“He got very low in London,—poor old man!” continued Padiham.
“Nothing dishonest, I hope,” said I.
“No, no. Only gambling, with a crazy hope of getting even with the world again. In this way he spent all that he had left, and Ellen’s hard earnings beside. It made him wild for her to refuse him; so she was forced to give him all that she could spare,—all except just enough to pay for a poor place to live in and poorer fare. She never knew where he spent the long nights; she only saw him creep back to his garret in the early morning destitute and half alive. Richard Wade, you may read books, and hear tales, and go through the world looking for women that help and hope, and never give up helping and hoping; but you’ll never find another like her,—no, not like my dear lass,—as grand a beauty, too, as any at the Queen’s court.”
“You are right, Padiham. None like her.”
“But I promised you to talk as short as I could. I must tell you how I found them. The poor gentle-folks that I take care of generally know something of ornamental work that they learnt to do, for play, when they were better off. I set them at doing what they can do best, and sell it for them. There is always some one among my family can draw. What of their drawings I can’t dispose of at the print-shops I buy myself, and scatter ’em round among mechanics to light up their benches. You were right when you said a man cannot be a good artisan unless he has a bit of the artist in him.
“It was by going to a print-shop with drawings to sell that I found my dear lass. She had painted me, and sold the picture to the dealer for bread. I wouldn’t have noticed the picture except for the dwarf in it, and now I wouldn’t be a finished man for the world. Yes, there I was, Dwarf George, picking daisies on the edge of a coal-pit; there I was, just as I used to look, with the coal-dust ground into me, trying to make friends with the fresh innocent daisies in the sunshine.
“By that picture I found them just in time. When I got to their garret, Ellen was lying sick, ill in body, and tired and sorrowed out. Their money was all gone, for Gentleman Hugh had been robbed of his last the night before. I brought my dear child and her father here. What I had was theirs.
“As soon as her father was safe with me, his old friend, she got well. As soon as his daughter was out of the way of harm and want, and the old gentleman had nothing to be crazy about and nothing to run away from, he stopped dead. He fell into a palsy.
“There he is now up-stairs. Ellen chose the upper room, where they could look over the house-tops and of clear days see the Surrey Hills. I’ve got some skill in my fingers for mending broken men, but Hugh Clitheroe can’t be mended. It’s as well for him that he can’t. He’s been off track too long ever to run steady in this world. But he has come to himself, and sees things clearer at last. He lies there contented and patient, waiting for his end. He sees his daughter, who has gone with him though thick and thin, by his side, and knows she will love him closer every day. And he knows that his old mate, Dwarf George, is down here in the basement, strong enough to keep all up and all together.”
“Let me be the one, Mr. Padiham;” said I, “to ask the honor of shaking hands with you. I think better of the world for your sake.”