“Guard,” screamed the old gentleman, quite beside himself. But the guard, disconcerted at Jack’s allusion to the half-crown, hurried away and started the train. Nevertheless the gentleman would not be silenced. “How dare you, sir, speak of me as being insane?” he said.
“How dare you, sir, grumble at a journey which has only been marred by your own peevishness? I have enjoyed myself greatly. I have enjoyed the sunshine, the scenery, the rhythm of the train, and the company of my fellow travellers — except you, sir; and even your interruptions are no worse than untimely pleasantries. I never enjoyed a journey more in my life.”
“You are the most impertinent man I ever met, sir.”
“Precisely my opinion of you, sir. You commenced hostilities; and if you have caught a Tartar you have only yourself to thank.”
“You broke into my carriage.”
“Your carriage, sir! My carriage just as much as yours — more so. You are an unsocial person, sir.”
“Enough said, sir,” said the gentleman. “It does not matter. Enough said, if you please.”
“Well, sir,” said Jack, more good humoredly, “I apologize. I have been unnaturally repressed for the last three months; and I exploded this morning like a bombshell. The force of the explosion was not quite spent when I met you; and perhaps I had less regard for your seniority than I might have shewn at another time.”
“My seniority has nothing to do with the question, sir. My age is no concern of yours.”
“Hush, father,” whispered the lady. “Do not reply to him. It is not dignified.”
The old gentleman was about to make some angry reply, when the train ran alongside the platform at Paddington, and a porter opened the door, crying, “Ensom or foa’ w’eol, sir.”
“Get me a hansom, porter.”
“Right, sir. Luggage, sir?”
“There is a tin box,” said the lady, “a brown one With the initials M. B. on it.”
The porter touched his cap and went away. The gentleman got out, and stood wiih his daughter at the carriage door, awaiting the return of the porter. Jack slowly followed, and stood, irresolute, near them, the only person there without business or destination.
“I wonder what is delaying that fellow with our cab” said the old gentleman, after about fifteen seconds. “The vagabond has been picked up by someone else, and has forgotten us. Are we to stand here all day?”
“He will be here presently” said Magdalen. “He has not had time—”
“He has had time to call twenty cabs since. Remain here until I return, Madge. Do you hear?”
“Yes.” said the girl. He looked severely at her, and walked away towards the luggage van. Her color rose as she looked after him. Meanwhile the porter had placed the box on a cab; and he now returned to Magdalen.
“This way, Miss, W’ere’s the genlman?” She looked quickly at the porter; then towards the crowd in which her father had disappeared; then, after a moment of painful hesitation, at Jack, who was still standing near.
“Never mind the gentleman,” she said to the porter: “he is not coming with me.” And as he turned to lead the way to the cab, she pulled off her glove; took a ring from her finger; and addressed Jack with a burning but determined face.
“I have no money to pay for my cab. Will you give me some in exchange for this ring — a few shillings will be enough? Pray do not delay me. Yes or no?”
Jack lost only a second in staring amazedly at her before he thrust his hand in his pocket, and drew out a quantity of gold, silver and bronze coin, more than she could grasp with ease. “Keep the ring,” he said. “Away with you.”
“You must take it,” she said impatiently. “And I do not need all this money.”
“Thousand thunders!” exclaimed Jack with sudden excitement, “here is your father. Be quick.”
She looked round, scared; but as Jack pushed her unceremoniously towards the cab, she recovered herself and hurried into the hansom.
“Here, porter: give this ring to that gentleman,” she said, giving the man a shilling and the ring. “Why doesn’t he drive on?” she added, as the cab remained motionless, and the porter stood touching his cap.
“Whereto, Miss?”
“Bond Street,” she cried. “As fast as possible. Do make him start at once.”
“Bond Street, “ shouted Jack commandingly to the driver. “Make haste. Double fare. Prestissimo!” And the cab dashed out of the station as if the horse had caught Jack’s energy.
The lady gev me this for you, sir,” said the porter. Yes,” said Jack, “Thank you.” It was an oldfashioned ring, with a diamond and three emeralds, too small for his little finger. He pocketed it, and was considering what he should do next, when the old gentleman, no longer impatient and querulous, but pale and alarmed, came by, looking anxiously about him. When he saw Jack he made a movement as though to approach him, but checked himself and resumed his search in another direction. Jack began feel compunction; for the gentleman’s troubled expression was changing into one of grief and fear. The crowd and bustle were diminishing. Soon there was no difficulty in examining separately all the passengers who remained on the platform. Jack resolved to go lest he betray the young lady’s destination to her father; but he had walked only a few yards, when, hearing a voice behind him say “This is him, sir,” he turned and found himself face to face with the old gentleman. The porter stood by, saying, “How could I know, sir? I seen the gen’lman in the carriage with you, an’ I seen the lady speakin to him arterwards. She took money off him and gev him a ring, as I told you. If youd left the luggage to me, sir, ‘stead of going arter it to the wrong van, you wouldnt ha’ lost her.
“Very well: that will do.” The porter made a pretence of retiring but remained within hearing.
“Now, sir,” continued the gentleman, addressing Jack, “I know what you are, If you dont tell me once at once, the name and address of the theatrical scoundrels to whom you are spy and kidnapper: by — by — by God! I’ll give you to the nearest policeman.”
“Sir,” said Jack sternly: “if your daughter has run away from you. it is your own fault for not treating her kindly. The porter has told you what happened between us. I know no more of the matter than he does.”
“I don’t believe you. You followed her from Windsor. The porter saw you give her” (here the old gentleman choked)— “saw what passed here just now.”
“Yes, sir. You leave your daughter penniless, and compel her to offer her ornaments for sale to a stranger at a railway station. By my soul, you are a nice man to have charge of a young girl.”
“My daughter is incapable of speaking to a stranger. You are in the pay of one of those infernal theatrical agents with whom she has been corresponding. But I’ll unmask you, sir. I’ll unmask you.”
“If you were not an inveterately wrongheaded old fool,” said Jack hotly, “you would not mistake a man of genius for a crimp. You ought to be ashamed of your temper. You are collecting a crowd too. Do you want the whole railway staff to know that you have driven your daughter away?”
“You lie, you villain,” cried the gentleman, seizing him by the collar, “you lie. How dare you, you — you — pock-marked ruffian, say that I drove away my daughter? I have been invariably kind to her — no parent more so. She was my special favorite. If you repeat that slander, I’ll — I’ll “ He shook his fist in Jack’s face, and released him. Jack, who had suffered the grasp on his collar without moving, turned away deeply offended, and buttoned his coat. Then, as the other was about to recommence, he