She smiled, and rose to kiss him as the hen and chickens hastened away from the door, and a clear bugle call sounded in the square.
XI
Eleven years have gone since that scene was enacted at Edmonton.
A great gathering is dispersing from a hall in Piccadilly. It has been drawn together to do honour to a man who has achieved a triumph in engineering science. As he steps from the platform to go, he is greeted by a fusilade of cheers. He bows calmly and kindly. He is a man of vigorous yet reserved aspect; he has a rare individuality. He receives with a quiet cordiality the personal congratulations of his friends. He remains for some time in conversation with a royal duke, who takes his arm, and with him passes into the street. The duke is a member of this great man’s club, and offers him a seat in his brougham. Amid the cheers of the people they drive away together. Inside the club there are fresh congratulations, and it is proposed to arrange an impromptu dinner, at which the duke will preside. But with modesty and honest thanks the great man declines. He pleads an engagement. He had pleaded this engagement the day before to a well-known society. After his health is proposed, he makes his adieux, and leaving the club, walks away towards a West-end square. In one of its streets he pauses, and enters a building called “Providence Chambers.” His servant hands him a cablegram. He passes to his library, and, standing before the fire, opens it. It reads: “My wife and I send congratulations to the great man.”
Jaspar Hume stands for a moment looking at the fire, and then says simply: “I wish poor old Bouche were here.” He then sits down and writes this letter:
My dear Friends,—Your cablegram has made me glad. The day is over.
My latest idea was more successful than I even dared to hope; and
the world has been kind. I went down to see your boy, Jaspar, at
Clifton last week. It was his birthday, you know—nine years old,
and a clever, strong-minded little fellow. He is quite contented.
As he is my god-child, I again claimed the right of putting a
thousand dollars to his credit in the bank,—I have to speak of
dollars to you people living in Canada—which I have done on his
every birthday. When he is twenty-one he will have twenty-one
thousand dollars—quite enough for a start in life. We get along
well together, and I think he will develop a fine faculty for
science. In the summer, as I said, I will bring him over to you.
There is nothing more to say to-night except that I am as always,
Your faithful and loving friend,
JASPAR HUME.
A moment after the letter was finished, the servant entered and announced “Mr. Late Carscallen.” With a smile and hearty greeting the great man and this member of the White Guard met. It was to entertain his old arctic comrade that Jaspar Hume had declined to be entertained by society or club. A little while after, seated at the table, the ex-sub-factor said: “You found your brother well, Carscallen?”
The jaws moved slowly as of old. “Ay, that, and a grand meenister, sir.”
“He wanted you to stay in Scotland, I suppose?”