<h2><SPAN name="page234"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>XXVIII.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">He</span> resolved, first, to try the
Institute. Nora’s name and address must be on the
class registers; but what business had he with the girl’s
class registers? As diplomatist his failure was
lamentable. He could invent no reasonable excuses, and
ignoble defeat was his fate at the hands of the rigid lady who
managed the girls department of the Institute. Then he took
to prowling about all the streets that lay beyond that second
corner that had marked the end of their evening walks, watching
for her; searching also, desperately, for some impossible sign
about a house that might suggest that she lived in it. Thus
he spent the daylight of two evenings watching a little
muslin-hung window, because the muslin was tied with a ribbon of
a sort he remembered her to have worn, and because he chose to
fancy a neatness and a daintiness about the tying that might well
be hers. But on the second evening as dusk fell the window
opened, and a hairy, red-bearded man in blue shirt sleeves put
out his head and leaned on the sill to smoke his pipe and watch
the red sky. Johnny swung away savagely, and called himself
a fool for his pains; <SPAN name="page235"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>and indeed, he could ill afford to
waste time, for Maidment and Hurst claimed him till five each
day, and a few hours in the evening were all that remained; more,
Nora would change her lodgings—perhaps had done so
already.</p>
<p>After this he screwed his courage so high as to go to the
police-station where the charge against Nora’s mother must
have been taken, and to ask for her address. But the
cast-iron-faced inspector in charge took <i>his</i> name and
address instead, as a beginning, and then would tell him
nothing. And at last, maddened and reckless, he went to the
publican, and demanded the information of him. Now if
Johnny had had a little more worldly experience, a little more
cunning, and a great deal more coolness, he would have done this
at first, and, beginning by ordering a drink, he would have
opened a casual conversation, led it to the matter of the window,
and in the end would have gained his point quietly and
easily. But as it was, he did none of these things.
He ordered no drink, and he made a blunt request, taking little
thought of its manner, none of the publican’s point of
view, and perhaps forgetting that the man was in no way
responsible for the rebuffs already endured. The publican,
for his part, was already in a bad temper, because of the clumsy
tapping of a barrel and ensuing “cheek” of the
potman. So he answered Johnny’s demand by asking if
he had come to pay for the window; <SPAN name="page236"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>and receiving the negative reply he
had expected, he urgently recommended the intruder’s
departure “outside”: in such terms as gave no choice
but compliance.</p>
<p>So that now, in extremity, Johnny resolved on a last
expedient: one that had been vaguely in his mind for a day or
two, though he had yet scarce had courage to consider it
seriously. This was, to tell his mother the whole thing;
and to induce her, if he might, to ask the address at the
Institute—perhaps on some pretext of dressmaking
business. He was not hopeful, for he well knew that any
hint of traffic with the family of one such as Nora’s
mother would be a horror to her. But he could see nothing
else, and to sit still were intolerable. Moreover he
guessed that his mother must suspect something from his
preoccupation, and his neglect of his drawing. Though
indeed poor Nan was most at pains, just then, to conceal troubles
of her own.</p>
<p>Mr. Butson, in fact, began to chafe under the restraints of
narrow circumstances. Not that he was poorer than had been
his habit—indeed he was much better off—but that his
needs had expanded with his prosperity and with his successes in
society. And it was just now that his wife began to attempt
retrenchment. Probably she was encouraged by the outrageous
revolt of her son, a revolt which had made advisable a certain
degree of caution on the part of himself, the head of the
household. She spoke of a rumour that the ship-yard <SPAN name="page237"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>opposite
might close, as so many other Thames ship-yards had closed of
late years. That, she said, would mean ruin for the shop,
and she must try to save what little she might, meantime.
An absurdity, of course, in Mr. Butson’s view. He
felt no interest in the rumours of old women about ship-yards,
and petty measurement of the sordid chances of trade irritated
him. If his wife found one source of profit running dry,
she must look out and tap another, that was all. So long as
he got what he wanted he troubled little about the manner of its
getting. But now he ran near having less than he wanted,
and his wife was growing even less accommodating. She went
so far as to hint of withholding the paltry sum the lad earned;
he should have it himself, she thought, to buy his clothes, and
to save toward the end of his apprenticeship. More than
this, Mr. Butson much suspected that Johnny had actually had his
own money for some while past, and that Mrs. Butson had descended
to the mean subterfuge of representing as his earnings a sum
which in reality she extracted each week from the till; an act of
pure embezzlement. And then there was the cottage in Epping
Forest. She wouldn’t sell it now, though she wanted
to sell when she first left it. What good was there in
keeping it? True there was three-and-sixpence a week of
rent, but that was nothing; it would go in a round of drinks, or
in half a round, in any distinguished bar; and there were
deductions even <SPAN name="page238"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
238</span>from the three-and-sixpence. Sold, the cottage
might produce a respectable sum—perhaps a hundred
pounds—at anyrate eighty. The figures stirred his
blood. What a magnificent dash a man might cut with eighty
pounds! And a fortune might be made out of it, too, if it
were used wisely, and not buried away in a wretched
three-and-sixpenny cottage. Properly invested on judicious
flat-race Certainties, it would double itself about twice a
week. So he made it very plain to Nan that the sale of the
cottage for what it would fetch and the handing over of the
proceeds was a plan he insisted on. But the stupid woman
wouldn’t see it. It was plain that she was beginning
to over-estimate her importance in the establishment, by reason
that of late she had not been sufficiently sworn at, shoved,
thumped, and twisted and pinched on the arms. That was the
worst of kindness to a woman—she took advantage.</p>
<p>So that he was obliged to begin to thump again. There
was no need to do it so that Johnny might know, and so cause a
low disturbance. In fact, Johnny took little notice of
things at home just now, no longer made inquiries, nor lifted the
poker with so impudent a stare; and he was scarce indoors at
all. Wherefore Mr. Butson punched and ruffianed—being
careful to leave no disreputable marks in visible spots, such as
black eyes—and sometimes he kicked; and he demanded more
money and more, but all the while insisted on the sale of the <SPAN name="page239"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
239</span>cottage. The monstrous laws of conveyance made it
impossible for him to lay hands on the deeds and sell the place
himself, or he would have done it, of course. And he made
it advisable, too, for Bessy to avoid him—and that had a
better effect than any direct attack on Nan. Till at last
the woman was so far reduced that she was near a very dangerous
rebellion indeed—nearer than Mr. Butson suspected.
For she began to think of attempting a separation by
magistrate’s order, shameful as it would be in the
neighbourhood. Though she feared greatly.</p>
<p>So it was when Johnny turned toward home on an evening a
little before nine o’clock, sick of blind searching, and
ready to tell his mother the story of Nora Sansom, first to
last. At Harbour Lane corner he saw Butson walking off, and
wondered to see him about Blackwall so early in the evening.</p>
<p>Nobody was in the shop, and Johnny went through so quietly
that he surprised his mother and Bessy, in the shop-parlour,
crying bitterly. Nan sat on a chair and Bessy bent over
her, and no concealment was possible. Johnny was seized by
a dire surmise. “Mother! What’s
this?” he said. “What’s he been
doing?”</p>
<p>Nan bent lower, but answered nothing. Johnny looked
toward Bessy, almost sternly. “He—he’s
beaten mother again,” Bessy blurted, between sobs.</p>
<p>“Beaten mother! Again!” Johnny’s
face was white, <SPAN name="page240"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
240</span>and his nostrils stood wide and round.
“Beaten mother! Again!”</p>
<p>“He’s always doing it now,” Bessy
sobbed. “And wanting more money. I’d a
good mind to tell you before, but—but—”</p>
<p>“Beaten mother!” The room swam before
Johnny’s eyes. “Why—”</p>
<p>Nan rose to close the door. “No, Johnny,”
she said meekly. “I’m a bit upset, but
don’t let it upset you. Don’t
you—”</p>
<p>“What’s the matter with your leg?
You’re limping!”</p>
<p>“He kicked her! I saw him kick at her
ankle!” Bessy burst out, pouring forth the tale
unrestrained. “I tried to stop him
and—and—”</p>
<p>“And then he hit you?” asked Johnny, not so white
in the cheeks now, but whiter than ever about the mouth.</p>
<p>“Yes; but it was mother most!” and Bessy wept
afresh.</p>
<p>Perhaps his evenings of disappointment had chastened
Johnny’s impatience. He knew that the man was out of
reach now, and he forced his fury down. In ten minutes he
knew the whole thing, between Bessy’s outpourings and
Nan’s tearful admissions.</p>
<p>“When is he coming back?”</p>
<p>They did not know—probably he would be late, <SPAN name="page241"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>as
usual. “But don’t go doing anything hasty,
Johnny,” Nan implored; “I’m so afraid of you
doing something rash! It’s not much,
really—I’m a bit upset, but—”</p>
<p>“I’ll have to think about this,” Johnny
said, with such calmness that Nan felt somewhat reassured, though
Bessy was inwardly afraid. “I’m going out for
an hour.”</p>
<p>He strode away to the Institute, walking by instinct, and
seeing nothing till he was under the lettered lamp. He went
to the dressing-room and hurried into his flannels. In the
gymnasium the instructor, a brawny sergeant of grenadiers, was
watching some lads on the horizontal bar. Johnny approached
him with a hesitating request for a “free spar.”</p>
<p>“Free spar, my lad?” said the sergeant.
“What’s up? Gettin’ cheeky? Want to
give me a hidin’?”</p>
<p>“No, sergeant,” Johnny answered. “Not
such a fool as that. But I never had a free spar with a man
much heavier than myself, and—and I just want to try,
that’s all!”</p>
<p>There was a comprehending twinkle about the sergeant’s
eyes. “Right,” he said; “you’re
givin’ me near two stone—that’s if you’re
a bit over eleven. Fetch the gloves.”</p>
<p>At another time Johnny would never have conceived the
impudence of asking the sergeant—once champion of the
army—for a free spar. Even a “light” spar
with <SPAN name="page242"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>the
sergeant was something of an undertaking, wherein one was apt to
have both hands full, and a bit over. But the lad had his
reasons now.</p>
<p>He dashed at the professor with a straight lead, and soon the
blows were going like hail on a window-pane. The sergeant
stood like a rock, and Johnny’s every rush was beaten back
as by hammer-blows on the head. But he came again fresh and
eager, and buzzed his master merrily about the head, getting in a
very respectable number of straight drives, such as would knock
an ordinary man down, though the sergeant never winked; and
bringing off one on the “mark” that <i>did</i> knock
out a grunt, much as a punch in that region will knock one out of
a squeaking doll.</p>
<p>“Steady,” the sergeant called after two long
rounds had been sparred. “You’ll get stiff if
you keep on at that rate, my lad, and <i>that’s</i> not
what you want, I reckon!” This last with a
grin. “You haven’t been boxin’ regular
you know, just lately.”</p>
<p>“But you’re all right,” he added, as they
walked aside. “Your work keeps you in good
condition. Not quite so quick as you would ha’ been
if you’d been sparrin’ every evening,
o’course. But quick enough for your job, I
expect.” And again Johnny saw the cunning
twinkle.</p>
<p>It was about closing time, and when Johnny had <SPAN name="page243"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>changed his
clothes, he found the sergeant leaving also. He thanked him
and bade him good-night.</p>
<p>“Good-night, May,” the sergeant called, and turned
into the street. But he swung back along the footpath after
Johnny, and asked, “Is it to-morrow?”</p>
<p>“What, sergeant?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I ain’t a sergeant—I’m a
stranger. There’s a sergeant goes to that moral
establishment p’raps,” with a nod at the Institute,
“but he behaves strictly proper. I’m just a
chap out in the street that would like to see the fight,
that’s all. When is it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t quite know that myself,” Johnny
answered.</p>
<p>“Oh—like that, is it? Hum.” The
sergeant was thoughtful for a moment—perhaps
incredulous. Then he said, “Well, can’t be
helped, I suppose. Anyway, keep your left goin’
strong, but don’t lead quite so reckless, with your head up
an’ no guard. You’re good enough.
An’ the bigger he is, the more to hit!”</p>
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