smythe give 'em leave of habsence, sir. Y' see, sir," said Joe apologetically, "you're 'ere so seldom, sir."

"My servants are not exactly--er--worked to death, Joe?"

"No, sir."

"Manage to look after themselves quite well?"

"Yes, sir."

"It seems I need some one to look after them--and me."

"Yes, sir."

"A woman, Joe--one I can trust and honour and--what d' ye think?"

"I think--er--yes, sir."

"Well--what do you suggest?"

"Marry her, sir."

"Joe, that's a great idea! Shake hands! I surely will marry her--at once--if she'll have me."

"She'll have you, sir."

"Do you really think she will, Joe?"

"I'm dead certain, sir."

"Joe, shake again. I'll speak to her when she comes home. To-morrow's Saturday, isn't it?"

"As ever was, sir."

"Then, Joe--wish me luck; I'll ask her--to-morrow!"