VERY HARD CASH.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND."

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHRONOLOGY.

The Hard Cash sailed from Canton months
before the boat race at Henley recorded in
Chapter I.; but it landed in Barkington a
fortnight after the last home event I recorded in its
true series. Chapter IX.

Now this fortnight, as it happens, was fruitful
of incidents; and must be dealt with at once.
After that, "Love" and "Cash," the converging
branches of this story, will flow together in one
stream.

Alfred Hardie kept faith with Mrs. Dodd, and,
by an effort she appreciated, forbore to express
his love for Julia except by the pen. He took
in Lloyd's shipping news, and got it down by
rail in hopes there would be something about
the Agra: then he could call at Albion Villa;
Mrs. Dodd had given him that loophole:
meantime he kept hoping for an invitation:
which never came.

Julia was now comparatively happy: and so
indeed was Alfred: but then the male of our
species likes to be superlatively happy, not
comparatively; and that Mrs. Dodd forgot, or
perhaps had not observed.

One day Sampson was at Albion Villa, and
Alfred knew it. Now, though it was a point of
honour with poor Alfred not to hang about
after Julia until her father's return, he had
a perfect right to lay in wait for Sampson, and
hear something about her; and he was so
deep in love that even a word at second hand
from her lips was a drop of dew to his heart.

So he strolled up towards the Villa. He had
nearly reached it, when a woman ran past him
making the most extraordinary sounds; I can
only describe it as screaming under her breath.
Though he only saw her back, he recognised
Mrs. Maxley. One back differeth from another,
whatever you may have been told to the contrary
in novels and plays. He called to her: she
took no notice, and darted wildly into the gate
of Albion Villa. Alfred's curiosity was excited,
and he ventured to put his head over the gate.
But Mrs. Maxley had disappeared.

Alfred had half a mind to go in and inquire if
anything was the matter: it would be a good
excuse.

While he hesitated, the dining-room window
was thrown violently up, and Sampson looked
out: "Hy! Hardie! my good fellow! for
Heaven's sake a fly! and a fast one!"

It was plain something very serious had
occurred: so Alfred flew towards the nearest fly-
stand. On the way, he fell in with a chance fly
drawn up at a public-house; he jumped on the
box and drove rapidly towards Albion Villa.
Sampson was hobbling to meet him—he had
sprained his ankle or would not have asked for
a conveyance—to save time he got up beside
Alfred, and told him to drive hard to Little
Friar-street. On the way he explained hurriedly:
Mrs. Maxley had burst in on him at Albion Villa
to say her husband was dying in torment: and
indeed the symptoms she gave were alarming,
and, if correct, looked very like lock-jaw: but
her description had been cut short by a severe
attack, which choked her and turned her speechless
and motionless, and white to the very lips:

"'Oho,' sis I, 'brist-pang!' And at such a
time, ye know. But these women are as
unseasonable as th' are unreasonable. Now Angina
pictoris, or brist-pang, is not curable through the
lungs, nor the stomick, nor the liver, nor the
stays, nor the saucepan, as the bunglintinkerindox
of the schools pretind; but only through
that mighty mainspring the Brain: and instid of
going meandering to the Brain round by the
stomick, and so giving the wumman lots o' time
to die first, which is the scholastic practice, I
wint at the Brain direct, took a puff o' chlorofm,
put m' arm round her neck, laid her back in a
chair—she didn't struggle, for, when this
disorrder grips ye, ye can't move hand nor foot—
and had my lady into the land of Nod in half a
minute; thin off t' her husband; so here's th'
Healer between two stools—spare the whipcord,
spoil the knacker!—it would be a good joke if I
was to lose both pashints for want of a little
ubeequity, wouldn't it?—Lash the lazy vagabin!
—Not that I care: what interest have I in
their lives? they never pay: but ye see
custom's second nature; an d'lve formed a vile
habit; I've got to be a Healer among the killers:
an d'a Triton among—the millers: here we are
at last, Hiven be praised." And he hopped into
the house faster than most people can run—on
a good errand. Alfred flung the reins to a cad,
and followed him.