The Channings. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      CHAPTER IX. – HAMISH’S CANDLES

      Old Judith sat in her kitchen. Her hands were clasped upon her knees, and her head was bent in thought. Rare indeed was it to catch Judith indulging in a moment’s idleness. She appeared to be holding soliloquy with herself.

      “It’s the most incomprehensible thing in the world! I have heard of ghosts—and, talking about ghosts, that child was in a tremor, last night, again—I’m sure he was. Brave little heart! he goes up to bed in the dark on purpose to break himself of the fear. I went in for them shirts missis told me of, and he started like anything, and his face turned white. He hadn’t heard me till I was in the room; I’d no candle, and ‘twas enough to startle him. ‘Oh, is it you, Judith?’ said he, quietly, making believe to be as indifferent as may be. I struck a light, for I couldn’t find the shirts, and then I saw his white face. He can’t overget the fear: ‘twas implanted in him in babyhood: and I only wish I could get that wicked girl punished as I’d punish her, for it was her work. But about the t’other? I have heard of ghosts walking—though, thank goodness, I’m not frightened at ‘em, like the child is!—but for a young man to go upstairs, night after night, pretending to go to rest, and sitting up till morning light, is what I never did hear on. If it was once in a way, ‘twould be a different thing; but it’s always. I’m sure it’s pretty nigh a year since—”

      “Why, Judith, you are in a brown study!”

      The interruption came from Constance, who had entered the kitchen to give an order. Judith looked up.

      “I’m in a peck of trouble, Miss Constance. And the worst is, I don’t know whether to tell about it, or to keep it in. He’d not like it to get to the missis’s ears, I know: but then, you see, perhaps I ought to tell her—for his sake.”

      Constance smiled. “Would you like to tell me, instead of mamma? Charley has been at some mischief again, among the saucepans? Burnt out more bottoms, perhaps?”

      “Not СКАЧАТЬ