Before Faith had been gone quite half an hour her father returned. This was an unusual proceeding, for generally he spent his Sunday afternoons in a working men’s club round the corner. He was one of the most influential members of this club—its most active and stirring representative. He organised meetings, got up debates, and did, in short, those thousand and one things which an energetic, clever man can do to put fire and life into such proceedings. He had come home now to draw up the minutes of a new organisation which he and a few other kindred spirits were about to form.
It was to be a society in every way based on the laws of justice and reason. Religious, and yet allowing all harmless and innocent amusements both for Sundays and weekdays; temperate, but permitting the use of beer and wine in moderation.
Warden felt very virtuous and very useful as he sat down with pen and paper before him. No one could say of him that he spent his time for nought. How blameless and good and excellent was his life! Never, never would it be necessary for those lips to cry to his Maker, “God be merciful to me a sinner!”
A little restless movement, and faint, satisfied baby sigh from the sofa, interrupted these self-satisfied meditations. He looked round and saw little Roy. “Bless us! is the child there? and wherever is Faith?” he said to himself.
He got up and approached his little boy. The child was looking as beautiful as such a lovely creature would look in his sleep. Warden went on his knees to watch him more earnestly. Yes; the golden-brown eyelashes, the tangled mass of bright hair, the full pouting lips, the rounded limbs, made up a picture which might well cause any father’s heart to beat with love and pride; and doubtless there was much of both in Warden’s soul just then. He gazed long and earnestly. Before he rose to his feet he even bent and kissed the little flushed cheek.
“Yes,” he said to himself; “he’s a very, very lovely boy. If ever a man had cause for ambition I have. With God’s help, that boy shall take his place with any gentleman in the land before I die.”
He sat down again by his table, but instead of continuing his work he remained for a time, one hand partly shading his eyes, while he indulged in a meditation. Yes; he must save as much money as possible; for Roy’s education must begin early. Roy must have this, Roy must have that. He did not think of Faith at all. Faith was but a girl. He began to consider by what means he could add to his earnings, by what means he could retrench his present expenses. The rooms they now lived in were comfortable, but far from cheap. Ought they not to go into poorer lodgings? for now they spent all he earned, and where, if that was so, would be the money to put little Roy to school by-and-by?
In the midst of these thoughts, the door was pushed softly open, and a man’s face appeared. It just appeared above the frame of the door, and looked in with timid, bloodshot eyes.
“I cannot assist you, Peter Davis,” called out Warden in his full, loud tones. “There’s no manner of use in your waiting here. You know my opinion of such conduct as yours.”
“Yes; but I means to reform—I do indeed,” replied Davis. He had so far gathered courage now as to advance a step or two into the room. “’Tis h’all so ’ard on a feller. When he’s down h’every one throws a stone at him. I’m h’ever so sorry fur givin’ way to the drink, and I’m goin’ to take the pledge—I am indeed.”