Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  THE RETURNING PRODIGAL.

  For a considerable time the Bible-seller plied Sam with every argumenthe could think of in order to induce him to return home, and he wasstill in the middle of his effort when the door opened, and two youngmen of gentlemanly appearance walked in, bearing a portable harmoniumbetween them.

  They were followed by one of the ladies of the Beehive, who devote alltheir time--and, may we not add, all their hearts--to the rescue of theperishing. Along with her came a tall, sweet-faced girl. She was ourfriend Hetty Frog, who, after spending her days at steady work, spentsome of her night hours in labours of love. Hetty was passionately fondof music, and had taught herself to play the harmonium sufficiently toaccompany simple hymns.

  After her came the missionary, whose kind face was familiar to most ofthe homeless ones there. They greeted him with good-naturedfamiliarity, but some of their faces assumed a somewhat vinegar aspectwhen the tall form of Sir Richard Brandon followed Seaward.

  "A bloated haristocrat!" growled one of the men.

  "Got a smart little darter, anyhow," remarked another, as Di, holdingtight to her father's hand, glanced from side to side with looks ofmingled pity and alarm.

  For poor little Di had a not uncommon habit of investing everything in_couleur de rose_, and the stern reality which met her had not theslightest tinge of that colour. Di had pictured to herself clean ragsand picturesque poverty. The reality was dirty rags and disgustingpoverty. She had imagined sorrowful faces. Had she noted them when themissionary passed, she might indeed have seen kindly looks; but when herfather passed there were only scowling faces, nearly all of which wereunshaven and dirty. Di had not thought at all of stubbly beards ordirt! Neither had she thought of smells, or of stifling heat that itwas not easy to bear. Altogether poor little Di was taken down from aheight on that occasion to which she never again attained, because itwas a false height. In after years she reached one of the trueheights--which was out of sight higher than the false one!

  There was something very businesslike in these missionaries, for therewas nothing of the simply amateur in their work--like the visit of Diand her father. They were familiar with the East-end mines; knew wheresplendid gems and rich gold were to be found, and went about diggingwith the steady persistence of the labourer, coupled, however, with thefire of the enthusiast.

  They carried the harmonium promptly to the most conspicuous part of theroom, planted it there, opened it, placed a stool in front of it, andone of the brightest diamonds from that mine--in the person of HettyFrog--sat down before it. Simply, and in sweet silvery tones, shesang--"Come to the Saviour."

  The others joined--even Sir Richard Brandon made an attempt to sing--ashe had done on a previous occasion, but without much success, musicallyspeaking. Meanwhile, John Seaward turned up the passage from which hehad prepared to speak that evening. And so eloquent with nature'ssimplicity was the missionary, that the party soon forgot all about theTwitters while the comforting Gospel was being urged upon the unhappycreatures around.

  But _we_ must not forget the Twitters. They are our text and sermonjust now!

  Young Sam Twitter had risen with the intention of going out when themissionary entered, for words of truth only cut him to the heart. Buthis companion whispered him to wait a bit. Soon his attention wasriveted.

  While he sat there spell-bound, a shabby-genteel man entered and satdown beside him. He wore a broad wide-awake, very much slouched overhis face, and a coat which had once been fine, but now bore marks ofhaving been severely handled--as if recently rubbed by a drunken weareron whitewashed and dirty places. The man's hands were not so dirty,however, as one might have expected from his general appearance, andthey trembled much. On one of his fingers was a gold ring. Thisincongruity was lost on Sam, who was too much absorbed to care for thenew comer, and did not even notice that he pushed somewhat needlesslyclose to him.

  These things were not, however, lost on Reggie North, who regarded theman with some surprise, not unmixed with suspicion.

  When, after a short time, however, this man laid his hand gently on thatof Sam and held it, the boy could no longer neglect his eccentricities.He naturally made an effort to pull the hand away, but the stranger heldit fast. Having his mind by that time entirely detached from thediscourse of the missionary, Sam looked at the stranger in surprise, butcould not see his face because of the disreputable wide-awake which hewore. But great was his astonishment, not to say alarm, when he felttwo or three warm tears drop on his hand.

  Again he tried to pull it away, but the strange man held it tighter.Still further, he bent his head over it and kissed it.

  A strange unaccountable thrill ran through the boy's frame. He stooped,looked under the brim of the hat, and beheld his father!

  "Sammy--dear, dear Sammy," whispered the man, in a husky voice.

  But Sammy could not reply. He was thunderstruck. Neither could hisfather speak, for he was choking.

  But Reggie North had heard enough. He was quick-witted, and at onceguessed the situation.

  "Now then, old gen'lm'n," he whispered, "don't you go an' make a fuss,if you're wise. Go out as quiet as you came in, an' leave this young'un to me. It's all right. I'm on _your_ side."

  Samuel Twitter senior was impressed with the honesty of the man'smanner, and the wisdom of his advice. Letting go the hand, after aparting squeeze, he rose up and left the room. Two minutes later, Northand Sammy followed.

  They found the old father outside, who again grasped his son's hand withthe words, "Sammy, my boy--dear Sammy;" but he never got further thanthat.

  Number 666 was there too.

  "You'll find the cab at the end of the street, sir," he said, and nextmoment Sammy found himself borne along--not unwillingly--by North andhis father.

  A cab door was opened. A female form was seen with outstretched arms.

  "Mother!"

  "Sammy--darling--"

  The returning prodigal disappeared into the cab. Mr Twitter turnedround.

  "Thank you. God bless you, whoever you are," he said, fumbling in hisvest pocket; having forgotten that he represented an abject beggar, andhad no money there.

  "No thanks to me, sir. Look higher," said the Bible-seller, thrustingthe old gentleman almost forcibly into the vehicle. "Now then, cabby,drive on."

  The cabby obeyed. Having already received his instructions he did notdrive home. Where he drove to is a matter of small consequence. It wasto an unknown house, and a perfect stranger to Sammy opened the door.Mrs Twitter remained in the cab while Sammy and his father entered thehouse, the latter carrying a bundle in his hand. They were shown intowhat the boy must have considered--if he considered anything at all justthen--a preposterously small room.

  The lady of the house evidently expected them, for she said, "The bathis quite ready, sir."

  "Now, Sammy,--dear boy," said Mr Twitter, "off with your rags--andg-git into that b-bath."

  Obviously Mr Twitter did not speak with ease. In truth it was all hecould do to contain himself, and he felt that his only chance of bearingup was to say nothing more than was absolutely necessary in shortejaculatory phrases. Sammy was deeply touched, and began to wash hisdirty face with a few quiet tears before taking his bath.

  "Now then, Sammy--look sharp! You didn't use--to--be--so--slow! eh?"

  "No, father. I suppose it--it--is want of habit. I haven't undressedmuch of late."

  This very nearly upset poor Mr Twitter. He made no reply, but assistedhis son to disrobe with a degree of awkwardness that tended to delayprogress.

  "It--it's not too hot--eh?"

  "Oh! no, father. It's--it's--v-very nice."

  "Go at it with a will, Sammy. Head and all, my boy--down with it. Anddon't spare the soap. Lots of soap here, Sammy--no end of soap!"

  The truth of which Mr Twitter proceeded to illustrate by covering hisson with a lather that caused him quickly to resemble whipped cream.
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  "Oh! hold on, father, it's getting into my eyes."

  "My boy--dear Sammy--forgive me. I didn't quite know what I was doing.Never mind. Down you go again, Sammy--head and all. That's it. Now,that's enough; out you come."

  "Oh! father," said the poor boy, while invisible tears trickled over hiswet face, as he stepped out of the bath, "it's so good of you to forgiveme so freely."

  "Forgive you, my son! forgive! why, I'd--I'd--" He could say no more,but suddenly clasped Sammy to his heart, thereby rendering his face andperson soap-suddy and wet to a ridiculous extent.

  Unclasping his arms and stepping back, he looked down at himself.

  "You dirty boy! what d'you mean by it?"

  "It's your own fault, daddy," replied Sam, with a hysterical laugh, ashe enveloped himself in a towel.

  A knock at the bath-room door here produced dead silence.

  "Please, sir," said a female voice, "the lady in the cab sends to saythat she's gettin' impatient."

  "Tell the lady in the cab to drive about and take an airing for tenminutes," replied Mr Twitter with reckless hilarity.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Now, my boy, here's your toggery," said the irrepressible father,hovering round his recovered son like a moth round a candle--"your bestsuit, Sammy; the one you used to wear only on Sundays, you extravagantfellow."

  Sammy put it on with some difficulty from want of practice, and, aftercombing out and brushing his hair, he presented such a changedappearance that none of his late companions could have recognised him.His father, after fastening up his coat with every button in its wronghole, and causing as much delay as possible by assisting him to dress,finally hustled him down-stairs and into the cab, where he wasimmediately re-enveloped by Mrs Twitter.

  He was not permitted to see any one that night, but was taken straightto his room, where his mother comforted, prayed with, fed and fondledhim, and then allowed him to go to bed.

  Next morning early--before breakfast--Mrs Twitter assembled all thelittle Twitters, and put them on chairs in a row--according to order,for Mrs Twitter's mind was orderly in a remarkable degree. They rangedfrom right to left thus:--

  Molly, Willie, Fred, Lucy, and Alice--with Alice's doll on a doll'schair at the left flank of the line.

  "Now children," said Mrs Twitter, sitting down in front of the row withan aspect so solemn that they all immediately made their mouths verysmall and their eyes very large--in which respect they broughtthemselves into wonderful correspondence with Alice's doll. "Nowchildren, your dear brother Sammy has come home."

  "Oh! how nice! Where has he been? What has he seen? Why has he beenaway so long? How jolly!" were the various expressions with which thenews was received.

  "Silence."

  The stillness that followed was almost oppressive, for the littleTwitters had been trained to prompt obedience. To say truth they hadnot been difficult to train, for they were all essentially mild.

  "Now, remember, when he comes down to breakfast you are to take nonotice whatever of his having been away--no notice at all."

  "Are we not even to say good-morning or kiss him, mamma?" asked littleAlice with a look of wonder.

  "Dear child, you do not understand me. We are all charmed to see Sammyback, and so thankful--so glad--that he has come, and we will kiss himand say whatever we please to him _except_," (here she cast an awful eyealong the line and dropped her voice), "_except_ ask him _where--he--has--been_."

  "Mayn't we ask him how he liked it, mamma?" said Alice.

  "Liked what, child?"

  "Where he has been, mamma."

  "No, not a word about where he has been; only that we are so glad, sovery glad, to see him back."

  Fred, who had an argumentative turn of mind, thought that this would bea rather demonstrative though indirect recognition of the fact thatSammy had been _somewhere_ that was wrong, but, having been trained tounquestioning obedience, Fred said nothing.

  "Now, dolly," whispered little Alice, bending down, "'member dat--you'reso glad Sammy's come back; mustn't say more--not a word more."

  "It is enough for you to know, my darlings," continued Mrs Twitter,"that Sammy has been wandering and has come back."

  "Listen, Dolly, you hear? Sammy's been wandering an' come back. Dat's'nuff for you."

  "You see, dears," continued Mrs Twitter, with a slightly perplexedlook, caused by her desire to save poor Sammy's feelings, and heranxiety to steer clear of the slightest approach to deception, "you see,Sammy has been long away, and has been very tired, and won't like to betroubled with too many questions at breakfast, you know, so I want youall to talk a good deal about anything you like--your lessons,--forinstance, when he comes down."

  "Before we say good-morning, mamma, or after?" asked Alice, who wasextremely conscientious.

  "Darling child," exclaimed the perplexed mother, "you'll never take itin. What I want to impress on you is--"

  She stopped, suddenly, and what it was she meant to impress we shallnever more clearly know, for at that moment the foot of Sammy himselfwas heard on the stair.

  "Now, mind, children, not a word--not--a--word!"

  The almost preternatural solemnity induced by this injunction was atonce put to flight by Sammy, at whom the whole family flew with oneaccord and a united shriek--pulling him down on a chair and embracinghim almost to extinction.

  Fortunately for Sammy, and his anxious mother, that which the mostearnest desire to obey orders would have failed to accomplish wasbrought about by the native selfishness of poor humanity, for, the firstburst of welcome over, Alice began an elaborate account of her Dolly'srecent proceedings, which seemed to consist of knocking her head againstarticles of furniture, punching out her own eyes and flattening her ownnose; while Fred talked of his latest efforts in shipbuilding; Willie ofhis hopes in regard to soldiering, and Lucy of her attempts to draw andpaint.

  Mr and Mrs Twitter contented themselves with gazing on Sammy'ssomewhat worn face, and lying in watch, so that, when Alice or any ofthe young members of the flock seemed about to stray on the forbiddenground, they should be ready to descend, like two wolves on the fold,remorselessly change the subject of conversation, and carry all beforethem.

  Thus tenderly was that prodigal son received back to his father's house.