Michael grasped his arm. 'Will nothing make you believe,' he cried, 'that I am trying to save you from Dartmoor?'
His earnestness staggered the old man. 'I must turn my attention to law,' he said; 'it will be a new field; for though, of course, I understand its general principles, I have never really applied my mind to the details, and this view of yours, for example, comes on me entirely by surprise. But you may be right, and of course at my time of life--for I am no longer young--any really long term of imprisonment would be highly prejudicial. But, my dear nephew, I have no claim on you; you have no call to support me.'
'That's all right,' said Michael; 'I'll probably get it out of the leather business.'
And having taken down the old gentleman's address, Michael left him at the corner of a street.
'What a wonderful old muddler!' he reflected, 'and what a singular thing is life! I seem to be condemned to be the instrument of Providence. Let me see; what have I done today? Disposed of a dead body, saved Pitman, saved my Uncle Joseph, brightened up Forsyth, and drunk a devil of a lot of most indifferent liquor. Let's top off with a visit to my cousins, and be the instrument of Providence in earnest. Tomorrow I can turn my attention to leather; tonight I'll just make it lively for 'em in a friendly spirit.'
About a quarter of an hour later, as the clocks were striking eleven, the instrument of Providence descended from a hansom, and, bidding the driver wait, rapped at the door of No. 16 John Street.
It was promptly opened by Morris.
'O, it's you, Michael,' he said, carefully blocking up the narrow opening: 'it's very late.'
Michael without a word reached forth, grasped Morris warmly by the hand, and gave it so extreme a squeeze that the sullen householder fell back. Profiting by this movement, the lawyer obtained a footing in the lobby and marched into the dining-room, with Morris at his heels.
'Where's my Uncle Joseph?' demanded Michael, sitting down in the most comfortable chair.
'He's not been very well lately,' replied Morris; 'he's staying at Browndean; John is nursing him; and I am alone, as you see.'
Michael smiled to himself. 'I want to see him on particular business,' he said.
'You can't expect to see my uncle when you won't let me see your father,' returned Morris.
'Fiddlestick,' said Michael. 'My father is my father; but Joseph is just as much my uncle as he's yours; and you have no right to sequestrate his person.'
'I do no such thing,' said Morris doggedly. 'He is not well, he is dangerously ill and nobody can see him.'
'I'll tell you what, then,' said Michael. 'I'll make a clean breast of it. I have come down like the opossum, Morris; I have come to compromise.'
Poor Morris turned as pale as death, and then a flush of wrath against the injustice of man's destiny dyed his very temples. 'What do you mean?' he cried, 'I don't believe a word of it.' And when Michael had assured him of his seriousness, 'Well, then,' he cried, with another deep flush, 'I won't; so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.'
'Oho!' said Michael queerly. 'You say your uncle is dangerously ill, and you won't compromise? There's something very fishy about that.'
'What do you mean?' cried Morris hoarsely.
'I only say it's fishy,' returned Michael, 'that is, pertaining to the finny tribe.'
'Do you mean to insinuate anything?' cried Morris stormily, trying the high hand.
'Insinuate?' repeated Michael. 'O, don't let's begin to use awkward expressions! Let us drown our differences in a bottle, like two affable kinsmen. The Two Affable Kinsmen, sometimes attributed to Shakespeare,' he added.
Morris's mind was labouring like a mill. 'Does he suspect? or is this chance and stuff? Should I soap, or should I bully? Soap,' he concluded. 'It gains time.' 'Well,' said he aloud, and with rather a painful affectation of heartiness, 'it's long since we have had an evening together, Michael; and though my habits (as you know) are very temperate, I may as well make an exception. Excuse me one moment till I fetch a bottle of whisky from the cellar.'
'No whisky for me,' said Michael; 'a little of the old still champagne or nothing.'
For a moment Morris stood irresolute, for the wine was very valuable: the next he had quitted the room without a word. His quick mind had perceived his advantage; in thus dunning him for the cream of the cellar, Michael was playing into his hand. 'One bottle?' he thought. 'By George, I'll give him two! this is no moment for economy; and once the beast is drunk, it's strange if I don't wring his secret out of him.'
With two bottles, accordingly, he returned. Glasses were produced, and Morris filled them with hospitable grace.
'I drink to you, cousin!' he cried gaily. 'Don't spare the wine-cup in my house.'
Michael drank his glass deliberately, standing at the table; filled it again, and returned to his chair, carrying the bottle along with him.
'The spoils of war!' he said apologetically. 'The weakest goes to the wall. Science, Morris, science.' Morris could think of no reply, and for an appreciable interval silence reigned. But two glasses of the still champagne produced a rapid change in Michael.
'There's a want of vivacity about you, Morris,' he observed. 'You may be deep; but I'll be hanged if you're vivacious!'
'What makes you think me deep?' asked Morris with an air of pleased simplicity.
'Because you won't compromise,' said the lawyer. 'You're deep dog, Morris, very deep dog, not t' compromise--remarkable deep dog. And a very good glass of wine; it's the only respectable feature in the Finsbury family, this wine; rarer thing than a title--much rarer. Now a man with glass wine like this in cellar, I wonder why won't compromise?'
'Well, YOU wouldn't compromise before, you know,' said the smiling Morris. 'Turn about is fair play.'
'I wonder why _I_ wouldn' compromise? I wonder why YOU wouldn'?' enquired Michael. 'I wonder why we each think the other wouldn'? 'S quite a remarrable--remarkable problem,' he added, triumphing over oral obstacles, not without obvious pride. 'Wonder what we each think--don't you?'
'What do you suppose to have been my reason?' asked Morris adroitly.
Michael looked at him and winked. 'That's cool,' said he. 'Next thing, you'll ask me to help you out of the muddle. I know I'm emissary of Providence, but not that kind! You get out of it yourself, like Aesop and the other fellow. Must be dreadful muddle for young orphan o' forty; leather business and all!'
'I am sure I don't know what you mean,' said Morris.
'Not sure I know myself,' said Michael. 'This is exc'lent vintage, sir--exc'lent vintage. Nothing against the tipple. Only thing: here's a valuable uncle disappeared. Now, what I want to know: where's valuable uncle?'
'I have told you: he is at Browndean,' answered Morris, furtively wiping his brow, for these repeated hints began to tell upon him cruelly.
'Very easy say Brown--Browndee--no' so easy after all!' cried Michael. 'Easy say; anything's easy say, when you can say it. What I don' like's total disappearance of an uncle. Not businesslike.' And he wagged his head.
'It is all perfectly simple,' returned Morris, with laborious calm. 'There is no mystery. He stays at Browndean, where he got a shake in the accident.'
'Ah!' said Michael, 'got devil of a shake!'
'Why do you say that?' cried Morris sharply.
'Best possible authority. Told me so yourself,' said the lawyer. 'But if you tell me contrary now, of course I'm bound to believe either the one story or the other. Point is I've upset this bottle, still champagne's exc'lent thing carpet--point is, is valuable uncle dead--an'--bury?'
Morris sprang from his seat. 'What's that you say?' he gasped.
'I say it's exc'lent thing carpet,' replied Michael, rising. 'Exc'lent thing promote healthy action of the skin. Well, it's all one, anyway. Give my love to Uncle Champagne.'