shows how our hero formed plans, how miss pritty formed plots, and how the small domestic amused herself.
on a certain cold, raw, bleak, biting, bitter day in november, our hero found himself comfortably situated at the bottom of the sea.
we say ‘comfortably’ advisedly and comparatively, for, as compared with the men whose duty it was to send air down to him, edgar berrington was in a state of decided comfort. above water nought was to be seen but a bleak, rocky, forbidding coast, a grey sky with sleet driving across it, and an angry indigo sea covered with white wavelets. nothing was to be felt but a stiff cutting breeze, icy particles in the air, and cold blood in the veins. below water all was calm and placid; groves of sea-weed delighted the eye; patches of yellow sand invited to a siesta; the curiously-twisted and smashed-up remains of a wreck formed a subject of interesting contemplation, while a few wandering crabs, and an erratic lobster or two, gave life and variety to the scene, while the temperature, if not warm, was at all events considerably milder than that overhead. in short, strange though it may seem, edgar was in rather an enviable position than otherwise, on that bleak november day.
some two years or so previous to the day to which we refer, edgar, with his diving friends, had returned to england. mr hazlit had preceded them by a month. but edgar did not seek him out. he had set a purpose before him, and meant to stick to it. he had made up his mind not to go near aileen again until he had made for himself a position, and secured a steady income which would enable him to offer her a home at least equal to that in which she now dwelt.
mr hazlit rather wondered that the young engineer never made his appearance at the cottage by the sea, but, coming to the conclusion that his passion had cooled, he consoled himself with the thought that, after all, he was nearly penniless, and that it was perhaps as well that he had sheered off.
aileen also wondered, but she did not for a moment believe that his love had cooled, being well aware that that was an impossibility. still she was perplexed, for although the terms on which they stood to each other did not allow of correspondence, she thought, sometimes, that he might have written to her father—if only to ask how they were after their adventures in the china seas.
miss pritty—to whom aileen confided her troubles—came nearer the mark than either of them. she conceived, and stoutly maintained, that edgar had gone abroad to seek his fortune, and meant to return and marry aileen when he had made it.
edgar, however, had not gone abroad. he had struck out a line of life for himself, and had prosecuted it during these two years with untiring energy. he had devoted himself to submarine engineering, and, having an independent spirit, he carved his way very much as a freelance. at first he devoted himself to studying the subject, and ere long there was not a method of raising a sunken vessel, of building a difficult breakwater, of repairing a complicated damage to a pier, or a well, or anything else subaqueous, with which he was not thoroughly acquainted, and in regard to which he had not suggested or carried out bold and novel plans and improvements, both in regard to the machinery employed and the modes of action pursued.
after a time he became noted for his success in undertaking difficult works, and at last employed a staff of divers to do the work, while he chiefly superintended. joe baldwin became his right-hand man and constant attendant. rooney and maxwell, preferring steadier and less adventurous work, got permanent employment on the harbour improvements of their own seaport town.
thus engaged, edgar and his man joe visited nearly all the wild places round the stormy shores of great britain and ireland. they raised many ships from the bottom of the sea that had been pronounced by other engineers to be hopelessly lost. they laid foundations of piers and breakwaters in places where old ocean had strewn wrecks since the foundation of the world. they cleared passages by blasting and levelling rocks whose stern crests had bid defiance to winds and waves for ages, and they recovered cargoes that had been given up for years to neptune’s custody. in short, wherever a difficult submarine operation had to be undertaken, edgar berrington and his man joe, with, perhaps, a gang of divers under them, were pretty sure to be asked to undertake it.
the risk, we need scarcely say, was often considerable; hence the remuneration was good, and both edgar and his man speedily acquired a considerable sum of money.
at the end of two years, the former came to the conclusion that he had a sufficient sum at his credit in the bank to warrant a visit to the cottage by the sea; and it was when this idea had grown into a fixed intention that he found himself, as we have mentioned, in rather comfortable circumstances at the bottom of the sea.
the particular part of the bottom lay off the west coast of england. joe and a gang of men were hard at work on a pier when edgar went down. he carried a slate and piece of pencil with him. the bottom was not very deep down. there was sufficient light to enable him to find his man easily.
joe was busy laying a large stone in its bed. when he raised his burly form, after fixing the stone, edgar stepped forward, and, touching him on the shoulder, held out the slate, whereon was written in a bold running hand:—
“joe, i’m going off to get engaged, and after that, as soon as possible, to be married.”
through the window of his helmet, joe looked at his employer with an expression of pleased surprise. then he took the slate, obliterated the information on it, and printed in an equally bold, but very sprawly hand:—
“indeed? i wish you joy, sir.”
thereupon edgar took the slate and wrote:—
“thank you, joe. now, i leave you in charge. keep a sharp eye on the men—especially on that lazy fellow who has a tendency to sleep and shirk duty. if the rock in the fair-way is got ready before my return, blast it at once, without waiting for me. you will find one of siebe and gorman’s voltaic batteries in my lodging, also a frictional electrical machine, which you can use if you prefer it. in the store there is a large supply of tin-cases for gunpowder and compressed gun-cotton charges. there also you will find one of heinke and davis’s magneto-electric exploders. i leave it entirely to your own judgment which apparatus to use. all sorts are admirable in their way; quite fresh, and in good working order. have you anything to say to me before i go?”
“all right, sir,” replied joe, in his sprawly hand; “i’ll attend to orders. when do you start, and when do you expect to be back?”
“i start immediately. the day of my return is uncertain, but i’ll write to you.”
rubbing this out, joe wrote:—
“you’ll p’r’aps see my old ’ooman, sir. if you do, just give her my respects, an’ say the last pair o’ divin’ drawers she knitted for me was fust-rate. tightish, if anything, round the waist, but a bit o’ rope-yarn putt that all right—they’re warm an’ comfortable. good-bye, i wish you joy again, sir.”
“good-bye,” replied edgar.
it was impossible that our hero could follow his inclination, and nod with his stiff-necked iron head-piece at parting. he therefore made the motion of kissing his hand to his trusty man, and giving the requisite signal, spread his arms like a pair of wings, and flew up to the realms of light!
joe grinned broadly, and made the motion of kissing his hand to the ponderous soles of his employer’s leaden boots as they passed him, then, turning to the granite masonry at his side, he bent down and resumed his work.
arrived at the region of atmospheric air, edgar berrington clambered on board the attending vessel, took off his amphibious clothing, and arrayed himself in the ordinary habiliments of a gentleman, after which he went ashore, gave some instructions to the keeper of his lodgings, ordered his horse, galloped to the nearest railway station, flashed a telegraphic message to miss pritty to expect to see him that evening, and soon found himself rushing at forty miles an hour, away from the scene of his recent labours.
receiving a telegraph envelope half-an-hour later, miss pritty turned pale, laid it on the table, sank on the sofa, shut her eyes, and attempted to reduce the violent beating of her heart, by pressing her left side tightly with both hands.
“it must be death!—or accident!” she murmured faintly to herself, for she happened to be alone at the time.
poor miss pritty had no near relations in the world except edgar, and therefore there was little or no probability that any one would telegraph to her in connection with accident or death, nevertheless she entertained such an unconquerable horror of a telegram, that the mere sight of the well-known envelope, with its large-type title, gave her a little shock; the reception of one was almost too much for her.
after suffering tortures for about as long a time as the telegram had taken to reach her, she at last summoned courage to open the envelope.
the first words, “edgar berrington,” induced a little scream of alarm. the next, “to miss pritty,” quieted her a little. when, however, she learned that instead of being visited by news of death and disaster, she was merely to be visited by her nephew that same evening, all anxiety vanished from her speaking countenance, and was replaced by a mixture of surprise and amusement. then she sat down on the sofa—from which, in her agitation, she had risen—and fell into a state of perplexity.
“now i do wish,” she said, aloud, “that eddy had had the sense to tell me whether i am to let his friends the hazlits know of his impending visit. perhaps he telegraphed to me on purpose to give me time to call and prepare them for his arrival. on the other hand, perhaps he wishes to take them by surprise. it may be that he is not on good terms with mr hazlit, and intends to use me as a go-between. what shall i do?”
as her conscience was not appealed to in the matter, it gave no reply to the question; having little or no common sense to speak of, she could scarcely expect much of an answer from that part of her being. at last she made up her mind, and, according to a habit induced by a life of solitude, expressed it to the fireplace.
“yes, that’s what i’ll do. i shall wait till near the time of the arrival of the last train, and then go straight off to sea cottage to spend the evening, leaving a message that if any one should call in my absence i am to be found there. this will give him an excuse, if he wants one, for calling, and if he does not want an excuse he can remain here till my return. i’ll have the fire made up, and tell my domestic to offer tea to any one who should chance to call.”
miss pritty thought it best, on the whole, to give an ambiguous order about the tea to her small domestic, for she knew that lively creature to be a compound of inquisitiveness and impudence, and did not choose to tell her who it was that she expected to call. she was very emphatic, however, in impressing on the small domestic the importance of being very civil and attentive, and of offering tea, insomuch that the child protested with much fervour that she would be sure to attend to orders.
this resulted in quite an evening’s amusement to the small domestic.
after miss pritty had gone out, the first person who chanced to call was the spouse of mr timms, the green-grocer, who had obviously recovered from her illness.
“is miss pritty at ’ome?” she asked.
“no, ma’am, she ain’t, she’s hout,” answered the small domestic.
“ah! well, it don’t much matter. i on’y called to leave this ’ere little present of cabbidges an’ cawliflowers—with mr timms’ kind compliments and mine. she’s been wery kind to us, ’as miss pritty, an’ we wishes to acknowledge it.”
“please, ma’am,” said the domestic with a broad smile, as she took the basket of vegetables, “would you like a cup of tea?”
“what d’you mean, girl?” asked the green-grocer’s wife in surprise.
“please, ma’am, miss pritty told me to be sure to offer you a cup of tea.”
“did she, indeed? that’s was wery kind of her, wery kind, though ’ow she come for to know i was a-goin’ to call beats my comprehension. ’owever, tell her i’m greatly obleeged to her, but ’avin ’ad tea just afore comin’ out, an’ bein’ chock-full as i can ’old, i’d rather not. best thanks, all the same.”
mrs timms went away deeply impressed with miss pritty’s thoughtful kindness, and the small domestic, shutting the door, indulged in a fit of that species of suppressed laughter which is usually indicated by a series of spurts through the top of the nose and the compressed lips.
she was suddenly interrupted by a tap at the knocker.
allowing as many minutes to elapse as she thought would have sufficed for her ascent from the kitchen, she once more opened the door. it was only a beggar—a ragged disreputable man—and she was about to shut the door in his face, with that summary politeness so well understood by servant girls, when a thought struck her.
“oh, sir,” she said, “would you like a cup of tea?”
the man evidently thought he was being made game of, for his face assumed such a threatening aspect that the small domestic incontinently shut the door with a sudden bang. the beggar amused himself by battering it with his stick for five minutes and then went away.
the next visitor was a lady.
“is miss pritty at home, child?” she asked, regarding the domestic with a half-patronising, half-pitying air.
“no, ma’am, she’s hout.”
“oh! that’s a pity,” said the lady, taking a book out of her pocket. “will you tell her that i called for her subscription to the new hospital that is about to be built in the town? your mistress does not know me personally, but she knows all about the hospital, and this book, which i shall call for to-morrow, will speak for itself. be sure you give it to her, child.”
“yes, ma’am. and, please, ma’am, would you like a cup of tea?”
the lady, who happened to possess a majestic pair of eyes, looked so astonished that the small domestic could scarcely contain herself.
“are you deranged, child?” asked the lady.
“no, ma’am, if you please; but miss pritty told me to be sure to offer you a cup.”
“to offer me a cup, child!”
“yes, ma’am. at least to offer a cup to any one who should call.”
it need scarcely be added that the lady declined the tea, and went away, observing to herself in an undertone, that “she must be deranged.”
the small domestic again shut the door and spurted.
it was in her estimation quite a rare, delicious, and novel species of fun. to one whose monotonous life was spent underground, with a prospect of bricks at two feet from her window, and in company with pots, pans, potato-peelings, and black-beetles, it was as good as a scene in a play.
the next visitor was the butcher’s boy, who came round to take “orders” for the following day. this boy had a tendency to chaff.
“well, my lady, has your ladyship any orders?”
“nothink to-day,” answered the domestic, curtly.
“what! nothink at all? goin’ to fast to-morrow, eh? or to live on stooed hatmospheric hair with your own sauce for gravey—hey?”
“no, we doesn’t want nothink,” repeated the domestic, stoutly. “missus said so, an’ she bid me ask you if you’d like a cup of tea?”
the butcher’s boy opened his mouth and eyes in amazement. to have his own weapons thus turned, as he thought, against him by one who was usually rather soft and somewhat shy of him, took him quite aback. he recovered, however, quickly, and made a rush at the girl, who, as before, attempted to shut the door with a bang, but the boy was too sharp for her. his foot prevented her succeeding, and there is no doubt that in another moment he would have forcibly entered the house, if he had not been seized from behind by the collar in the powerful grasp of edgar berrington, who sent him staggering into the street. the boy did not wait for more. with a wild-indian war-whoop he turned and fled.
excited, and, to some extent, exasperated by this last visit, the small domestic received edgar with a one-third timid, one-third gleeful, and one-third reckless spirit.
“what did the boy mean?” asked edgar, as he turned towards her.
“please, sir, ’e wouldn’t ’ave a cup of tea, sir,” she replied meekly, then, with a gleam of hope in her eyes—“will you ’ave one, sir?”
“you’re a curious creature,” answered edgar, with a smile. “is miss pritty at home?”
“no, sir, she ain’t.”
this answer appeared to surprise and annoy him.
“very odd,” he said, with a little frown. “did she not expect me?”
“no, sir, i think she didn’t. leastways she didn’t say as she did, but she was very partikler in tellin’ me to be sure to hoffer you a cup of tea.”
edgar looked at the small domestic, and, as he looked, his mouth expanded. her mouth followed suit, and they both burst into a fit of laughter. after a moment or two the former recovered.
“this is all very pleasant, no doubt,” he said, “but it is uncommonly awkward. did she say when she would be home?”
“no, sir, she didn’t, but she bid me say if any one wanted her, that they’d find her at sea cottage.”
“at sea cottage—who lives there?”
“i don’t know, sir.”
“where is it?”
“on the sea-shore, sir.”
“which way—this way or that way?” asked edgar, pointing right and left.
“that way,” answered the girl, pointing left.
the impatient youth turned hastily to leave.
“please, sir—” said the domestic.
“well,” said edgar, stopping.
“you’re sure, sir—” she stopped.
“well?—go on.”
“that you wouldn’t like to ’ave a cup of tea?”
“child,” said edgar, as he turned finally away, “you’re mad—as mad as a march hare.”
“thank you, sir.”
the small domestic shut the door and retired to the regions below, where, taking the pots and pans and black-beetles into her confidence, she shrieked with delight for full ten minutes, and hugged herself.
