Thud showed what he was likely to do with the symbolical ball by violently kicking a large stone which lay in the way, to the detriment of his boot and the bruising of the foot which it covered.
“Think over the matter,” said Oscar. “I tell you again that I have done for you the best that I possibly can. Now go to your work; I have business elsewhere.”
Thud did not go to his work; he was in a violent passion, partially restrained before Oscar, but about to burst in full fury on Io. Hurrying home, Thud found his sister buried in painful thought; for she felt certain that the letter of terrible import had been sent—that her husband had done what was right, facing results that might be fearful. Thud never noticed his sister’s distressed looks, never greeted her after her absence, but burst like a tornado upon her.
“I say, Oscar has behaved shamefully—disgracefully—brutally!”exclaimed the lad, his short hair appearing to bristle up with anger.
Io started to her feet in alarm. Was it possible that Thud knew the fatal secret—that he was speaking of Walter’s death by her husband’s hand? The next sentence sputtered forth reassured her on this point at least.
“He has lured me here to this detestable place by promising to find me occupation, as a rat is lured into a trap by cheese; and so he has caught me, and I cannot get out. Oscar has treated me abominably! I—Thucydides Thorn—I an assistant to the son of a tailor! I’d sooner be sewn up in a sack and thrown into the sea!”
Io tried her utmost to soothe her brother. She appealed to his love for his mother, his love for herself; she tried to touch on motives higher still. But even her winning gentleness had little or no effect. Thud was indignant at Io’s refusing to promise to use all her influence to induce Oscar to change his mind. He called her conduct unnatural and unkind. The interview was to the half broken-hearted Io like vinegar on a fresh wound. She was almost relieved to see Mrs. Cottle’s short, thick figure coming bustling up the path, for she knew that Thud would avoid meeting one who laughed at him more mercilessly than did Dr. Pinfold himself. Mrs. Cottle had never before ventured to call before breakfast, and her company was far from congenial to Io; but it was something that her approach closed the conversation which was becoming painful almost beyondendurance. Thud went off in high dudgeon to pour out the tale of his wrongs to Pogson. The poor dog was indeed being thrown into the water to teach him to swim, and great was the splash and the struggle.
Mrs. Cottle had been too full of eager curiosity to wait for the visiting-hour. She was glad to catch Io in the veranda, giving the poor lady no time to retreat into the house.
“My dear, dear Mrs. Coldstream,” cried the visitor, taking both of Io’s hands and shaking them with unusual warmth of manner. “Goodness me, how ill you look! and one cannot wonder at it. What is it that I hear? I dropped in early at Hersey’s to look at the screen which he has for sale, and he told me—but I’m sure that it cannot be true—that Mr. Coldstream is going to carry you off, and sell this beautiful house!”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Cottle,” said poor Io, releasing her hands from her visitor’s grasp, but unable to avoid the gaze of her peering, curious eyes.