Chapter III: An Impulsive Act

FREDDY had been a resident in his uncle's house for nearly a month, when, on returning from school with Edwin and Claude one afternoon, they met an old gentleman in High Street, who stopped when he caught sight of the three boys, and addressed the eldest in a gruff though not unkindly voice.

"Tell your father I want to see him when he can spare me half an hour," he said. "I find he is not at home now. He need not call till to-morrow, if that will be more convenient for him than this evening, for I don't want him to visit me in his professional capacity—tell him so, and he'll understand. Mind you don't forget my message."

"I will be sure to remember it," Edwin replied as he lifted his cap courteously.

The old gentleman nodded; then, glancing at Freddy, he said:

"That boy is not your brother, is he?"

"No; he is our cousin, who is living with us at present," Edwin explained. "His name is Frederick Collins, and his real home is in Devonshire."

"Ah, yes!" — and without another word the old gentleman went on his way, leaning on a stout stick, for he walked somewhat feebly.

"What an odd old fellow!" cried Freddy, glancing after him with a smile. "Who is he?"

"Mr. Henley, the richest man in B—," Claude answered. "He's one of father's best patients, for he's nearly always more or less ill," he continued ingenuously. "He suffers a great deal from rheumatism, which makes him rather crotchety in his temper; but he's very kind-hearted, nevertheless, and gives away a lot of money to those he knows who really need it. Last Christmas he gave father several pounds to distribute amongst his poor patients. I wonder what he wants to see father for, now."

"He's a very sharp-looking old man," Freddy remarked, recalling the shrewd glance Mr. Henley had cast upon him. "To look at him, I'm sure no one would guess him to be rich, though. Where does he live?"

"In a house a little way out of the town—not a big house. Father says he lives as simply as any working man, and he has no wife or children to spend his money on."

"Why doesn't he spend it on himself, then?" Freddy inquired. "Why, if I were he, I'd do just as I pleased in every way; buy whatever I liked, and always be enjoying myself."

"Wouldn't you do anything for other people?" Edwin asked gravely.

"Oh, yes, of course," Freddy rejoined quickly, looking rather ashamed of his selfish speech.

"You've always plenty of money for all you want," Claude reminded his cousin. "Uncle Frederick gives you such a good allowance of pocket-money; much more than we get."

"Why don't you ask Uncle Jo for more?" Freddy questioned thoughtlessly.

"Because we know he can't afford to give us more," Edwin replied. "You see, he's not so well off as your father. Besides, you're an only child, and there are three of us."

"I never knew till I came to B— that Uncle Jo had so little money," Freddy candidly admitted. "I think being a doctor is very hard work."

"So it is," Edwin agreed; "and it's very sad work too. A lot of father's patients are so very poor, and I know he feels it dreadfully sometimes not being able to give them money when they want food and clothes to keep them warm more than medicine."

"I don't believe anyone is poor like that in the village at home," Freddy said reflectively; "at least, I never heard of anyone. But, if Uncle Jo's patients are so poor, how can they pay him?"

"Very often they don't pay him," Claude answered; "but I don't think father would ever refuse to visit a sick person, even if he was certain he would never get paid."

"I am sure he would not," Freddy responded decidedly; "for no one could be kinder-hearted than Uncle Jo."

Edwin delivered Mr. Henley's message to his father on the first opportunity. Dr. Dennis seemed pleased to hear it; but merely said he would find time to see the old gentleman during the evening, and did not gratify his son's curiosity as to the purport of his visit.

It so happened that the next day, which was a Saturday, Freddy was left to spend the afternoon in the house alone, except for the servants, as Mrs. Dennis went to a friend's to tea, taking Poppy with her, and Edwin and Claude started off together to watch a football match. Freddy had intended going to see the football match with his cousins, but his uncle had noticed he had a slight cold, and had told him he had better not go; so he settled himself comfortably in an easy-chair by the dining-room window, as soon as he was left to himself, and commenced to read a book which Edwin had recommended to him. But he was no reader, and his eyes continually strayed from the printed page to the pedestrians passing to and fro on the pavement, whilst his thoughts reverted to what Edwin had told him on the preceding afternoon concerning the poverty of many of the doctor's patients.

The little boy had never known or seen anything of poverty at home; but here, in his uncle's house, it was always cropping up and confronting him. The people who came to consult Dr. Dennis of a morning, before he started on his round of visits, were mostly of the poorer classes, Freddy knew, for he had peeped at them sometimes when he had found the door of the waiting-room ajar, and he had been greatly struck by their pale, pinched faces; whilst he had on several occasions heard his uncle speaking to his aunt of various distressing cases in which he was interested. He considered it was very good of Uncle Jo to trouble about other people.

By-and-by Freddy's attention was attracted by a tall, gaunt old man, clad in a shabby suit of clothes, which once had been black but now was green with age, who was trying to sell bootlaces, which he was offering to every one he met. Nobody bought, however; and seeing Freddy at the window, the old man paused and held up a bunch of laces. The little boy shook his head at him, but he did not go away. Freddy had a sixpence and some coppers in his pocket, and fired with a sudden impulse of generosity he rose, and hurrying from the room crossed the hall to the front door, which he opened and beckoned to the old man, who approached with alacrity.

"I don't want any bootlaces, thank you," Freddy said; "but—you look very poor. Are you?"

"It would be hard to find a wretched creature poorer, young gentleman," was the reply in the whining voice of the professional beggar, which Freddy, however, was too inexperienced to recognise.

"I'm very sorry for you, indeed I am," the boy said earnestly, his heart stirred with pity as he regarded the apparently decrepit figure before him; "it's hard lines on you—very. Here's twopence."

"Thank you kindly, sir." The old man grasped the proffered coins greedily, and proceeded: "I suppose you couldn't find an old garment of your father's that you could give me, for it's terribly cold, and I've only these few poor rags to my back?"

"It's my uncle I'm living with at present, not my father," the boy explained; "he's not in; if he was, I'd ask him to give you some better clothes." As the old man lingered, he fingered the sixpenny bit in his pocket, and debated in his mind whether or not he should make him a present of that too; then he suddenly remembered his uncle's old overcoat hanging behind the surgery door, and wished Dr. Dennis was at home, for surely he would not be likely to find anybody who could make better use of his discarded coat. "I say, can't you call again in the evening?" he asked. "I should like my uncle to see you; I feel sure he would give you some clothes."

"I daren't venture out after dark, sir, because I've such a fearful cough. It would be the death of me if I took cold," the man rejoined with a shiver.

Freddy hesitated. Surely his uncle would be willing and glad to give his old overcoat to this poverty-stricken creature! Still, he hardly liked to take the matter into his own hands. Whilst he stood undecided how to act the other commenced to cough, and that settled the question. He fetched the coat from its peg behind the surgery door, and presented it to the old man, who was so profuse in his thanks that the little boy felt quite embarrassed and was glad to shut the door upon him. He went back to the dining-room, but on reaching the window, the old man was not to be seen, having beat a speedy retreat. Freddy wished now he had asked him his name, and where he lived, so that he could give his uncle more information about him; but it never occurred to him that there was a possibility that Dr. Dennis might not be pleased at what he had done.

By-and-by he went upstairs to his own room, and unlocking his writing desk, re-read his father's last letter, and so engrossed was he in its perusal that he did not hear the front door open, and his uncle enter the house. Presently, however, he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs, and one servant talking to the other who was evidently in her bedroom; and this was the conversation which fell upon his ears, shocking him indescribably.

"Cook, cook, have you touched master's old overcoat which he left hanging behind the surgery door?"

"No, certainly not, Jane. You know I never go into the surgery."

"Master says he's certain he left the coat there last night; he remembers wearing it to Mr. Henley's; and now he can't find it. He's in a great state about it, because there was money in a pocket-book in the inside pocket—I don't know how much."

"Well, the coat can't be lost or stolen; it must be in the house somewhere. I'll come and help look for it."

Freddy heard the two servants go downstairs together, but he himself was too frightened to follow them, being paralysed with dismay. What had he done? What would Uncle Jo say when he knew? He ought to tell him at once; but, dared he? He felt he did not dare.