‘'Elp it, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Halliss, herself almost crying, ‘nor there ain’t no reason why you should try to ‘elp it neither. As I says to John, “John,” says I, “there ain’t no ‘arm in it, noways,” says I, “but I can’t stand by,” says I, “and see them two poor dear young creechurs,” meanin’ no offence, ma’am, “a-pawning of their own jewelry and things to go and pay for their Sunday’s dinner.” And John, ‘e says, says ‘e, “Quite right, Martha,” says ‘e; “don’t let ‘em, my dear,” says ‘e. “The Lord has prospered us a bit in our ‘umble way, Martha,” says ‘e, “and we ain’t got no cause to want, we ain’t; and if the dear lady and the good gentleman wouldn’t take it as a liberty,” says ‘e, “it ‘ud be better they should just borrer a pound or two for a week from us,” says ‘e, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, for ‘intin’ of it, “than that there Mr. Le Breting, as ain’t accustomed to such places nohow, should go a-makin’ acquaintance, for the fust time of his life, as you may say, with the inside of a pawnbroker’s shop,” says ‘e. “John,” says I, “it’s my belief the lady and gentleman ‘ud be insulted,” says I, “though they ARE the sweetest unassoomin’est young gentlefolk I ever did see,” says I, “if we were to go as tin’ them to accept the loan of money from the likes of you and me, John, as is no better, by the side of them, nor old servants, in the manner o’ speakin’.” “Insulted,” says ‘e; “not a bit of it, they needn’t, Martha,” says ‘e, “for I knows the ways of the aristocracy,” says ‘e, “and I knows as there’s many a gentleman as owns ‘is own ‘osses and ‘is own ‘ounds as isn’t afraid to borrer a pound or so from ‘is own coachman, or even from ‘is own groom—not but what to borrer from a groom is lowerin’,” says ‘e, “in a tempory emergency. Mind you, Martha,” says ‘e, “a tempory emergency is a thing as may ‘appen to landed gentlefolks any day,” says ‘e. “It’s like a ‘ole in your coat made by a tear,” says ‘e; “a haccident as may ‘appen to-morrer to the Prince of Wales ‘isself upon the ‘untin’ field,” ‘e says. “Well, then, John,” says I, “I’ll just go an’ speak to ‘em about it, this very minnit,” says I, and if I might make so bold, ma’am, without seemin’ too presumptious, I should be very glad if you’d kindly allow me, ma’am, to lend Mr. Le Breting a few suvverins till ‘e gets ‘is next remittances, ma’am.’
Edie looked at Ernest, and Ernest looked at Edie and the landlady; and then they all three burst out crying together without further apology. Perhaps it was the old Adam left in Ernest a little; but though he could stand kindness from Dr. Greatrex or from Mr. Lancaster stoically enough, he couldn’t watch the humble devotion of those two honest-hearted simple old servants without a mingled thrill of shame and tenderness. ‘Mrs. Halliss,’ he said, catching up the landlady’s hard red hand gratefully in his own, ‘you are too good and too kind, and too considerate for us altogether. I feel we have done nothing to deserve such great kindness from you. But I really don’t think it would be right of us to borrow from you when we don’t even know how long it may be before we’re able to return your money or whether we shall ever be able to return it at all. We’re so much obliged to you, so very very much obliged to you, dear Mrs. Halliss, but I think we ought as a matter of duty to pawn these few little things rather than run into debt which we’ve no fair prospect at present of ever redeeming.’
‘HAS you please, sir,’ Mrs. Halliss said gently, wiping her eyes with her snow-white apron, for she saw at once that Ernest really meant what he said. ‘Not that John an’ me would think of it for a minnit, sir, so long as you wouldn’t mind our takin’ the liberty; but any’ow, sir, we can’t allow you to go out yourself and go to the pawnbroker’s. It ain’t no fit place for the likes of you, sir, a pawnbroker’s ain’t, in all that low company; and I don’t suppose you’d rightly know ‘ow much to hask on the articles, neither. John, ‘e ain’t afeard of goin’; an’ ‘e says, ‘e insists upon it as ‘e’s to go, for ‘e don’t think, sir, for the honour of the ‘ouse, ‘e says, sir, as a lodger of ours ought to be seen a-goin’ to the pawnbroker’s. Just you give them things right over to John, sir, and ‘e’ll get you a better price on ‘em by a long way nor they’d ever think of giving a gentleman like you, sir.’
Ernest fought off the question in a half-hearted fashion for a little while, but Mrs. Halliss insisted upon it, and after a short time Ernest gave way, for to say the truth he had very vague ideas himself as to how he ought to proceed in a pawnbroking expedition. Mrs. Halliss ran down the kitchen stairs quickly, for fear he should change his mind as soon as her back was turned, and called out gaily to her husband in the first delight of her unexpected triumph.
‘John,’ she cried, ‘—drat that man, where is ‘e? John, dear, you just putt your ‘at on, and purtend to run round the corner a bit to Aston’s the pawnbroker’s. The Lord have mercy upon me for the stories I’ve been a-tellin’ of ‘em, but I couldn’t bear to see them two pore things a-pawnin’ their little bits of jewelry and sich, and Mr. Le Breting, too, ‘im as ain’t fit to go knockin’ together with underbred folks like pawnbrokers. So I told ‘im as you’d take ‘em round and pawn ‘em for ‘im yourself; not as I don’t suppose you’ve never pawned nothink in your ‘ole life, John, leastways not since ever you an’ me kep’ company, for afore that I suppose you was purty much like other young men is, John, for all you shakes your ‘ead at it now so innocent like. But you just run round, there’s a dear, and make as if you was goin’ to the pawnbroker’s, and then you come straight ‘ome again unbeknown to ‘em. I ain’t a goin’ to let them two pore dears go pawnin’ their things for a dinner nohow. You take them two suvverins out of your box, John, and putt away these ‘ere little things for the present time till the pore souls is able to pay us, and if they never don’t, small matter neither. Now you go fast, John, there’s a dear, and come back, and mind you give them two suvverins to Mr. Le Breting as natural like as ever you’re able.’
‘Pawn ‘em,’ John said in a pitying voice, ‘no indeed, it ain’t come to that yet, I should ‘ope, that they need go a-pawnin’ their effects while we’ve got a suvverin or two laid by in our box, Martha. Not as anybody need be ashamed of pawnin’ on occasions, for that matter,—I don’t say as a reg’lar thing, but now an’ then on occasions, as you may call it; for even in the best dookal families, I’ve ‘eard tell they DO sometimes ‘ave to pawn the dimonds, so that pawnin’ ain’t in the runnin’ noways, bless you, as respects gentility. Not as I’d like to go into a pawnshop myself, Martha, as I’ve always been brought up respectable; but when you send for Mr. Hattenborough to your own ressydence and say quite commandin’ like, “‘Er Grace ‘ud be obleeged if you’d wait upon ‘er in Belgrave Square to hinspeck ‘er dimonds as I want to raise the wind on ‘em,” why, that’s quite another matter nat’rally.’
When honest John came back in a few minutes and handed the two sovereigns over to Ernest, he did it with such an unblushing face as might have won him applause on any stage for its perfect naturalness. ‘Lor’ bless your ‘eart, sir,’ he said in answer to Ernest’s shamefaced thanks, touching the place where his hat ought to be mechanically, ‘it ain’t nothing, sir, that ain’t. If it weren’t for the dookal families of England, sir, it’s my belief the pawnbrokin’ business wouldn’t be worth mentioning in the manner o’ speakin’.’
That evening, Ernest paced up and down the little parlour rather moodily for half an hour with three words ringing perpetually in his dizzy ears-the ‘Never, never, never,’ he had used so short a tune since about the ‘Morning Intelligence.’ He must get money somehow for Dot and Edie! he must get money somehow to pay good Mrs. Halliss for their board and lodging! There was only one way possible. Fight against it as he would, in the end he must come back to that inevitable conclusion. At last he sat down with a gloomy face at the centre table, and pulled out a sheet of blank foolscap.
‘What are you going to do, Ernest?’ Edie asked him.
Ernest groaned. ‘I’m writing a social for the “Morning Intelligence,” Edie,’ he answered bitterly.