"Hadn't we better telegraph to your people in Derbyshire?" suggested Jack Herring.
"Don't do it," vehemently protested the thoughtful Miss Bulstrode;
"it might alarm them. The best plan is for you to lend me a couple of sovereigns and let me return home quietly."
"You might be robbed again," feared Jack Herring. "I'll go down with you."
"Perhaps he'll turn up to-morrow," thought Miss Bulstrode. "Expect he's gone on a visit."
"He ought not to have done it," thought Jack Herring, "knowing you were coming."
"Oh! he's like that," explained Miss Bulstrode.
"If I had a young and beautiful sister--" said Jack Herring.
"Oh! let's talk of something else," suggested Miss Bulstrode. "You make me tired."
With Jack Herring, in particular, Johnny was beginning to lose patience. That "Miss Bulstrode's" charms had evidently struck Jack Herring all of a heap, as the saying is, had in the beginning amused Master Johnny. Indeed--as in the seclusion of his bedchamber over the little grocer's shop he told himself with bitter self-reproach--he had undoubtedly encouraged the man. From admiration Jack had rapidly passed to infatuation, from infatuation to apparent imbecility. Had Johnny's mind been less intent upon his own troubles, he might have been suspicious. As it was, and after all that had happened, nothing now could astonish Johnny.
"Thank Heaven," murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, "this Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman."
Now, about the same time that Johnny's head was falling thus upon his pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for their next day's entertainment.
"I think," said Jack Herring, "the Crystal Palace in the morning when it's nice and quiet."
"To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the afternoon," suggested Somerville.
"Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the evening," thought Porson.
"Hardly the place for the young person," feared Jack Herring.
"Some of the jokes--"
"Mr. Brandram gives a reading of Julius Caesar at St. George's Hall," the Wee Laddie informed them for their guidance.
"Hallo!" said Alexander the Poet, entering at the moment. "What are you all talking about?"
"We were discussing where to take Miss Bulstrode to-morrow evening," informed him Jack Herring.
"Miss Bulstrode," repeated the Poet in a tone of some surprise.
"Do you mean Johnny Bulstrode's sister?"
"That's the lady," answered Jack. "But how do you come to know about her? Thought you were in Yorkshire."
"Came up yesterday," explained the Poet. "Travelled up with her."
"Travelled up with her?"
"From Matlock Bath. What's the matter with you all?" demanded the Poet. "You all of you look--"
"Sit down," said the Briefless one to the Poet. "Let's talk this matter over quietly."
Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down.
"You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss Bulstrode.
You are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?"
"Sure!" retorted the Poet. "Why, I've known her ever since she was a baby."
"About what time did you reach London?"
"Three-thirty."
"And what became of her? Where did she say she was going?"
"I never asked her. The last I saw of her she was getting into a cab. I had an appointment myself, and was--I say, what's the matter with Herring?"
Herring had risen and was walking about with his head between his hands.
"Never mind him. Miss Bulstrode is a lady of about--how old?"
"Eighteen--no, nineteen last birthday."
"A tall, handsome sort of girl?"
"Yes. I say, has anything happened to her?"
"Nothing has happened to her," assured him Somerville. "SHE'S all right. Been having rather a good time, on the whole."
The Poet was relieved to hear it.
"I asked her an hour ago," said Jack Herring, who was still holding his head between his hands as if to make sure it was there, "if she thought she could ever learn to love me. Would you say that could be construed into an offer of marriage?"
The remainder of the Club was unanimously of opinion that, practically speaking, it was a proposal.
"I don't see it," argued Jack Herring. "It was merely in the nature of a remark."
The Club was of opinion that such quibbling was unworthy of a gentleman.
It appeared to be a case for prompt action. Jack Herring sat down and then and there began a letter to Miss Bulstrode, care of Mrs.
Postwhistle.
"But what I don't understand--" said Alexander the Poet.
"Oh! take him away somewhere and tell him, someone," moaned Jack Herring. "How can I think with all this chatter going on?"
"But why did Bennett--" whispered Porson.
"Where is Bennett?" demanded half a dozen fierce voices.
Harry Bennett had not been seen all day.
Jack's letter was delivered to "Miss Bulstrode" the next morning at breakfast-time. Having perused it, Miss Bulstrode rose and requested of Mrs. Postwhistle the loan of half a crown.
"Mr. Herring's particular instructions were," explained Mrs.
Postwhistle, "that, above all things, I was not to lend you any money."
"When you have read that," replied Miss Bulstrode, handing her the letter, "perhaps you will agree with me that Herring is--an ass."
Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the half-crown.
"Better get a shave with part of it," suggested Mrs. Postwhistle.
"That is, if you are going to play the fool much longer."
"Miss Bulstrode" opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with her breakfast.
