The Amateur Gentleman

And, when he was gone, Barnabas hurried back into the room and,

taking pen and paper, wrote this: You are to be arrested to-night, so I send you my friend, John

Peterby. Trust yourself to his guidance.

BEVERLEY.

And having folded and sealed this letter, he beckoned to Peterby.

"John," said he, speaking in his ear, "take this letter to Mr. Barrymaine,

give it into his hand, see that he leaves at once. And, John, take a

coach and bring him back with you."

So Peterby the silent thrust the note into his bosom, took his fur

cap, and sighing, went from the room; and a moment later, glancing

cautiously through the window, Barnabas saw him hurry through the

court and vanish round the corner.

Then Barnabas turned back to the table, and seeing how wistfully

Mr. Bimby eyed the teapot, poured him out another cup; and while

they drank together, Mr. Bimby chatted, in his pleasant way, of

bitter wrong, of shattered faith and ideals, of the hopeless

struggle against circumstance, and of the oncoming terror of old age,

bringing with it failing strength and all the horrors of a debtor's

prison. And now, mingled with his pity, Barnabas was conscious of a

growing respect for this pleasant, small gentleman, and began to

understand why a man might seek the "shorter way," yet be no great

coward after all.

So Mr. Bimby chattered on and Barnabas listened until the day

declined to evening; until Barnabas began to hearken for Peterby's

returning footstep on the uncarpeted stair outside. Even in the act

of lighting the candles his ears were acutely on the stretch, and

thus he gradually became aware of another sound, soft and dull, yet

continuous, a sound difficult to locate. But as he stood staring

into the flame of the candle he had just lighted, striving meanwhile

to account for and place this noise, Mr. Bimby rose and lifted a thin,

arresting hand.

"Sir," said he, "do you hear anything?"

"Yes. I was wondering what it could be."

"I think I can tell you, sir," said Mr. Bimby, pointing to a certain

part of the cracked and blackened ceiling; "it is up there, in my

room--listen!"

And now, all at once Barnabas started and caught his breath, for

from the floor above came a soft trampling as of unshod feet, yet

the feet never moved from the one spot.

"Indeed," sighed Mr. Bimby, "I greatly fear my poor young friend is

ill again. I must go up to him, but first--may I beg--"

"Sir," said Barnabas, his gaze still fixed upon a certain corner of

the ceiling, "I should like to go with you, if I may."

"You are very good, sir, very kind, I protest you are," quavered

Mr. Bimby, "and hem! if I might suggest--a little brandy--?" But

even as Barnabas reached for the bottle, there came a hurry of

footsteps on the stair, a hand fumbled at the door and Mr. Smivvle

entered with Peterby at his heels.