Chapter Ten.
Prize or Blank?
As they entered at the farther end of the vast hall, where civic fêtes and feasts were wont to take place, and the huge figures of Gog and Magog looked forth from their pedestals, it was already crowded. On either side were low galleries; one devoted to ladies, the other to gentlemen, while the centre was filled with a mixed multitude of every degree, among whom it was very evident that the pickpockets were already busy. All were looking up towards the farther end, where a large stage was erected. In the centre was a table, at which sat several grave personages—the commissioners of the lottery; while on either side were two large circular cases or wheels, in front of each of which stood a Bluecoat boy, from Christ’s Hospital, with the sleeves of their coats turned up. In front of the table were several clerks engaged in noting the proceedings of the day. At either end of the table stood a man, who with a loud voice cried forth the names of the numbers which were drawn at each turn of the wheel by the Bluecoat boys.
Lady Tryon pushed her way forward in the gallery that she might be as near as possible to the table. Harry had to leave her. He went round into the centre space, and stood under the part of the gallery where she at length found a seat. With trembling hands, Lady Tryon sat with the numbers of her tickets before her. She kept those also which she professed to give to Harry. As the numbers were loudly proclaimed a change came over the countenance of the eager spectators. When the tickets turned up blanks a look of satisfaction beamed on the faces of all, except the unhappy holder of the number, whereas when a prize was announced, each one present felt that his or her chance was lessened of obtaining the wished-for wealth. Sometimes a groan of despair succeeded the drawing of a number. To purchase that number yon wretched man has been hoarding perhaps for months past, nearly starving himself and those dependent on him, or may be he has been robbing his employer, intending to repay when he should become the possessor of the mighty prize which has been the dream of his midday thoughts and nightly slumbers for so many weeks past. Occasionally, at small intervals, shouts arose from a small group—they had divided the sixteenth part of a ticket among them, and it had turned up a prize. They might be seen shaking hands and laughing strangely, and running into each other’s arms, as their feelings prompted them. Too probably, however, the greater part of the amount would be spent in other tickets, to turn up blanks. A young man was there standing near Harry with haggard countenance, his eager eye fixed on the wheels. A number was cried out. He gazed at a paper before him and ran out, frantically striding his forehead. A pistol shot was heard outside the hall, but the sound scarcely moved one of the eager crowd. Harry afterwards heard that the young man had shot himself, utterly ruined. Such has been the fate of many a man after losing his all at a gambling-house. Such in reality was the use to which the Guildhall of London was at that time put. As the numbers were called out, Harry guessed by the expression of Lady Tryon’s countenance that one after the other of those she held in her hand had turned up blanks. Even the rouge on her cheeks could not conceal the deadly pallor which was creeping over her countenance. Her hands trembled more and more. She dropped paper after paper. At length she held but one in her hand. Some hours had already passed since they entered the hall: no wonder that she was fatigued. Each time another number was called out she glanced at her paper. And now, in the same indifferent voice as before, the crier announced another number. A piercing shriek was heard.
“The old lady has fainted!” cried some of the females in the gallery near her, and Harry saw his grandmother falling back from her chair.
“Help! help!” was cried. “She is dying!”
He made his way to the gallery and lifted her in his arms. Her head fell helplessly down; her hands drooped. One hand still grasped the paper which had been declared a blank. Not one of those females, most of them ladies of rank and supposed sensibility, offered him the slightest assistance. Their numbers had not yet been drawn, and they would not sacrifice a moment to assist a dying fellow-creature even of their own station in life. Harry exerted all his strength to get Lady Tryon out of the gallery.
“Is there no medical man who will assist me?” he cried out.
“I will, sir,” exclaimed a somewhat foppishly dressed individual, stepping forward.
“Stay, beware of him, he is a pickpocket,” said a voice near him.
Harry declined the services of the stranger.
No medical man came forward. A crowd, however, collected round him, and even before his eyes he saw the brooch and chains which his grandmother wore torn off and carried away by nimble fingers, at which he in vain attempted to grasp. “It matters little,” he thought, “she will never discover her loss.” He hoped to be able to carry her to her carriage, and as the crowd at last made way for him he bore her along the street. Fortunately he soon caught sight of the livery of her coachman. She was placed in her carriage, and Harry took his seat by her side, telling the coachman to stop at the first doctor’s shop they came to. The carriage soon stopped in front of a window full of bright-coloured liquids, and before Harry had time even to get out, a gentleman bustled up to the carriage door.
“Can I render any professional assistance?” he asked, looking in.
“Yes,” exclaimed Harry; “what can be done for this lady?”
“Will she step out?” asked the medical practitioner.
“She is unable, sir,” said Harry.
“Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse,” was the rejoinder. The apothecary made a long face.
“Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!” he exclaimed, rather offended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. “I can do nothing for her, sir.”
“Dead!” exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. “Are you sure that she is dead?”
“Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for her executors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only advice I can give you.”
Harry told the coachman to drive on. “But do I not owe you a fee, sir, for your trouble?”
“Oh, no, sir, no; that would be too much,” said the apothecary, thinking that he had been too plain-spoken with the young man, who might possibly be a relative of the old lady, though he was somewhat young to be her son.
Harry fortunately recollected Lady Tryon’s man of business. He sent for him, as he did also for Mr Kyffin.
“I will leave you still here,” said his old friend, who came that very evening, “and when your grandmother’s affairs have been arranged you must come to my house. I hope that you will find yourself left comfortably off. Let me entreat you not to be idle, Harry; it is the very worst employment a man can engage in.” Harry shook his head. “I doubt my being well off,” he answered. “We will hope for the best,” said Mr Kyffin. Harry had good reason for his doubts. Even before his grandmother’s body was placed in her coffin, an execution was put into the house. Every article in it was seized by her creditors, and even after all her property had been disposed of, many were still left unpaid. Harry was literally destitute. For himself he would not have felt it so much, but it was a cruel thought that he must relinquish all his hopes of obtaining Mabel. He had, however, one firm friend.
“My dear boy,” said Mr Kyffin, “this may be, after all, the best thing that could have happened to you. Had your grandmother left you well off you might have turned out an idler. I have sufficient influence, I think, with your relative, Mr Coppinger, to obtain a situation for you in his house of business. The very fact that your unhappy grandmother has deceived you and left you totally unprovided for will weigh greatly with him.”
Harry wrote immediately to his great-uncle, Mr Coppinger, and other relatives, announcing his grandmother’s death. The following day the merchant appeared. He spoke kindly to Harry, and seemed satisfied with the way he expressed himself.
“I have seen so little of my sister for so many years that I know nothing of her affairs,” he observed, “but from what you tell me I am afraid that they are not in a satisfactory condition.”
Harry, at that time, was not aware how utterly his grandmother had ruined herself. In a very few days, however, the merchant discovered that his sister had not left sufficient to pay her debts.
“However, it cannot be helped now. We must have as quiet a funeral as possible, and the less said about the matter the better. I am not surprised, as I heard something about her habits; but for you I am sorry, Harry. However, you are young, and the world is before you. If you are disposed to work you can make your way, as many an honest steady man has done, with fewer abilities than you possess, I suspect.”
Harry assured his uncle that he was ready to work, but though he might have preferred entering the army or navy, he saw now clearly that he must attempt some career by which he might maintain himself.
“Well, I will talk the matter over with your friend Mr Kyffin, and he will communicate the result to you,” said Mr Coppinger.
The people of Lynderton were greatly disappointed, and considered that they had a right to complain of Lady Tryon when they discovered that she was not to be interred in their churchyard with the usual pomp-and-ceremony of persons of her position. Instead of that, she was laid to rest in the burying-ground of the parish in which she died. Still more aggrieved were her creditors when they found they had to accept only five shillings in the pound, and that they might consider themselves very fortunate in obtaining that amount.
Roger Kyffin insisted on his young ward coming to live with him, and as soon as the creditors had taken charge of the house, Harry Tryon packed up his small possessions and removed to Hampstead.
“It is all arranged, Harry,” said Mr Kyffin, the following day; “your uncle will receive you as a clerk at a salary of 100 pounds a year. It is a very good one, let me assure you, for a beginner. Many a young man has to pay a large premium to be admitted into such a house; you may therefore consider yourself especially fortunate. All you have now to do is to be punctual, to be ready to do every thing you are required, and to forward to the utmost of your power your principal’s interest. Exactness is a great thing, and above all, rigidly honourable conduct. You will not discredit my recommendation, Harry, I feel sure of that.”