Charlie to the Rescue. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ “I can scarcely claim, however, to have saved your life, though I thankfully admit having had the opportunity to lend a hand. The rocket-men, in reality, did the work, for without their splendid working of the apparatus my swimming off would have been useless.”

      Mr Crossley frowned while the youth was speaking, and regarded him with some suspicion.

      “You admit, I suppose,” he rejoined sternly, “that if you had not swum off, the rocket apparatus would have been equally useless.”

      “By no means,” returned Charlie, with that benignant smile that always accompanied his opposition in argument. “I do not admit that, because, if I had not done it, assuredly some one else would. In fact a friend of mine was on the point of making the attempt when I pulled him back and prevented him.”

      “And why did you prevent him?”

      “Because he was not so well able to do it as I.”

      “Oh! I see. In other words, you have a pretty high opinion of your own powers.”

      “Possibly I have,” returned the youth, somewhat sharply. “I lay claim to no exemption from the universal law of vanity which seems to affect the entire human race—especially the cynical part of it. At the same time, knowing from long experience that I am physically stronger, can swim better, and have greater power of endurance, though not greater courage, than my friend, it would be mere pretence were I to assume that in such matters I was his inferior. You asked me why I prevented him: I gave you the reason exactly and straightforwardly. I now repeat it.”

      “Don’t be so ready to fire up, young man,” said Crossley, with a deprecating smile. “I had no intention of hurting your feelings.”

      “You have not hurt them, sir,” returned Charlie, with almost provoking urbanity of manner and sweetness of voice, “you have only misunderstood me.”

      “Well, well, let it pass. Tell me, now, can I do anything for you?”

      “Nothing, thank you.”

      “Eh?” exclaimed the old gentleman in surprise.

      “Nothing, thank you,” repeated his visitor. “I did not save you for the purpose of being rewarded, and I refuse to accept reward for saving you.”

      For a second or two Mr Crossley regarded his visitor in silence, with a conflicting mixture of frown and smile—a sort of acidulated-drop expression on his rugged face. Then he asked—

      “What is the name of this friend whom you prevented from swimming off to us?”

      “Shank Leather.”

      “Is he a very great friend of yours?”

      “Very. We have been playmates from childhood, and school-fellows till now.”

      “What is he?—his profession, I mean?”

      “Nothing at present. That is to say, he has, like myself, been trained to no special profession, and the failure of the firm in the counting-house of which we have both served for some months has cast us adrift at the same time.”

      “Would it give you much satisfaction if I were to find good employment for your friend?”

      “Indeed it would—the highest possible satisfaction,” exclaimed Charlie, with the first symptom of enthusiasm in his tone and look.

      “What can your friend Shank Leather do?” asked the old man brusquely.

      “Oh! many things. He’s capital at figures, thoroughly understands book-keeping, and—and is a hard-working fellow, whatever he puts his hand to.”

      “Is he steady?”

      Charlie was silent for a few moments.

      “Well, one cannot be sure,” he answered, with some hesitation, “what meaning you attach to the word ‘steady.’ I—”

      “Yes, yes, I see,” interrupted Crossley, consulting his watch. “No time to discuss meanings of words just now. Will you tell your friend to call on me here the day after to-morrow at six o’clock? You live in Sealford, I have been told; does he live near you?”

      “Yes, within a few minutes’ walk.”

      “Well, tell him to be punctual. Punctuality is the soul of business. Hope I won’t find your friend as independent as you seem to be! You are quite sure, are you, that I can do nothing for you? I have both money and influence.”

      The more determined that our hero became to decline all offers of assistance from the man who had misconstrued his motives, the more of urbanity marked his manner, and it was with a smile of ineffable good-nature on his masculine features that he repeated, “Nothing, thank you—quite sure. You will have done me the greatest possible service when you help my friend. Yet—stay. You mentioned money. There is an institution in which I am much interested, and which you might appropriately remember just now.”

      “What is that?”

      “The Lifeboat Institution.”

      “But it was not the Lifeboat Institution that saved me. It was the Rocket apparatus.”

      “True, but it might have been a lifeboat that saved you. The rockets are in charge of the Coast-Guard and need no assistance, whereas the Lifeboat Service depends on voluntary contributions, and the fact that it did not happen to save Mr Crossley from a grave in the sea does not affect its claim to the nation’s gratitude for the hundreds of lives saved by its boats every year.”

      “Admitted, my young friend, your reasoning is just,” said the old gentleman, sitting down at a writing table and taking a cheque-book from a drawer; “what shall I put down?”

      “You know your circumstances best,” said Charlie, somewhat amused by the question.

      “Most people in ordinary circumstances,” returned the old man slowly as he wrote, “contribute a guinea to such charities.”

      “Many people,” remarked Charlie, with a feeling of pity rather than contempt, “contribute five, or even fifteen.”

      “Ah, indeed—yes, well, Mr Brooke, will you condescend to be the bearer of my contribution? Fourteen Saint John Street, Adelphi, is not far from this, and it will save a penny of postage, you know!”

      Mr Crossley rose and handed the cheque to his visitor, who felt half disposed—on the strength of the postage remark—to refuse it and speak his mind somewhat freely on the subject, but, his eye happening to fall on the cheque at the moment, he paused.

      “You have made a mistake, I think,” he said. “This is for five hundred pounds.”

      “I make no mistakes, Mr Brooke,” returned the old man sternly. “You said something about five or fifteen. I could not well manage fifteen hundred just now, for it is bad times in the city at present. Indeed, according to some people, it is always bad times there, and, to say truth, some people are not far wrong—at least as regards their own experiences. Now, I must be off to business. Good-bye. Don’t forget to impress on your friend the importance of punctuality.”

      Jacob Crossley held out his hand with an expression of affability which was for him quite marvellous.

      “You’re СКАЧАТЬ