In the dining-room he burst in upon a curious group. In the centre was Mr. Donah, struggling feebly and ineffectually between the grasp of two of the footmen; standing by the fireplace, looking at Mr. Donah sternly, was Sir Leopold Kershaw, appearing dignified even in a dressing-gown and with his hair rumpled; while the room was half-filled by a crowd of semi-clad, startled servants.
"Yer 'Ighness," exclaimed Mr. Donah, with some poor show of cheerfulness, as the boy appeared, "yer 'umble is a fair gorner!"
Sir Leopold, apparently not hearing the remark or not understanding, proceeded to improve the occasion.
"You have been caught, my fine fellow, in the perpetration of one of the most heinous crimes possible to imagine--that of purloining, after forcible entry, goods to which you have no right. Now, sir, I am a Justice of the Peace, and, while I must warn you not to say anything which will tend to incriminate you at your public trial, I am willing to hear any remarks you may make with reference to your purpose in being here or your reason for selecting my abode for your nefarious practices."
Mr. Donah looked all round him, somewhat helplessly; fixed his eye on Teddy, and winked with some cheerfulness; gave that peculiar jerk to his head which seemed to express any emotion of the moment; and spoke.
"Guv'nor, _and_ yer 'Ighness, it's a thousand to one in canary birds that I'm up the wust gum-tree as ever you see! Fair nabbed, wiv me dukes on the bloomin' 'all-marked ladles and corfee-pots, I am, an' don't yer fergit it! As fer alibis an' sich-like fings, yer won't find one abaht me, if yer search me till Easter Monday. It's a fair cop, an' no error. Same time I should jist like to say as 'ow this is the fust time I've been on the rails in all my natural, an' it ain't exactly my fault."
"Pray explain yourself," said Sir Leopold, loftily.
"Righto, ole Poker-back, just 'arf a shake! I'm a-comin' to it. I've got a little nipper at 'ome, wot's wasted away to a mere shadder--yer might let go a bloke's arm an' let him rub 'is dial-plate, Calves--'an 'e's a-lyin' in one room, an' most of the bed-clothes is up the spout. I've 'ollered 'Fine 'earty cabbage!' till I've got it on my brain, an' 'tain't no good. Then, comin' in 'ere wiv the missis t'other day ter lunch (leastways they called it lunch, but it was abaht a full week's grub fer us) wiv 'is 'Ighness----"
"To lunch? What is the man talking about?" broke in Sir Leopold Kershaw, sternly.
"W'y, 'is nibs comes aht w'en me and the ole gal was a-standin' by the barrer, and ses 'e, quite friendly-like, 'Come in an' 'ave lunch alonger me,' ses 'e. Not 'avin' me party frock on, in consequence of it bein' kep' at the wash, I 'ung back; but 'is nibs was that pressin' there was no gettin' over 'im, an' very 'andsome 'e done us, I mus' say." Thus Mr. Donah, with much emphasis.
"It is perfectly right," said Teddy, coming a little farther into the room. "I had heard what you said, father, about every man being my brother, except Wilkins" (the unfortunate butler blushed hotly on finding himself brought into such prominent notice), "and Mr. Donah, as well as Mrs. Donah, looked so miserable and so hungry that I thought you wouldn't mind. So I brought them in here, and we had quite a good time."
"You brought them in here?" ejaculated the master of the house, in amazement.
[Illustration: "'YOU BROUGHT THEM IN HERE?' EJACULATED THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE."]
"Yes," said Teddy, boldly. Then, beginning to feel dimly and miserably that Mr. Donah was in a very tight place, Teddy, for the first time in his brief career, began to lie. "In fact, I told Mr. Donah that I thought he had a perfect right to everything which we had, and I'm afraid I even suggested that it wouldn't matter very much if he just helped himself to----"
"'Ere, stow it, yer 'Ighness; no perjury," exclaimed Mr. Donah. "Yer won't never sing wiv the angels if yer go on in that way." He turned suddenly towards Sir Leopold, and spoke with a certain despairing fierceness upon him: "Look 'ere, guv'nor--I don't want 'is nibs to be tellin' no crams abaht it. I come in 'ere, an' I 'as a jolly good feed--fair wallers in it, I does--till the ole gal breaks dahn, an' reminds me abaht our little nipper at 'ome, wivaht a crust. I goes 'ome that night an' meets the parish doctor on the stairs. 'Dockery'--that's me name w'en I goes a-ridin' in the park--'Dockery,' ses 'e, 'that kid o' yourn wants nourishment--beef tea--good eggs; and you did ought ter get 'im away into the country.' Lor' luv us--w'y didn't 'e tell me to take 'im to 'ave tea alonger the Queen at Buckingham Pallis while 'e was abaht it?"
"You were not able to provide these necessaries for your child?" said Sir Leopold, somewhat unnecessarily.
"I were not," responded Mr. Donah, doggedly. "So that night I sits a-thinkin', an' a-thinkin', till me head fair buzzes, an' all next day I thinks a bit 'arder, till at last it comes over me that it ain't right, arter wot you've said abaht me bein' yer bruvver, that 'is nibs 'ere should be 'avin' roas' duck an' tomater sauce, so ter speak, an' my pore kid a-chewin' 'is fingers fer comfort. An' this mornin', seein' 'im look a bit finner than usual, I got fair desp'rit', an' couldn't stan' it no longer. So I made up me min' as 'ow I'd 'elp meself to a bit of me bruvver's silver stuff."
"To use one of the vulgarisms familiar to your class, my friend," interposed Sir Leopold, "I am afraid that your statement won't wash."
"It'll wash a lump better than some er yer spoutings," retorted Mr. Donah, with some indignation. "Wot's the good er tellin' a man one minute 'e's yer bruvver an' 'as a right ter share everyfink wiv yer, an' lockin' 'im up the nex' fer 'elpin' 'isself? There, I've 'ad me little jaw; now send fer the bloomin amberlance."
Sir Leopold Kershaw was thinking very hard indeed. It would be too much to say that he was in any sense converted; such sudden conversions are rare. But he had a wholesome dread of seeing his principles derided or himself made a laughing-stock; and Mr. Donah's remarkably caustic mode of speech would, he felt, suit the humour of the evening papers to a nicety. Sir Leopold had a mental vision of himself prosecuting in a police-court, and writhing under Mr. Donah's remarks in defence of his crime--the while busy reporters scribbled as if for their lives. Moreover, the man, to do him justice, had a certain honesty of purpose beneath all his ponderous phrases; his only fault lay in the fact that he did not, in any sense, understand the class about whom he talked so much. After a moment or two of thought he sternly dismissed the whole of the servants, cautioning them against chattering about the matter for the present; and was left alone in the room with his little son and Mr. Donah.
"Now, Dockery: I think you said that was your name----"
"C'ristened Sam, at Sin George's in the Borough, on a Toosday--wiv me a 'owlin' proper an' bitin' the parson's little finger," broke in Mr. Dockery.
"Well, Dockery, the circumstances attending your offence are somewhat peculiar, and I am disposed to take a lenient view of the matter. I am impelled to this course by the remembrance that my son is, to an extent, concerned in the affair"--Sir Leopold Kershaw felt that he must really make an excuse of some kind or other--"and I am unwilling that he should imagine that the principles I have so strongly laid down in his hearing are sentiments merely, and that I am not prepared to carry them out when opportunity occurs. I deny your right to purloin my property, but I will have inquiry made into your case, and if I find that you are really deserving I will carry my principles into effect. Leave me your name and address--and then go."
Sam Dockery looked all about him for a moment in sheer amazement, put his hat on, and then took it off in a great hurry; took those queer little dancing steps of his, first backwards and then forwards, made a feint of squaring up to Teddy, and finally put his arm before his eyes and broke into unmistakable tears.
"Yer 'Ighness," he observed, in a shaky voice, when he had somewhat recovered, "parss no rude remarks! This is me one an' only; I was thinkin' of the nipper an' of 'ow 'e might 'ave bin wivaht 'is daddy fer a munf er two. Guv'nor"--he turned to Sir Leopold--"I've sed a few fings wot I didn't orter; let it parss. Yer ain't sich a bad sort as yer look--an' Gawd knows yer didn't make yer own chivvy! Ask for Sam Dockery dahn in Dock's Buildings, an' anyone will direck yer to me 'umble cot. An' I'll interdooce yer to the missis an' the nipper."
Despite his levity Mr. Dockery appeared to find some difficulty in getting out of the door. Sir Leopold--amazing man!--opened the hall-door himself, and Teddy fancied he heard the quick chink of money. Curiously, too, Sir Leopold, when he came back into the dining-room, wore a smile on his usually stern face, and told Teddy, in quite a pleasant tone of voice, to "cut away to bed."
Nor did Sir Leopold Kershaw forget his promise. Sam Dockery and his wife were startled the very next day by a visit from the great man himself, accompanied by "'is Ighness" and by a footman bearing a hamper. Nor was this all: for, a lodge-keepership falling vacant on Sir Leopold's country estate, Sam and his wife and the "nipper" were installed in it in comfort; on which occasion Mr. Dockery gave himself airs in Duke's Buildings, before his departure, and informed all and sundry that he was going down to his country house "ter pot the bloomin' dicky-birds."