“Stark mad! Yes, I must have been,” he muttered; “and yet no, why was I to crush down my unselfish love?” And then he stopped short to examine himself as to whether his love had really been unselfish. But he passed on again unsatisfied, lost in abstracting thoughts, heedless of being jostled here, pushed there, a walking ensample in his short walk of what he was in his longer journey of life, a man whom everyone would expect to give place, while he full readily made way. Now he was shouted at by a cabman as he crossed the road, then dragged back by a crossing-sweeper as he was about to step in front of an omnibus. But he looked elate, and thoughts of a brighter future rose before his mind as something seemed to whisper that all would yet be well; and as brighter thoughts came lighting in upon his heart’s dark places, he saw old Matt well, and finding the entry that should restore him to ease and comfort; his wife and Lucy happy and smiling upon him; and then his head was lifted, his form grew more erect, his nerves and muscles became terse, and, swinging his arms, he strode forward till, turning down a side-street, he set off and ran—ran hard to the bottom, in the lightness of spirit that had come over him. He had no object in view, no reason for hastening, and the act seemed one of folly in a man of his years; but he felt the desire come upon him, and he ran, inflating his chest with the free air; and perhaps there have been times when, moved by similar impulses, men of the present day have felt, if they have not acted, the same as Septimus Hardon.
On again once more, this time to come in contact with a baker, whom he swung round basket and all, and when sworn at he apologised so cheerfully, and with such an aspect of genuine contrition, that the baker closed his voluble harangue with “Well, don’t do it again, that’s all.” And perhaps, after all, the acts of Septimus Hardon were not of so very insane a character. True, they seemed strange for a man who had just come from a bed of sickness, and whose own affairs were in a most unsatisfactory state; but may there not have been something reactive after the oppression of much sorrow, the elasticity of life asserting itself? Be it what it may, certain it is that Septimus Hardon, aged fifty, acted as has been described, though it seemed strange conduct in a man who had suffered as he had.
Breathed again, he once more ran on, full of resolutions for the future, touching the vigorous prosecution of his claim, smiling, too, as he made the vows in doubt as to their fulfilment, for he knew his weakness; but he ran on, feeling more light-hearted than he had felt for years, till suddenly he stopped and proceeded at a more moderate pace; for he trembled for his shoes, in whose durability he had not much faith, trusting their strength but little, for, placing the standard of boot-strength at twenty-six shillings, he remembered that he stood at three shillings and ninepence, plus his old ones, and he trembled.
Near home at last, where he arrived just in time to encounter ma mère the sinister, with her poodles, starting to give select entertainments through the evening in the far West; and, as he turned into the court, his light-heartedness passed away, the many hopeful thoughts vanished, and he sighed, for truly it was being under a cloud literally, as well as figuratively, to enter the precincts of Bennett’s-rents.
Volume Two—Chapter Fifteen.
The Common Lot Again.
All the renters appertaining to Bennett’s were either out in the court, or at door and window, on the day that Mrs Jarker was buried; while Lucy gladdened the heart of Jean Marais by taking charge of the little golden-haired child and carrying it up to his room to see the birds and dogs. Women stood in knots talking, with their arms rolled in their aprons, and a strong smell of rum, of the kind known as “pine-apple,” and vended at the corner, pervaded these little assemblies. The sports of the children were interrupted, and slapping was greatly in vogue in consequence of mothers never having known their offspring to have been so tiresome before. Hopscotch was banished from the court, tops and buttons confiscated, and there was not a boy or girl present who, in the face of so much tyranny, would not have emigrated to some more freedom-giving district, but for the fact that there was a “berryin;” and the shabby Shillibeer hearse, and its doleful horse and red-nosed driver, already stood at the end of the court, where the public-house doors were so carefully strapped-back for the convenience of customers.
The time at which the funeral would take place was already well-known, but for hours past the court had been in a state of excitement which prevented domestic concerns from receiving due attention. It was an observable fact that quite a large trade was done at the chandler’s shop in halfpenny bundles of wood, consequent upon fires being neglected, and doing what fires will do, going out. Babies screamed until they were hoarse, and then fell asleep to wake up and scream again. There were no bones broken, on account of the elasticity of the juvenile framework; but several children in the quadrupedal stage of development were known to have fallen down flights of stairs during their maternal search; while another diversion had been caused by a morsel forcing its foot through the grating over the drain, and refusing to be extricated. It was also observable that there were very few men about, and those visible confined themselves to the cellar-flap of one of the public-houses, only looking down the court at intervals.