Frank said he had not.
“Well, I am greatly troubled about him. He has become a regular drunkard, and leads his poor daughter a terrible life. He is so broken down with dissipation that he can scarcely procure employment anywhere. His son is fortunately a pretty decent fellow, though somewhat wild, and helps in a small way to support his father, having obtained a situation as clown at one of the minor theatres. The daughter, Ziza, has long ago given up the profession, and has been struggling to maintain herself and her father by painting fire-screens, and making artificial flowers; but the work is severe and ill paid, and I see quite well that if the poor girl is not relieved in some way she will not be able to bear up.”
“I grieve to hear this, Willie,” said Frank, “but how comes it that you take so great an interest in these people?”
“Frank,” said Willie, assuming a tone of deep seriousness, while a glow suffused his cheeks, “can you keep a secret?”
“I think so, lad; at least I promise to try.”
“Well, then,” said Willie, “I love Ziza Cattley. I knew her first as a fairy, I know her now as a woman who is worthy of a place among the angels, for none but those who know her well and have seen her fighting the battle of life can have the least idea of the self-denial, the perseverance under difficulties, the sweetness of temper, and the deep-seated love of that devoted girl. She goes every night, after the toil of each day, to the door of the theatre, where she waits to conduct her father safely past the gin-palaces, into which, but for her, he would infallibly stray, and she spends all she has in making him comfortable, but I see well enough that this is killing her. She can’t stand it long, and I won’t stand it at all! I’ve made up my mind to that. Now, Frank, I want your advice.”
To say that Frank was hearty in his assurances that he would do what he could to help his brother, would be a faint way of stating the truth. Frank shook Willie by the hand and congratulated him on having gained the affections of one whom he knew to be a good girl, and then condoled with him on that girl’s unfortunate circumstances; but Willie stopped him short at this point by asking him in a tone of surprise what could be the matter with him, for at first he had been apparently annoyed at the notion of his (Willie’s) being in love, and now he seemed quite pleased about it. In short, his conduct was unaccountable!
Frank laughed, but said eagerly—
“Why. Willie, did you not tell me long ago that there was a fire in your bosom, lit up by a certain young friend of Miss Tippet’s—”
“Oh,” interrupted Willie, “Emma Ward; ah, yes, I confess that I did feel spooney once in that direction when I was a boy, but the fairy displaced her long ago. No, no, Frank, I’m not accountable for boyish fancies. By the way, I have just parted from the fair Emma. We had a tête-à-tête here not half an hour before you arrived.”