The Story of Antony Grace. George Manville Fenn
sir.”
“Turn to the right, and then count four streets on the right-hand side. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go down that street about halfway, till you see a gaslight shining on a door with number twenty-seven upon it. Twenty-seven Caroline Street. Now, do you understand? Straight up to the top, and then it’s right, right, right, all the way.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good luck to you then, be off; here’s my sergeant.”
I should have stopped to thank him, but he hurried me away; and half forgetting my weariness, I went along the street, found at last the road at the end, followed it as directed, and then in the street of little houses found one where the light from the lamp shone as my guide had said.
I paused with the key in my hand, half fearing to use it, but summoning up my courage, I found the door opened easily and closed quietly, when I stood in a narrow passage with the stairs before me, and following them to the top, I hesitated, hardly knowing back from front. A deep heavy breathing from one room, however, convinced me that that could not be the back, so I tried the other door, to find it yield, and there was just light enough from the window to enable me to find the bed, on which I threw myself half dressed, and slept soundly till morning, when I opened my eyes to find Mr. Revitts taking off his stiff uniform coat.
“Look here, youngster,” he said, throwing himself upon the bed, “I dessay you’re tired, so don’t you get up. Have another nap, and then call me at ten, and we’ll have some breakfast. How—how—” he said, yawning.
“What did you say, sir?”
“How—Mary look?”
“Very well indeed, sir. She has looked much better lately, and—”
I stopped short, for a long-drawn breath from where Mr. Revitts had thrown himself upon the bed told me plainly enough that he was asleep.
I was too wakeful now to follow his example, and raising myself softly upon my elbow, I had a good look at my new friend, to see that he did not look so big and burly without his greatcoat, but all the same he was a stoutly built, fine-looking man, with a bluff, honest expression of countenance.
I stayed there for some minutes, thinking about him, and then about Mary, and Mr. Blakeford, and Hetty, and I wondered how the lawyer had got on before the magistrates without me. Then, rising as quietly as I could, I washed and finished dressing myself before sitting down to wait patiently for my host’s awakening.
The first hour passed very tediously, for there was nothing to see from the window but chimney-pots, and though it was early I began to feel that I had not breakfasted, and three hours or so was a long time to wait. The room was clean, but shabbily furnished, and as I glanced round offered little in the way of recreation, till my eyes lit on a set of hanging shelves with a few books thereon, and going on tiptoe across the room, I began to read their backs, considering which I should choose.
There was the “Farmer of Inglewood Forest,” close by the “Old English Baron,” with the “Children of the Abbey,” and “Robinson Crusoe.” Side by side with them was a gilt-edged Prayer-book, upon opening which I found that it was the property of “Mr. William Revitts, a present from his effectinat friend Mary Bloxam.” On the opposite leaf was the following verse:—
“When this yu see, remember me,
And bare me in yure mind;
And don’t forget old Ingerland,
And the lass yu lef behind.”
The Bible on the shelf was from the same source. Besides these were several books in shabby covers—Bogatsky’s “Golden Treasury,” the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and the “Young Man’s Best Companion.”
I stood looking at them for a few minutes, and then reached down poor old “Robinson Crusoe,” bore it to the window, and for the fourth time in my life began its perusal.
In a very short time my past troubles, my precarious future, and my present hunger were all forgotten, and I was far away from the attic in North London, watching the proceedings of Robinson in that wonderful island, having skipped over a good many of the early adventures for the sake of getting as soon as possible into that far-away home of mystery and romance.
The strengthening of his house, the coming of the savages, the intensely interesting occurrences of the story, so enchained me, that I read on and on till I was suddenly startled by the voice of Mr. Revitts exclaiming:
“Hallo, you! I say, what’s o’clock?”
Chapter Fourteen.
Breakfast with the Law, and what Followed.
I let the book fall in a shamefaced way as my host took a great, ugly old silver watch from beneath his pillow, looked at it, shook it, looked at it again, and then exclaimed:
“It’s either ’levin o’clock or else she’s been up to her larks. Hush!”
He held up his hand, for just then a clock began to strike, and we both counted eleven.
“Then she was right for once in a way. Why didn’t you call me at ten?”
“I forgot, sir. I was reading,” I faltered; for I felt I had been guilty of a great breach of trust.
“And you haven’t had no breakfast,” he said, dressing himself quickly, and then plunging his face into the basin of water, to splash and blow loudly, before having a most vigorous rub with the towel. “Why, you must be as hungry as a hunter,” he continued, as he halted in what was apparently his morning costume of flannel shirt and trousers. “We’ll very soon have it ready, though. Shove the cloth on, youngster; the cups and saucers are in that cupboard, that’s right, look alive.”
I hastened to do what he wished, and in a few minutes had spread the table after the fashion observed by Mary at Mr. Blakeford’s, while Mr. Revitts took a couple of rashers of bacon out of a piece of newspaper on the top of the bookshelf, and some bread and a preserve jar containing butter out of a box under the table. Next he poured some coffee out of a canister into the pot, and having inserted his feet into slippers, he prepared to go out of the room.
“Bedroom, with use of the kitchen, for a single gentleman,” he said, winking one eye. “That’s me. Back in five minutes, youngster.”
It must have been ten minutes before he returned, with the coffee-pot in one hand and the two rashers of hot sputtering bacon in the other, when in the most friendly spirit he drew a chair to the table, and saying, “Help yourself, youngster,” placed one rasher upon my plate and took the other upon his own.
“I say, only to think of my mate coming upon you fast asleep in London,” he said, tearing me off a piece of bread. “Why, if he’d been looking for you, he couldn’t ha’ done it. Don’t be afraid o’ the sugar. There ain’t no milk.”
I was very hungry, and I gladly began my breakfast, since it was offered in so sociable a spirit.
“Let’s see. How did you say Mary looked?”
“Very well indeed, sir,” I replied.
“Send me—come, tuck in, my lad, you’re welcome—send me any message?”
“She did not know I was coming, sir.”
“No, of course not. So you’ve come to London to seek your fortune, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you going to look for it first?” he said, grinning.
“I