Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks

by Bracebridge Hemyng

  CHAPTER CVII.

  A DUEL.

  "Paris at last," exclaimed Harvey.

  "That's a good job, for I am tired of sitting, and want to stretch mylegs; don't you, Mr. Mole?" said young Jack.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Jack," replied Mr. Mole.

  Harkaway senior, who had been looking out of the window, drew in hishead and said--

  "Well, Mr. Mole, you are in a nice fix."

  "How?"

  "I don't see any----"

  "Any what?"

  "Any cabs."

  "The ----"

  "Don't swear."

  "My dear Mr. Harkaway, now if you were without legs, would not youswear?"

  "Can't say, having the proper number of pins."

  "You'll have to walk," said Harvey. "There's not a cab in the station."

  "But how can I walk?"

  "Don't you remember the hero in the ballad of Chevy Chase?"

  "Who was he?"

  "The song says Witherington, but we will call him Mole."

  "'For Mole, indeed, my heart is woe, As one in doleful dumps; For when his feet were cut away, He walked upon his stumps.'"

  By this time the train had stopped, and all the party got out, exceptMole.

  As Harkaway had said, there was no vehicle in the station nor outsideof it, so Mr. Mole was obliged to remain till his friends could hitupon some plan for removing him.

  A porter was the first to make a suggestion.

  "An artificial limb maker lives opposite, monsieur," said he.

  "Ah!"

  "If I carried monsieur over, he might have some--ah--substitutes fittedon."

  "A capital idea!" exclaimed Harvey; "over with him." And before Molecould remonstrate, he was hoisted to the porter's shoulders, andtrotted across the street.

  Great was the joy of the Parisian _gamins_ at having such a sightprovided for their amusement.

  Mole, however, bravely bore the chaff, half of which he did notunderstand.

  The maker of artificial limbs soon fitted poor Mole with a pair oflegs.

  But alas!

  No sooner had he stood upon them than his friends burst out in a loudlaugh.

  "What is the matter with you?" demanded Mr. Mole, who felt inclined tostand on his dignity as well as on his new legs.

  "Ha, ha, ha!"

  "I wonder you don't remember what Goldsmith says," continued Mole.

  "What does he say, Mr. Mole?"

  "Don't you remember that line about 'the loud laugh that speaks thevacant mind.' I fear your mind must be very vacant, Mr. Harvey."

  "He had you there, Uncle Dick," said young Jack.

  "Pooh! But look at his legs."

  "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed young Jack in turn.

  Mr. Mole's trousers, it will be recollected, had been cut away belowthe knees immediately after his railway accident, and now he stood in apair of nicely-varnished boots, above which could be seen the varioussprings and hinges of his mechanical limbs.

  The trouser legs were not longer in proportion than a small boy'sknickerbockers.

  By this time, however, a cab or two had turned up, and, the ladieshaving been fetched from the railway waiting-room, the whole partyproceeded to one of the many good hotels Paris possesses.

  * * * *

  The third evening after their arrival, young Jack and Harry Girdwoodstrolled out together.

  They no doubt would have enjoyed the company of the two girls, butlittle Emily and Paquita had been roving about the town all day long,and were too tired to go out that evening.

  "What is this place, Jack?" asked Harry, as they both paused in frontof a narrow, but brilliantly-lighted doorway.

  "A shooting gallery, I fancy."

  "Shall we go in?"

  "Certainly; but I don't fancy the French are very great 'shootists,' asthe Yankees say."

  "All the more fun, perhaps."

  And without more talk, the youngsters walked in.

  It was a long room, divided by slight partitions into four differentgalleries, and at the end of each of these was a target in the shape ofa doll.

  After watching others for a time, Harry took half a dozen shots at oneof the figures, which he struck four times.

  Young Jack then tried, and was equally successful.

  "Good shooting, young gentlemen," said one of the spectators, anEnglishman; "but if you want to see real pistol practice, look at thisFrenchman."

  And he pointed to a tall, dark man who was just preparing to fire.

  The target he had before him was not a little doll like the others, buta full-sized lay figure dressed in black, closely buttoned up, andholding in its hand an empty pistol pointed towards the live shooter.

  "He is a noted duellist," said the Englishman, "and has killed morethan one adversary."

  Jack and Harry looked at him with considerable curiosity, with whichwas mixed a tinge of loathing.

  The duellist had brought his own pistols, one of which he carefullyloaded, and having placed himself in position, rapidly aimed and fired.

  Instantly the lay figure showed a spot of white on its black coat,which, after all, was only made of a kind of paste or varnish, whichchipped off when struck by the bullet.

  "Straight to the heart," said the Englishman.

  "That's good shooting," exclaimed Harry Girdwood.

  The Frenchman fired again, making an equally good shot.

  When he had fired ten, young Jack for the first time broke silence.

  "I don't believe he could do that in the field with a live adversaryand a loaded pistol opposite him."

  The Frenchman again pulled the trigger, but the eleventh shot flew wideof the mark.

  Almost foaming with passion at having missed his aim, he dashed theweapon to the ground.

  "I must request the gentleman who spoke to stand the test."

  "With great pleasure," responded Jack, coolly.

  The Frenchman stared at the speaker.

  "Bah! I don't fight with boys."

  "Then I shall proclaim to all Paris that you are a cur, and try to backout of a quarrel when your challenge is accepted."

  "Very well, then, you shall die in the morning. Henri,"--this to afriend--"arrange with the English boy's second if he has one; if he hasnot, find him one."

  The Englishman who had previously spoken at once stepped forward andoffered his services.

  "Although," said he, "I should much prefer to see this affair settledpeacefully."

  "I am entirely in your hands, sir," responded Jack.

  And he retired to the other side of the room.

  "Jack, Jack! what demon possessed you to get into such a mess?"

  "No demon, Harry, but some of my father's hot blood. He was always veryprompt to accept a challenge."

  "He will not let you fight."

  "He will not know till it is settled. Listen to me, Harry, if you tellhim or anyone else, or try to stop the plan that my second may propose,I swear I'll never speak to you again."

  "But you stand every chance of being killed."

  "Harry, we have both of us faced death many times, and I am sure I amnot going to turn my back on a Frenchman."

  Poor Harry could say nothing more.

  The Englishman rejoined them.

  "I can't get that fellow to accept an apology----!"

  "That's right," interposed Jack.

  His second looked surprised at the youth's coolness, and continued--

  "So I must parade you in the Bois de Boulogne at sunrise. It's about anhour's drive."

  "Where shall we meet you?"

  The second hesitated, and then named a time and place.

  "Now," said Jack, "I will go and have a little sleep; not at home, butsomewhere in this neighbourhood."

  They went to a respectable hotel close by, and Jack, having made a fewsimple arrangements (including a message to Emily), in case of beingkilled, laid himself on his bed, and was soon slumbering peacefully.
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  * * * *

  About a quarter of an hour after the sun had risen, they were all uponthe ground.

  Jack and Harry with their second, and the Frenchman with his.

  There was also a surgeon present.

  Little time was lost.

  The pistols were loaded, according to previous arrangement between thetwo seconds, with a lighter charge than usual, so that Jack mightpossibly escape with only a flesh wound instead of having a holedrilled right through him.

  The combatants were then placed half facing each other, fifteen pacesapart.

  "There is a grave suspicion afloat that your adversary has an uglyknack of pulling the trigger half a second too soon," whispered Jack'ssecond, "so I am going to give him a caution."

  A pistol was placed in the hand of each, and then Jack's second spoke.

  "Listen, gentlemen. You will fire when I give the word three. If eitherpulls the trigger before that word is pronounced, it will be murder."

  He looked at the Frenchman, and then counted--

  "One, two, three!"

  But before the word "three" had fully passed his lips, the Frenchman'spistol was discharged.

  Young Jack, however, prepared for such a trick, had just a momentbefore turned full towards him and stared him in the face.

  This manoeuvre was entirely successful.

  The Frenchman's unfair, murderous aim was disconcerted, and his bulletwhistled harmlessly past our hero's ear.

  Jack then deliberately levelled his pistol at the Frenchman, whotrembled violently, and showed every symptom of the most abject terror.

  "I thought so," exclaimed Jack. "A vile coward as well as a murderer."

  And he discharged his own pistol in the air.

  "Why did you not shoot the villain?" exclaimed Harry Girdwood, thesurgeon, and Jack's second simultaneously.

  "It would be doing him too much honour, gentlemen. I leave him to thehangman."

  "You should have killed him," growled the surgeon, glancing after thediscomfited duellist, who was sneaking off, unattended even by his ownsecond.

  "I don't feel bloodthirsty just at present, and I have proved the wordsthat gave rise to the challenge."

  "That is true, but some other poor devil may not be so lucky."

  "I fancy after this morning's _expose_ anyone may refuse to go out withhim without fear of dishonour."

  "True; that is one good thing."

  They re-entered their carriage and returned to Paris.

  Just as young Jack alighted from the vehicle, he found himself seizedby the collar and shaken violently.

  He turned hastily.

  "Dad!"

  "You young rascal!" exclaimed Harkaway senior, "where have you been allnight?"

  "Why--I--I arranged to go out early in the morning for a drive withthis gentleman and Harry, so I took a room here at this hotel so as tobe close to the rendezvous."

  "That is the truth, but not all the truth. Sir, may I ask you theobject of your very early excursion with my son?"

  "Well, sir, the fact is, this young gentleman became involved lastnight in a little dispute which necessitated an exchange of pistolshots, and your son, I must say, behaved in a most gallant manner."

  "Not touched, Jack?"

  "No, dad."

  "Did you shoot t'other fellow?"

  "No, father; I only shoot game--human or brute. I leave gamekeepers andhangmen to exterminate vermin."

  "Well, now, cut along home. Your mother is in no end of a funk aboutyou."

  * * * *

  So Jack went home, and, having explained the reason of his absence, wassoon forgiven by all, except little Emily, who boxed his ears,declaring it was evident he did not care about her, or he would nothave risked his life in such a manner.

  Then she refused, for a whole hour, to speak to him; at the expirationof which time she kissed him, and asked his pardon for having shownsuch bad temper.

  "All right, Em. You're a brick."

  "Don't talk slang, sir."

  * * * *

  That same evening they left Paris, and at an early hour the nextmorning were in London.

  CHAPTER CVIII.

  "LAST SCENE OF ALL, THAT ENDS THIS STRANGE, EVENTFUL HISTORY."

  "Jack."

  "Yes, father."

  "What do you think you are going to be? I mean what business orprofession?"

  This conversation took place about a week after their return toEngland.

  "Would you like to be a doctor or a lawyer, or become a great financierin the City?" continued Harkaway senior.

  "Neither of those, thank you. I have been too much used to plenty offresh air and exercise to settle down to an indoor occupation; the seais my choice."

  "It is not your mother's choice, so you may just give up that notion atonce and for ever."

  "Well, next to that I should like to have a nice compact farm of aboutsix hundred acres in a part of the country where there is goodshooting, hunting and fishing."

  "Ah, that's better."

  "Then we'll consider that settled, dad."

  "Yes; but you must finish your education first; that has been muchneglected."

  So the result was that both young Jack and Harry Girdwood were sent toreside for a year with a clergyman, who was also a farmer, and, whoundertook, while improving their general education, to give them apractical knowledge of agriculture.

  * * * *

  The year passed away, and the two young men returned home for a briefholiday before settling down, for Harry was also to be a farmer, DickHarvey having undertaken to put him into a farm.

  They were sitting at breakfast one morning when two letters werebrought, both with foreign postmarks.

  Harkaway senior opened them.

  "This concerns you, my dear," said he to Paquita.

  "How so?" asked the girl.

  "It is from your father. And you must prepare to hear bad news."

  "He is dead! he is dead!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears.

  When some time had passed, she was calmed sufficiently to hear theletter read.

  It was a deathbed letter, in which the writer stated that, rememberingthe noblehearted Englishman, Harkaway, he appointed him sole trustee ofhis wealth, to be given as a marriage portion to Paquita.

  Documents were enclosed to put Harkaway in possession of the writer'sriches and he concluded by praying Heaven to bless his daughter.

  A postscript was added in a different hand.

  "The writer of this died on the 4th of April last, the day after he signed this letter and the enclosed documents which are witnessed by me."

  "ANTONIO DELAVAT, Surgeon."

  Paquita's grief at the death of her father was great, but in littleEmily and Mrs. Harkaway she found two comforters who did their best toassuage her sorrows.

  * * * *

  But the other letter.

  "Why, this is from our old Australian friend, Rook!" exclaimedHarkaway.

  "Rook!"

  "Yes. And this is what Rook has to say for himself.

  "'If ever a man had reason to be grateful to another, surely I havecause to bless the day I met you. For thanks to you, I am no longer anoutcast, but have atoned for the past--aye, and refunded with interestthat sum of money which was the cause of my being sent here. Throughyour kindness I was enabled to go into business as a farmer, and I haveprospered so that I am now one of the richest men in this part ofAustralia; but I owe all my prosperity to you, so I will not boast ofit. Being better educated than many of the settlers, I have beenappointed magistrate for the district; but whenever I can be lenientwithout being unjust, I humble myself, remember what I once was, andtry to give the culprit another chance. Heaven has greatly prosperedme, and I pray that Heaven's blessings may rest on you and yours.'"

&nbs
p; "Bravo, Rook!" said Harvey and Harry Girdwood.

  * * * *

  "What are you thinking about, Jack!" asked Harry, a day or two after.

  "About old Mole."

  "What about him?"

  "Why, we haven't had a good lark with him since we left Marseilles."

  "True."

  "The old man will get rusty if we don't wake him up a little."

  "Well, what is your idea?"

  "Haven't any at the present; but something will turn up."

  And something did turn up that very day.

  Now it should be known that Mole, although he passed the greater timewith his old friends, had taken a small cottage close by so that hemight not entirely wear out their hospitality.

  He generally slept there, but spent his days with the Harkaways.

  Jack and Harry called upon the old man, and were admitted to hispresence, as he was putting the finishing touches to his toilet.

  This consisted in anointing his bald head with some wonderful fluid,warranted to produce a luxuriant growth of hair.

  This gave the youths an idea, and having invited him to dinner, theydeparted to carry out their joke.

  All passed off pleasantly during the evening, but Jack and Harry wereabsent about an hour. During that time they procured access to Mole'spremises, and having emptied his bottle of hair restorer, filled thephial with liquid glue, after which they returned to the house.

  "I must go early," said Mr. Mole, rising. "I have to attend court as ajuryman in the morning."

  "Then you won't be able to dress your hair properly," said Jack.

  "Oh, yes; I shall put on a good dose before I leave home, that willlast till evening," replied Mole.

  He went home, but overslept himself, and had to dress in a hurry.

  Mole had got to the door, when he remembered the hair restorer, andgoing back, applied a plentiful dose with a sponge.

  He reached the court very hot.

  By that time the glue had set, and he found he could not remove hishat.

  "Isaac Mole!" shouted the official who was calling the jury.

  "Here!" replied Mole, as he rushed to the box.

  A murmur of astonishment was heard.

  "Hats off in court!" shouted the usher.

  "Really, I----"

  "Everyone must be uncovered in court."

  "But, I assure you, I can't----"

  "Are you a Quaker?" demanded the judge.

  "No; but I wish to explain that I kept my hat on because----"

  "I can not listen to any excuse except the one I mentioned. Take offyour hat instantly."

  "But I say I kept it on because----"

  "This is intolerable. Do you mean to insult the court! Take your hatoff instantly, or I will fine you for contempt."

  "Well, I must say it's hard I can't say a word."

  "You are fined five pounds, and if you don't remove your hat----"

  "I want to explain."

  "Officer, remove that man's hat."

  The tipstaff approached Mole and hit the offending hat with his stick,but it did not move.

  Then he struck it harder, and the crown went in.

  "This is too bad!" screamed Mole.

  But the tipstaff was wroth, and picking up a large law book smashed itflat.

  This was too much for Mole.

  "You mutton-headed idiot, if you and the judge had a particle of sense,you would know that I did not remove my hat, because I couldn't. It isglued on."

  Mole, however, was led away in custody and a fresh juryman sworn.

  But Jack and Harry, who had been highly amused spectators, thought thejoke had gone far enough, so they tipped a solicitor through whom anexplanation was made, and Mole was released. He also got off serving onthe jury.

  They left the court together.

  But another surprise was in store for them.

  "How are you, gentlemen?" said a very familiar voice, and, lo! Figginsthe orphan stood before them.

  Figgins had not remained in Marseilles like the others, and therefore,had escaped being arrested for counterfeit coining.

  He reached London in safety, and having taken the upper part of a housewithin half a mile of St. Paul's Cathedral, resolved never more totrust himself beyond the City boundaries.

  Yet, in his retirement, his conscience pricked him for having left sohurriedly the friends who had rescued him from many a danger.

  And Mole, too, his own particular travelling companion.

  "I must go and see him once more," thought the orphan.

  So one fine day he plucked up courage to venture a short journey on anEnglish railway, and knowing where the elder Harkaway lived, wasspeedily instructed how to find Mole.

  So now behold him shaking hands all round.

  "I thought I must see you once more," said he, "but it is a greatundertaking, you know, for my travels made me more timid than ever Iwas."

  "Timid?" ejaculated Mole; "why, on one or two occasions you displayedbravery almost equal to my own."

  "Mildly, Mr. Mole," said Jack.

  "Ah, Mr. Harkaway, you three gentlemen are brave men, but I am only apoor timid orphan."

  "That need not make you timid."

  "But it does. So I have resolved never to trust myself out of Londonagain."

  "Then I am afraid we shall not meet very often, Mr. Figgins," saidMole, "for I, you know, hate town life."

  "If you do come to town, though, you will call?"

  "Certainly."

  "Then, gentlemen, I will wish you farewell. I am deeply grateful forall you did when we were abroad----"

  "Don't mention it."

  "Mr. Mole, farewell. You know I feel more like an orphan than ever nowI am parting from you."

  "Don't talk like that, Figgins," said Mole.

  "I can't help it, indeed, I can't. Farewell, my dear friend, farewell!"

  And Figgins retired to his City home, where he still lives, though heis getting very feeble.

  Still, he brightens up whenever he speaks of his old friend andtravelling companion, Mole.

  * * * *

  It is hard to part with old friends, but the decrees of fate cannot beavoided, so we must conclude our story.

  It will be hardly necessary, we fancy, to inform our readers that youngJack eventually married little Emily, and Harry Girdwood led Paquita tothe altar.

  And as weddings are very much alike, we will not describe the ceremony,but content ourselves with saying that as much happiness as this worldcan afford was and is theirs.

  Jack and Harry have extensive farms near each other, and are wealthycountry gentlemen.

  They are fond of outdoor sports, and have recently established a packof harriers, Tinker and Bogey being respectively first and secondwhips. In each establishment there was formerly a room kept alwaysready for Mr. Mole, who went from one to the other as it pleased him,sure of a hearty welcome always.

  But, alas! poor Mole is now no more.

  Age preyed on his shaken body, and at length laid him on his deathbed.

  Even then he could not help referring to the matrimonial portion of hislife.

  "I have been too much married, Jack. I am 'a wictim to connubiality,'if I may be allowed to quote Sam Weller; but never again, dear boy."

  And when only half conscious, he would repeat--"Never again, dear boy,"expressing his firm determination not to marry again.

  Poor Mole!

  After all, he ended his days in peace, and died regretted by all hisfriends, who, if they had laughed at his failings, also remembered hiskindly disposition.

  He left behind him sufficient of this world's goods to enable hisfaithful Chloe to give the twins a good education.

  They are now rollicking schoolboys, but will have a fair start whentheir guardians, Jack and Harry, fancy they are fitted to begin theirbattle with life.

  * * * *


  Old Jack--he is getting old now--lives with Emily not far from his son,and with them, of course, is Dick Harvey.

  Often on a fine day Old Jack will lead his grandchildren to the villagechurchyard, and while the youngsters deck poor old Mole's grave withflowers, will relate to them the best incidents of the old man's life.

  Not far from poor Mole's grave is another tomb, in which rest theearthly remains of Monday, Prince of Limbi, who had grown grey in theservice of Mr. Harkaway.

  A much severer winter than usual laid the seeds of a complaint whichspeedily carried him off.

  Sunday, whose head is fast becoming white as snow, took his death muchto heart, and even now frequently strolls into the quiet churchyard toindulge in pensive recollections of his old friend by the side of hisgrave--aye, and perchance to reflect on his own end, which he knowsfull well must be fast approaching.

  Monday had been thrifty, and when the days of mourning were over, hiswidow retired to Oxford to pass the remainder of her days with manygood presents from Jack Harkaway, given in remembrance of his faithfulservant Monday, the Prince of Limbi.

  * * * *

  Readers, our tale is told; and we leave Harkaway to the repose he hasso well earned.

  But if you would prosper as he has done, be like him, truthful, brave,and generous.

  In bringing to a conclusion the long series of Harkaway stories, Mr.Edwin J. Brett cannot let the occasion pass without thanking thereaders for the patience with which they have followed the hero'scareer, and the praise they have always bestowed upon the story orstories.

  To invent the plot and incidents has been a labour of love on the partof Mr. E. J. Brett, and it seems now like parting from old and intimatefriends, to say adieu to all the characters whose lives have been thesubject of the story. But there must be an end to all things, even toHarkaway.

  THE END.