UC-NRLF B.L.FARJEON GKIF B. L. FARJEON'S NOVELS. In Crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt. GRIF. An Australian Story. 33. 6d. GREAT PORTER SQUARE. 3 s. 6d. THE BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM. 33. 6d. AARON THE JEW. 35. 6d. THE LAST; TENANT, as. 6d.', THE TRAGEDY OF FEATHERSTONE. [Reprinting IN A SILVER SEA. THE SACRED NUGGET. THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS. MISER FAREBROTHER. A 1 SECRET INHERITANCE. LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO. GKIF Stcrg 0f Australian fife B. L. FARJEON AUTHOB OF AARON TM1 JRW." "OHIAT rOBTBB QnAAB," " IX A ULTBB MA. * ITC. SEVENTEENTH EDITION CX)NDON : IIUTCHINSON & CO, 34, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1898 LONDON : PRINTED BY J. 8. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED, CITY ROAD. .afri hn CONTENTS. OB4P. FA ; I. Gn/ relate* om o/ /iw eaiperiencef 1 U. .ffua&ami and JTi/e 13 ILL Grif loses a friend 27 iv. The Conjugal Nuttalls 40 T. The Moral Merchant entertains hit friends at dinner 51 vi. Father and Daughter 63 VIL Or\f promises to be honest 78 vm. Qrif is set up in life as a moral shoeblack 103 n. A Banquet is given to the Moral Merchant 118 T. On tiie road to El Dorado 132 xi. Welsh Tom 142 in. The new rush 153 xui. Old Flick 160 xiv. Little Peter is provided for 168 xv. A hot day in Melbourne 180 xn.Poorlfi% ... 201 xvii. Bad luck... 219 xvm. Honest Steve 230 472 Till CONTENTS CHAP. PAOB xix. The Welshman reads his last chapter in the old Welsh Bible 288 xx. The tender-hearted Oysterman traps his game ... 265 xxi. The Moral Merchant calls a meeting of his creditors 268 xxii. Alice and Grif meet friends upon the road ... 275 xxin. The story of Silver-headed Jack ... ... 287 xxrv. Mrs. Nicholas Nutt all takes possession ... ... 307 xxv. Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall receives visitors ... ... 314 xxvi. A night of adventures 823 xxvn. Orif bears false witness ... 842 GRIF; A STORY OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. CHAPTER L OEIF RELATES SOME OF HIS EXPERIENCES. Iir one of the most thickly populated parts of Mel- bourne city, where poverty and vice struggle for breathing space, and where narrow lanes and filthy thoroughfares jostle each other savagely, there stood, surrounded by a hundred miserable hovels, a gloomy house, which might have been likened to a sullen tyrant, frowning down a crowd of abject, poverty- stricken slaves. From its appearance it might have been built a century ago ; decay and rottenness were apparent from roof to base : but in reality it was barely a dozen years old. It had lived a wicked and depraved life, had this house, which might account for its pre- mature decay. It looked like a hoary old sinner, and in every wrinkle of its weather-board casing was hidden a story which would make respectability shudder. There are, in every large city, dilapidated or decayed houses of this description, which we avoid or pass by quickly, as wo do drunken men in the streets. In one of the apartments of this house, on a dismally web night, were two inmates, crouched before a fire as miserable as the night. A deal table, whose face and legs bore the marks of much rough usage; a tin 2 GRIP. candlestick containing a middle-aged tallow candle, the yellow light from which flickered sullenly, as it' it were weary of its life and wanted to be done with it ; a, threo-legged stool ; and a wretched mattress, which was hiding itself in a corner, with a kind of shame- faced consciousness that it had no business to be where ifc was : comprised all the furniture of the room. The gloominess of the apartment and the meanness of tlio furniture were in keeping with one another, and both were in keeping with the night, which sighed and Tiioaned and wept without ; while down the rickety chimney the wind whistled as if in mockery, and the rain-drops fell upon the embers, hissing damp misery into the eyes of the two human beings who sat before the fire, bearing their burden quietly, if not patiently. They were a strange couple. The one, a fair young girl, with a face so mild and sweet, that the beholder, looking upon it when in repose, felt gladdened by the sight. A sweet, fair young face ; a face to love. A look of sadness was in her dark brown eyes, and on the fringes, which half- veiled their beauty, were traces of tears. The other, a stunted, ragged boy, with pock- marked face, with bold and brazen eyes, with a vicious smile too often playing about his lips. His hand was supporting his cheek ; hers was lying idly upon her knee. The fitful glare of the scanty fire threw light upon both : and to look upon the one, so small and white, with the blue veins so delicately traced; and upon the other, so rough and horny, with every sinew speaking of muscular strength, made one wonder by what mystery of life the two had come into companion- ship. Yet, strange as was the contrast, there they sat, she upon the stool, he upon the ground, as if they were accustomed to each other's society. Wrapt in her thoughts the girl sat, quiet and motionless, gazing into the fire. What shades of expression passed acrpss her face were of a melancholy nature ; the weavings of her fancy iq the fitful glare brought notjiing of pleasure to GRIP RELATES BOME OF HIS EXPERIENCES. 3 Lor mind. Not far into the past could sho look, for she was barely nineteen years of age ; but brief as must have been her experience of life's troubles, it was bitU-r enough to sadden her eyes with tears, and to cause her to quiver as if she were in pain. Tho boy's 1 1 1. > lights were not of himself; they were of her, as wan proven by his peering up at her face anxiously i . few moments in silent*;?. Th.-it, lu> met with no respon- sive look evidently troubled him ; ho threw unquiet glances at her furtively, and then ho plucked her gently by tho sleeve. Finding Mint tlii.s did not attract her attention, ho shifted himself uneasily upon his seat, and in a hoarse voice, culled, "Ally!" " Yes," she replied vacantly, as if she were answer- ing tho voice of her fancy. A hat are you thinkm' of. Ally?" " I am thinking of my lifo," sho answered, dreamily and softly, without raising her eyes. " I see the end of it." The boy's eyes followed tho direction of her wistful gaze. " Blest if I don't think she can see it in tho fire !" ho said, under his breath. " I can't see nothinV A ml then he exclaimed aloud, " What's tho use of botheriu' ? Thinkin' won't alter it." " So it seems," she said, sadly ; " my head aches with the whirl." " Yon oughtn't to be unhappy, Ally ; you're very good-looking aad very young." " Yes, I am very young," she sighed. " IIow ohl arc you, Grif?" "Blest if I know," Grif replied, with a grin. "I ain't agoin' to bother ! I'm old enough, I am I" " Do you remember your father, Grif?" " Don't I ! He wa.s a rum 'un, he was. Usen't ho to wallop us, neither !" Lost ;n the recollection, Grif rubbed &is back, sym- pathetically. 4 GRIF. " And your mother ?" asked the girl. " Never seed her/' he replied, shortly. Thereafter they fell into silence for a while. But the boy's memory had been stirred by her questions, and he presently spoke again : " You see, Ally, father is a ticket-of-leave man, and a orfle bad un he is ! I don't know what he was sent out for, but it must have been somethin' very desperate, for I've heerd him say so. He was worse nor me oh, ever so much ; but then, of course," he added, apolo- getically, as if it were to his discredit that ho was not so bad as his convict parent, "he was a sight older. And as for lush my eye ! he could lush, could father ! Well, when ho was pretty well screwed, he used to lay into us, Dick and me, and kick us out of the house. Dick was my brother. Then Dick and me used to fight, for Dick wanted to lay into me too, and I wasn't goin' to stand that. We got precious little to eat, Dick and me ; when we couldn't get nothin' to eat at home, we went out and took it. And one day I was trotted up afore the beak, for takin' a pie out of a con- fetchoner's. They didn't get the pie, though; I eat that. The beak he give me a week for that pie, and wasn't I precious pleased at it ! It was the first time I'd ever been in quod, and I was sorry when they turned me out, for all that week I got enough to eat and drink. I arksed the cove to let me stop in another week, so that I might be reformed, as the beak sed, but he only larfed at me, and turned me out. When I got home, father he ses, ' Where have you been, Grif ?' And 1 tells him, I've been to quod. 'What for?' he arks. 'For takin' a pie/ I ses. Blest if I didn't get the worst wallopin' I ever had ! f You've been and dis- graced your family/ he sed ; ( git out of my sight, you wax-mint ; / was never in quod for stealin' a pie !' And with that he shied a bottle at my 'ead. I caught it, but there was nothin' in it ! I was very savage for that wallopin' ! ' What's disgrace to one's family/ QRIF RELATES SOME OF HIS UP1K1ENCE8. 5 thought I, ' when a cove want/8 grub ?' I was awfal hungry, as well as savage; so 1 made for the con- loner's and took another pie. I bolted the pie quick, for I knew they would be down on me ; ana I was trotted np afore the beak agin, and he give mo a mot/h. Wasn't I jolly glad ! When I come out of quod, father had cut off to the gold-diggins ; and as I wanted to get into quod agin, I went to the con- fetchoner's, and took another pie. The beak, wasn't he flabbergasted! 'What!' he BOS, 'have you been and stole another pie !' and then he looks so puzzled that I couldn't help larfin'. ' What do you go and do it for ?' sea he. ' Cos I'm hungry, your washup/ ses I. But the beak didn't scorn to think nothin' of that ; the missus of the shop, she ses, ' Pore boy !' and wanted him to let me off; but ho wouldn't, and I wasn't sorry for it. I was five times in quod for takin' pies out of that confetchoner's shop. Next time I was nabbed, though. The old woman she knew I was jist come out, so she hides herself behind the door; and when I cuts in to git my pie, she comes out quick, and ketches 'old of me by the scruff. ' You little warmint,' she ses; 'you shan't wear my life out in this here way! Five times have I been before that blessed magerstrate, who ain't got no more heart than a pump ! I wouldn't eo,' she ses, keepin' hold of my collar, and looking me 'ard in the face ' I wouldn't go, but the ploesemen they make me. I ain't goin' agin, that I'm determined on. Here ! Here's a pie for yon !' and she 'olds out a big un. ' That's a rum start,' I thort, as I looked at the pie in her hand. ' It won't do, though. If I take her pie in a honest way, where's my blanket to come from ?' But the old woman looked so worried, that I thort Pd make her a offer. ' If I take your pie, missus/ s, 'will you let me sleep under the counter?' ' What do you mean ?' she ses. Then I tells her that it's no use her givin' me a pie, for I hadn't no place to sleep in; and that she'd better let mo take one while GEIF. she looked another way. ' When I've eat it/ I ses, * I'll cough, very loud, and then you turn round as if you was surprised to see me, and give me in charge of a peeler.' < What'll be the good of that ?' she arks. ' Don't you see ?' I ses. 'Then I shall have the pie, and I shall get my blanket at the lock-up as well !' She wasn't a bad un, by no manner of means. ' My pore boy,' she ses, 'here's the pie, and here's a shillin'. Don't steal no more pies, or you'll break my 'art. You shall have a shillin' a week if you'll promise not to worry me, and whenever you want a pie I'll give you one if you arks for it.' Well, you see, Ally, I thort that was a fair offer, so I ses, ' Done !' and I took my pie and my shillin'. I don't worry her more than I can help," said Grif; " when I'm very hungiy I go to the shop. She's a good old sort, she is ; and 1 gets iny shillin' a week reglar." " And have you not heard of your father since he went away ? " asked the girl. " No, 'cept once I was told permiskusly that ho was cut tin' some rum capers up the country. They did say he was a bush-ranging, but I ain't agoin' to bother. I was brought up very queer, I was ; not like other coves. Father he never give us no eddication ; per- haps he didn't have none to give. But ho might have give us grub when we wanted it." " Yours is a hard life, Grif," the girl said, pityingly. " Yes, it is 'ard, precious 'ard, specially when a cove can't get enough to eat. But I s'pose it's all right. What's the use of botherin' ? I wonder," ho continued, musingly, "where the rich coves gets all their money from? If I was a swell, and had lots of tin, I'd give a pore chap like me a bob now and then. But they're orfle stingy, Ally, is the swells; they don't give nothin' away for nothin'. When I was in quod, a preacher chap comes and preaches to me. He sets hisself down upon the bench, and reads somethin/ out of a book a Bible, you know and after he'd preached QUIP RELATES SOME OK HIS nMtttMONk 7 for arf an hour, he ses, 'What do you think of that, 'nighted boy ? ' ' It's very good/ I ses, ' but I can't eat it.' ' Put your trust above/ he ses. ' But s'poso all the grub is down here ?' ses I. ' I can't go up there and fetch it/ Then he groans, and tells mo a story about a infant who was found in the bulrushes, after it had been deserted, and I ups and tells him that I've been deserted, and why don't somebody come and take mo out of the bulrushes ! Wasn't he puzzled, neither ! " Grif chuckled, and then, encouraged by his companion's silence, resumed, " He come agin, did the preacher cove, aforo T let out, and ho preaches a preach about charity. ' Uon't steal no more/ he ses, ' or your sole '11 go to nmr- chal perdition. Men is charitable and good; ji.st you try 'em, and give up your evil courses.' 'How CUM I help my ovil courses ? ' I ses. ' I only wants my rrub and a blanket, and I can't get 'em no other way.' * You can, young sinner, you can/ ho ses. ' Jist you try, and sec if you can't.' He spoke so earnest-like, and tho tears was a runnin' down his face so hard, that I pro- mised him I'd try. So when I gets out of quod, I thort, I'll see now if the preacher cove is right. 1 waited till I was hungry, and couldn't get nothin' to eat, without stealin' it. I could have took a trotter, for the trotter-man was a- drink in' at a public-house bar, and his barsket was on a bench ; but I wouldn't. No ; I goes straight to the swell streets, and there I sees the swells a-walkin' up and down, and liftin' their ';its, and smilin' at the gals. They was a rare nico lot <>f gals, and looked as if butter wouldn't molt in : mouths ; but there wasn't one in all the lot as nice as you are, Ally ! I didn't have courage at first to speak to the swells, but when I did, send I may live ! they started back as if I was a mad dawg. * You be awf/ they ses, ( or you'll be guv in charge.' What could a pore beggar like mo do, after that? I dodged about, very sorry I didn't take tuo trotter, when who should 8 GRIP. T see coining along but the preacher chap. f Here's a slant ! ' ses I to myself. s He's charitable and good, ho is, and '11 give me somethin' in a minute. He had a lady on his arm, and they both looked very grand. But when I went up to him he starts back too, and ses, ' Begawn, young reperrerbate ! ' When I heerd that, I sed, ' Charity be blowed ! ' and I goes and finds out the trotter-man, and takes two trotters, and no one knows nothin' about it." Before he had finished his story, the girl's thoughts had wandered again. A heavy step in the adjoining apartment roused her. " Who is that ? " " That's Jim Pizey's foot," replied the boy ; ' ' they're up to some deep game, they are. They was at it last night." "Did you hear them talking about it, Grif?" she asked, earnestly. " A good part of the time I was arf asleep, and a food part of the time I made game that I was asleep, heerd enough to know that they're up to somethin' precious deep and dangerous. But, I say, Ally, you won't peach, will you ? I should get my neck broke if they was to know that I blabbed." " Don't fear me, Grif," said the girl ; " go on." " Jim Pizey, of course, he was at the 'ead of it, and he did pretty nearly all the talkin'. The Tender- hearted Oysterman, he put in a word sometimes, but the others only said yes and no. Jim Pizey, he ses, ' We can make all our fortunes, mates, in three months, if we're game. It'll be a jolly life, and I know every track in the country. We can " stick-up "* the gold escort in the Black Forest, and we don't want to do nothin' more all our lives. Forty thousand ounces of gold, mates, not a pennyweight less ? ' Then the Tenderiiarted Oysterman ses he didn't care if there * " Sticking-up " is an Australian term for burglary and highway Robbery. QRIK RELATES SOME OF HIS EXPERIENCES. 9 was forty million ounces, he wouldn't have nothin* to il < ) with it, if Jim wanted to hurt the poor coves. Didn't they larf at him for sayin' that ! " " Is he a kind man, Grif ? " "The Tenderhearted Oysterraan, do you mean, Ally ? " asked the boy, in return. " Yes, is he really tenderhearted ? " " He's the wickedest, cruellest, of all the lot, Ally. They call him the Tenderhearted Oysterman out of fun. He's always sayin' how soft-hearted he is, but he would think as much of killin' you and me as he would of kill in' a fly. After that I falls off in a doze, and pre- sently I hears 'em talkin' agin, between- whiles, like, ' If the escort's too strong for us/ ses Jim Pizey, ' we can tackle the squatters' stations. Some of the squat- ters keeps heaps of money in their houses/ And then they called over the names of a lot of stations where tho squatters was rich men." " Did you hear them mention Highlay Station, Grif?" the girl asked, anxiously. " Can't say I did, Ally." The girl gave a sigh of relief. " Who were there, Grif, while they were talking ? " "There was Jim Pizey, and Ned Rutt, and Black Sam, and the Tenderhearted Oysterman, and "but here Grif stopped, suddenly. " Who else, Grif? " laying her hand upon his arm. " I was considering Ally," the boy replied, casting a furtive look at her white face, " if there was anybody else. I was 'arf asleep, you know." The girl gazed at him with such distress depicted in her face that Grif turned his eyes from her, and looked uneasily upon the ground. For a few moments she seemed as if she feared to speak, and then she inquired in a voice of pain, " Was tny husband there, Grif? " Grif threw one quick, sharp glance upon her, and, as if satisfied with what he saw, turned away again, and did not reply. 10 ClRlf. :t Was my husband there, Grif," the girl repeated. Still the boy did not reply. He appeared to bo possessed with some dogged determination not to answer her question. " Grif/' the girl said, in a voice of such tender plead- ing that the tears came into the boy's eyes, " Grif, be iny friend !" "Your friend, Ally !" he exclaimed, in amazement, and as he spoke a thrill of exquisite pleasure quivered through him. " Me ! A pore beggar like rne !" " I have no one else to depend upon no one elso to trust to no one elso to tell me what I must, yet what I dread to hoar. Was my husband there, Grit' ?" " Yes, ho was there/' the boy returned, reluctantly ; " more shame for him, and you a sittin' hero all by yourself. I say, Ally, why don't you cut away iroui him ? What do you stop here for r J " Hush ! Was he speaking with them about tho plots you told ino of?" " No, he was very quiet. They was a tryin* to per- suade him to join 'em ; but he wouldn't agree. They tried all sorts of games on him. They spoke soft, and they spoke hard. They give him lots of lush, too, and you know, Ally, he can " but Grif pulled himself up short, dismayed and remorseful, for his companion had broken into a passionate fit of weeping. " I didn't mean to do it, Ally," he said sorrowfully. " Don't take on so. I'll never say it agin. I'm a ignorant beast, that's what I am !" he exclaimed, dig- ging his knuckles into his eyes. " I'm always a puttin' my foot in it." ''Never mind, Grif/' said the girl, sobbing. "Go on. Tell me all you heard. I must know. Oh, my heart ! My heart !" and her tears fell thick and fast upon his hand. He waited until she had somewhat recovered herself, and then proceeded very slowly. "They was a-tryin' to persuade him to join ; oia. GitlF RELATES BOMB OF IIIS EXPERIENCES. 11 They tried nil sorts of dodges, but they was all no go. The 'IVndi-.-iii -ar; m, he comes the tender touch, and ses, ' I'm a sod-hear ted cove, you know, mato, and I wouldn't kill a worm, if 1 thort I should *uri him ; it* ilu-re was any violence a-goin' to be done, I wouldn't be the chap to have a 'and in it.' ' Then why do you have anythiu' to do with it?' arks your - you know who 1 mran, Ally? 'Because I think it'll be a jolly good spree,' ses the Oysterman, 'and because I know wo can make a 'cap of shiners without nobody bein' the worse for it.' But they couldn't get him to say Yes ; and at last Jim Pizey ho gets up in a awful scot, and ho ses, 'Look here, mat< been and k-t you in this hen- 1 \v<- ain't a- to have it blown upon. Vi-u make up your mind very soon to join us, or it will bo tho worse ior yuu.' " id my husband " " I didn't hear iiothin' more. I fell right oil* asl- and when I woke up they was gone." " Grit"/' said tin* i^u-l, " lie must not join in this ; I vmxt keep him from crime. Ho has been unfortu- led away by bad companions." " Yes ; we're a precious bad lot, wo nro." ;b his heart is good, Grif," she continued. " What does he mean by treatin* you like this, then ?" interrupted Grif, indignantly. "You've got no 1 ness here, you haven't. You ought to have a 'ouse of your own, you ought." " I can't explain ; yon would not understand. Enough that ho is my husband ; it is sufficient that my lot is linked with his, and that through poverty disgrace I must be by his side. I can never de- sert him while I have life. God grant that I may save him vc-t !'' Tho boy was hushed into silence by her solemn earnestness. " Ho is weak, Grif, and we are poor. It was other- oiicu. Thoso who should assist us will not do so, 12 unless I break the holiest tie and so we must suffer together/' "I don't see why you should suffer/' said Grif, doggedly; "you don't deserve to suffer, you don't." " Did you ever have a friend, my poor Grif/' the girl said, "whom you loved, and for whose sake you would have sacrificed even the few sweets of life you have enjoyed ?" Grif pondered, but being unable to come to any im- mediate conclusion upon the point, did not reply. "It is so with me," Alice continued. "I would sacrifice everything for him and for his happiness : for I love him ! Ah ! how I love him ! When he is away from me he loses hope for my sake, not for his own, I know. If he is weak, I must be strong. It is my duty." She loved him. Yes. No thought that he might be unwortny of the sacrifice she had already made for him tainted the purity of her love, or weakened her sense of duty. " I've got a dawg, Ally," Grif said, musingly, after a pause. " He ain't much to look at, but he's very fond of me. Rough is his name. The games we have together, me and Rough ! He's like a brother to me, is Rough. I often wonder what he can see in me, to be so fond of me but then they say dawgs ain't got no sense, and that's a proof of it. But if he ain't got sense, he got somethin' as good. Pore old Rough ! One day a cove was agoin* to make a rush at me it was the Tenderhearted Oysterman (we always had a down on each other, him and me !) when Rough, he pounces in, and gives him a nip in the calf of his leg. Didn't the Oysterman squeal ! He swore, that day, that ho would kill the dawg ; but he'd better not try / Kill Rough !" and, at the thought of it, the tears camft into the boy's eyes ; " and him never to rub his nose agin me any more, after all the games we've had 1 No, I shouldn't like to lose Rough, for he's a real friend to me, though he is only a dawg !" HUSBAND AND WIFE. 13 The girl laid her hand upon GriPs head, and looked pityingly at him. As their eyes met, a tender expres- sion stole into his face, and rested there. " I'm very sorry for you, Ally. I wish I could do somethin' to make you happy. It doesn't much matter for a pore beggar like me. We was always a bad lot, was father, and Dick, and me. But you ! look here, Ally !" he exclaimed, energetically. " If ever you want me to do anythin' never mind what it i long as I know I'm a-doin' of it for you I'll do it, true and faithful, I will, so 'elp me !" Her haml upon his lips checked the oath he was about to utter. He seized the hand, and placed it over his eyes, and leant his cheek against it, as if it brought balm and comfort to him; as indeed it did. "You believo im, Ally, don't you?" he continued, eagerly. "I don't want you to say nothin' more than if ever I can d> somethin' for you, you'll let me do it." "I will, Grif, and I do believe you," she repliVd. " God help me, my poor boy, you are my only friend." " That's it !" he exclaimed, triumphantly. " That's what I am, till I die !" CHAPTER IL HUSBAND AND WIPE. The rain pattered down, faster and faster, as the night wore on, and still the two strange companions sat, silent and undisturbed, before the fire. At intervals sounds of altercation from without were heard, and occasionally a woman's drunken shriek or a ruffian's muttered curse was borne upon the angry wind. A step upon the creaking stairs would cause the girl's face to assume an expression of watchfulness : for a 14 GRIP. moment only; the next, she would relapse into dreamy listlessness. Grif had thrown himself upon the floor at her feet. He was not asleep, but dozing; for at every movement that Alice made, he opened his eyes, and watched. The declaration of friendship he had made to her had something sacramental in it. When lie said that he would bo true and faithful to her, he meant it with his whole heart and soul. The better instincts of the boy had been brought into play by contact with the pure nature of a good woman. He had never met any one like Alice. The exquisite ten- derness and unselfishness exhibited by her in every word and in every action, filled him with a kind of adoration, and he vowed fealty to her with the full strength of his uncultivated nature. His vow might bo depended on. He was rough, and dirty, and ugly, and a thief; but he was faithful and true. Somo glimpse of a better comprehension appeared to pass into his face as he lay and watched. And so the hours lagged on until midnight, when a change took place. A sudden change a change that transformed the hitherto quiet house into a den of riotous vice and drunkenness. It seemed as though the house had been forced into by a band of ruffianly bacchanals. They came up the stairs, laughing, and singing, and screaming. A motley throng about a dozen in all but strangely contrasted in appearance. Men upon whose faces rascality had set its seal ; women in whose eyes there struggled the modesty of youth with the depravity of shame. Most of the men were middle- aged; the eldest of the women could scarcely have counted twenty winters from her birth : many of them, even in their childhood, had seen but little of life's summer. With the men, moleskin trousers, pea- jackets, billycock hats, and dirty pipes, predominated. But the women were expensively dressed, as if they sought to hide their shame by a costly harmony of colours. How strange are the groupings we gpp, yet do not marvel at, in the kaleidoscope of life ! HUSBAND AND WIFE. 15 The company were ID tho adjoining apartment, and, through the chinks in the wall, Alico could see UUMH flitting about. She had started to her feet when slio heard them enter the house, and her trembling IV bespoke her agitation. All her heart was in hrtr earn a.s she listened lur tho voice she expected yet dre.mled to hear. " Get up, Grif," she whispered, touching the gently with her foot. On tho instant, he was stand- ing, watchful by her side. "Listen! Can you hear voice?* 1 The boy listened attentively, and shook his head. At this moment, a ribald jest called forth screams of Laughter, and caused Alice to cover her crimsoned , and sink tremblingly into her seat. But after it short struggle with herself, she rose again, and lis- tened anxiously. " Ho must be there," she snid, her hand twitching nervously at her dress. "Oh, what if I should not liim to-night ! I should be powerless to save him. \Vlmt if they have kept him away from me, fearing that I should turn him fn>:n them 1 Oh, Grif, Grif, what shall I do ? what shall I do ?" " Hush ! " Grif whispered. " You keep quiet. You pretend to be asleep, and don't let 'em 'car you. If anybody comes in, you shut your eyes, and breathe 'j;rd. I'll go and see if he's there." And he crept out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Left alone, the girl sat down again by the fire, whispering to herself, " I must save him, I must save him;" as if the words were a charm. "Yes," she whispered, "I must save him from this disgrace, and then I will make one more appeal ;" and then she started up again, and listened, and paced the room in an agony of expectation. Thus she passed tho next half-hour. At the end of that time, Grif came in, almost noiselessly, and to her questioning look replied, 16 QRii. " He's there, nil right." "What is he doing?" " He's a settin' in a corner, 'arf asleep, all by 'isself, and he hasn't sed a word to no one. Where are you goin' ?" he inquired quickly, as Alice walked towards the door. " I am going in to him." " What for ?" cried Grif hoarsely, gripping her arm. " Ally, are you mad ?" " I must go and bring him away," she replied, firmly. Look here, Ally," said Grif, in a voice of terror ; " don't you try it. Pizey's got the devil in him to- night. I know it by his eye. It's jist as cool and wicked as anythin' ! When he sets his mind upon a thing he'll do it, or be cut to pieces. If you go in, you can't do nothin', and somethin' bad '11 'appen. Pizey '11 think you know what you oughtn't to know. Don't you go!" " But I must save him, Grif," she said, in deep distress. " I must save him, if I die ! " "Yes," Grif said in a thick undertone, and still keeping firm hold of her arm ; " that's right and pro- per, I dersay. But s'pose you die and don't save him? They won't do nothin' to-night. You can't do no good in there, Ally. The Oysterman '11 kill you, or beat you senseless, if you go; and then what could you do ? I've seen him beat a woman before to-night. They're mad about somethin' or other, the whole lot of 'em. You'll do him more good by stoppin' away." " Of what use can my husband be to them, Grif?" she cried, yet suppressing her voic;e, so that those in the next room should not hear. " What plot of their hatching can he serve them in ?" " 1 don't know," Grif replied ; " he can talk and look like a swell, and that's what none of 'em can do. But you'll soon find out, if you keep quiet. 'Ark ! they're a clearin' out the gals/' and as ho spoke wero HUSBAND AND Will. 17 heard female voices and laughter, and the noise of the speakers who were trooping into the miserable night. " They won't be very long together. They won't be together at all ! " he cried, as the door of the adjoin- ing apartment opened, and heavy steps went down the stairs. " But suppose my husband goes with them ?" Alice cried, and tried to reach the door ; but Grif restrained her. " There's Jim Pizey*s foot/' he said, with a finger at his lips; "jist as if he was tramplin' some one down with every step. And there's Black Sam I could tell him from a mob of people, for he walks as if he was goin' to tumble down every minute. And there's Ned Rutt he's got the largest feet I ever sor. And there's the Tenderhearted Oystermun, 1m treads like a cat. I'll bo even with him one day for sayin' he'd kill Rough ! And there's there's no more." The street door was heavily slammed, and a strange stillness fell upon the house a stillness which did not appear to belong to it, and which struck Alice with :i sense of desolation, and made her shiver. A few mo- ments afterwards Alice's husband entered the apart- ment. He was a handsome, indolent-looking-man, with a reckless manner which did not become him. There were traces of dissipation upon his countenance, and his clothes were a singular mixture of rough coarseness and faded refinement. He did not notice Grif, who had stepped aside, but, gazing neither to the right nor to the left, walked to the seat which Alice had occupied, and sinking into it, plunged his fingers in his hair, and gazed vacantly at the ashes in the grate. He made no sign of recognition to Alice, who went up to him, and encircled his neck with her white arms. As she leant over him, with her face bending to his, caressingly, it appeared, although he did not repulse her, as if there were within him o 1.8 GRIF. some wish, to avoid her, and not be conscious of her presence. " Richard," she whispered. But he doggedly turned his head from her. "Richard," she whispered again, softly and sweetly. " I hear you," he said, pettishly. " Do not speak to me harshly to-niglit, dear," she said ; " this day six months we were married." He winced as he heard this, as if the remembrance brought with it a sense of physical pain, and said: " It is right that you should reproach me, yet it is bitter enough for me without that/' " I do not say it to reproach you, dear, indeed, in- deed, 1 do not!'" "That makes it all the more bitter. This day six months we were married, you say! Better for you, better for me, that we had never seen each other.'" " Yes," the girl said, sadly ; " perhaps it would have been. But there is no misery to me in the remem- brance. I can still bless the day when we first met. Oh, Richard, do not give me cause to curse it ! " "You have cause enough for that every day, every hour," he replied; "to curse the day, and to curse mo. You had the promise of a happy future before you saw me, and I have blighted it. What had you done that I should force this misery upon you ? What had you done that I should bring you into contact with this ? " he looked loathingly upon the bare walls. "And I am even too small-hearted to render you the only re- paration in my power to die, and loose you from a tie which has embittered your existence ! " " Hush, Richard ! " she said. " Hush ! my dear !' All may yet be well, if you have but the courage " "But I have not the courage," he interrupted. "I am beaten down, crushed, nerveless. I was brought up with no teaching that existence was a thing to struggle for, and I am too old or too idle to learn the Lesson now. What do such men as I in the world ?' HUSBAND AND WIPE. 19 Wlir, it has boon thrown in my teeth this very nignt I bat I haven't even soul enough for revenge." " Revenge, Richard ! " she cried. " Not upon " " No, not that," he said ; " nor anything that con- cerns you or yuurs. But it has been thrown in my teeth, nevertheless. And it is true. For I am it coward and a craven, if there ever lived one. it is you who h:ivc made mo feel that I am so; it is you who have shown mo to myself in my true colours, and who have torn from me the mask whicli I fool tint I am ! had almost learnt to believe was my real self, and not a sham ! Had you reproached me, had you reviled me, I might have continued to be deceived. But as it is, I tremble before you ; I tremble, when I look upon your pale face ; " and turning to her sud- denly, and meeting the look of patient uncomplaining love in her weary eyes, he cried, " Oh, Alice 1 Alice ! what misery I have brought upon you ! " " Not more than I can bear, dear love/' she said, "if you will bo true to yourself and to me. Have patience " " Patience ! " ho exclaimed. " When I think of the past, I lash myself into a torment. Will patience feed us ? Will it give us a roof or a bed? Look here ! " and ho turned out his pockets. "Not a shilling. Fill my pockets first. Give me the means to fight with my fellow-cormorants, and I will have patience. Till then, I must fret, and fret, and drink. Have you any brandy ? " " No/' she said, with a bitter sigh. " Perhaps it is better so/' ho said, slowly, for his passion had somewhat exhausted him ; " for what I have to say might seem the result of courage that does not belong to me. I have refrained from drink to-night that my resolution might not bo tampered with." He paused to recover himself; Alice bending for- ward, with clasped hands, waited in anxious expec- tancy. 20 GRIP. "Do you know how I have spent to-night and many previous nights ? " he asked. " In what company, and for what purpose ? " Lhe had been standing during all this time, and her strength was failing her. She would have fallen, had he not caught her in his arms, whence she sank upon the ground at his feet, and bowed her head in her lap. " I have spent to-night, and many other nights," he continued, ' ' in the company of men whose touch, not long since, I should have deemed contamination. I have spent them in the company of villains, who, for some purpose of their own, are striving to inveigle me in their plots. But they will fail. Yes, they will fail, if you will give me strength to keep my resolution. Coward I am, I know, but I am not too great a cow- ard to say that you and I must part." " Part ! " she echoed, drearily. "Look around," he said; "this is a nice home I have provided for you; I have surrounded you with fit associates, have I not? How nobly I have per- formed my part of husband ! How you should bless my name, respect, and love me, for the true manli- ness I have displayed towards you ! But by your patience and your love you have shown me the depth of my degradation/' "Not degradation, Eichard, not degradation for you!" " Yes, degradation, and for me, in its coarsest as- pect, la not this degradation?" and he pointed to Grif, who was crouching, observant, in a corner. " Come here," he said to the lad, who slouched to- wards him, reluctantly. " What are you ? " "What am I?" replied Grif, with a puzzled look; " I'm a pore boy Grif." "You're a poor boy Grif!" tho man repeated. " How do you live ! " "By eatin' and drinkinV HDSDAND AXD \VIFE. 21 " How do yon get your living ? " "I makes it as I can," answered Crif, gloomfly. "And when you can't make it ? " "Why, then I takes it." " Tliat is, you are a thief? " "Yes, Is'poseso." " And a vagabond ? " " Yes, I s'pose so." " And yon have been in prison ? " " Yes, I've been in quod, I have," said Grif, feeling, for the first time in his life, slightly ashamed of tho circumstance. " And you say," Richard said, bitterly, as the boy slunk back to his corner, " that this is not degrada- tion ! " She turned her eyes to the ground, but did not replj. was once a good arithmetician," he continued, us see what figures there are in the sum of our acquaintance, and what they amount to." " Of what use is it to recall the past, Richard ? " " It may show us how to act in the future. Besides, I have a strange feeling on me to-night, having met with an adventure which I will presently relate. Listen. When I first saw you I was a careless ne'er-do-well, with no thought of the morrow. You did not know this then, but you know it now. It is the curse of my life that I was brought up with expectations. How many possibly useful, if not good, men have been wrecked on that same rock of expectations ! Upon the strength of ' expectations ' I was reared into an idle incapable. And this I was when you first knew me. I had an income then small, it is true, but sufficient , or if it was not, I got into debt upon the strength of my ex- pectations, which were soon to yield to me a life's resting-place. You know what happened. One day there came a letter, and I learned that, in a commercial orash at homo, my income and my expectations had 22 GRIP. gone to limbo. The news did not hurt me much, Alice, for I had determined on a scheme which, it" suc- cessful, would give me wealth and worldly prosperity. Ifc is the truth shamed as I am to speak it that, knowing you to be an only child and an heiress, 1 deliberately proposed to myself to win your affections. I said, f This girl will be rich, and her money will com- pensate for what I have lost. This girl has a wealthy father, not too well educated, not too well connected, who will bo proud when he finds that his daughter has married a gentleman/ In the execution of my settled purpose, I sought your society, and strove to make myself attractive to you. But your pure nature won upon me. The thought that your father was wealthy, iirid that you would make a good match for me, was soon lost in the love I felt for you. For I learned to love you, honestly, devotedly nay, keep your place, and do not look at me while I speak, for I am unworthy of the love I sought and gained. Yet, you may believe me when I say, that as I learned to know you, all mer- cenary thoughts died utterly away. Well, Alice, I won your love, and could not bear to part from you. 1 had to do something to live ; and so that I might bo near you, I accepted the post of tutor offered me by your father. I accepted this to be near you it was happiness enough for the time, and I thought but little of the future. Happy, then, in the present, I had no thought of the passing time, until the day arrived when your father wished to force you into a marriage with a man, ignorant, brutal mean, and vulgar, but rich. You came to me in your distress Good God ! " he ex- claimed passionately ; " shall I ever forget the night on which you came to me, and asked for help and for advice? The broad plains, bathed in silver light, stretched out for miles before us. The branches of the old gum- trees glistened vrith white smiles in the face of the moon we were encompassed with a peaceful glory. You stood before me, sad and trembling, and the Joyp HUSBAND AND WIFE. that hn/ 1 ' Ktinshino to my lionrt rushed to my lips" he sinpp.-d suddenly, looked round, and srnii . !! ho continued u Tho uvx& tlav wo lied, and afc the first town wo reached wo wero Add. Then, and then only, yon learned for time, that tho man you had married v '^ : "*. and was unablo to provide for his wife the commnr comforts of a home. We appealed to your full. yon know how ho met our appeals. Tho last ti went, at your request, to his house, he sot his do:j.s upon me " "Richard! Richard!" she eric ty. "Do not recall that time. Do silent lor awhile, and calm yourself." " I will go on to tho end. We camo to Melbourne. Brought up to no trade or profession, and naturally idle, I could get nothing to do. Some would have employed me, hut they v, . : !. I was not r enough I was too much of a genii- -Mian. 'I'hev wanted coarser material than I am composed of, and so, day by day, I have sunk lower and lower. People 11 to look on mo with suspicion. I am fit for no- thing in this colony. I was born a gentleman, aud I live tho life of a dog ; and I have dragged you, who never before knew want, down with me. With no friends, no iniluence to back me, wo might starve and rot. What wonder that I took to drink ! Tho disgust with which I used to contemplate the victims of that vice recoils now upon myself, and I despise and abhor myself for what I am ! By what fatality I brought you here, I know not. I suppose it was because we were poor, and I could not afford to buy you better lodging. Now, attend to me but stay, that boy is listening." " Ho is a friend, Richard," said Alice. "Yes," said Grif, " L am a friend that's what I nrn. Never you mind me I ain't a-goin' to pe.ach. I'd do any thin' to 'clp her, I would sooner than 'urt 24 GRIP. her, Pd be chopped up first. You talk better than the preacher cove ! " " Very well. Now attend. These men want me to join them in their devilish plots. I will not do so, if I can help it. Bat if I stop here much longer, they will drive me to it. And so I must go away from you and from them. I will go to the gold diggings, and try my lack there " " Leaving me here ? " " Leaving you here, but not in this house. You have two or three articles of jewellery left. I will sell them the watch I gave you will fetch ten pounds and you will be able to live in a more respectable house than this for a few weeks until you hear from me." " How will you go ? " " I shall walk I cannot afford to ride. But I have not concluded yet. I have something to tell you, which may alter our plans, so far as you are con- cerned. I have a message for you, which I must deliver word for word." " A message for me ! " lie paced tho room for a few moments in silence. Then, standing before Alice, he looked her in the face, and said : " I saw your father this evening." "In town ! " she exclaimed. " In town. I do not know for what purpose he is here, nor do I care." " Oh, Richard," cried the girl ; ' ' you did not quarrel with him ? " " No ; I spoke to him respectfully. I told him you were in Melbourne, in want. I begged him to assist us. I said that I was willing to do anything that I would take any situation, thankfully, in which I could earn bread for you. He turned away impatiently. I fol- lowed him, and continued to address him humbly, en- troatingly. For your sake, Alice, I did this." HUSBAND AND WIFE. 25 She took his hand and kissed it, and rested her cheek against it." " Hearken to his reply," he said, disengaging his hand, and standing apart from her. "This was it. ' You married my daughter for my money. You are a worthless, idle scoundrel, and I will not help you. If you so much regret the condition to which you have brought my daughter, divorce yourself from her/ " " No, no, Richard !" "Those were his words. 'Divorce yourself from her, and I will take her back. When you come to me to consent to this, I will give you money. Till then, you may starve. I am a hard man, as you know, obsti- nate and self-willed ; and rather than you should have one shilling of the money you traded for when you nmrried my daughter, I would fling it all in the sea. Tell my daughter this. She knows me well enougli to be sure I shall not alter when once I resolve.' Those were his words, word for word. That was the message he bade me give you. What is your answer ?" " What do you think it is ?" she asked, sadly. " I cannot tell," he said, doggedly, turning his face from her ; " I know what mine would be." " What would it be ?" " I should say this " (he did not look at her while he spoke) "You, Richard Handfield, Scapegrace, For- tune-hunter, Vagabond (any of these surnames would be sufliciently truthful), came to me, a young simple girl, and played the lover to me, without the know- ledge of my father, for the sake of my father's money. You knew that I, a young simple girl, bred upon the plains, and amidst rough men, would be certain to be well affected towards you would almost be certaiu to fall in love with you, for the false gloss you parade to the world, and for the refinement of manner which those employed about my father's station did not possess. You played for my heart, and you won it. But you won it without the money you thought you would have 26 QUIP. gained, for you were disappointed in your calculations. And now that I know you for what you are, and now that I have been sufficiently punished for my folly, in the misery you have brought upon me, I shall go back to the home from which I lied, and endeavour to for- get the shame with which you have surrounded me." " Do you think that this would be my answer, Richard?" He had not once looked at her while ho spoke, and now as she addressed him, with an indescribable sad- ness in her voice, he did not reply. For full five minutes theru was silence in the room. Then the grief which filled her heart could no longer be sup- pressed, and short broken gasps escaped her. " Richard I" she exclaimed. "Yes, Alice." " Have you not more faith in me than this ? As I would die to keep you good, so I should die Avitlioufc your love. What matters poverty ? We are not the only ones in the world whose lot is hard to bear ! Be true to me, Richard, so that I may be true to myself and to you. You do not believe that this would be my answer !" There came no word from his lips. "When I vowed to be faithful to you, Richard, I was but a girl indeed, I am no better now, except in experience but I vowed with my whole heart. I had no knowledge then of life's hard trials, but since I have learned them, I seem also to have learned what is my duty, and what was the meaning of the faith I pledged. I never rightly understood it till iio\v, darling ! You do not believe that this would be my answer !" Still he did not look at her. Although she waited in an anxious agony of expectation, he did not speak. The plain words he had chosen in which to make his confession, had brought to him, for the first time, a true sense of the unworthy part he had played- GRIP LOSES A FRIEND. 27 rf lf in fho time that has gone, my dear," sho con- tinned, "there is any circumstance, any remembrance, connected with me, that gives you pain, forget it for my sake. If you have believed that any thought that, you havo done me wrong exists, or ever existed, in my mind, believe it no longer. Think of me as I am- me as I am your wife, who loves you now with :i more perfect love than when sho was a simple girl, in- experienced in the world's hard ways. All ! see hew I plead to you, and turn to me, my dear !" She would have knelt to him, but ho turned and clasped her in his arms, and pressed her pure heart to his. Her fervent love had triumphed; and as ho kissed away her tears, he felt, indeed, that wifely purity is man's best shield from evil. " You shall do what you have said, Richard ; hut not to-morrow. Wait but one day longer ; and if I then say to you ' Go/ you shall go. 1 havo a reason for this, but I must not tell you what it is. Do you consent V 9 "Yes, love." "lirightrr days will dawn upon us. lam happier now than I have been for a long, long timo ! Ami oh, my dear ! bend your head closer, Richard there may come a little child to need our care " The light had gone out and the room was in dark- ness. But mean and disreputable as it was, a good woman's unselQsh lovo sanctified it and made it holy I CHAPTER ITT. GRIP LOSE3 A FRIEND. "It's a ram go," Grif muttered to himself, as ho wiped the tears from his eyes, and groped his way down the dark eiairs; "a very ruin go. If I was GRIP. Ally, I should do as ho told her. But she don't care for herself, she don't. She's too good for him by ever so many chalks, that's what she is I" By this time Grif had reached the staircase which led to the cellar. Crouching upon the floor, ho lis- tened with his ear to the ground. " I can hear him/' he said, in a pleasant voice, " he's a beatin' his tail upon the ground, but he won't move till I call him. I don't believe there's another dawg in Melbourne to come up to him. Jist listen to him ! He's a thinkin' to himself, How much longer will he be, I wonder, afore he calls me ! And he knows I'm a-talkin' of him ; he knows it as well as I do myself." He listened again, and laughed quietly. " If I was to mention that dawg's name," Grif said in a confidential tone, as if he were addressing a com- panion, " he'd be here in a minute. He would ! It's wonderful how he knows ! I've had him since he was a pup, and afore he could open his eyes. It would be nice sleepin' down in the cellar, but we can't do it, can we, old feller ? We've got somebody else to look after, haven't we ? You, and me, and him, ain't had a bit of supper, I'll bet. But we'll get somethin' to eat somehow, you see if we don't." Here the lad whistled softly, and the next instant a singularly ugly dog was by his side, licking his face, and expressing satisfaction in a quiet but demonstra- tive manner. " Ain't you jolly warm, Bough ! " whispered Grif, taking the dog in his arms, and gathering warmth from it. " Good old Rough ! Dear old Rough !" The dog could only respond to its master's affection by action, but that was sufficiently expressive for Grif, who buried his face in Rough's neck, and patted its back, and showed in twenty little ways that he under- stood and appreciated the faithfulness of his dumb servant. After this interchange of affectionate senti- ment, Grif and his dog crept out of the house. Tt OB1F LOSES A FRIEKD. 29 was mining hard, but the lad took no further heed of the weather than was expressed by drooping his chin upon his breast, and putting his hands into the ragged pockets of his still more rugged trousers. Slouching along the walla as if he derived some comfort from tho contact, Grif walked into a wider street of the and stopped at the entrance of a narrow passage, lead- ing to a room used as a casino. The dog, which IKK! been anxiously sniffing the gutters in quest of such stray morsels of food as had escaped the eyes and noses of other ravenous dogs, stopped also, and looked up humbly at its master. "I'll stay here," said Grif, resting against the wall. "Milly's in there, I dare say, and she'll give me some- thin' when she comes out, if she's got it." Understanding by its master's action that no fur- ther movement was to be made for the present, Rough sat upon its haunches in perfect contentment, and contemplated the rain-drops falling on the ground. Grif was hungry, but he had a stronger motive than that for waiting ; as he had said, he had some one be- sides himself to provide for, and the girl he oxp< to see had often given him money. Strains of n: floated down the passage, and the effect of the SOUTH is, ibined with his tired condition sent him into a half doze. He started now and then, as persons passed and repasscd him ; but presently he slid to the earth, and, throwing his .arm over the dog's neck, fell into a sound sleep. He slept for nearly an hour, when a hand upon his shoulder roused him. " What aro you sleeping in the rain for ?" a girl's voice asked. " Is that you, Milly ?" asked Grif, starting to Ins feet, and shaking himself awake. " I was waitin' for you, and I was so tired that I fell off. Rough didn't bark at v-u, did he, when you touched me :" " Not ho ! He's too sensible," replied Milly, stoop- ing, and caressing the dog, who licked her hand. SO GEIF. " Ho knows friends from enemies. A good job if all of us did I" There was a certain bitterness in the girl's voice which jarred upon the ear, but Grif, probably too ac- customed to hear it, did not notice it. She was very handsome, fair, with regular features, white teeth, and bright eyes ; but her mouth was too small, and there was a want of firmness in her lips. Take from her 1'aco a careworn, reckless expression, which it was sor- rowful to witness in a girl so young, and it would have been one which a painter would have been pleased to gaze upon. " I have been looking for Jim/' she said, " and I cannot find him." U I sor him to-night/' Grif said; " he was up at the house him and Black Sam and Ned Rutt, and the Tenderhearted Oysterman." " A nice gang I" observed the girl. " And Jim's the worst of the lot." " No, he isn't," said Grif; and as he said it, Milly looked almost gratefully at him. " Rough knows who's the worst of that lot; don't you, Rough?" The dog looked up into its master's face, as if it perfectly well understood the nature of the question. " Is Black Sam the worst ?" asked Grif. The dog wagged its stump of a tail, but uttered no sound. " Is Ned Rutt the worst?" asked Grif. The dog repeated the performance. " Is Jim Pizey the worst ?" asked Grif. Milly caught the lad's arm as he put the last ques- tion, and looked in the face of the dog as if it were a sibyl about to answer her heart's fear. But the dog wagged its tail, and was silent. " Thank God !" Milly whispered to herself. " Is the Tenderhearted Oysterman the worst ? " asked Grif. Whether Grif spoke that naino in a different tone, GRir LOSES A FRIEND. 31 or xvhctnor FOTHO magnetic touch of hate passed from IT'S he-art to that of tho dog, no sooner did Hough hear it, than its short yellow hair bristled up, and it gave vent to a savage growl. A stealthy step passed at the back of them at this moment. " For God's sake \" cried Milly, putting her hand upon Grif's mouth, and then upon tho dog's. (Irif looked at her, inquiringly. "That was tho Oysterman who passed us," said Milly, with a pale face. " I hope he didn't hear you." " I don't care if he did. It can't make any differ- ence between us. lie hates mo and Rough, and Hough and mo hates him ; don't we ?" Rough gave a sympathetic growl. "And so you were up at tho house, eh, Grif?" said Milly, as if anxious to change tho subject. "What were you doing all tho night ?" " I was sittin' with " ' But ignorant as Grif was, lie hesitated here. He knew full well tho difference between the two women \vlin wen* kind to him. Ho knew that one was what lie would have termed "respectable," and the other belonged to society's outcasts. And he hesitated to bring the two together, even in his speech. " You were sitting with ?" Milly said. "No one particler," Grif wound up, shortly. " But I should like to know, and you must tell me, Grif." " Well, if I must tell you, it was with Ally I was sittin'. You never seed her." " No, I've never seen her," said Milly, scornfully. " I've heard of her, though. She's a lady, isn't she?" " Yes, she is." Milly turned away her head and was silent for a few lAoinents ; then she said, "Yes, she's a lady, and I'm not good enough to be to about her. But she isn't prettier than me 32 GRIF. for all that ; she isn't so pretty ; I've been told so. She hasn't got finer eyes than me, and she hasn't got smaller hands than me;" and Milly held out hers, proudly a beautiful little hand " nor smaller feet, 1 know, though I've never seen them. And yet she's a lady !" "Yes, she is." " And I am not. Of course not. Well, I shall go. Good-night." " Good-night, Milly," Grif said, in a conflict of agi- tation. For he knew that he had hurt Milly's feelings, and he was remorseful. He knew that he was right in saying that Alice was a lady, and in inferring that Milly was not ; yet he could not have defined why he was right, and he was perplexed. Then he was hungry, and Milly had gone without giving him any money, and he knew that she was angry with him. And he was angry with himself for making her angry. While he was enduring this conflict of miserable feeling, Milly came back to him. Grif was almost ashamed to look her in the face. " She isn't prettier than me ?" the girl said, as if she desired to be certain upon the point. " I didn't say she was," Grif responded, swinging one foot upon the pavement. " And she hasn't got smaller hands than me ?" " I didn't say she had, Milly." "Nor smaller feet?" " Nobody said so." " Nor brighter eyes, nor a nicer figure ? And yet," Milly said, with a kind of struggle in her voice, " and yet she's a lady, and I'm not." " Don't be angry with me, Milly," Grif pleaded, as if with him rested the responsibility of the difference between the two women. " Why should I be angry with you ?" asked Milly, her voice hardening. " It's not your fault. I often wonder if it is mine ! It's hard to tell ; isn't it ?" OBIF LOSES A PBILND. 33 Crif, not understanding the drift of the qnestion, could not conscientiously answer ; yet, feeling himself called upon to express some opinion, he nodded his head acquiescently. " Never mind/' said Hilly ; " it will be all the same in a hundred years i Have you had anything to eat to- night, Grif?" Grif felt even more remorseful, for, after what had passed, Milly's question, kindly put, was like a dagger's thrust to him. " Well, here's a shilling for you it's the only one I've got, and you're welcome to it. Perhaps the lady would give you her last shilling ! Any lady would, of course that's the way of ladies ! Why don't you tako the shilling?" " I don't want it," said Grif, gently, turning aside. M illy placed her hand on the boy's head, and turned his face to hers. She could see the tears strug- gling to his eyes. " Don't be a stupid boy," Milly said ; " I have only been joking with you. I don't mean half I said ; I never do. Though she's a lady, and I'm not, I'd do as much for you as she would, if I was able." And, forcing the shilling into his hand, the girl walked quickly away. Grif looked after her until she was out of sight, and shaking his head, as if he had a problem iu it which he could not solve, made straight for a coffee- stall where pies were sold, and invested his shilling. Carrying his investment carefully in his cap, which he closed like a bag, so that the rain should not get to the pies, Grif, with Rough at his heels, dived into the poorer part of the city, and threaded his way among a very labyrinth of deformed streets. The rain poured steadily down upon him, and soaked him through and through, but his utter disregard of the discomfort of the situation showed how thoroughly he was used to it. Grif was wending his way to bud ; and lest any mis- 34 GlilF. conception sliould arise upon tliis point, it may bo as well to mention at once that the bed was a barrel, which lay in the rear of a shabby house. Not long since the barrel had been tenanted by a dog, whose master had lived in the shabby house. But, happily, master and dog had shifted quarters, and the barrel becoming tenantless, Grif took possession without in- quiring for the landlord. Whereby he clearly laid him- self open to an action for ejectment. And Grif was not the only tenant, for when he arrived at his sleep- ing- place, he stooped, and putting his head into tho barrel, withdrew it again, and said, " Yes ; there he is \" the utterance of which common-place remark ap- peared to afford him much satisfaction. Grif's action had disturbed the occupant of the barrel, who had evi- dently been sleeping, and he presently appeared, rub- bing his eyes. Such a strange little tenant ! Such a white-faced, thin-faced, haggard-faced, little tenant ! Such a large- eyed, wistful-eyed, little tenant ! In truth, a small boy, a very baby-boy, who might have been an infant, or who might have been an old man whom hunger had pinched, whom misery had shaken hands and been most familiar with. He gazed at Grif with his large eyes and smiled sleepily, and then catching sight of Grif's cap with the pies in it, rubbed his little hands gladly, and was wide-awake in an instant. " You haven't had nothin' to eat to-night, Fll bet," said Grif. The little fellow's lips formed themselves into a half- whispered No. Grif insinuated his body into the barrel, and stretched himself fall length by the side of the baby-bo} r . Then he slightly raised himself, and, resting his chin upon his hand, took a pie from his cap, and gave it to his companion. The boy seized it eagerly, and bit into it, without uttering a word. " You haven't got mo to thank for it, Little Peter/' OHIF LOSLS A ilUfcND. 35 said. " It's Milly you have get to thank. Say, thank you, Milly." " Tliauk you, Milly/' said Little Peter obediently, devouring his pic. There was another pie in the cap, but hungry as llrif was he did not touch it. Ho looked at Little Peter, munching, and then at his dog, who had crept 10 mouth of the barrel, and who was eyeing the pie wistfully. Had the dog known that its master wus hungry, it would not have looked at the pie as if it wanted it. " Ytnt've had precious little to eat to-night, too," said Grif to Rough, who wagged its tail as its master spoke. " We'll have it between us." And he broke the pio in two pieces. Ho was about to give one piece of it to Rough, when he heard a cat-like step within a few yards of him. " Who's there ?" he cried, creeping partly out of tho barrel. No answer came, but the dog gave a, savage growl, and darted forwards. Grif listened, but heard nothing but a faint laugh. "I know that lau^li, that's tho Tenderhearted Oystcrman's laugh. What can ho want here ? Rough ! ;h !" The dog came back at the call, with a piece of meat in its mouth, which it was swallowing rave- nously. "Well, if this isn't a puzzler, I don't know what is/' observed Grif. " Where did you got that from ? You're in luck's way to-night, you are, Rough. All the better for Little Peter! Here, Little Peter, here's some more pie for you." Little Peter took tho dog's share of the pie without compunction, and expeditiously disposed of it. Ho then stretched himself on his face, aod was soon fast asleep a^ain. Grif, having eaten his half of tho pic, coiled himself up, and prepared for sleep. No fear of rheu- matism assailed him; it was no new thiug fur him to bleep in wet clothes. He was thankful enough for the bat'lter, poor as it was, and did not repine because he 36 QRIF. did nofc have a more comfortable bed. He was very lired, but the remembrance of the events of the day kept him dozing for a little while. Alice, and her hus- band, and Milly, presented themselves to his imagina- tion in all sorts of confused ways. The story he had heard Alice's husband tell of how their marriage came about was also strong 1 upon him, and he saw Alice and Richard standing in the soft moonlight on her father's station. " I wonder what sort of a cove her father is ! " Grif thought, as ho lay between sleeping and waking. " He must be a nice 'ard-'earted bloke, he must ? I wish I was her father; I'd soon make her all right \" Then ho heard Milly say, "She hasn't got smaller hands than me !" andMilly's hands and Alice's hands laid themselves before him, and he was looking to see which were the smaller. Gradually, however, these fancies became indistinct, and sleep fell upon him ; but only to deepen them, to render them more powerful. They were no longer fancies, they were realities, lie -vas crouching in a corner of the room, while Richard fvas speaking to Alice; lie was groping down the stairs, and calling for Rough, and fondling him ; ho was standing at the entrance of the narrow pas waiting for Milly, and he was sleeping, with his ami embracing his dog ; he was talking to Milly, and ask- ing Rough who was the worst of all Jim Pizey's lot r he was listening to the Tenderhearted Oysterman's retreating footsteps ; and ho was standing at the pie- stall, spending Milly's last shilling. But here a new feature introduced itself into the running commentary of his dreams. He fancied that, after ho and Little Peter had eaten the pics, the Tenderhearted Oystermnn came suddenly behind Rough, and, seizing the dog by the throat, thrust it into a small box, the lid of which ho clapped down and fastened ; that then the Oyster- rnan forced the box into the barrel, and so fixed it upon Grif s chest that the lad could not move ; and that, although he heard the dog moan and scratch, he OBIF UHK8 A FBI1ND. 37 could not release it. Tho v. mon OriPs chest prow heavier and heavier ; it was fort-hit? the breath nut of his body. In his sleep he gasped, and fonght lease himself. And after a violent struggle, he awoke. There wot something lying upon his chest. It was Rough, who had crawled into the barrel, and was 1 ing its master's face. It had been whining, bat directly 1 1 Grifs hand, it grew quiet. The rain was fa 1 heavily, and the drops were forcing themselves through the roof of the barrel. Grif shifted the dog gently on one side. " There's 'ardly room enough for two, let alone three of us," Grif muttered. " Little Peter, are you awake ?" The soft breathing of Peter was the only reply. " You've no right to come shovin' yourself in," con- tinued Grif, addressing the dog, who gave utterance to ling moan ; " but I ain't goin' to ti a pleading moan; "but I ain't gom' to turn you out. What a night it is 1 And how wet the barrel is I It would be much nicer if it was dry. It's almost as bad aa a gutter ? " Here came a long-drawn sigh from Hough, and then a piteous moan, as if the dot: . Hough 1 What's the use of both about the rain 1 " exclaimed the boy. " There'll be a flood in Melbourne, if this goes on I " And drawing his limbs closer together, Grif disposed himself for sleep. He was almost on the boundary of the land of dreams, when a yelp of agony from Rough aroused him again, and caused him to start and knock his ' against the roof of the barrel. " Blest if I don't think Fomethin's the matter with the dawg 1 " ho exclaimed. ' \Vliat are you yelpin' for, Rough ?" The dog uttered another sharp cry of agony, and trembled, and stretched its limbs in convulsion. Thoroughly alarmed, Grif corkscrewed his way out of the barrel as quietly as he i for fear of waking little Peter, and called for Rough to follow him. Rough strove to obey its master's voice even in the midst of its paiu, but it had not strength. 88 GRIP. " Rough. ! Rough ! " cried Grif, drawing the dog ont of the barrel. " Yfhat's the matter, Rough ? Are you hurt?'* He felt all over its body, but could dis- cover nothing to account for Rough's distress. He took his faithful servant in his arms, and looked at ifc by the dim light of the weeping stars. Rough opened its eyes and looked gratefully at Grif, who pressed the dog to his breast, and strove to control the violent shuddering of its limbs ; but its agony was too power- ful. It rolled out of Grif's arms on to the ground, where it lay motionless. Cold and wet and shivering as he was, a deeper chill struck upon Grif's heart as he gazed at the quiet form at his feet. He called the dog by name, but it did not respond; he walked away a few steps and whistled, but it did not follow ; he came back, and stooping, patted it upon its head, but it did not move ; he whis- pered to it, " Rough ! poor old Rough! dear old Rough \ speak to me, Rough!" but the dog uttered no sound. Then Grif sitting down, took Rough in his arms, and began to cry. Quietly and softly at first;. " What did Ally arks me to-night ?" he half thought and half spoke between his sobs. ung life passed before him, phantasmagorically. Tho flowers in the garden of youth were blooming once again in the life of Mr. Nicholas Nuttall. But his reverie was soon disturbed. For the partner of his bosom, Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall, suddenly bouncing into the room, and seating herself, demonstratively, in her own particular arm-chair, on the other side of tli'j lire, puffed away his dreams in a trice. Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall was a small woman. Mr. Nicholas Nuttall was a large man. Mrs. Nichols Nuttall, divested of her crinolines and flounces and other feminine vanities, in which she indulged inordi- nately, was a very baby by the side of her spouse. In fact, the contrast, to an impartial observer, would IM\ o been ridiculous. Her condition, when feathered, v..^ that of an extremely ruffled hen, strutting about in offended majesty, in defiance of the whole poultry i Unfeathcr her, and figuratively speaking, Mr. Nicholas Nuttall could have put Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall into his pocket like a doll. Yet if there ever was a man hopelessly under petti- coat government; if ever there was a man completely 44 GRIP. and entirely subjugated; if ever there was a man prone and vanquished beneath woman's merciless thumb ; that man was the husband of Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall. It is a singular fact, but one which may be easily ascertained by any individual who takes an in- terest in studying the physiology of marriage life, that when a very small man espouses a very large woman, he is, by tacit consent, the king of the castle : it is an important, unexpressed portion of the mar- riage obligation ; and that, when a very small woman espouses a very large man, she rules him with a rod of iron, tames him, subjugates him, so to speak, until at length he can scarcely call his soul his own. This was the case with the conjugality of tho Nut- tails, as was proven by tho demeanour of the male portion of the bond. For no sooner had the feminine naif (plus) seated herself opposite the masculine half (minus) than the face of Mr. Nicholas Nuttall assumed an expression of the most complete and perfect sub- mission. Mrs. Nuttall was not an agreeable-looking woman. As a girl she might have been pretty : but twenty-five years of nagging and scolding and complaining had given her a vinegarish expression. Her eyes had con- tracted, as if they had a habit of looking inward for consolation; her lips were thin, and her nose was sharp. This last feature would not have been an ugly one if it had not been so bony ; but constant nagging had worn all the flesh away, and brought into con- spicuous notice a knob in the centre of the arc, for it was a Roman. If such women only knew what a splendid interest amiability returned, how eager they would be to invest in it ! Mrs. Nuttall sat in her chair and glared at her husband. Mr. Nuttall sat in his chair and looked meekly at his wife. He knew what was coming the manner, not the matter. He knew that something had annoyed the wife of his bosom, and that she presented THE CONJUGAL NUTTALLS. 45 herself before him only for the purpose of distressing him with reproaches. He waited patiently. "Mr. Nuttall," presently said Mrs. Nuttall, "why don't you speak ? Why do you sit glaring at me, as if I were a sphinx ?" To throw f-ho onus of the interview upon Mr. Nuttall was manifestly unfair, and the thought may have kept him silent ; or, perhaps, he had nothing to say. " This placo will be the death of me, I'm certain," Mrs. Nuttall remarked with an air of resignation. Nicholas shrugged his shoulders with an almost im- ptible motion shrugged them, as it were, be- neath his shirt and coat, and in such a manner that no movement was imparted to thoso garments. 1 since they had been married, something or other was always going to be the death of Mrs. Nuttall ; about six times a day, on an average, since the honeymoon, Nuttall had heard her utter the complaint, ac- companied by an expression of regret that she had ever married. That reirret she expressed upon the present occasion, and Mr. Nuttall received it with equanimity. The first time- he heard it, it was a shock to him ; but since then he had become resigned. So he merely put in an expostulatory " My dear" being perfectly well aware that ho would not be allowed to get any further. " Don't my-dear me," interrupted Mrs. Nuttall, as ho expected ; he would have been puzzled what to say ii' she had not taken up the cue. " I'm tired of your my-dearing and my-loving. You ought never to have married, Nicholas. You don't know how to appreciate a proper ami affectionate wife. Or if you were beut upon marrying and bent you i::ust have been, for you would not take No, for an you ought to have married Mary Plummer. 1 wi.-!i you had her for a wife ! Then you would appreciate mo better." No wonder, that at so thoroughly illogical and bigamy-suggesting an aspiration, Mr. Nuttall looked 40 GRIP. puzzled. Bub Mrs. Nuttall paid no attention to Lis look, and proceeded, " I went to school with her, and I ought to know how she would turn out. The way she brings up her family is disgraceful ; the girls are as untidy as can be. You should see the bed-rooms in the middle of the day ! And yet her husband indulges her in every- thing. Ho is something like a husband should be. lie didn't drag his wife away from her home, after she had slaved for him all her life, and bring her out to a place where everything is topsy-turvy, and ten times the price that it is anywhere else, and where people who are not fit for domestics are put over your heads. Ho didn't do that ! Not he ! He knows his duty as a husband and a father of a family better/' Mr. Nuttall sighed. " The sufferings I endured on board that dreadful ship/' continued Mrs. Nuttall, " ought to have melted a heart of stone. What with walking with one leg- longer than the other for three months, I'm sure I shall never be able to walk straight again. I often wondered, when I woke up in a fright in the middle of the night, and found myself standing on my head in that horrible bunk, what I had done to meet with such treatment from you. From the moment you broached the subject of our coming to the colonies, my peace ot mind was gone. The instant I stepped on board that dreadful ship, which you basely told me was a clipper, and into that black hole of a hen-coop, which you falsely described as a lovely saloon, I felt that I was an innocent convict, about to be torn from my native country. The entire voyage was nothing but a series of insults ; the officers paid more attention to niy own daughter than they did to me ; and the sailors, when they were pulling the ropes what good they did by it I never could find out ! used to sing a low song with a, chorus about Maria, knowing that to be iny uaine, simply tor the purpose of wounding my feelings. TflE CONJUGAL NUTTALL8. 4? And when I told you to interfere, you infused, and s=:ii8. 58 riah Blemish returned a much larger rate of interest than if invested with any other collector. Once, and once only, was he known to be unsuccessful. He asked a mechanic for a subscription to the funda of the United Band of Temperance Aboriginals, and the man refused him, in somewhat rough terms, say- ing that the United Band of Temperance Aboriginals was a Band of Humbugs. Blemish gazed mildly at the ma>j, and turned away without a word. The fol- lowing day he displayed an anonymous letter, in which the writer, signing himself " Repentant/' enclosed one pound three shillings and sixpence as the contribution of a working man (being his last week's savings) to- wards the funds of the United Baud of Temperance Aboriginals, and a fervent wish was expressed in tho letter that the Band would meet with the success it deserved. There was no doubt that it was the me- chanic who sent it, and that it was the magnetic good- ness of the Moral Merchant that had softened his heart. At the next meeting of the United Band of Temperance Aboriginals (which was attended by a greasy Australian native clothed in a dirty blanket, and smelling strongly of rum) a resolution was passed, authorizing the purchase of a gilt frame for the me- chanic's letter, to perpetuate the goodness of Blemish, and tho moral power of his eye. On the present evening he was seated at the head of his table, round which were ranged some dozen guests of undoubted respectability. He was supported on his right by a member of the Upper House of Par- liament ; he was supported on his left by a member of the Lower House of ditto. One of the leading mem- bers of tho Government was talking oracularly to one of tho leading merchants of the city. One of tho lead- ing lawyers was laying down the law to one of the leading physicians. And only three chairs off was Mr. David Dibbs, eating his dinner like a common mortal. Like a common mortal ? Liko the common- 54 GK1F. est of common mortals ! He might luivo been a brick- layer for any difference observable between them. For he gobbled his food did Mr. David Dibbs, and he slob- bered his soup did Mr. David Dibbs, and his chops were greasy, and his hands were not nice-looking, and, altogether, ho did not present an agreeable appearance. 15 ut was he not the possessor of half-a-dozen cattle and sheep-stations, each with scores of miles of water front- age, and was not his income thirty thousand p< 'Uiids a year ? Oh, golden calf! nestle in my bosom, and throw your glittering veil over my ignorance, and meanness, and stupidity give me thirty thousand pounds a year, that people may fall down and worship me ! The other guests were not a whit less respectable. Each of them, in his own particular person, repre- sented wealth or position. Could it for a single mo- ment be imagined that the guests of Mr. Zachariah Blemish were selected for the purpose of throwing a halo of respectability round the person of their host, and that they were one and all administering to and serving his interest ? If so, the guests were uncon- scious of it; but it might not have been less a fact that he made them all return, in one shape or another, good interest for the hospitality he so freely lavished upon them. This evening he was giving a dinner party to his male friends ; and later in the night Mrs. Zachariah Blemish would receive her guests and enter- tain them. The gentlemen are over their wine, and are con- versing freely. Politics, scandal, the state of the oolony, and many other subjects, are discussed with animation. Just now, politics is the theme. The member of the Lower House and the member of the Upper House are the principal speakers here. But, occasionally, others say a word or two, which utterings are regarded by the two members as unwarrantable interruptions. The member of the Government says very little on politics, and generally maintains a cau- tious reticence. T1IE Mi:i: