“I wish you did know!” said the Major with impressive mock-solemnity—“I should like to ascertain from you just exactly the worth of things. I am sure you could tell me!”
Boy took this quite seriously.
“Well, in this way. You are learning more at your college than I learned in all my life. When I was a young chap drilling for the Army, I didn’t know anything except the rough-and tumble glory of it. I had no one to ‘cram’ me,—I passed no ‘exams.’ It’s all altered, you see. A young subaltern knows nearly as much (on paper) as his commanding officer nowadays. That’s why I want you to tell me things.”
“Don’t, Dick!” remonstrated Miss Letty with a faint smile.
“Don’t—what?—Don’t try to learn any more than I know at my age? All right!—if you ask me I won’t!” And the old gentleman gave one of his hearty jolly laughs. “Now, for goodness’ sake, Boy, eat some pudding!”
“I don’t care for pudding, thanks!” said Boy, allowing the suggested dainty to pass him. “I never eat sweets.”
“God bless my soul!” ejaculated the Major. “Here, waiter!—pudding for me, please!—I’m a boy! A boy!—by Jove!—I’m a child!—this young gentleman has so far outgrown me, that I’m a positive baby!”
Boy looked vaguely surprised at the Major’s hilarity over this trifle, but he was not personally moved by it, nor did he accept it as a good-humoured satire on himself. He smiled, and sat, civilly serene, crumbling a bit of bread on the table; and when the luncheon was finished, every one,—even Miss Letty—seemed glad that an exceptionally embarrassing meal had come at last to an end.
After it, however, there was nothing more to be done. Any display of affection towards Boy was rendered, by the impassibility of the lad himself, out of place. Miss Letty felt that she could not have kissed him for all the world as she used to do, and Violet saw that it would be a hopeless business to try and remind him of his old friend Margaret, who had tended him with such devoted care in bygone days. The Major, in his strong interest and affection for Miss Letty, did his best to enliven the dull atmosphere, and to coax Boy to express himself with freedom and fearlessness and candour,—but it was no use. There was a piano in the room, and Violet, who had a very sweet and beautifully trained voice, gave them a pretty old ‘plantation’ song, eliciting from Boy the remark that he ‘had not heard that one before.’ Asked as to the health of his father and mother, he said they were both ‘all right.’