CHAPTER V
Celia lay awake half the night, and was up and dressed early in themorning, waiting for the cry of "Pipers! Daily Pipers!" and when thenewsboy came bounding up the steps she almost sprang out on him in hereagerness and anxiety.
"Give me--which of the papers has the best police news?" she asked,trying to speak casually.
"Oh, the _Wire_, o' course," replied the boy, promptly; "they don't letnothing escape them, you bet, miss!"
She bought the halfpenny paper and eagerly scanned its columns,forgetting that there could be no report of the case until theappearance before the magistrate; but the absence of any mention of anarrest, following the message which the old gentleman had given her,confirmed her relief and encouraged her. Notwithstanding, she found italmost impossible to eat; but she drank a cup of tea, gathered herpapers together, and went down to the Museum. For the first time shefound her work difficult; for she could not dismiss the young man andhis tragic fate from her mind. Staring at the blank paper, she went overall the details of the strange scene, and, standing out from them all,was the expression in his face, in his eyes, as he had paused at thebend of the stairs and looked at her.
Something in that expression haunted her as she had never been hauntedby anything in her life before, and she was weighed down by the sense ofa burden, the burden of a man's life, destiny; she could not forget thatshe had sent him away, that if she had waited and he had remained, hewould have learned that he had no longer reason to fear, that "it wasall right."
She was disturbed in her reverie by the arrival of a young man, whoseated himself in the next chair at her desk; she turned to her book andpapers and began to work; but now a fresh difficulty arose in theconduct of the young man beside her; the attendant had brought him apile of books, and the young fellow was turning them over, in a restlessway, thrusting his hands through his hair, fidgeting with his feet andmuttering impatiently and despairingly.
Celia glanced at him involuntarily. She saw that he was young andboyish-looking; there was a look of perplexity and worry in his blueeyes, and muttering a word of apology he rose and went quickly to theinner circle, the rotunda, where the patient and long-sufferingsuperintendent stands to be badgered by questions from the readersneeding the assistance of his wonderfully-stored brain. In a minute ortwo the young man came back, accompanied by an attendant bearing anotherpile of books.
"I don't know whether you'll find what you want," he said; "but it's allI know of it." He looked at Celia as he spoke, and added, "Oh, perhapsthis young lady can help you; she does antiquarian work."
The young man coloured and raised his eyes appealingly to Celia.
"Oh, I couldn't trouble you," he said, humbly.
"What is it?" she asked. "I shall be glad to help you, if I can."
He took up some slips of paper on which were "pulled" impressions ofblocks, and Celia saw that they were pictures of ruined castles, abbeys,and similar buildings.
"This is the trouble," said the young man. "The man I work for--he's theproprietor of the _Youth's Only Companion_--is a rum sort of chap, andfancies he has ideas. One of them was to buy up a lot of old blocks inGermany; these are they, and he's given me the job of writing them up,fitting them with descriptive letterpress--history, anecdote, that kindof thing, you know."
"That should not be very difficult," Celia remarked.
"Oh, no!" he assented; "but"--he grinned, and his whole face lit up withboyish humour--"the beastly things have no names to them! See? I'vetried to hunt them up in all the old county histories, and books of thatkind; but I've succeeded in getting only two or three, and there's acouple of dozen of the wretched things. I've driven the superintendentpretty nearly mad, and--But look here, I don't want to drive you mad,too. You mustn't let me bother you about it; you've got your own work todo."
"That's all right," said Celia, bending over the slips with the literaryfrown on her young face. "Oh, I can recognize some of them; that'sPevensey Castle; and that's Knowle House, before it was rebuilt; and,surely, this one is meant for Battle Abbey."
"I say, how clever you are!" he exclaimed, gazing at her withadmiration.
"Oh, no, I'm not," said Celia, with a smile; "I just happen to rememberthem because I've come across them in the course of my own work. Let usgo over the others."
She turned to his pile of books and, still with knit brows, tried tofind the counterpart of the other pulls; and the young fellow watchedher, his eyes growing thoughtful and something more, as they dwelt uponher face.
"You mustn't worry any more," he begged her, presently. "You're losingall your own time; I feel ashamed; I'm most awfully grateful to you."
"Not at all," said Celia. "I'm afraid I've been of very little help toyou; and I don't see that I can do any more----"
"No, no," he said, quickly; "don't take any more trouble. It wouldn'tmatter so much if I had plenty of time; but I haven't. You see"--hecoloured--"one doesn't get too well paid for this kind of work, andcan't afford----"
He coloured still more deeply, and his voice dropped below theregulation whisper in which one is permitted to speak in the ReadingRoom. Celia glanced at him, and saw that he was poorly dressed, that hisshirt-cuffs were frayed, and that he had the peculiar look which isstamped on the countenances of so many of the frequenters of the ReadingRoom.
"Just tell me what you would do if you were in my fix," he said.
Celia hesitated for a moment, then a smile broke over her face whichtransfigured it and made it seem to the young fellow absolutely lovely.
"I should invent histories for them," she said. "It would be so mucheasier--and, perhaps, ever so much more interesting."
"Oh, that's stunning!" he exclaimed, in a whisper. "Of course, that'sthe way. I say, what a brick you are! Would you mind telling me yourname?"
"Grant--Celia Grant," she told him, without hesitation.
"Mine's Rex--Reggie Rex," he said. "I've often noticed you and wonderedwhat kind of work you did--But I beg your pardon; I mustn't disturb youany longer."
They both fell to work, and Celia heard his fountain-pen racing over thepaper; once or twice he chuckled, as if he were enjoying a joke; butvery soon Celia forgot him; and when, at last, she looked up from herwork, she found his place empty; but on going out for her lunch she sawhim standing by one of the pillars of the portico. He blushed at sightof her, moved forward, hesitated, then approached her.
"You're going to an A.B.C. for your lunch?" he said, with a mixture of aman's timidity and a boy's audacity. "May I--will you let me come withyou? I feel as if I hadn't thanked you enough; I couldn't do it in thatstuffy old hole, where you can't speak above your breath."
He took Celia's silence for consent, and they went together to the bigshop in Oxford Street, and seated themselves at a table. They bothordered a cup of tea and a roll and butter; Celia would have liked tohave added the omnipotent bun, but refrained; for, somehow, she knewthat he could not afford one.
"Do you like the life, in there?" he asked, jerking his head in thedirection of the Museum. "Dreadful grind, isn't it? But, somehow, itgets hold of you; there's a kind of fascination in literature." He spokethe magic word with the air of quite an old, old man of letters. "Iought to have been a grocer. My father's got a shop in Middleswick; hecalls it The Emporium. I think that's why I couldn't stick it. Pity,isn't it? for it's a rattling good business. Another thing; I couldn'tstand the apron. Guv'nor insisted on the apron; 'begin from thebeginning' sort of thing, you know. And then I felt the call ofliterature. Fond of reading, and all that. You know?"
Celia nodded. That tender heart of hers was quite ready with itscomprehension and sympathy.
"I hope you will succeed; but if you don't--Ah, well; you can go back,"she said, half-enviously.
"No; one doesn't go back," he said, with a gravity that sat curiously onhis boyish face. "Once you've got the fever, you've got it for life.Tiger tasting blood, you know. I'd rather be a literary man than--thanthe German Emperor. Of course, I'm hoping to do
better things; but eventhe stuff I do makes me--oh, well, kind of happy. Every time I get aproof something runs through me, something grateful and comforting--likethe cocoa. I mean to get on to fiction presently." He blushed like agirl, and looked at her timidly, with the appealing look of a dog in hiseyes. "I've tried my hand already at a short story or two." He paused."I say"--hesitatingly, his eyes still more dog-like--"you are so awfullykind, I wonder whether you'd mind looking at one of my things. Oh, ofcourse, it's too much to ask! You're busy--you work hard, I know; I'vewatched you."
"Why, I shall be very pleased to read something you have written," saidCelia, smiling encouragement.
"You will! Oh, that's stunning of you! I'll send you a short storyto-night, if you'll give me your address. But perhaps you'd rather not,"he added, quickly.
"Why not?" said Celia. She gave it to him.
"I'll send it," he whispered; but as he spoke, his hand went towards hisbreast-pocket.
Celia tried not to smile; for she saw what was coming.
"To tell you the truth," he said, with a burst of candour, "I've got onewith me. I'll give it to you now. But for Heaven's sake don't look at ithere! I should see by your face what you thought of it, and you'relikely to think precious little of it; you'll think it tommy-rot;though, of course, you won't say so. Look here!" he went on, as he drewout the precious manuscript slowly, "don't tell me that it 'showspromise'; I can bear anything but that. That's fatal; it's what all thebeastly editors say when they don't mean to have anything to do withyou."
"Very well," said Celia. "I will tell you exactly what I think of it."
"Honest Injun?" he queried, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Honest Injun," repeated Celia. "And I think I shall be able to saysomething very nice; for I am sure you are clever."
He blushed, and his eyes danced.
"You've said something very nice already," he said, gratefully; "andwhen you say it like that--well, upon my word, it makes me feel that Iam clever. And that's half the battle, Miss Grant. A man is just what hefeels himself to be; that's why nothing succeeds like success; to feelthat other people know you can do your job. Oh, well!"
Celia nodded. "I must go back," she said. "I was not able to begin mywork so early as usual this morning."
"Not feeling well?" he said, anxiously, and with a glance at her facewhich, he had noticed, was paler than usual. "I suppose you've got theReading-Room headache. Everybody gets it; it's the general stuffiness ofthe place. They can't help it--the officials, I mean; they've tried allsorts of dodges for ventilation; it's better than it used to be; butit's still crammed full of headache."
"No; I've been worried this morning," said Celia, more to herself thanto him.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" he said, in a voice full of a boy's ready sympathy."Look here! Is it anything I can help you with? I mean----" He grew red,and stammered. "Oh, of course, you'll laugh; and it's like my cheek,but--you helped me, you know--and we're brothers and sisters inmisfortune, working on the same treadmill--I'd do anything for you--itwould be a pleasure----"
Celia sighed as she smiled, and wondered idly how he would respond ifshe said, "Well, find a man for me, a man whose name I don't know, towhose whereabouts I have not the slightest clue." She shook her head.
"It is very good of you," she said; "but you could not help me; no onecould."
"I am sorry," he murmured. "I should have loved to have done somethingfor you; perhaps I may some day--lion and the mouse, you know. It's arum world. You'll find my address on the manuscript," he added, shyly,as she rose.
He did not follow her; but later in the afternoon Celia caught sight ofhim seated at the farther end of the Reading Room. He was looking in herdirection, but, as his eyes met hers, he dropped them and bent over hiswork. It was evident that he had changed his place lest she should thinkhe was intruding on her.
As she entered the courtyard of Brown's Buildings, Celia bought anevening paper. If she had mistaken the significance of the oldgentleman's message and the man who haunted her thoughts had beenarrested, the case might be reported. She scanned the police newsanxiously; but there was no report, and she was laying the paper downwhen her eye caught a familiar name in a paragraph. She read the fewlines in a kind of stupor, with a sense of unreality; and when she hadfinished reading she stood with the paper gripped in her hand, andstaring stupidly before her.
The paragraph ran thus:--
"We regret to announce the death of Mr. William Bishop, the well-known antiquarian, which occurred suddenly at his country residence early this morning."
Slowly through her stupor broke the realization that she had been thrustback into the ranks of the unemployed, that only a few shillings stoodbetween her and utter destitution.