Fighting the Flames

On Willie, Miss Deemas bestowed a glance of utter indifference, which Willie replied to with a gaze of desperate defiance.

Then Miss Deemas seated herself on the sofa, and asked her “dear friend” how she did, and how she felt, and whether things in general were much as usual; from which elevated region of generalities she gradually descended into the more particular sphere of gossip and scandal.

It is only just to Miss Tippet to say that the Eagle did not find her a congenial bird of prey in this region. On the contrary, she had to drag her unwilling friend down into it; and as Miss Tippet was too conscientious and kind-hearted to agree with her in her sweeping censures and caustic observations and wilful misconstructions, it is difficult to conceive wherein she (the Eagle) found pleasure in her society. Probably it was because she found in her one who would submit meekly to any amount of contradiction, and listen patiently to any amount of vituperative declamation.

“So it seems Mr Auberly has disinherited and dismissed his son, my dear,” said Miss Deemas, smoothing her dress with both hands, as though she were about to lay Mr Auberly in her lap, and analyse him.

“I’m sorry to say that it is too true, Julia,” answered Miss Tippet, with a sigh.

“Ha! it’s so like one of these creatures,” said Miss Deemas, pursing her thin lips; “so domineering, so towering, in their pride of mere physical power.”

Mr Tippet glanced at the Eagle in surprise, not being able to understand to what sort of “creatures” she made reference.

“Poor Frederick,” sighed Miss Tippet, “I don’t know what he’ll do (ring the bell, Emma, darling); he’s such a bold, high-spirited young man, and it’s all owing to his determination to take to—to what’s-’is-name as a profession (bring the tea, Matty). It’s very sad.”

“That must be a new sort of profession,” observed Miss Deemas pointedly.

“Oh! I mean painting, you know. It’s impossible to arrange one’s things in such very correct language, you know, dear Julia; you are really too—oh! did you hear of Joe Corney, and what’s-his— fireman’s visit to Mrs Denman? To be sure you did; I forgot it was in your house. It was such a funny account; you heard of it, brother (ring the bell again, dear), didn’t you?”

Mr Tippet, whose wonted vivacity was quite subdued by the freezing influence of the Eagle, said that he had not heard of it; whereupon Miss Tippet said that she had heard of it, and so had Willie Willders, who had heard of it from his brother Frank, who had heard of it from Joe Corney himself; and then she attempted to relate the matter, but failed, and finally asked Willie to tell the story, which Willie did with much gusto; looking at Miss Deemas all the time, and speaking in a very positive tone, as if he thought she was doubting every word he said, and was resolved to hurl it in her teeth, whether she chose to believe it or not.

“Capital!” exclaimed Mr Tippet, laughing heartily, when Willie had concluded; “what an energetic old lady she must be! Really, I must get introduced to her, and show her the self-acting fire-extinguisher I have just invented. You remember it, Willie?” Willie nodded. “I’ve laid it aside for some time; but it is very nearly complete now. A little more work on it will finish it. My only difficulty in regard to it is, madam,” he addressed himself to Miss Deemas here, “that it is apt to burst, and I am uncertain whether or not to add a safety-valve to prevent such a catastrophe, or to make the metal so very strong, that nothing short of gunpowder would burst it; but then, you see, that would make the whole affair too heavy. However, these are only minor difficulties of detail, which a little thought will overcome.”

Miss Deemas received all this with a sinister smile, and replied with the single word, “Oh!” after which she turned immediately to Miss Tippet, and remarked that the weather had been unusually warm of late for the season of the year, which remark so exasperated Willie Willders that he turned with a face of crimson to Emma, and asked her if she didn’t feel a draught of cold air coming over her from somewhere, and whether she would not sit nearer the fire, and farther away from the window!

Willie meant this for an uncommonly severe cut; for Miss Deemas sat at the end of the sofa, near the window!

Fortunately, at this point, Matty Merryon ushered in Loo Auberly, who was instantly enfolded in Miss Tippet’s arms, and thence transferred to Emma’s, in which she was led to the sofa, and gently deposited in the softest corner.

“Darling Loo!” exclaimed Miss Tippet, with tears in her eyes; “you look so thin and pale.”

There could be no doubt on that point. Little Loo, as Emma styled her, was worn to a shadow by sickness, which had hitherto baffled the doctor’s skill. But she was a beautiful shadow; such a sweet, gentle shadow, that one might feel thankful, rather than otherwise, to be haunted by it.

“Pray don’t mind me; I’m too tired to speak to you yet; just go on talking. I like to listen,” said Loo softly.

With ready kindness, Miss Tippet at once sought to draw attention from the child, by reverting to Mrs Denman; and Matty created a little opportune confusion by stumbling into the room with the tea.

Matty usually tripped over the carpet at the door, and never seemed to become wiser from experience.

“Poor Mrs Denman,” said Miss Tippet, pouring out the tea; “it must have been an awful shock; think of a (Sugar, brother? I always forget), what was I—oh, yes; think of a fireman seizing one round the (Cream, Willie? I know you have a sweet tooth, so I don’t need to ask if you take sugar)—yes, he carried her down that dreadful what-d’ye-call-it, and into the next house with nothing (A little more sugar, Julia? No? )—nothing on but her what’s-’is-name. Oh! it was sad; sad to lose all her fine things, too—her furniture, and—and thingumies. Do try a piece of cake, brother.”

“I know a worse case than hers,” said Willie, with a knowing look.

“Do you?” exclaimed Miss Tippet.

“Oh! do tell it,” cried Emma earnestly; “he’s just been telling it to me, and it is so sad and interesting.”

“Come, let’s hear about it, lad,” said Mr Tippet.

Thus encouraged, Willie related his adventure with the clown’s family, and told his tale with such genuine feeling, that Miss Tippet, Loo, and Emma found their eyes moist when he had concluded.

There was a good deal of comment upon this subject, and Miss Deemas animadverted very strongly upon actors in general and clowns in particular. As to ballet-girls, she could not find words to express her contempt for them; but in reference to this Miss Tippet ventured to rebuke her friend, and to say that although she could not and would not defend the position of these unfortunates, yet she felt that they were very much to be pitied, seeing that they were in many cases trained to their peculiarly indelicate life by their parents, and had been taught to regard ballet-dancing as quite a proper and legitimate what’s-its-name. No doubt this was only a palliation of the life they led, but she thought that if anyone was to be severely blamed in the matter it was the people who went to witness and encourage such wicked displays.

Miss Deemas dissented generally from all her friend’s observations, and, wishing to change the subject, asked Loo if her father was coming to fetch her home.

“No,” said Loo; “dear papa is not well to-night, but he is to send the carriage for me. Oh, I wish,” she continued, reverting to the previous subject, “I wish I could do something for these poor people. I’m so very, very sorry for the fairy.”

“So you can, if you choose,” said Miss Deemas sharply.

“No, indeed I cannot,” replied Loo in an earnest voice; “I’m too ill and weak now to be of any use to anyone. Once I was useful to dear papa, but ever since the fire I have not been of use to anybody; only a hindrance to them. Since I have been ill I have thought much more about what I read in the Bible, and I’ve had a great desire to do good in some way or other, but how can I—so weak and helpless?”

Loo almost sobbed, for her sympathies had been awakened by Willie, and a chord had been touched which had been vibrating in her breast for some weeks past.

“Your father is rich, is he not?” asked the Eagle.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Well, a word to him may be the cause of much good, in the shape of money at least, to people in distress; but rich people don’t always like to spend their money in that way.”

Loo hung down her head and made no reply, for she knew that her father did not like to part with money. She had often heard him refuse to do so in days gone by, even when very pathetic appeals (as she thought) were made to him; and experience told her that it was in vain to look for help in that quarter.

The party was now increased by the arrival of Frederick Auberly, who at once infused life into everybody, except Miss Deemas, who had life enough of her own, and would by no means accept the loan of any from anyone else. Fred therefore ignored her altogether, and told stories and cracked jokes and sang songs as if no such female iceberg were present.

Poor Loo was overjoyed to see him, and laying her head on his breast, bade him speak away and not ask questions; only speak, and allow her to listen and rest.

Fred obeyed, and at once began an earnest discussion with Willie as to the best method of getting a stout gentleman out of a third-floor window in case of fire, when Matty Merryon entered with a flushed face and said that a fireman who would not give his name wished to see Willie Willders for a minute; and she was inclined to think it was his brother.

“What! Frank?” exclaimed Willie, rising to go downstairs.

“Stay, Willie,” cried Miss Tippet eagerly; “don’t go down. Pray let me have him up; I should so like to see him, and I’m sure so would Loo; the man, you know, who went up the what’s-its-name, and brought you—yes, send him up, Matty.”

“Plaze, mim, he won’t come,” replied the girl, “I know’d ye would like to see him, an’ axed him in.”

“Tell him,” said Miss Tippet, “that I request it as a favour.”

While Matty was delivering this message, the Eagle took occasion to sniff once or twice in a contemptuous manner, and wondered why people worshipped men just because they happened to be big, and what they called handsome. For her part, she hated all men, but if she were to be obliged to choose between any class (which she was thankful to say was not necessary in her case), she would certainly give the preference to ugly men and small.

Willie Willders nodded his head approvingly, and, being exasperated into a savage serio-comic condition, as well by the Eagle’s voice and aspect as by her sentiments, he said that she was quite right, and that if he were a lady like her he would hold the same opinions, because then, said he, “being stout, I could wallop my husband an’ keep him down, an’ the contrast of his ugly face with mine would not be so obvious.”

Frank’s step on the stair fortunately prevented this open and desperate attack being noticed. Next moment all turned their eyes in breathless expectation towards the door.

Being on duty, Frank appeared in fireman’s costume, with the sailor-like undress cap in his hand. He bowed to the company, and apologised to Miss Tippet for intruding, but he had wished to ask his brother Willie to call at the fire station on his way home to convey a letter to his mother, and merely meant to see him at the door.

“I’m very glad you came, Mr Willders,” said Miss Tippet, “for I assure you we all regard you as the preserver of our dear Miss Auberly’s life when you went up the—the—thing. Here she is. You must shake—that’s it—so nice!”

The last part of Miss Tippet’s remark referred to Loo stretching out her hand to Frank, who advanced promptly and shook it with great tenderness. He then shook hands with Fred, who expressed his regard for him in warm terms; also with Mr Tippet, who paid him some enthusiastic compliments, and said something to the effect that the parent stem from which two such branches as he and Willie had grown must be a prime plant.

As he turned from Mr Tippet—who, being very short, appeared to be looking up at a steeple while he delivered this opinion—Frank’s eyes encountered those of Emma Ward, who was gazing at him in such undisguised admiration, that, being a somewhat bashful man, he felt a little confused, and dropped his eyes, figuratively, on the floor. Emma blushed scarlet with shame at being caught in this way, and thereafter became rigidly grave and indifferent.

When Frank again raised his eyes—which, by the way, he did immediately—they encountered the eagle glance of Miss Deemas frowning defiance on him, as being a sort of type or pattern specimen of his highly objectionable race. Had Miss Deemas been a man (which would have gratified her more than she could have expressed) Frank could have met the frown with a smile of pity. As it was, he turned to the little eager countenance of Miss Tippet, and felt deeper respect than ever for the sex; thus showing that just as an exception proves a rule, so an unfavourable contrast strengthens a cause.

“Pray sit down, Mr Willders,” entreated Miss Tippet earnestly; “I should like so much to hear how you did it from your own lips, and how you can possibly venture up such dreadful things, just like going up the outside of the Monument. Dear Loo, and you came down it, too; but, to be sure, your eyes were shut, which was as well, for you were only in your night— Ah, well, yes, do sit down Mr Firem–Willders, I mean.”

Frank thanked her, but declined, on the ground that he was on duty, and that he feared he was doing wrong in even looking in on them for the few minutes he had stayed. “Good-night, ma’am,” he continued, “good-night. You’ll call at the station on your way home, Willie?”

Willie said he would, and then all the company, excepting the Eagle, shook hands with the stalwart fireman, looking up at him as if he were a hero just returned from the proverbial “hundred fights.” Even Emma Ward condescended to shake hands with him at parting.

“Perhaps you’ll be in the middle of a fire this very night,” cried Tom Tippet, following him to the door.

“It is quite possible,” said Frank, with a smile.

Miss Deemas was heard to snort contemptuously at this.

“Perhaps you may even save more lives!” cried Miss Tippet.

“It may be so,” answered Frank, again smiling, but evidently feeling anxious to make his escape, for he was not one of those men who like to be lionised.

“Only think!” exclaimed Miss Tippet as Frank quitted the room.

“Ha!” ejaculated the Eagle, in a tone which was meant to convey her well-known opinion that women would do such things quite as well as men if their muscles were a little stronger.

It is but justice to Miss Deemas to explain that she did not champion and exalt women out of love to her sex. Love was not one of her strong points. Rampant indignation against those whom she bitterly termed “lords of creation” was her strong tower of refuge, in which she habitually dwelt, and from the giddy summit of which she hurled would-be destruction on the doomed males below. Among her various missiles she counted the “wrongs of her sex” the most telling shaft, and was in consequence always busy sharpening and polishing and flourishing this dread weapon in the eyes of her friends as well as her enemies, although, of course, she only launched it at the latter.

Perched on her self-exalted eyrie, Miss Deemas did not know that there was a pretty large number of her own sex in the comparatively humble multitude below, who, while they clearly recognised the “wrongs of women” (and preferred to call them “misfortunes”) did not attribute them solely, or even largely, to the wickedness of men, but to the combined wickedness and folly of society in general, and who were of opinion that such matters were to be put right by patient, persevering, laborious, and persistent efforts on the part of men and women acting in concert, and not by the unwomanly acts and declamation of ladies of the Deemas stamp, whom they counted the worst enemies of the good cause—some wittingly, others unwittingly so. These people among the comparatively humble multitude below, also had the penetration to perceive that the so-called “wrongs” did not lie all on one side, but that there was a pretty large class of the so-called “lords” who went about the world habitually in a sad and disgraceful state of moral semi-nakedness, in consequence of their trousers having been appropriated and put on by their better-halves, and that therefore it was only meet that men and women should be united (as indeed they were from the first intended to be) in their efforts to put each other’s “wrongs” to “rights.”

In addition to all this, these weak-minded (shall we call them?) people, moving in the comparatively humble multitude below, entertained the belief that rising in antagonism to the male sex in this matter was not only unnecessary and unjust and impolitic, but also ungenerous, for they reflected with much calm satisfaction that the “lords” are, after all, “under woman’s control.”

But Miss Deemas and all the ladies of the Eagle stamp did not think so. They did not believe that a strong mind means a mind strong enough to exercise its own powers to the ascertainment and reception of truth and the rejection of falsehood and fallacy; strong enough, under the influence of God’s love, to perceive the paths of duty in all their ramifications, and to resolve to follow them. They did not believe that a high spirit, in the true sense of the word, meant a spirit broken down altogether and brought into subjection to its owner’s, not another’s, will. By no means. A strong mind with the Deemas-eagles meant unutterable and unalterable obstinacy, blind as a bat, with the great guns blazing all round, and the colours nailed to the mast. High spirit with them meant the inclination—ever present, always strong, and often asserted—to seize all the rest of the world, male and female, and lead it by the nose!

The Deemas-eagles as a class receive ready-made opinions, fabricated by someone else, and call them their own—receiving them originally and holding them subsequently, not because they are true, but because they are pleasant to their eyes and sweet to their taste. They hold them stoutly, too, probably because, having no foundation, they would be apt to fall and get broken if not upheld.

Having said thus much in behalf of the Deemas eagles, we now dismiss them, with an apology to the reader.