PAGE 10
The Pupil of Aurelius
by
But this gatekeeper’s inspection was minute; and when he came to some slight protuberance on the breast of the coat, which, indeed, Douglas himself had not noticed, he demanded to know what it was. Nay, he had the coat taken off. On examination, a part of the lining of the coat was found to have been cut open and carefully sewn together again.
‘Took all that trouble?’ said the gatekeeper, glancing at him.
‘I did not know there was any pocket there,’ said Douglas, hurriedly; ‘I got the coat only this morning.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ said the other, with a slight derisive laugh. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if we found some tobacco all the same.’
The lining was ripped open, in the presence of the little crowd of labourers, carmen, stevedores, and so forth, who, seeing something unusual going on, had collected. Douglas certainly looked very guilty. His face was burning red; and the natural sternness of his features made him look as if he were angry at being detected. But, on the other hand, the expression on the face of the big yellow-bearded gate-keeper changed very suddenly, when he took from inside the lining a little oblong parchment bag, flat and dirty, and opened it, and drew out a thin packet of what turned out to be Bank of England notes. Not many, it is true; but a marvel all the same. The gatekeeper glanced at the culprit again, and said good-humouredly,
‘Bought that coat this morning? Then you’re in luck’s way, my man, that’s all I can say. We don’t keep them kind o’ goods in our warehouses. There ye are.’
He once more examined the dirty little parchment bag all over; there was no scrap of writing on it, or on any of the notes.
‘There ye are,’ he said, giving him back both the coat and the valuable package. ‘There’s some as would advertise in the papers about that money; and there’s some as would go to Scotland Yard, and expect to get something; and there’s some, seein’ as there’s no writin’, as would stick to it, and set up a shop. Where did you buy the coat, my man?’
‘At an outfitter’s in the Minories–it was an exchange for my own,’ said Douglas hastily; he was anxious above all things, money or no money, to get away from this crowd of curious faces.
‘An outfitter! yes, it’s a fine name. Anyhow, the money don’t belong to him. Most likely, now, that coat belonged to some seafaring man as got drownded, and the poor chap’s things sold. Pass on there, my lads!’
Douglas escaped from the crowd, and got away. He was greatly bewildered and excited; not often in his life had he come through so much in so short a time. He walked hard, and did not stop until he sat down in his own little room, in the cold and dark.
Hour after hour he sat there, himself fighting with himself; or rather his consciousness of what was right fighting with his great desire to do something to help that luckless child, lying there a few streets farther off, friendless, poverty-stricken, fever-stricken, with the most hopeless of futures before her. He argued with himself that no doubt the gatekeeper’s guess was correct; the money had belonged to some sailor or pilot, who had been drowned, and his personal effects, whether found on his dead body, or perhaps in the hold of a derelict, sold. Certainly these notes did not belong to the old-clothes’ man in the Minories. It almost seemed as if a special act of Providence had placed this money at his disposal to succour this helpless one in her sickness, and support and strengthen her in her convalescence. As for himself, he never dreamed of touching it for his own uses. He had found out at last one way of earning his own living. But even if he were to be permanently employed, at twenty-four shillings a week, how could he save enough out of that to give this girl generous nourishment, and a little wine, and country air, when she should get well enough again? In the meantime, were her mother and sisters to starve? And it never occurred to him to ask why he should take this sudden interest in this stranger girl or in her family. The fact was, he had never before been confronted with so clear a case of hardship and distress. The solitariness, the helplessness of the child appealed to him: it was as if he had seen a wren threatened by a hawk, or a rabbit seized by a weasel. He could not help interfering, and doing his utmost.