The finale to Digby's speech.
“Really! Digby,” exclaimed Trevannion, angrily, “this foolery is unbearable. You deserve that we should give you a thrashing; if it were not beneath me, I most certainly would.”
“You—ha! ha!” returned Frank: “ha! ha!—you must stoop to—ha! ha!—you must stoop to conquer—for, oh! oh! I can't get up. Pardon me, my dear fellow, but—oh! ha! ha!—you did look so ridiculous.”
“Get up, you grinning donkey!” said Salisbury, who, in spite of his wrath, could not help laughing.
“Trevannion's legs!” exclaimed Frank, in a choking fit of laughter.
“Get up, Digby,” exclaimed Trevannion, kicking him; “or I'll shake some of this nonsense out of you.”
“Do be rational, Frank,” said Hamilton's voice from a corner; “you are like a great baby.”
How long Frank might have sat on the floor, and what direful events might have transpired, I cannot pretend to say, for just at this juncture the further door opened, and Dr. Wilkinson entered, bearing a candle in his hand. Frank very speedily found his legs, and retired into a corner to giggle unseen. The light thus suddenly introduced brought Reginald and his brother into notice, and one or two near the door recognizing them, pressed forward to speak to them, and before the doctor had fairly attained his place, Reginald had run the gauntlet of welcomes through all his school-fellows—and Louis, half-way on the same errand, was forcibly arrested by something scarcely short of an embrace from Hamilton, who expressed himself as surprised as pleased at his appearance, and in whose glistening eyes, as well as the friendly looks of those around, Louis experienced some relief from the almost insupportable sense of dulness that had oppressed him ever since his entrance into the house. But now, the doctor having opened his book, the young gentlemen were obliged to separate and form into their places. Hamilton kept Louis by him, and Louis beckoned the sorrowful little boy who had accompanied him towards them.
“Who is that?” asked the doctor, as the child moved shyly towards Louis.
“A new boy, sir,” said one.
“What is your name?” said the doctor. “Come here. Oh! I see, it is Clifton, is it not?—how do you do?”
Charles had reached Dr. Wilkinson by this time, and, encouraged by his kind tone, and the sympathizing though slightly quizzical gaze on his very tearful face, replied to his queries in a low, quick tone.
“When did you come?” asked the doctor.
“He came with us, sir,” said Reginald, stepping forward.
“Mortimer here!” said the doctor. “How do you do? and Louis, too, I presume—where is he? I am very glad to see you again,” he added, as Louis came forward with a blushing but not miserable countenance. He then spoke to the other new-comers, and then, commanding silence, read prayers.
The young gentlemen were just retiring, when Dr. Wilkinson desired them to stay a moment—“I have one request to make, young gentlemen,” he said, gravely; “that is, I particularly wish when Mr. Ferrers returns that no allusion be made to any thing gone by, and that you treat him as one worthy to be among you.”
The doctor paused as he spoke, and glanced along the row of faces, many of which looked sullen and cloudy: most of them avoided their master's eye, and looked intently on the ground. Dr. Wilkinson sought Hamilton's eye, but Hamilton, though perfectly conscious of the fact, was very busily engaged in a deep meditation on the texture of Louis' jacket.
“Hamilton.”
“Sir,” replied Hamilton, reluctantly raising his eyes.
“I look to you, as the head of the school, to set the example. I am grieved to see so little Christian spirit among you. Why should you feel more aggrieved than the injured party, who has, I am sure, heartily forgiven all, and will wish no further notice to be taken of what has passed?”
Louis looked up acquiescently, and slipped his hand into Hamilton's. A slight pressure was returned, and Hamilton, bowing to the doctor, led the way out of the room.
On the way up stairs many rebellious comments were made on the doctor's speech, and some invoked tremendous penalties on themselves if they had any thing to do with him or any like him. Hamilton was quite silent, neither checking nor exciting the malcontents. He put his hand into Louis' arm, and, walking up stairs with him, wished him a warm good-night, and marched off to his own apartment.
This evening, as there were one or two new-comers, an usher was present in the dormitory to insure the orderly appropriation of the several couches; and, to Louis' great satisfaction, he was able to get quietly into bed—where, feeling very dull and sad, he covered his head over and unconsciously performed a crying duet with his new friend.
Hardly had the usher departed than Frank Digby popped his head out of bed:
“I don't know,” said he, “whether any one expects a feast to-night, from a few unlucky remarks which fell from me this morning; if so, gentlemen, I wish immediately to dispel the pleasing delusion, assuring you of the melancholy fact, that my golden pippins have fallen victims to Gruffy's rapacity.”
“Oh, what a shame!” exclaimed one.
“What's that, Frank?” said Reginald.
“How did Gruffy get hold of them?” asked Meredith: “I thought you were more than her match.”
“Why, the fact is, her olfactory nerves becoming strongly excited, she insisted upon having a search, and after snuffing about, she came near my hiding-place, and found the little black portmanteau:
“ ‘Upon my word, Mr. Digby,’ said she, ‘I am surprised at your dirtiness—putting apples under your pillow!’ and insisted on having the key or the apples. I disclaimed all ideas of apples, but quite failed in persuading her that I had Russian leather-covered books inside, that were placed there to enable me to pursue my studies at the first dawn of day. You should have heard her: ‘Did I suppose she was an idiot, and couldn't smell apples!’ and oh—nobody knows how much more. But I should have carried my point if ill-luck hadn't brought Fudge in the way, and the harpy carried off my treasures.”
Frank paused, and then added, in a tone that set every one laughing, “It's a pity she can't be transported into heathen mythology; she'd have made an excellent dragon. Hercules would never have been so successful if she'd been that of Hesperia. I'll be even with her yet; but there's something very forlorn in one's troubles beginning directly.”
The next morning brought with it the stern reality of school. Louis was dreaming that he was in Dashwood with Charles Clifton, when the bell-man came into the breakfast-room, crying out that the golden pippins belonging to his attached school-fellow, Frank Digby, were lost, stolen, or strayed; and that he would be even with any who should find them, and bring them to the Hesperides; and he was in the act of proving, more to his own satisfaction than to that of the bell-man, that the books in the library were what he wanted, when Reginald discovered them,—i.e., the golden apples,—peeping from under his pillow, and shook him violently for his deceit.
“Louis, Louis!—the bell, the bell.”
He started up in great alarm, and discovered that he was sitting on his bed at school, listening to the sonorous clanging of the bell below.
Groans, shouts, and sleepy exclamations reverberated round him. Reginald, rather more accustomed to good early habits at home than some of his room-fellows, was busy rousing those who either did not, or pretended not to hear the summons. Among the latter was our friend Frank Digby, who stoutly resisted being awakened, and when obliged to yield to the determined efforts of his cousin, nearly overwhelmed him with a species of abuse.
“That bell's a complete bugbear,” he groaned. “It ought to be indicted for a nuisance, waking people up o' mornings when they ought to be in the arms of Morpheus—I've a great mind to lie still. Half an hour's sleep is worth sixpence.”
“It's much better laid out with ‘Maister,’ Frank,” suggested Meredith.
“And then Fudge will be so black about it,” said Reginald. “Come, up with you, Frank.”
“As for Fudge,” said Frank, “I wouldn't give you twopence for him, nor his black looks neither. But you may be sure he'll be amiable enough this morning. He has been remarkably affectionate these few mornings—hasn't he, Meredith?”
“To be sure,” replied the young gentleman addressed: “when did you know a master otherwise the first week? They all know there's danger of our cutting their acquaintance in a summary manner, and take good care to be bland enough till we're tamed down.”
“For my part,” said Frank, “I have been longing for an opportunity of putting Fudge in a passion. If only he or Danby would box my ears for something, that I might fling a book at his head, and have a legitimate excuse for taking myself off—but, alas! they are all so dreadfully amiable, except old Garthorpe, and he's beneath all consideration.”
Frank continued in this strain for some minutes, working himself into a more rebellious humor, stimulated by those among his companions who admired this demonstration of spirit. Confidentially I may remark, that though running away seems to be the desideratum of a discontented school-boy, it is far more interesting in theory than practice, and I doubt much whether any malcontent who availed himself of this as his only refuge from the miserable fate awaiting him in the dungeon to which he was consigned, ever considered in the end that his condition had been materially improved. Spangled canopies and soft turf couches do well to read of, but stiff limbs and anxious hearts are sterner realities, to say nothing of sundry woes inflicted on the culprit when discovered. But I am enlarging and must return from my digression.
Dr. Wilkinson was engaged the greater part of the morning in arranging the different classes and examining his new pupils. Great surprise was felt among those interested, in the news that Charles Clifton was to take his place in the second class. Even the doctor paused once or twice in his examination, and looked earnestly on the great forehead and small pale face of the child.
“Why, how old are you?” said he, at length.
“Twelve, sir,” replied Charles, gravely.
“Very little of your age. Have you ever been at school before?”
Charles replied in the negative, and after another momentary scrutiny, Dr. Wilkinson asked a few concluding questions, and then unhesitatingly declared him a member of the second class.
Louis had, this half-year, a far better chance of distinguishing himself than before, as his brother and Meredith, with one or two others, had mounted into the first class, and John Salisbury had not returned. He was, however, not a little surprised when Hamilton informed him that he would have enough to do to keep pace with his new friend, whom he had looked upon as quite one of the lower school.
Chapter XIV.
The first long dreary week had passed: quicker, however, in its peaceable monotony than many a gayer time has been known to do, and the young gentlemen of Ashfield House were beginning to settle down soberly and rationally to their inevitable fate. Louis' position was so altered this half-year, that he hardly understood himself the universal affection and consideration with which he was treated. He was indubitably a favorite with the doctor, but no one was jealous, for he bore his honors very meekly, and was always willing to share his favors with others, neither encroaching on nor abusing the kindness displayed towards him by his master, who seemed, in common with his pupils, to be exceedingly desirous of obliterating all remembrance of the misunderstanding of the last half-year. But the doctor's affection was much more sparingly exhibited than Hamilton's, who seemed at times to forget every thing for Louis. He was now made the companion of the seniors—he had free admission into all their parties. Hamilton seemed unable to walk into Bristol unless Louis were allowed to accompany him. Louis' place in the evening was now by Hamilton, who did his utmost to make him steady, and to prevent him from yielding the first place to Clifton, who very soon proved himself to be a boy of considerable genius, united with much steadiness of purpose, and who had, evidently, been very carefully educated. One evening about this time, when most of the class-room party were very busy, under the orderly supervision of Messrs. Hamilton and Trevannion, the door was quietly opened and Ferrers entered with that doubtful air that expected an unfavorable reception. When I speak of business and quietude at Ashfield House it must, of course, be understood as comparative, for the quietest evening in that renowned academy would have furnished noise enough to have distracted half the quiet parlors in the kingdom—and on this particular evening there was quite enough to cover the bashful entrance of the former bully. Hamilton was writing, and doubly engaged in keeping Louis from listening to an interesting history, delivered by Salisbury, of a new boy who had arrived that half-year from a neighboring school. The boy in question was a cunning dunce, who had already discovered Louis' failing, and having partaken of the assistance Louis supplied as liberally as allowed, had come more especially under the ken of the seniors, and Hamilton had been administering a reproof to Louis for helping Casson before getting his own lessons ready.
Ferrers had nearly reached the upper end of the table before any one was aware of his vicinity, when Trevannion, looking up from his writing to dip his pen anew in the ink, caught sight of him, recognizing him so suddenly that even his equanimity was almost surprised into a start. He colored slightly, and coldly acknowledging his presence by a stiff bow and a muttered “How do you do,” returned to his work, not, however, before his movement had attracted the attention of one or two others. The intimation of his presence was conveyed almost talismanically round the room, and a silence ensued while the young gentlemen looked at one another for an example. These unfriendly symptoms added considerably to Ferrers' embarrassment. Pale with anxiety, he affected to notice nothing, and looked for a place at one of the tables where he might lay the books he had brought in with him. The silence, however, had made Hamilton now very conscious of what, till this moment, he had been in blissful ignorance—that his voice was raised to nearly a shouting pitch to make his admonitions sufficiently impressive to his protegé—and the sonorous tones of his voice, delivering an emphatic oration on weakness and perseverance contrasted, were so remarkable that the attention was a little drawn from Ferrers by this unusual phenomenon.
“What a burst of eloquence!” exclaimed Frank, who, on the first sound of the kingly voice, had begun to attitudinize; while Trevannion gazed on his friend with a quiet, gentlemanly air of inquiry, that was not to be put out of countenance by any circumstance how ludicrous soever, “His majesty's in an oratorical vein to-night. Such a flow of graceful language, earnest, mellifluous persuasives dropping like sugar-plums from his lips!”
“Three cheers for his majesty's speech,” cried Salisbury.
These comments were hailed by a hearty laugh, mingled with clapping of hands, and an effort on the part of a few to raise a cheer. Hamilton joined in the laugh, though he had been so intent upon his lecture that at first he hardly comprehended the joke.
“Your majesty's been studying rhetoric since we had the pleasure of a speech,” remarked Reginald, when a little lull had succeeded to the uproarious mirth. “Mercury himself couldn't have done better.”
“Considering that the speeches of Edward the Great usually savor of Spartan brevity,” said Smith, “we couldn't have hoped for such a masterpiece.”
“You don't understand his most gracious majesty,” said Frank; “depend upon it he's a veritable cameleon.”
At this juncture, Louis, whose eyes had a sad habit of wandering when they should be otherwise employed, caught sight of Ferrers, and, starting up, he welcomed him with the utmost heartiness.
Hamilton looked round and colored furiously, but before Ferrers had time to make any answers to Louis' rapid questions, he rose, and, stepping forward, held out his hand—
“How are you, Ferrers?” he said, in a cheerful tone, “I neither saw nor heard you come in just now. You have not been here long, have you?”
Ferrers grasped Hamilton's hand and looked in his face, astonished and overcome with gratitude for this unexpected welcome. The silence of the few minutes before was resumed, and every eye was riveted on Hamilton, who, perceiving from the tight grasp on his hand and the crimsoned countenance of Ferrers, his utter inability to speak, and being anxious to remove the insupportable feeling of awkwardness under which he felt sure he labored, continued, without waiting for an answer—
“You are very late this half. We have expected you every day.”
He then sat down and went on telling Ferrers about the new-comers, and the present condition of the first class, asking him some questions about his journey, and all so quickly and cleverly as neither to appear forced, nor to oblige Ferrers to speak more than he chose. While Hamilton spoke he only now and then glanced at him from his work, which he had apparently resumed as soon as he sat down.
“His majesty's taken Fudge's hint,” said Frank, in a low, discontented tone.
“Hamilton can, of course, do as he likes, but I won't,” said another, with a nod of determination. “We're not obliged to follow his lead.”
“Trevannion won't, you'll see,” muttered Peters.
“Be kind enough to lend me your lexicon, Salisbury,” said Trevannion, who had, since Hamilton's notice of Ferrers, assumed an air of more than ordinary dignity, and now reached across Ferrers for the book, as if there were no one there. Ferrers made an effort to assist in the transition of the thick volume, but all his politeness obtained was a haughty, cold stare, and a determined rejection of assistance. Louis was sure that Hamilton observed this action, from the expression of his face, but he made no remark, and continued to talk to Ferrers a little longer, when he laughingly pleaded his avocations as an excuse for being silent; but Louis was now disengaged, and Reginald had happily followed Hamilton's example, for though at first inclined to be on Trevannion's side, he could not help pitying his evident distress, and, touched by the emotion he exhibited, he exerted himself to smooth all down. Had all been as cold and repulsive as Trevannion and his advocates, Ferrers would have been dogged and proud, but now the sense of gratitude and humility was predominant, and at last so overpowered him, that he was glad to get away in the playground by himself. As he closed the door, the buz was resumed, and an attack was made on Hamilton by those who had determinedly held back.
“Your royal clemency is most praiseworthy, most magnanimous Edward,” said Frank Digby.
“Worthy of you, Hamilton,” said Trevannion, sneeringly. “Ferrers is a fit companion and associate for gentlemen.”
“My manners not bearing any comparison with yours,” replied Hamilton, coolly, “I am not so chary of contamination.”
“That's a hit at your slip just now, Trevannion,” said Smith. “How could you commit such a what-do-you-call it? gooch—gaucherie.”
“You had better take lessons of the old woman over the way,” said Salisbury; “she only charges twopence extra for them as learns manners.”
“A good suggestion,” said Trevannion, laughing; “will you pay for me, Hamilton?”
“Willingly,” replied Hamilton, in a low, deep tone, “if, on inquiry, I find her good manners are the result of good feeling.”
“I am excessively indebted to you,” replied Trevannion, coloring; “and feel exceedingly honored by the solicitude of Ferrers' friend.”
“Just as you choose to feel it, Trevannion,” said Hamilton; “but I had better speak my mind, gentlemen,—I do not think we have, as a body, remembered the doctor's injunction.”
“How could we?” “Is it likely?” “No, indeed.” “I dare say!” “Very fine!” sounded on all sides.
“Hear me to the end,” said Hamilton; “I have not much to say.”
“Two speeches in one night!” said Jones. “Never was such condescension.”
Hamilton took no notice of the jeering remarks round him, but having obtained a little silence, continued—
“We have made enough of this business. It is cruel now to carry it on further. I confess myself to have felt as much repugnance as any one could feel, to renewing any thing beyond the barest possible intercourse with Ferrers; but let us consider, first, that it becomes us, while we are Dr. Wilkinson's pupils, to pay some respect to his wishes, whether they coincide with our feelings or not; and next, whether it is charitable to shut a school-fellow out of a chance of reformation. Let us put ourselves in his place.”
“A very desirable position; rather too much for imagination,” remarked Trevannion.
“It is a miserable position,” said Hamilton; “therefore we should do well to endeavor to help him out of it. I have no doubt if we had been once in so painful a situation, we should not have considered ourselves as hopeless or irremediable characters—nor is he; he is quite overcome to-night because all have not been quite such savages as he expected.”
“As he would have been. He wouldn't have been merciful!” exclaimed Meredith.
“That's nothing to the purpose,” said Hamilton. “We have only to act rightly ourselves. Give him a chance. If he forfeit it by a similar offence, I will not say another word for him.”
There was a dead silence when Hamilton had finished. His appeal had the more effect, that he was usually too indolent to trouble himself much about what did not immediately concern him or his, but took all as he found it.
“In giving what you call a chance, Hamilton,” said Trevannion, who alone, in the indecision evident, remained entirely unmoved; “in giving what you call a chance, you forget that we implicate ourselves. As honorable individuals, as gentlemen, we cannot admit to fellowship one who has so degraded himself. To be ‘hail-fellow-well-met’ with him, were to lower ourselves. We do not prevent his improving himself. When he has done so, let us talk of receiving him among us again. In my opinion, Dr. Wilkinson's allowing him to return is as much, and a great deal more than he could expect.”
“I shall say nothing more,” said Hamilton. “I do not often make a request.”
“I know what Louis would say,” said Salisbury, who had been watching Louis' earnest, gratified gaze on Hamilton for the last few minutes; “I think we ought to be guided by him in this matter.”
“I! oh, I wish just what Hamilton has said—you know I wished it long ago.”
“What Louis says shall be the law,” said Jones. “We won't refuse him any thing.”
“Especially in this matter,” said Salisbury. “He's a brick, and so is his majesty, after all. My best endeavors for your side, Louis.”
“And mine,” said Jones.
“I'll outwardly forgive the culprit, at any rate,” said Frank. Several others expressed their desire to abide by the same resolution; Hamilton looked his satisfaction, Trevannion sulkily recommenced his work, and Louis stole out of the room to find Casson, that he might finish telling him his lesson, according to promise. When Dr. Wilkinson arrived, he narrowly watched the manners of his pupils towards Ferrers, and was satisfied with his scrutiny, though he was, of course, unconscious of the means by which the civility shown had been procured. It is to be hoped that we have not gone so far in the delineation of Dr. Wilkinson's school, without discovering that the spirit of honor and confidence was generally high among the young gentlemen, and, consequently, having promised to be friendly to Ferrers, each individual, in duty bound, did his utmost to fulfil that promise, and in a little while the stiffness attendant on the effort wore off, and Ferrers was, in appearance, in precisely the same position as before, to the great satisfaction of the doctor, who was much pleased with his pupils' conduct on the occasion.
Chapter XV.
“Where is Louis Mortimer?” asked Hamilton, the next Saturday afternoon, about a quarter of an hour after dinner. “Does any one know where Louis Mortimer is?”
“Here I am, Hamilton, prèt à vous servir, as Monsieur Gregoire would say!” cried Louis, starting from behind the school-room door.
“Are you engaged this afternoon?”
“Never, when you want me!” exclaimed Louis.
Hamilton looked gratified, but checked the expression as soon as he was aware of it.
“That is not right, Louis; I never wish, and never ought, to be an excuse for breaking an engagement.”
“But suppose I make your possible requirements a condition of my engagements,” said Louis, archly; “you have no objection to that, have you?”
“Only I cannot imagine such a case.”
“Such is the case, however, this afternoon. I had the vanity to hope you would let me walk with you, and so only engaged myself conditionally.”
“To whom were you engaged in default of my sufferance?”
“I was going to stay with Casson,” replied Louis, hesitatingly. “He has a cold and headache, and he asked me if I would stay with him in the class-room, where he is obliged to stay while we are out.”
“Casson!” said Hamilton, contemptuously; “you were not talking to him just now?”
“No; I was only listening to Ferrers. He was telling me about a wager Frank had just laid with Salisbury.”
“How is it you prefer Casson to your friend Clifton?”
“Oh, Hamilton, I don't much like Casson; but he asked me, poor fellow. Charlie's engaged to West—our days are Sunday, Monday, and Thursday.”
“Which of you is first now?”
“Charles is, to-day,” said Louis; “he is so very clever, Hamilton.”
“I know he is; but you are older, and not a dunce, if you were not idle, Louis. Louis, I shall repudiate you, if you don't get past him.”
“That would be a terrible fate,” said Louis, slipping his hand into Hamilton's. “I cannot tell you how I should miss your kind face and help. You have been such a very kind friend to me: but I have not been so very idle, Hamilton.”
“Yes, you have,” returned Hamilton; “I am vexed with you, Louis. If I did not watch over you as I do, you would be as bad as you were last half. Don't tell me you can't keep before Clifton if you choose.”
Louis looked gravely in Hamilton's face, and put his other hand on that he held. Hamilton drew his own quickly away.
“Lady Louisa,” he said, “these affectionate demonstrations may do well enough for us alone, but keep them for private service, and don't let us play Damon and Pythia in this touching manner, to so large an audience. It partakes slightly of the absurd.”
Louis colored, and seemed a little hurt; but he replied, “I am afraid I am very girlish sometimes.”
“Incontrovertibly,” said Hamilton, kindly laying his hand heavily on Louis' shoulder. “But we have no desire that any one should laugh at you but our royal self.”
“Are we going to the downs?” asked Louis.
Before Hamilton could answer, Frank Digby, one of the large audience alluded to, came up. “Of course,” he replied; “Hamilton is one of our party.”
“One of your party?” asked Hamilton.
“Your majesty's oblivious of the fact,” said Frank, “that among the many offices, honorary and distinctive, held by your most gracious self, the presidency of the ‘Ashfield Cricket Club’ is not altogether one of the most insignificant.”
“We will thank our faithful amanuensis to become our deputy this afternoon,” said Hamilton; “having a great desire to refresh ourself with a quiet discourse on the beauties of Nature.”
“No cricket this afternoon, Hamilton!” cried Louis; “I shall be so much disappointed if you go!”
“No cricket!” exclaimed Frank: “we will enter into a conspiracy, and dethrone Edward, if he refuses to come instanter.”
“Dethrone me by all means, this afternoon,” said Hamilton; “my deposition will save me a great deal of trouble. I am only afraid that my freedom from state affairs would be of short duration; my subjects appear to be able to do so little without me.”
“Hear him!” exclaimed Jones, laughing; “hear king Log!”
“No favoritism!” cried Smith; “I bar all partiality. We'll treat you in the Gaveston fashion, Louis, if you don't persuade your master to accede to our reasonable demands.”
“That would be treason against my own comforts,” said Louis, laughing, and struggling unsuccessfully to rise from the ground, where he had been playfully thrown by Salisbury. “To the rescue! your majesty; I cry help!”
“To the rescue!” shouted Reginald, pouncing suddenly upon Salisbury, and diverting his attention from Louis who would have recovered his feet, but for the intervention of one or two of the party.
“Your majesty perceives,” said Frank, “that a rebellion is already broken out. A word from you may compose all.”
“I have engaged to walk with Louis Mortimer, and I declare I will not stir anywhere without him,” said Hamilton.
“We cannot do without you, Hamilton,” said Trevannion, who had just joined the council. “You are engaged for all the meetings.”
“Which meetings have no right to be convened without the concurrence of the president;—eh, Mr. Secretary?” rejoined Hamilton.
“Of course you can please yourself,” said Trevannion, proudly.
“Let Louis get up, Jones,” said Hamilton.
“Does your majesty concede, or not?” said Jones, who was sitting upon Louis.
“I will answer when you let him get up.”
Jones suffered Louis to rise, breathless and hot with his laughing exertions to free himself from durance vile.
“I will come, on condition that Louis comes too.”
“Certainly,” said Salisbury.
“And join our game, mind,” said Hamilton.
“Oh!” exclaimed Smith; “that's decidedly another affair. You can't play, Sir Piers, can you?”
“He can learn,” said Hamilton, who was perfectly aware of his ignorance.
“I've not the smallest objection,” said Jones, “as I'm on the opposition side.”
“Nor I,” cried Salisbury; “though I should be a loser, as is probable.”
“Really, Hamilton,” exclaimed Trevannion, sulkily, “it's impossible! He'll only be in the way. I never saw such a fuss about a boy; it's quite absurd. If you want him, let him look on.”
“I don't like cricket,” said Louis.
“Humbug!” exclaimed Salisbury.
“I shall be in the way, as Trevannion says,” continued Louis; “I am sure I shall never learn.”
“ ‘Patientia et perseverantia omnia vincunt,’ ” remarked Frank; “which may be freely translated in three ways:
‘If a weary task you find it,
Persevere, and never mind it;’
or,
‘Never say die;’
or, thirdly,
‘If at first you don't succeed,—try, try again,’ ”
“Louisa, I am ashamed for you,” said Hamilton; “and insist on the exhibition of a more becoming spirit.”
“That's right, Hamilton,” cried Reginald; “make him learn.”
Louis pleaded as much as he dared, in dread of a few thumps, friendly in intent, but vigorous in execution, from Salisbury, and a second shaking from Hamilton, but all in vain, and they sallied forth. Trevannion fastened on Hamilton, and grumbled ineffectual remonstrances till they reached a convenient spot for their game. Here, under the active supervision of Hamilton, Salisbury, and Reginald, Louis was duly initiated; and after a couple of hours' play they returned home, Louis being in some doubt as to whether his fingers were not all broken by the concussion of a cricket-ball, but otherwise more favorably disposed towards the game than heretofore. He was, likewise, not a little gratified by the evident interest most of the players took in his progress. Hamilton had entirely devoted himself to his instruction, encouraged him when he made an effort, and laughed at his cowardliness, and Salisbury had been scarcely less kind.
As they entered the playground, Salisbury held up a silver pencil-case to Frank:
“Remember, Frank,” said he, warningly.
“Do you think I've forgotten?” said Frank; “my memory's not quite so treacherous, Mr. Salisbury.”
“What's that, Salisbury?” said Jones.
“Only my wager.”
“Wager!” repeated Hamilton. “What absurdity is Frank about to perpetrate now?”
“He is going to make Casson swallow some medicine of his own concoction. My pencil-case against his purse, contents and all, he isn't able to do it. Casson's too sharp.”
“I am surprised,” said Hamilton, “that Frank is not above playing tricks on that low boy. I thought you had had enough of it, Frank.”
Frank laughed;—“No, he has foiled me regularly twice lately, and I am determined to pay him off for shamming this afternoon.”
“I think it is real,” said Louis.
“Then he has all the more need of medicine,” said Frank; “and if he supposes it, my physic will do him as much good as any one else's.”
“You'll certainly get yourself into some serious scrape some day with these practical jokes, Frank,” said Hamilton. “It is a most ungentlemanly propensity.”
“Hear, hear,” said Reginald.
“What's that? Who goes there?” said Frank, directing the attention of the company to the figure of a tall woman neatly dressed in black silk, with an old-fashioned bonnet of the coal-scuttle species, who was crossing from the house to the playground at the moment; the lady in question being no other than the housekeeper, clothes-mender, &c., to Dr. Wilkinson introduced by Mr. Frank Digby as Gruffy, more properly rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Guppy.
“It's Gruffy, isn't it? Where is she going, I wonder.”
Without waiting for an answer, Frank flew round the house, and disappeared in the forbidden regions of the kitchen.
“What is he after?” said Meredith. “I suspect we shall have some fun to-night.”
“I do wish Frank wouldn't be so fond of such nonsense,” said Hamilton, angrily. “Come, Louis, and take a turn till the tea-bell rings.”
They had taken two or three turns up and down in front of the school-room, when the bell rang, and Frank Digby came back full of glee.
“I've done it, Salisbury,” he cried, as he threw his hat in the air. “I've done it. I shall kill two birds with one stone. I'm sure to win; it's all settled; only I must be allowed to put the school-room clock forward half an hour.”
“That wasn't in the bargain,” said Salisbury.
“It wasn't out of it, at any rate,” said Frank.
“It's all fair,” said several voices; “he may do it which way he pleases.”
“Remember, tace,” said Frank. “Tace is the candle that lights Casson to bed to-night.”
“I promise nothing, Frank,” said Hamilton.
“Nevertheless you'll keep it,” said Frank, laughing.
When tea was over, Frank disappeared rather mysteriously.
Salisbury had just begun to make use of one of the pile of books he had brought to the table in the class-room, when a notification was brought to him from the school-room, that Mrs. Guppy wanted to speak to him.
“Bother take her!” he exclaimed. “Why can't she come and speak to me? Interrupting a fellow at his work! Don't take my place; I shall be back presently.”
Some time, however, elapsed, and no Salisbury. Now and then a few wonderments were expressed as to how Frank's wager would be won, and as to what Mrs. Guppy could want with Salisbury.
“Where is Frank, I wonder?” said one. “Just see, Peters, if Casson's gone yet.”
Peters departed, and returned with the news that Casson had gone to bed a little while before.
“The farce has begun, I suspect,” said Meredith. “It's more than half an hour since Salisbury went,—and depend upon it, wherever he is, there is Frank.”
At this moment Salisbury rushed into the room, and throwing himself in a sitting posture on the floor, with his back against the wall as if completely exhausted, laughed on without uttering a word, till his mirth became so infectious, that nearly all the room joined him.
“Well, Salisbury!” “Well, Salisbury!” “What is it?” “Tell us.” “Have done laughing, do, you wretch, you merry-andrew.” “Do be sensible.”
“Sensible!” groaned Salisbury, laying his head against a form; “oh, hold me, somebody—I'm quite knocked up with laughing. It's enough to make a fellow insensible for the rest of his life.”
“Well, what is it, madcap?” said Reginald, jumping up from his seat, and approaching him in a threatening attitude.
“Frank Digby!” said Salisbury, going off into another paroxysm of laughter.
“Shake him into a little sense, Mortimer,” said Jones.
“Come, Salisbury, what is it?” said several more, coming up to him.
Salisbury sat upright and wiped his eyes.
“It was the clearest case of stabbing a man with his own sword I ever saw. I don't know whether I shall ever get it out for laughing, but I'll try.”
Louis looked up at Hamilton, rather anxious to get nearer to Salisbury, but Hamilton wrote on as if determined neither to let Louis move, nor to pay any attention himself, and Louis dared not ask.
“Well, you know, Mrs. Guppy sent for me. I went off in a beautiful humor, as you may imagine, and found her ladyship in a great dressing-gown, false front, and spectacles, surrounded by little boys in various stages of Saturday night's going to bed, tucking up Casson very comfortably.
“ ‘Oh, Mr. Salisbury,’ said she, ‘I'll speak with you presently,—will you be so good as to wait there a minute?’
“Well, I thought she looked very odd, but she spoke just the same as ever; and being very cross, I said, ‘I am in a hurry; perhaps when you've done you'll call on me in the study,’ Whereupon her ladyship comes straight out of the room, and says on the landing, in Frank Digby's voice, ‘Know me by this token, I am mixing a black draught by the light of a Latin candle.’ ”
Salisbury burst out into a fresh fit of laughter, in which he was joined by all present except Hamilton, who steadily pursued his work with an unmoved countenance.
“Well, you may imagine,” said Salisbury, when he had recovered himself, “I wasn't in a hurry then. I came back and waited behind the door very patiently. You never saw any thing so exact—every motion and tone. He had pulled the curls over his eyes, and tied up his face with a great handkerchief over the cap, as Gruffy has been doing lately when she had the face-ache, and he went about among the little chaps in such a motherly, bustling way, it was quite affecting. Sally, who helped him, hadn't the least idea it wasn't Gruffy. However, the best of it is to come,” said Salisbury, pausing a moment to recover the mirth which the recollection produced:—“He was stirring up a concoction of cold tea, ink and water, slate-pencil dust, sugar, mustard, and salt, when I thought” (Salisbury's voice trembled violently) “that I heard a step I ought to know, and I had hardly time to get completely behind the door when it was widely opened, and in walked the doctor!”
A burst of uproarious mirth drowned the voice of the speaker. There was a broad smile on Hamilton's face, though he did not raise his head. As soon as Salisbury could speak, he continued:
“ ‘Oh!’ said I to myself, ‘it's all up with you, Mr. Frank,’ and I felt a little desirous of concealing my small proportions as much as might be. What Frank might feel I can't say, but he seemed to be very busy, and, as he turned round to the doctor, put up his handkerchief to his face.
“ ‘Does your face ache, Mrs. Guppy?’ says the doctor; and—imagine the impudence of the boy—he answered, it was a little troublesome. ‘How is Clarke this evening?—I hear he has been asleep this afternoon.’ I imagine Frank has as much idea of the identity of Clarke as I have—I don't even know who he is, much less that he was ill—but he answered just as Gruffy would do, with her handkerchief up to her mouth, ‘Rather better, sir, I think—he was asleep when I saw him last, and I didn't disturb him.’ ‘Hem,’ said the doctor, ‘and who's this?’ ”
The audience was here so convulsed with laughter that Salisbury could not proceed; Louis could not help joining the laugh, though rather checked by the immovable gravity of Hamilton's countenance.
“Really, Hamilton,” he said, “I wonder how Frank could tell such stories.”
“He doesn't think them so,” said Hamilton, abruptly.
“Well, Salisbury!” “Well, Salisbury!” exclaimed several impatient voices. “The impudence of the fellow.” “How will he ever get out of it?” “Get on, Salisbury.” “The idea of joking with the doctor.” “Go on, Salisbury.” “What a capital fellow he'd make for one of those escaping heroes in romances—he'd never stay to have his head cut off.”
“Well, and the doctor says, ‘Who's this, Mrs. Guppy? Casson? How—what's the matter with you? How long have you been here?’ ‘Just come to bed, sir,’ says Casson; and then the doctor makes a few inquiries about his terrible headache, et cetera; and Mrs. Guppy had a twinge of the toothache, and could only let the doctor know by little and little how she had thought it better to put him to bed.
“ ‘And that is medicine for him?’
“The doctor looked very suspiciously at the cup, I fancy, for his tone was rather short and sulky. Frank seemed a little daunted, but he soon got up his spirits again, and, stirring up the mess, was just going to give it to Casson, when, lo! another strange footfall was heard; doctor turned round (I was in a state of fright, I assure you, lest he should discover me) and in marched the real Simon Pure! It was a picture—oh! if I had been an artist:—there stood Gruffy, in her best black silk, looking more puzzled than angry; Frank—I couldn't see what he looked like, but I'll suppose it, as he says—and doctor turning from one to the other with a face as red as a turkey-cock, and looking so magnificent!”
