Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia

'Shut the door. Now, I want to speak to you. You're eighteen?'

'No, seventeen and five months. They tell me I look eighteen.'

'Humph! In any case you're old enough to understand. You realise, of course, that I cannot be responsible for your upkeep.'

David staggered. He knew very little of monetary matters, but had always understood that his father was a rich man and had made ample provision for his family. 'I don't understand,' he replied.

'Let me put it plainly. Your father is dead; he has left a small sum with which to defray your expenses. That must be sufficient; you must now fend for yourself.'

'But,' gasped David, hardly able to gather the drift of the conversation, 'he has left a great deal more than that for the upkeep of the family. I am one of the family.'

'True,' admitted Ebenezer, ruefully, 'you are one of the family, but that does not give you leave to enjoy yourself and be idle. Your father specified only a sum for your expenses. The remainder of his possessions are left to your stepmother to do with as she likes. She does not intend that you should stay here longer and have a good time. You are to work for your living. You are to go to an office in London, where your success will depend on yourself entirely.'

'But – .' David was thunderstruck. He had no intention of idling. As a matter of fact he hoped soon to enter an engineering school, where there would be plenty of work for a keen young fellow. What staggered him most was Ebenezer's iciness and his statements with regard to the possessions left by Edward Harbor. 'But,' he gasped again, 'there is surely some error. I don't count on money left me by father. I will work for my living, and show that I can earn it the same as others. But he made a will in China. He wrote to me about it. Everything was left to me, with a handsome allowance to mother.'

The words came as a shock to the two conspiring to do our hero out of his patrimony. Till that moment Mrs. Clayhill had imagined that she was the only person to whom Edward Harbor had written. But she forgot David, or put him out of her calculations because of his youth; whereas, as a matter of fact, Edward had been more than open with his son.

'It is no use mincing matters, boy,' he had written. 'Money is more or less useless to me, for I love the wilds, the parts forsaken by man these many centuries. Still, I have, by the chance of birth, large possessions to dispose of, and in the ordinary course they would go, in great part, to your stepmother. But you are old enough to understand matters. We cannot agree. She will not bear exile even for a few months, for my sake, and, to make short work of an unpleasant matter, I fear I must admit that I was mistaken in marrying her. As it is, I have reconsidered my affairs, and have recently remade my will. At the first opportunity I shall hand it into safe keeping. But here it must rest till I go down country. Needless to say, I have arranged that my property shall descend to you, with certain payments for your stepmother.'

'But – gracious me! Hear him!' cried Mrs. Clayhill, in a high falsetto.

'That is a lie,' declared Ebenezer, flatly, his eyes narrow, his brow furrowed, a particularly unpleasant look on his face. David flushed to the roots of his hair. He had never been called a liar, save once, by a boy bigger than himself, and him he had soundly thrashed. He stepped forward a pace, while his eyes flashed. Then he pulled himself together, and closed his lips firmly. A second later he was holding to the handle of the door again.

'It is the truth,' he said, firmly. 'I have the letter to prove it. He wrote telling me that he was sending the same information to my stepmother.'

This was a bomb in the heart of the enemy's camp with a vengeance. Mrs. Clayhill's face flushed furiously; she appeared to be on the verge of an attack of violent hysteria. Ebenezer, on the contrary, became as white as his own handkerchief. He glowered on David, and stuttered as he attempted to speak. It was, in fact, a very sordid affair altogether.

'David! How can you?' came from Mrs. Clayhill. 'I never had a letter. Your father made no change in his depositions.'

'In fact,' declared Ebenezer, bringing his hands together, and endeavouring to display an air of placidity, 'he left but one will, and that in favour of your stepmother. His death has been presumed by the courts, and now the will I speak of shall be administered. You are a pauper, more or less. You are dependent on a small allowance, payable by us, and on your own wits. You will employ the latter from this moment. I have accepted a post for you in a shipping office. You will live in rooms in London, and your hours of work will extend from eight-thirty in the morning to six at night. You begin immediately.'

To say that David was flabbergasted was to express his condition mildly. It had been his intention from an early age to become an engineer, and his father had encouraged his ambition. Suddenly he suspected that this work in London was only a plot to get him out of the way, and that his stepmother had received the letter of which he had spoken. It angered him to have his future ordered by a man almost a stranger to him, and one, moreover, who had taken no pains to hide his ill-feeling. Besides, David was proud and quick-tempered.

'I'll do nothing of the sort,' he exclaimed quickly.

'You disobey me, then?' demanded Ebenezer angrily.

'I decline to go into an office.'

'Then you leave the house to-morrow. Your allowance shall be paid to you regularly. You can fend for yourself.'

For a moment the two conspirators glared at David, while the latter held to the door. Even now he was loth to think evil of his stepmother, though there had never been any affection between them; for Mrs. Clayhill was essentially a worldly woman. Had she not been so she could not have sat there and seen this youth cheated of rights which she knew were his. She could not have allowed her second husband to proceed with the proving of a will which she knew thoroughly well did not represent her late husband's wishes. But she was a grasping woman, and had long since determined to oust David. Also she had in Ebenezer a cold-hearted scoundrel who backed her up completely.

'You will do as you are ordered or forfeit everything,' she cried, in shrill tones, that were a little frightened.

'Which means that you are not wanted very particularly here, and had better go,' added Ebenezer sourly. 'Take this post or leave it. It makes little difference to me; but idle and enjoy yourself here any longer, you shall not.'

David took in a deep breath; the situation was only beginning to dawn upon him. It was the climax that he had more than half expected, but which, boy-like, he had put out of mind. But here it was, naked and extremely sordid. He was not wanted; these people had no interest in Edward Harbor or in his son. In fact, that son stood in their way. Money was the cause of all the trouble. The two before him were conspiring to rob him, David, of the possessions intended for him by his father. Straightway David formed a resolution.

'You wish me to leave,' he said, as quietly as he could. 'I will go at once. You tell me that I am a pauper. Very well, I will work for myself; but I give you notice. I will search this matter out; it is not yet absolutely proved that father was killed. He might have been made a prisoner; his death has only been presumed. But I will make sure of it one way or the other. I will hunt for that will of which he wrote to me and to my stepmother. And when I find him or it I will return; till then, remember that I ask no help from either of you. I will fend for myself.'

He turned on his heel, closing the door noiselessly after him. Promptly he went to his room, packed his few valuables and a spare suit in a valise, not forgetting underclothing. Then he crossed to the stables and emerged a few moments later with his bicycle. A somewhat scared couple of conspirators watched him, as he pedalled down the drive and out through the gate.

'Pooh! Let him go. A good riddance!' blustered Ebenezer, blowing his nose.

'I'm afraid of him; he was always like that,' exclaimed Mrs. Clayhill tearfully. 'David is a most determined boy; he will search this matter to the bottom.'

'Which happens to be particularly deep,' ventured her husband. 'Come, Sarah, threatened people live long. Before he is anywhere near China we shall have the will proved, and the money will be ours. We can afford to laugh at the young idiot.'

They saw David swing out into the road and disappear past the village. From that moment for many a week, he was a dead letter to them. But distance did not help them. The fact that they were committing a wrong preyed on the newly wedded couple. In the course of a little while the memory of David had become to Ebenezer and his wife even more trying than his actual presence. The proving of the will, the free use of the money could not end the matter. Conscience spoke sternly and unceasingly to Mr. and Mrs. Clayhill.

CHAPTER II

The Road to London

It was approaching evening as David Harbor swung out of the drive gates of 'The Haven,' and turned his back upon the inhospitable house and the stepmother who had behaved so disgracefully to him. His head high, a queer sinking at the heart, but his courage undaunted for all that, he pedalled swiftly through the village of Effington, nodded to the sour old salt Jarney, who, by the way, always had a smile for David, sped past the 'Three Pigeons' public-house, where the local tittle-tattle of the place was dispensed, together with ale, and was soon out in the open country.

'Time to sit down and think a little,' he said to himself, resting on his pedals and allowing his machine to glide along down the incline till it came of its own accord to a rest. 'Now, we'll sit down here and think things out, and have a look into this affair. I must consider ways and means.'

He was a practical young fellow, was David Harbor, and already the seriousness of the move he had made was weighing upon him. Not that he was inclined to hesitate or to go back, not that at all, only the future was so clouded. His movements were so uncertain; the absence of some definite plan or course of procedure was so embarrassing.

'Three pounds, thirteen shillings and fourpence halfpenny,' he said, emptying his purse, and counting out the money as he sat on a roadside boulder. 'Riches a month ago when I was at school, poverty under these circumstances, unless – unless I can get some work and so earn money. That's what I said I'd do and do it I will. Where? Ah, London!'

Like many before him, his eyes and thoughts at once swept in the direction of the huge metropolis, at once the golden magnet which attracts men of ambition and resource, and the haven wherein all who have met with dire misfortune, all who are worthless and have no longer ambition, can hide themselves and become lost to the world.

'Yes, London's the place,' said David, emphatically, pocketing his money. 'I'll ride as far to-night as I can, eat something at a pastrycook's, and sleep under a hay-stack. To-morrow I'll finish the journey. Once in the city I'll find a job, even if it's only stevedoring down at the docks.'

For a little while he sat on the boulder letting his mind run over past events; for he was still somewhat bewildered. It must be remembered that such serious matters as wills and bequests had not troubled his head till that day. Boy-like, he had had faith in those whose natural position should have prompted them to support the young fellow placed in their care. He had had no suspicions of an intrigue, whereby his stepmother wished to oust him from a fortune which his father's letter had distinctly said was to become his. He had imagined that things would go on as they were till he had finished with his engineering studies; then it would be early enough to discuss financial matters. His recent interview had been a great shock to him.

'I begin to see it all now,' he said. 'And I can understand now what Mr. Jones, the solicitor, meant when last I saw him. He wanted to warn me against Mr. Ebenezer, but did not dare to make any open statement. I'll go to him: I'll take that letter.'

He had taken care to carry away with him everything he prized most, and his father's correspondence was at that moment securely placed in an inside pocket. David laid his fingers on the letters, and then read the one in which Edward Harbor had referred to the disposal of his fortune.

'Yes, I'll take this to Mr. Jones,' repeated David, with decision. 'I've always liked him, and father trusted him implicitly. But I'll ask for no help; I mean to get along by myself, if only to show Mr. Ebenezer that I can be as good as my word. There; off we go again. No use in sitting still and moping.'

It was wonderful what a difference a plan made to him: David felt ever so much happier. The future, instead of appearing as a huge dark cloud before him, dwindled away till it was but a speck; his old, sunny looks came back to a face somewhat harassed a little while before, and thereafter David pedalled at a fine pace, placing the miles behind him swiftly, and sending the colour to his cheeks. It was getting so dark that in a few minutes he would have to light his lamp when he detected a figure walking along the road in front of him, and as he came level with the man the latter hailed him.

'Helloo there,' came in cherry tones, 'how many miles do you make it to London?'

'Sixty-four,' answered David promptly. 'You're walking there?'

'Every inch of it,' came the hearty answer. 'I've done it before, and will do it again. Railways are too expensive for the likes of me to waste money on 'em. You off there too?'

David jumped from his saddle, and walked his machine beside the stranger, who was obviously a sailor. His baggy breeches told that tale distinctly, while the breeziness of the man, and his many nautical expressions would, even without the assistance of a distinctive dress, have made his profession more than probable.

'Got a week's shore leave, and mean to walk up to see the old people,' said the stranger. 'Stoker Andus I am, from the Indefatigable. Who are you? By the cut of your gib you'll be a gent same as our orfficers. Ain't that got it?'

David laughed at the man's breeziness and straight way of asking questions.