“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—”