CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
HOME LIFE.
"My dear Miss Tippet, I shall never, no never, get over it."
So said, and so undoubtedly thought, a thin little old lady withremarkably bright eyes, and a sweet old face, as she sat sipping tea atMiss Tippet's elbow.
It was in the drawing-room of Miss Deemas that she sat, and the Eaglesat opposite to her.
"It was very dreadful," responded Miss Tippet with a sigh--"very."
"It was awful. I know I shall never get over it,--never," repeated thelittle old lady, finishing her tea, and asking for another cup in thecalmest possible voice, with the sweetest possible smile.
"Oh yes, you will, Mrs Denman," said Miss Deemas snappishly.
"No, indeed, I won't," repeated Mrs Denman; "how can I? Just think ofthe situation. Sitting in my chair in dishabille, when a man--a Man,Miss Dee--"
"Well, I know what a _man_ is," said the Eagle bitterly; "why don't yougo on?"
"Burst himself through my bedroom-door," continued Mrs Denman, "withlime and charcoal and brick-dust and water streaming down his face--f-fo-olded me in his arms, bore me out into the street--the _street_!Oh! I shall never, _never_ get over it; and so little, so _very_ littleclothing on me--"
"How much had you on?" asked Miss Deemas in a deep voice, the calmnessof which contrasted forcibly with Mrs Denman's excited tones.
"Really, Miss Deemas, I see no necessity for going into particulars. Itis sufficient to know that I was carried by a _man_ into the _street_ inthe face of some thousands of people, for I heard them cheering though Isaw them not. I know I shall never get over it--another cup, my love;not _quite_ so much sugar--no, not if I were to live to the age ofMethusaleh."
"I don't wonder, indeed I don't," murmured the sympathetic Miss Tippet."I think, Julia dear, you are a little too hard on Mrs Denman. Howwould _you_ like to have been carried out of a burning house in such away by a big rough man?"
"Oh, my dear," interposed Mrs Denman, "I did not say he was rough. Bighe certainly was, and strong, but I must do him the justice to say thatthe man li--lif--oh me! lifted me up very tenderly, and carried me asthough I had been an infant and he my mother, through smoke and fire andwater, into the street, before the eyes of the--whole--oh, it's tooawful to think of!"
"Stuff!" ejaculated Miss Deemas, pecking a piece of cake out of herfingers as she would, metaphorically of course, have pecked the eyes outof the head of Frank Willders, or any other man. "Didn't you say he puta blanket round you?"
"Of course, Miss Deemas; I should have died otherwise of pure shame."
"No, you wouldn't," retorted the Eagle. "You would probably have beenhalf suffocated and a good deal dirtied, and you might have been singed,but you wouldn't have died; and what need you care now, for the peoplesaw nothing but a bundle. You might have been a bundle of old clothesfor all they knew or cared. All they wanted to see was the bravery, asthey call it, of the man; as if there were not hundreds upon hundreds ofwomen who would do the same thing if their muscles were strong enough,and occasion served."
"But it _was_ a brave act, you know," said Miss Tippet timidly.
"I don't know that," retorted Miss Deemas, helping herself to more cakewith as much decision of manner as if she had been carrying it off byforce of arms from before the very muzzles of a masculine battery. "Idon't know that. He had to escape, you know, for his own life, and hemight as well bring a bundle along with him as not."
"Yes; but then," said Miss Tippet, "he first went up the--the thingumy,you know."
"No, he didn't," retorted Miss Deemas smartly; "he was in the house atthe time, and only came down the `thingumy,' as you call it!"
It was a peculiarity of Miss Deemas's character, that she claimed theright to be as rude as she chose to people in her own house, and ratherprided herself on this evidence of independence.
"In my opinion," said Mrs Denman, "his being in the burning house atall of his own accord, was of itself evidence of courage. I think thefireman is a brave young man."
Thus much Mrs Denman said with dignity to Miss Deemas. The remainderof her speech she addressed to Miss Tippet.
"But, my dear, I feel that although I owe this young man a debt ofgratitude which I can never repay, I shall never be able to look mypreserver in the face. I _know_ that his mind will always revert, whenhe sees me, to the fi--fig--the figure that he lifted out of thateasy-chair. But there is one thing I have resolved on," continued thelittle old lady in more cheerful tones, as she asked for another cup oftea, "and that is, to get a fireman to instruct me as to the best methodof saving my own life should fire again break out in my dwelling."
The Eagle gave a hysterical chuckle at this.
"I have already written to one who has been recommended to me as ashrewd man, and he is coming to call on me this very evening at seveno'clock."
Mrs Denman started, as if her own remark had recalled something, andpulled out her watch.
"Why, it is almost half-past six!" she exclaimed, rising hastily."Excuse a hurried departure, Miss Deemas. Your society and sympathy"(she looked pointedly at Miss Tippet here) "have been so agreeable thatI did not observe how time was flying. Good-bye, Miss Deemas. Goodevening, _dear_ Miss Tippet."
Miss Deemas bowed.
"Good-bye, my love," said Miss Tippet, bustling round her friend. "I'm_so_ glad to have met you, and I hope you'll come and see me soon; 6Poor-thing Lane, remember. Come whenever you please, dear Mrs Denman.Yes, yes, time does indeed fly, as you say; or as my friend, SirArchibald What's-his-name used to remark, `Tempit fugus somethingre-what's-'is-name.' _Good-bye_, dear Mrs Denman."
While the ladies were thus engaged, one whom the Eagle would have tossedher beak at with supreme contempt was enjoying himself in the bosom ofhis family. This was none other than Joe Corney himself, who, havingreceived a "stop" for a distant fire, had looked in on his wife to tellher of the note he had received from Mrs Denman.
The family bosom resided in a small portion of a small house in thesmall street where the fire-engine dwelt.
Joe had laid his helmet on the table, and, having flung himself into achair, seized his youngest child, a little girl, in his arms, raised herhigh above his head and laughed in her face; at which the child chuckledand crowed to the best of its ability.
Meanwhile his eldest son, Joe junior, immediately donned the helmet,seized the poker, thrust the head of it into a bucket of water, and,pointing the other end at a supposed fire, began to work an imaginaryhand-pump with all his might.
"It's goin' out, daddy," cried the urchin.
"Sure, he's a true chip o' the owld block," observed his mother, who waspreparing the evening meal of the family; "he's uncommon fond o' firean' wather."
"Molly, my dear," said the fireman, "I'd have ye kape a sharp eye onthat same chip, else his fondness for fire may lead to more wather thanye'd wish for."
"I've bin thinkin' that same meself, honey," replied Mrs Corney,placing a pile of buttered toast on the table. "Shure didn't I kitchhim puttin' a match to the straw bed the other day! Me only consolationis that ivery wan in the house knows how to use the hand-pump. Ah,then, ye won't believe it, Joe, but I catched the baby at it thismornin', no later, an' she'd have got it to work, I do believe, av shehadn't tumbled right over into the bucket, an' all but drownded herself.But, you know, the station's not far off, if the house did git alight.Shure ye might run the hose from the ingin to here without so much asdrawin' her out o' the shed. Now, then, Joe, tay's ready, so fall to."
Joe did fall to with the appetite of a man who knows what it is to toilhard, late and early. Joe junior laid aside the helmet and poker, anddid his duty at the viands like the true son of a fireman--not to say anIrishman--and for five minutes or so the family enjoyed themselves insilence. After that Joe senior heaved a sigh, and said that it would beabout time for him to go and see the old lady.
"What can it be she wants?" asked Mrs Corney.
"Don't know," replied her husband.
"All I know is that she's the oldlady as was bundled neck and crop out o' the first-floor windy o' thehouse in Holborn by Frank Willders. She's a quare owld woman that.She's got two houses, no less; wan over the coachmaker's shop--the shopbein' her property--an' wan in Russell Square. They say she's richenough to line her coffin with goold an inch thick. Spakin' o' that,Molly my dear, a quare thing happened to me the other night. It's whatye call a coinsidence."
"What's that, Joe?"
"Well, t'ain't easy to explain, but it means two things happenin'together in a most onlikely way--d'ye see?"
"No, I don't, Joe," replied Mrs Corney, helping herself to anotherslice of toast.
"Well, it don't matter much," resumed Joe, "but this is what it was: MrDale an' me was sittin', about two in the mornin', at the station firesmokin' our pipes (for it was my turn on duty) an' chattin' away aboutone thing an' another, when somehow we got upon tellin' our experiences,an' Dale he tells me a story o' how he was once called to a fire in acemetary, an' had to go down among the coffins--for they was afire--an'what a fright some o' his men got, when, just as he had finished, an'all my flesh was creepin' at wot I'd heard, there comes a ring at thebell an' a call to a fire in Portland Street. I runs an' gets out theingin, an' Frank (he was my mate that night) he rings up the boys, an'away we wint in tin minutes. It wasn't far, an' when we got there in wewint into the house, which was full o' smoke, but no fire to be seen.We wint coughin' and sneezin' an' rubbin' our eyes down into a cellar,where the lads of another ingin was at work before us wi' thehand-pumps, an', would ye belaive it? but the walls o' that cellar waslined wi' coffins! True for ye, there they was, all sizes, as thick asthey could stand. I thought I was dramin', but it was no drame, for itwas an undertaker's shop; an' when I wint upstairs, after we diskiveredthe fire an' put it out, I sees two coffins on tressels lyin' ready foruse. Wan was black-painted wood, no doubt for a poor man, an' nothin'inside o't. The other alongside was covered wid superfine black clothan' silver-mounted handles, an' name-plate, an' it was all padded insidean' lined wid white satin!"
"White satin, Joe? You're jokin'."
"As sure as your name's Molly, it was white satin," repeated Joe; "Iwouldn't have belaived it av I hadn't seen it; but that's the way thequality goes to their graves. I looks at the two coffins as I wascomin' away, an' thinks I to myself, I wonder whether the poor man orthe rich man'll be most comfortable when they're laid there?"
"Now, Molly, I'll bid ye good-night an' be off to see this owld lady,this Mrs Denman. Look afther that boy, now, an kape the matches out ofhis way, whativer ye do."
With this very needful warning, Joe Corney kissed his wife and the baby,and went off to the station to obtain leave of absence for a couple ofhours.