Chapter Fourteen.
Holt and his Help.
Nothing more was heard by Hugh, or any one else, of Lamb’s debt. The creditor himself chose to say nothing about it, so much was he annoyed at being considered fond of money; but he was sure that Lamb’s pockets were filled, from time to time, as he was seen eating good things in by-corners when everybody knew that his credit with his companions, and with all the neighbouring tradespeople, was exhausted. It was surprising that anybody could care so much for a shilling’s worth of tarts or fruit as to be at the trouble of any concealment, or of constantly getting out of Hugh’s way, rather than pay, and have done with it. When Lamb was seen munching or skulking, Firth sometimes asked Hugh whether he had got justice yet in that quarter: and then Hugh laughed; and Firth saw that he had gained something quite as good,—a power of doing without it good-humouredly, from those who were so unhappy as not to understand or care for justice.
In one respect, however, Hugh was still within Lamb’s power. When Lamb was not skulking, he was much given to boasting; and his boasts were chiefly about what a great man he was to be in India. He was really destined for India; and his own opinion was that he should have a fine life of it there, riding on an elephant, with a score of servants always about him, spending all his mornings in shooting, and all his evenings at dinners and balls. Hugh did not care about the servants, sport, or dissipation; and he did not see why any one should cross the globe to enjoy things like these, which might be had at home. But it did make him sigh to think that a lazy and ignorant boy should be destined to live among those mountains, and that tropical verdure of which he had read,—to see the cave-temples, the tanks, the prodigious rivers, and the natives and their ways, of which his imagination was full, while he must stay at home, and see nothing beyond London, as long as he lived. He did not grudge Holt his prospect of going to India; for Holt was an improved and improving boy, and had, moreover, a father there whom he loved very much: but Hugh could never hear Lamb’s talk about India without being ready to cry.
“Do you think,” he said to Holt, “that all this is true?”
“It is true that he is to go to India. His father has interest to get him out. But I do not believe he will like it so well as he thinks. At least, I know that my father has to work pretty hard,—harder than Lamb ever worked, or ever will work.”
“O dear! I wish I could go and do the work; and I would send all the money home to him (except just enough to live upon), and then he might go to dinners and balls in London, as much as he liked, and I could see the Hindoos and the cave-temples.”
“That is another mistake of Lamb’s,—about the quantity of money,” said Holt. “I do not believe anybody in India is so rich as he pretends, if they work ever so hard. I know my father works as hard as anybody, and he is not rich; and I know the same of several of his friends. So it is hardly likely that such a lazy dunce as Lamb should be rich, unless he has a fortune here at home; and if he had that, I do not believe he would take the trouble of going so far, to suffer by the heat.”
“I should not mind the heat,” sighed Hugh, “if I could go. You must write to me, Holt, all about India. Write me the longest letters in the world; and tell me everything you can think of about the natives, and Juggernaut’s Car.”
“That I will, if you like. But I am afraid that would only make you long the more to go,—like reading Voyages and Travels. How I do wish, though, that you were going with me by-and-by, as you let me go home with you these holidays!”
It was really true that Holt was going to London these holidays. He was not slow to acknowledge that Hugh’s example had put into him some of the spirit that he had wanted when he came to Crofton, languid, indolent, and somewhat spoiled, as little boys from India are apt to be; and Hugh, for his part, saw now that he had been impatient and unkind towards Holt, and had left him forlorn, after having given him hopes that they were to be friends and companions. They were gradually becoming real friends now; and the faster, because Holt was so humble as not to be jealous of Hugh’s still liking Dale best. Holt was satisfied to be liked best when Dale could not be had; and as this was the case in the Midsummer holidays, he was grateful to be allowed to spend them with the Proctors.
Hugh was so thankful for his father’s kindness in giving him a companion of his own age, and so pleased to show Holt little Harry, and the leads, and the river, and his shelf of books, and Covent Garden Market, and other wonders of London, that any unpleasant feelings that the boys had ever entertained towards each other were quite forgotten, and they grew more intimate every day. It touched Hugh’s heart to see how sorry Holt was for every little trial that befel him, on coming home, altered as he was. Agnes herself did not turn red oftener, or watch more closely to help him than Holt did. Hugh himself had to tell him not to mind when he saw the shop-boy watching his way of walking, or little Harry trying to limp like him, or Susan pretending to find fault with him, as she used to do, as an excuse for brushing away her tears. Holt was one of the first to find out that Hugh liked to be sent errands about the house, or in the neighbourhood; and it was he who convinced the family of it, though at first they could not understand or believe it at all. When they saw, however, that Hugh, who used to like that his sisters should wait upon him, and to be very slow in moving from his book, even at his mother’s desire, now went up-stairs and down-stairs for everybody, and tried to be more independent in his habits than any one else, they began to think that Holt knew Hugh’s mind better than even they, and to respect and love him accordingly.
There was another proof of friendship given by Holt, more difficult by far; and in giving it, he showed that he really had learned courage and spirit from Hugh, or in some other way. He saw that his friend was now and then apt to do what most people who have an infirmity are prone to,—to make use of his privation to obtain indulgences for himself, or as an excuse for wrong feelings; and when Holt could not help seeing this, he resolutely told his friend of it. No one else but Mrs Proctor would see or speak the truth on such occasions; and when his mother was not by, Hugh would often have done selfish things unchecked, if it had not been for Holt. His father pitied him so deeply, that he joked even about Hugh’s faults, rather than give him present pain. Phil thought he had enough to bear at Crofton, end that everybody should let him alone in the holidays. His sisters humoured him in everything: so that if it had not been for Holt, Hugh might have had more trouble with his faults than ever, on going back to Crofton.
“Do you really and truly wish not to fail, as you say, Hugh?” asked Holt.
“To be sure.”
“Well, then, do try not to be cross.”
“I am not cross.”
“I know you think it is low spirits. I am not quite sure of that: but if it is, would not it be braver not to be low in spirits?”
Hugh muttered that that was fine talking for people that did not know.
“That is true, I dare say; and I do not believe I should be half as brave as you, but I should like to see you quite brave.”
“It is a pretty thing for you to lecture me, when I got down those books on purpose for you,—those Voyages and Travels. And how can I look at those same books, now and not—”
Hugh could not go on, and he turned away his head.
“Was it for me?” exclaimed Holt, in great concern. “Then I am very sorry. I will carry them to Mrs Proctor, and ask her to put them quite away till we are gone back to Crofton.”
“No, no. Don’t do that. I want them,” said Hugh, finding now that he had not fetched them down entirely on Holt’s account. But Holt took him at his word, and carried the books away, and succeeded in persuading Hugh that it was better not to look at volumes which he really almost knew by heart, and every crease, stain, and dog’s-ear of which brought up fresh in his mind his old visions of foreign travel and adventure. Then, Holt never encouraged any conversation about the accident with Susan, or with Mr Blake, when they were in the shop; and he never pretended to see that Hugh’s lameness was any reason why he should have the best of their places in the Haymarket Theatre (where they went once), or be the chief person when they capped verses or played other games round the table, in the evenings at home. The next time Hugh was in his right mood, he was sure to feel obliged to Holt; and he sometimes said so.
“I consider you a real friend to Hugh,” said Mrs Proctor, one day, when they three were together. “I have dreaded seeing my boy capable only of a short effort of courage;—bearing pain of body and mind well while everybody was sorry for him, and ready to praise him; and then failing in the long trial afterwards. When other people are leaving off being sorry for him, you continue your concern for him, and still remind him not to fail.”
“Would not it be a pity, ma’am,” said Holt, earnestly, “would it not be a pity for him to fail when he bore everything so well at first, and when he helped me so that I don’t know what I should have done without him? He made me write to Mr Tooke, and so got me out of debt; and a hundred times, I am sure, the thought of him and his secret has put spirit into me. It would be a pity if he should fail without knowing it, for want of somebody to put him in mind. He might so easily think he was bearing it all well, as long as he could talk about his foot, and make a joke of being lame, when, all the while, he might be losing his temper in other ways.”
“Why, how true that is!” exclaimed Hugh. “I was going to ask if I was ever cross about being lame: but I know I am about other things, because I am worried about that, sometimes.”
“It is so easy to put you in mind,” continued Holt; “and we shall all be so glad if you are brave to the very end—”
“I will,” said Hugh. “Only do you go on to put me in mind—”
“And you will grow more and more brave, too,” observed Mrs Proctor to Holt.
Holt sighed; for he thought it would take a great deal of practice yet to make him a brave boy. Other people thought he was getting on very fast.