Up to the point with which we are familiar there is no need to set down here what Dr. Perriera imparted to his companion. We will take up the thread from the time of Timothy Chance's last appearance upon the scene.
"Timothy has made the best use of his opportunities," said the doctor. "From the small beginnings which I have recounted he has risen by slow and sure steps to be, I should say, the largest poultry breeder in the kingdom. He has farms in half a dozen different places, and it is necessary, of course, that at stated intervals he should get rid of old stock to make room for new. His contracts are really important ones, and he turns over a large amount of money during the year. Lately an idea occurred to him, which he is now turning to practical account. Instead of selling his old stock to hotels and shopkeepers, he believes it will be more profitable to speculate in it himself. As a trial, he has opened a shop in the neighborhood here, which I regard as a boon to the people. He will send so many fowls there every day, and they will be cooked and disposed of to those who can afford to buy. I think his idea was inspired by something of a similar nature which he saw in France. You can purchase a whole roasted fowl, a half, a wing and breast, or a leg. The prices are very moderate, the poultry is of good quality, the cooking is sure to be excellent, for Timothy is perfect in all his arrangements. Here we are at his trial shop."
It was, indeed, a notable establishment, and, as Hester had said, was crowded with customers. The predominating features of the shop were light and cleanliness. At the rear of the shop were the stoves at which the fowls were roasted, and these were cut up, or arranged whole, upon marble slabs. The attendants were all females, and wore light print dresses and spotlessly clean white aprons and caps; order and system reigned, and the money was rolling in. It was an animated scene, made the more agreeable by the pleasant faces and the civility which distinguished those who were attending to the customers.
"It will do," said Dr. Perriera, in a tone of approval. "Before the year is out Timothy will have a score of such shops in poor localities. He is made of the right stuff; his future is assured. Let us return now, and I will bring your son to you."
[CHAPTER XLV.]
Mr. Manners sat alone in Dr. Perriera's living-room, awaiting the arrival of his son. The last twenty-four hours had been the most pregnant in his life; in a few minutes his fate would be decided; in a few minutes he would know whether the years that remained to him would be brightened by love, or made desolate by loneliness--loneliness in which reigned a terror and despair he had never yet experienced. Hitherto he had been a law unto himself; hitherto he had borne the fate he had courted with a stern, implacable spirit, bearing with bitter resolve the burden he had inflicted upon himself. There had been no resignation in his soul to soften his sufferings, and he had not sought the consolation which charity or religion would have shed upon him. His heart had been as a sealed box, into which no ray of light had entered; all was dark and desolate. He would soon learn whether this would continue to be his fate. Some savage comfort had come to him in the past from the belief that he was in the right, and Kingsley in the wrong, but this would be denied to him now. The thought had occasionally intruded itself that Kingsley would come to him as a suppliant, begging for mercy and forgiveness; but the positions were reversed; it was he, not his son, who was the suppliant; it was he, not his son, who pleaded for forgiveness.
Each moment seemed prolonged. "He refuses to come," thought the repentant man. "I am to my only child as one who is dead. It is a just punishment." It was in accordance with his character that he should recognize the justice of the position in which he stood.
When he heard footsteps in Dr. Perriera's shop he rose to his feet and looked towards the door as a criminal might, awaiting his sentence. The door opened, and Kingsley entered.
His face was radiant; a tender light shone in his eyes.
"Why, father!" cried Kingsley, and opened his arms.