CHAPTER IX.—GETTING OUT OF IT.
A whole chapter just with grown-up people, and not a very pleasant chapter at that! For one, I had a deal rather be with certain little friends of ours up at Windsor, but we cannot go yet a while; and having seen the little Berkshire cottage turned inside out, as it were, there is nothing for it but to wait and see it put to rights again. Besides, when all is said, Ted is Harold's brother, so that, scapegrace or no, we ought not to deliberately turn our backs, at a time too when matters have reached a crisis, and one wonders how they will go with him. But fortunately they went far better than even the doctor dared to hope, and with the morning came consciousness, and all the dazed bewilderment as well, of one who finds himself in wholly new surroundings, with no idea whatever of how he came there. Everybody was early astir in the cottage, and quite ready to forget the anxiety and excitement of the night in the doctor's glad assurance that the young gentleman certainly was not “done for.” As for the other young gentlemen, who had been allowed to sleep off their indisposition in Mrs. Hartley's best room, it was agreed between the doctor and Harry Allyn that the sooner they took their departure the better. Breakfast for two was therefore first made ready, and the young fellows, who had gotten up and dressed—somewhat against their will, it must be confessed—finally took their seats at the places set for them. Martha, who had no notion of waiting on such sorry customers, was careful to place everything within arm's reach on the table and then to disappear, and the meal was eaten in silence, with no one in the room save the doctor, who kept pacing up and down in a manner that was intended to expedite their departure. The two fellows seemed to realize that they were considered responsible for the whole unhappy affair; indeed, the doctor had told them so pretty plainly, and they were themselves rather anxious to be off and away from such an accusing and uncomfortable atmosphere.
“I suppose the old lady ought to be paid something,” said one of them, pushing back his chair.
“You can't very well pay for such trouble as you have given,” said the doctor curtly. “It might not be out of the way though for you to thank Mrs. Hartley for the night's shelter and your breakfast,” but Mrs. Hartley was nowhere to be found—indeed, to all appearances the cottage was quite deserted; and, accompanied by the doctor, they made their way out of the house and down the lane. Not a word was spoken until they reached the road, and then Dr. Arnold, stopping squarely in front of them, said: “I have one thing to say to you two fellows, and that is this—that you are not to tell a living soul of last night's adventure. You have deliberately set about to entrap and disgrace two men vastly your superiors, but so far as in me lies I am going to do all in my power to free them from your clutches and save them from the scandal of this thing, and if I hear of its becoming known through you I'll—”
“There isn't any use in your threatening us like that,” interrupted the older, his heavy face glowing angrily. “We'll tell as much or as little as we like.”
“Hadden,” said the doctor sternly, “I know more of your history than you think. You were mixed up in a more shameful scrape than this not long ago up at Nuneham, and if you and your friend here do not keep close-mouthed about this whole affair, I will tell some of the Oxford officials just what I know as sure as my name is Joseph Arnold. Does that alter the case any?”