Day by day these petty squabbles were almost certain to occur, and as the holidays neared the end they became even more frequent. One had arisen on the evening in question. It was not a serious one, but had, as usual, been caused by an attempt on Frank’s part to order Jack about.
As a natural consequence Mrs Somerton had been put out, and had made Frampton Grange so exceedingly uncomfortable for Jack that he had at once gone to the stables, saddled his pony, and ridden through the village, out into the country.
“Well, I shall be jolly glad when the 15th comes, and I get back to school again,” he said to himself as his pony walked slowly along the road. “I wish things weren’t quite so wretched at home. It would be ripping if Frank were like Ted Humphreys, always jolly and ready for a bit of fun, and not for ever nagging and advising me, or ordering me not to do this or that. One would think I was a perfect baby still and he was a grown-up man. I’m sorry, that’s all. Father feels the same too, I know. He as good as told me so the other day. Never mind, I won’t let it worry me. I shall be out of the Grange in a few days, and when next term’s done I shall go up to London to coach for the army.”
How long Jack would have soliloquised it would be difficult to state. He was completely lost in the brownest of brown studies, so much so that he did not heed the noise of hoofs clattering up behind him, and only woke with a start when another rider had drawn his steed in close at his side, and given him a smack on the back which almost knocked the breath out of his body.
“Dreaming, eh? Good gracious, the lad’s wool-gathering!” exclaimed the stranger—a dark, dapper little man, with a clean-shaven face,—giving vent to a hearty chuckle. “What in the world’s the matter, lad?”
“Oh, is that you, Dr Hanly?” exclaimed Jack.
“Of course it is!—who else would it be? What’s the matter, my boy?” answered the doctor kindly. “Troubles at home—eh? Well, don’t worry about them. They’ll mend themselves, and you’ll be back at school soon.”
Dr Hanly looked sympathisingly at Jack, and patted him gently on the shoulder. He was an old friend of Captain Somerton, and had known for a long while how matters were at the Grange. Indeed, outside the family no one knew so well what quarrels there were, and what trials the captain and his son had to put up with. Nor was it in his professional capacity alone that the doctor had obtained his information. He had long been an intimate friend of Jack’s father, and had known and appreciated the former mistress of Frampton Grange.
“Well, Jack, when do you leave school?” he continued. “The captain tells me he intends sending you shortly to a crammer’s, who will coach you for the army. Fine profession, my boy; a fine profession! You’ll make one in a long line, for, if I make no mistake, the Somertons have held commissions for years. I’ve no doubt you will enjoy a soldier’s life. From what one hears it is not all so smooth and easy as one would think. There’s a gay uniform and a jolly life on the surface, but behind the scenes there’s sure to be plenty of tough work—marching and drilling and so on. But—halloo!—who’s this! Someone in a desperate hurry evidently. Want me for sure; a doctor never has a moment he can call his own.”
Doctor Hanly’s last words were caused by the sudden appearance of a light cart, which at that moment whirled round a distant bend in the road, and came racing along towards them, behind a galloping horse. In the cart, standing up and using his whip freely, was a man whose cap and clothes showed that he had some connection with the railway.