As we entered the outskirts of Bedford, my companion found it necessary, owing to increase of traffic, to raise his voice, which he continued to do until at last the traffic became so very great that he could not make himself heard. I had not heard his voice for the last five minutes, when he suddenly clutched my shoulder and demanded what I thought of that. "You have a wonderful memory," I said. "Oh," said he, "that is nothing; I could entertain you for several days in like manner, with fresh matter each day. Here we are at the 'Cock.' I like your company and, if you are travelling my way to-morrow, let us go together. It is not every man that I would travel with two days in succession." And, thought I, it is not every man would travel in your company two days in succession. "Which way are you going?" I asked him. "Towards Northampton," said he. "Alas," I answered, "my direction is altogether different."
We now entered the "Cock," and after calling for two glasses of ale, enquired as to accommodation for travellers, which we were informed was good, there being plenty of room. Sometimes, if ale is not called for, they are disinclined to letting beds, especially in the winter, when they find so little difficulty in filling the house.
On entering the kitchen we found it occupied by a number of men, some of whom recognised my fellow traveller, and spoke to him. But, strange to say, although this man had proved so garrulous with one for a companion, with the many he had very little to say, and sat in a corner all through the evening smoking in silence, and paying no heed to others either by tongue, eye, or ear. Once or twice I saw his lips move, when filling his pipe, or knocking out its ashes, and I thought that he was perhaps rehearsing and training his memory for the following day, in case he would be again fortunate in picking up with an easy fool like myself. For, no doubt, the poor old fellow had been often commanded to desist from reciting, and ordered to hell by impatient and unsympathetic men whom he had at first mistaken for quiet and good natured companions. I had not by a look or a word sought to offend him, but one day of his company was certainly enough.
CHAPTER XXX
THE FORTUNE
It is not unusual to read of cases where men who have descended to the lowest forms of labour—aye, even become tramps—being sought and found as heirs to fortunes, left often by people who either had no power to will otherwise, or whom death had taken unawares. Therefore, when one fine morning a cab drove up to a beer-house, which was also a tramps' lodging house, and a well dressed gentleman entered and enquired of the landlord for a man named James Macquire—the landlord at once pronounced him to be a solicitor in quest of a lost heir. "Sir," said he, "we do not take the names of our lodgers, but several are now in the kitchen. James Macquire, you said?" On receiving answer in the affirmative the landlord at once visited the lodgers' kitchen, and standing at the door enquired in a very respectable manner if there was any gentleman present by the name of Macquire, whose christian name was James. At which a delicate looking man, who had arrived the previous night, sprang quickly to his feet and said in a surprised voice—"That is my name." "Well," said the landlord, "a gentleman wishes to see you at once; he came here in a cab, and, for your sake, I trust my surmises are right."
With the exception of having on a good clean white shirt, the man Macquire was ill clad, and he looked ruefully at his clothes, and then at the landlord. "Please ask the gentleman to wait," said he, and, going to the tap, began to wash his hands and face, after which he carefully combed his hair.
The strange gentleman was seated quietly in the bar when the man Macquire presented himself, and the landlord was engaged in washing glasses and dusting decanters. "Mr. James Macquire?" asked the gentleman, rising and addressing the ill-clad one in a respectful manner, which the landlord could not help but notice. "That is my name," answered Macquire, with some dignity. "Do you know anything of Mr. Frederick Macquire, of Doggery Hall?" asked the gentleman. "I do," said the ill-clad one; and, after a long pause, and seeming to give the information with much reluctance, he added—"Mr. Frederick Macquire, of Doggery Hall, is my uncle." Several other questions were asked and answered. "That will do, thank you," said the gentleman; "will you please call at the 'King's Head' and see me at seven P. M.? You have been advertised for since the death of Mr. Frederick Macquire, some weeks ago. Good morning," he said, shaking James Macquire by the hand in a highly respectful manner, as the landlord could not fail to see, totally regardless of the man's rags.
The ill-clad one stood at the bar speechless, apparently absorbed in deep thought. "What will you have to drink?" asked the landlord kindly. "Whisky," answered Macquire, in a faint voice. After drinking this, and another, he seemed to recover his composure, and said to the landlord—"I am at present, as you must know, penniless, and you would greatly oblige me by the loan of a few shillings, say half a sovereign until I draw a couple of hundred pounds in advance. Whatever I receive from you, you shall have a receipt, and, although nothing is said about interest, the amount owing will be doubled, aye trebled, you may rest assured of that, for I never forget a kindness." "You had better take a sovereign," said the landlord, "and, of course, the Mrs. will supply any meals you may need, and drink is at your disposal." "Thank you," said Macquire, in a choking voice—"let me have a couple of pots of your best ale for the poor fellows in the kitchen."
What a surprise for the poor lodgers when they were asked to drink Macquire's health! On being told of his good fortune, they one and all cheered and congratulated him. But the easy way in which this man Macquire threw his weight about the kitchen and, for that matter, the whole house was extraordinary.