COLONEL STANBURNE APOLOGIZES.
The next day Lieutenant Ogden appeared not on the parade-ground at Sootythorn. Captain Stanburne commanded his own company for the first time since his accident (his cure having been wonderfully advanced by the departure of Miss Stedman from Arkwright Lodge); and during one of the short intervals of repose which break the tedium of drill, he went to pay his respects to the Colonel, who was engaged in conversation with the Adjutant on a bit of elevated ground, whilst Fyser promenaded his war-horse to and fro.
Colonel Stanburne, who was ignorant of the cause to which he owed the rapid recovery of his young friend, heartily congratulated him, and then said, "But where is Ogden? what's Ogden doing? Why didn't he come to the parade-ground to join the grenadier company again? Is he taking a day's holiday with those pretty girls at Arkwright Lodge?"
"Mr. Ogden begs to be excused from attending drill to-day. I have a note from him." And Captain Stanburne handed the letter to the Colonel.
As soon as John Stanburne had read the letter he looked very grave, or rather very much put out, and made an ejaculation. The ejaculation was "Damn it!" Then he folded the letter again, and put it in his pocket-book.
"Have you had any conversation with Mr. Ogden on the subject of this letter?" Captain Stanburne knew nothing about it.
The Colonel made a signal for Fyser, and mounted his horse. Fyser mounted another, and followed his master. The senior Major was telling humorous anecdotes to a group of captains, and the Colonel went straight to him at a canter. He told him to command the regiment in his absence, entering into some details about what was to be done—details which puzzled the Major exceedingly, for he knew nothing whatever about battalion drill, or any drill, though in some former state of existence he had been an ornamental officer in the Guards. This done, the Colonel galloped off the field.
The letter which had caused this sudden departure was as follows:—
"Sir,—As you have thought fit to play a practical joke upon my mother, I send in my resignation.
"Your obedient servant, Isaac Ogden."
There was no hesitation about the Colonel's movements; he rode straight to Whittlecup as fast as his horse could carry him. He went first to the Blue Bell, where he found a guide to Mrs. Ogden's lodging over the shoemaker's shop. In answer to his inquiries, the shoemaker's wife admitted that all her lodgers were at home, but—but—in short, they were "getting their breakfast." The Colonel said his business was urgent—that he must see the Lieutenant, and Mrs. Ogden too—so Mrs. Wood guided him up the narrow stairs.
We may confess for John Stanburne that he had not much of that courage which rejoices in verbal encounters, or if he had, it was of that kind which dares to do what the man is constitutionally most afraid to do. The reader may remember an anecdote of another English officer, who, as he went into battle, betrayed the external signs of fear, and in reply to a young subaltern, who had the impudence to taunt him, said, "Yes, I am afraid, and if you were as much afraid as I am, you would run away." Yet, by the strength of his will, he conducted himself like a true soldier. And there is that other stirring anecdote about a French commander, who, when his body trembled at the opening of a battle, thus apostrophized it: "Tu trembles, vile carcasse! tu tremblerais bien plus si tu savais où je vais te mener!" If these men were cowards, John Stanburne was a coward too, for he mortally dreaded this encounter with the Ogdens; but if they were not cowards (having will enough to neutralize that defect of nature), neither was John Stanburne.
Lieutenant Ogden rose from his seat, and bowed rather stiffly as the Colonel entered. Mrs. Ogden made a just perceptible inclination of the head, and conveyed to her mouth a spoonful of boiled egg, which she had just dipped in the salt.
"I beg pardon," said the Colonel, "for intruding upon you during breakfast time, but—but I was anxious"—The moment of hesitation which followed was at once taken advantage of by Mrs. Ogden.
"And is that all you've come to beg pardon for?"
This thrust put the Colonel more on his defence than a pleasanter reception would have done. He had intended to offer nothing but a very polite apology; but as there seemed to be a disposition on the part of the enemy to extort concessions so as to deprive them of the grace of being voluntary, he withdrew into his own retrenchments.
"I came to ask Mr. Ogden for an explanation about his letter of this morning."
"I should think you need no explanations, Colonel Stanburne. You know what passed yesterday evening."
"He knows that well enough," said Mrs. Ogden.
"I should be glad if Lieutenant Ogden would tell me in detail what he thinks that he has to complain of."
"Leaftenant! Leaftenant! nay, there's no more leaftenantin', I reckon. This is Isaac Ogden—plain Isaac Ogden—an' nout elz. He's given up playin' at soldiers. He's a cotton-spinner, or he were one, nobbut his brother an' him quarrelled; and I wish they hadn't done, many a time I do—for our Jacob's as much as ever he can manage, now as he's buildin' a new mill; an' if he gets wed—and there's Hiram Ratcliff's dorther"—Mrs. Ogden might have gone very far into family matters if her son had not perceived (or imagined that he perceived) something like a smile on Colonel Stanburne's face. In point of fact, the Colonel did not precisely smile; but there was a general relaxation of the muscles of his physiognomy from their first expression of severity, betraying an inward tendency to humor.
"Well, sir," broke in Ogden, "I'll tell you what you did, if you want me. It seems that you've set up a new carriage, a four-in-hand, which looks very like a mail coach, and you drove this vehicle yesterday through the streets of Sootythorn, and you saw my mother on the footpath, and you made a signal to her with your whip, as coachmen do, and you allowed her to get inside under the impression that it was a public conveyance, so that you might make a laughing-stock of her with the officers. And"—
"Pardon me," said the Colonel, "it was not"—
"You've asked me to tell you why I sent in my resignation, and I'm telling you. If you stop me, I shalln't begin it over again. Let me say my say, Colonel Stanburne; you may explain it away afterwards at your leisure, if you can. When you got into Whittlecup, and stopped at the Blue Bell, you took my mother's money—and not only that, but you asked for a gratuity for yourself, as driver, to make her ridiculous in the eyes of your friends on the vehicle. I suppose, though your joke may have been a very good one, that you will be able to understand why it is not very pleasing to me, and why I don't choose to remain under you in the militia."
"If the thing had occurred as you have told it"—the Colonel began, but was instantly interrupted by Mrs. Ogden.
"Do you mean to say I didn't tell him right what happened? If anybody knows what happened, I do."
"Let the Colonel say what he has to say, mother; don't you stop him. I've said my say, and it's his turn now."
The Colonel told the facts as the reader knows them. "He had made no sign to Mrs. Ogden," he said, "in the street at Sootythorn, but she had made a sign with her parasol, which he had interpreted as a request for a place. He had been ignorant that Fyser had kept up her illusion about the vehicle being a public one until after the fact; and so far from encouraging the merriment of the officers, had put a stop to it by telling them who Mrs. Ogden was, particularly requesting that the incident might not be made a subject of pleasantry, lest it should reach Mr. Ogden's ears. On arriving in Whittlecup, he had taken her money, but with the express purpose of saving her the pain of an explanation. He had intended Mrs. Ogden to remain ignorant—happily ignorant—of her little mistake."
"Pardon me," said Isaac Ogden; "this might have been equally well accomplished without asking my mother for a coachman's gratuity. That was done to make a fool of her, evidently; and no doubt you laughed about it with your friends as you drove back to Sootythorn."
"Here is the only point on which I feel that I owe an apology to Mrs. Ogden, and I very willingly make it. In every thing else I did what lay in my power to save her from ridicule, but on this point I confess that I did wrong. I couldn't help it. I was carried away by a foolish fancy for acting the coachman out and out. The temptation was too strong for me, you know. I thought I had taken the money cleverly, in the proper professional manner, and I was tempted to ask for a gratuity. I acknowledge that I went too far. Mrs. Ogden, I am very sorry for this."
Mrs. Ogden had been gradually softening during the Colonel's explanation, and when it came to its close she turned to him and said, "We've been rather too hard upon you, I think." Such an expression as this from Mrs. Ogden was equivalent to a profuse apology. The Lieutenant added a conciliatory little speech of his own: "I think my mother may accept your explanation. I am willing to accept it myself." This was not very cordial, but at any rate it was an expression of satisfaction.
Little Jacob had hitherto been a silent and unobserved auditor of this conversation, but it now occurred to the Colonel that he might be of considerable use. "Mrs. Ogden," he said, "will you allow me to transfer your eighteenpence to this young gentleman's pocket?" Mrs. Ogden consented, and it will be believed that little Jacob on his part had no objection. Then the Colonel drew little Jacob towards him, and began to ask him questions—"What would he like to be?" Little Jacob said he would like to be a coachman, as the Colonel was, and drive four horses. The Colonel promised him a long drive on the coach.
"And may I drive the horses?"
"Well, we shall see about that. Yes, you shall drive them a little some day." Then turning towards Mrs. Ogden, he continued,—
"Lady Helena is not at Wenderholme just now, unfortunately; she is gone to town to her father's for a few days, so that I am a bachelor at present, and cannot invite ladies; but if it would please little Jacob to ride on the coach with me, I should be very glad if you would let him. I am going to drive to Wenderholme this evening as soon as our afternoon drill is finished, and shall return to-morrow morning. About half-a-dozen officers are going to dine with me. Ogden, you'll dine with me too, won't you? Do—there's a good fellow; and pray let us forget this unlucky bit of unpleasantness. Don't come full fig—come in a shell-jacket."
"Well, but you know, Colonel Stanburne, I've resigned my commission, and so how can I come in a red jacket?"
This was said with an agreeable expression of countenance, intended to imply that the resignation was no longer to be taken seriously. The Colonel laughed. "Nonsense," he said; "you don't talk about resigning? It isn't a time for resigning when there's such a capital chance of promotion. Most likely you'll be a captain next training, for there's a certain old major who finds battalion drill a mystery beyond the utmost range of his intellect, and I don't think he'll stop very long with us, and when he leaves us there'll be a general rise, and the senior lieutenant, you know, will be a captain."
Mrs. Ogden's countenance began to shine with pride at these hints of promotion. After all, he would be somebody at Shayton, would Captain Ogden, for she was fully determined that when once he should be in possession of the title, it should not perish for want of use.
When the Colonel rose to take his leave, Mrs. Ogden said, "Nay, nay, you shalln't go away without drinking a glass of wine. There's both port and sherry in the cupboard; and if you'd like something to eat—you must be quite hungry after your ride. Why, you've 'appen never got your breakfast?"
The Colonel confessed that he had not breakfasted. He had come away from early drill just before his usual breakfast-hour.
"Eh, well, I wish I'd known sooner; indeed I do. The coffee's quite cold, and there's nothing worse than cold coffee; but Mr. Wood 'll very soon make some fresh." Colonel Stanburne was really hungry, and ate his breakfast in a manner which gave the greatest satisfaction to Mrs. Ogden. The more he ate the more he rose in her esteem, and at length she could no longer restrain her feelings of approval, and said, "You can eat your breakfast; it does me good to watch ye. There's many a young man as cannot eat half as much as you do. There's our Isaac here that's only a very poor breakfast-eater. I tell him so many a time." Indeed she did tell him so many a time—namely, about fifteen times whenever they breakfasted together. When the Colonel had done eating, he looked at his watch and said it was time to go. "Well, I'm very sorry you're goin' so soon—indeed I am," said Mrs. Ogden, who, when he ceased to eat, felt that her own pleasure was at an end. "But you must drink a glass of wine. It isn't bought at the Blue Bell at Whittlecup—it comes from Shayton." She said this with a calm assurance that it settled the question of the wine's merits, just as if Shayton had been the centre of a famous wine-district. Returning to the subject of breakfast-eating, she repeated, "Eh, I do wish our Isaac could eat his breakfast same as you do, but he's spoiled his stomach wi' drinking." Then addressing her son: "Isaac, I put two glasses with the decanter—why don't you fill your glass?"
"I've given up drinking."
"Do you mean to say as you're teetotal?"
"Yes, I do, mother; I'm teetotal now."
Mrs. Ogden's face assumed an expression of extreme astonishment and displeasure. "Well," she said, "Isaac Ogden, you're the first teetotal as has been in our family!" and she looked at him in scorn. Then she resumed: "If I'd known what was to come of your meeting that teetotal clergyman—for it's him that's done it—I'd have prevented it if I could. Turned teetotal! turned teetotal! Well, Isaac, I never could have believed this of any son of mine!"