As quickly as if he were fielding a ball, Vane caught up the volume from
where it fell, and was half-way back to his seat as the rector came in,
looking very much astonished, partly at the noise of the thump on the
door, partly from an idea that the dictionary had been thrown as an
insult to him.
Macey was generally rather a heavy, slow fellow, but on this occasion he
was quick as lightning, and, turning sharply to Distin, who looked pale
and nervous at the result of his passionate act.
"You might have given the dictionary to him, Distin," he said, in a
reproachful tone. "Don't do books any good to throw 'em."
"Quite right, Mr Macey, quite right," said the rector, blandly, as he
moved slowly to the arm-chair at the end of the table. "Really,
gentlemen, you startled me. I was afraid that the book was intended for
me, hum--ha! in disgust because I was so late."
"Oh, no, sir," cried Distin, with nervous eagerness.
"Of course not, my dear Distin, of course not. An accident--an error--
of judgment. Good for the binders, no doubt, but not for the books.
And I have an affection for books--our best friends."
He subsided into his chair as he spoke.
"Pray forgive me for being so late. A little deputation from the town,
Mr Rounds, my churchwarden; Mr Dodge, the people's. A little question
of dispute calling for a gentle policy on my part, and--but, no matter;
it will not interest you, neither does it interest me now, in the face
of our studies. Mr Macey, shall I run over your paper now?"
Macey made a grimace at Vane, as he passed his paper to the rector; and,
as it was taken, Vane glanced at Distin, and saw that his lips were
moving as he bent over his Greek. Vane saw a red spot in each of his
sallow cheeks, and a peculiar twitching about the corners of his eyes,
giving the lad a nervous, excitable look, and making Vane remark,--
"What a pity it all is. Wish he couldn't be so easily put out. He
can't help it, I suppose, and I suppose I can. There, he shan't quarrel
with me again. I suppose I ought to pitch into him for throwing the
book at my head, but I could fight him easily, and beat him, and, if I
did, what would be the good? I should only make him hate me instead of
disliking me as he does. Bother! I want to go on with my Greek."
He rested his head upon his hands determinedly, and, after a great deal
of effort, managed to condense his thoughts upon the study he had in
hand; and when, after a long morning's work, the rector smilingly
complimented him upon his work, he looked up at him as if he thought it
was meant in irony.
"Most creditable, sir, most creditable; and I wish I could say the same
to you, my dear Macey. A little more patient assiduity--a little more
solid work for your own sake, and for mine. Don't let me feel
uncomfortable when the Alderman, your respected father, sends me his
customary cheque, and make me say to myself, `We have not earned this
honourably and well.'"
The rector nodded to all in turn, and went out first, while, as books
were being put together, Macey said sharply:--
"Here, Vane; I'm going to walk home with you. Come on!"
Vane glanced at Distin, who stood by the table with his eyes
half-closed, and his hand resting upon the dictionary he had turned into
a missile.
"He's waiting to hear what I say," thought Vane, quickly. Then
aloud:--"All right, then, you shall. I see through you, though. You
want to be asked to lunch on the toadstools."
In spite of himself, Vane could not help stealing another glance at
Distin, and read in the contempt which curled his upper lip that he was
accusing him mentally of being a coward, and eager to sneak away.
"Well, let him," he thought. "As I am not afraid of him, I can afford
it."
Then he glanced at Gilmore who was standing sidewise to the window with
his hands in his pockets; and he frowned as he encountered Vane's eyes,
but his face softened directly.
"I won't ask you to come with us, Gil," said Vane frankly.
"All right, old Weathercock," cried Gilmore; and his face lit up now
with satisfaction.
"He doesn't think I'm afraid," said Vane to himself.
"Am I to wait all day for you?" cried Macey.
"No; all right, I'm coming," said Vane, finishing the strapping together
of his books.--"Ready now."
But he was not, for he hesitated for a moment, coloured, and then his
face, too, lit up, and he turned to Distin, and held out his hand.
"I'm afraid I lost my temper a bit, Distie," he said; "but that's all
over now. Shake hands."
Distin raised the lids of his half-closed eyes, and gazed full at the
speaker, but his hand did not stir from where it rested upon the book.
And the two lads stood for some moments gazing into each other's eyes,
till the blue-veined lids dropped slowly over Distin's, and without word
or further look, he took his cigarette case out of his pocket, walked
deliberately out of the study, and through the porch on to the gravel
drive, where, directly after, they heard the sharp _crick-crack_ of a
match.
"It's all going to end in smoke," said Macey, wrinkling up his forehead.
"I say, it isn't nice to wish it, because I may be in the same
condition some day; but I do hope that cigarette will make him feel
queer."
"I wouldn't have his temper for anything," cried Gilmore, angrily. "It
isn't English to go on like that."
"Oh, never mind," said Vane; "he'll soon cool down."
"Yes; but when he does, you feel as if it's only a crust," cried
Gilmore.
"And that the jam underneath isn't nice," added Macey. "Never mind.
It's nothing fresh. We always knew that our West India possessions were
rather hot. Come on, Vane. I don't know though. I don't want to go
now."
"Not want to come? Why?"
"Because I only wanted to keep you two from dogs delighting again."
"You behaved very well, Vane, old fellow," said Gilmore, ignoring
Macey's attempts to be facetious. "He thinks you're afraid of him, and
if he don't mind he'll someday find out that he has made a mistake."
"I hope not," said Vane quietly. "I hate fighting."
"You didn't seem to when you licked that gipsy chap last year."
Vane turned red.
"No: that's the worst of it. I always feel shrinky till I start; and
then, as soon as I get hurt, I begin to want to knock the other fellow's
head off--oh, I say, don't let us talk about that sort of thing; one has
got so much to do."
"You have, you mean," said Gilmore, clapping him on the shoulder.
"What's in the wind now, Weathercock?"
"He's making a balloon," said Macey, laughing.
Vane gave quite a start, as he recalled his thoughts about flight that
morning.
"Told you so," cried Macey merrily; "and he's going to coax pepper-pot
Distin to go up with him, and pitch him out when they reach the first
lake."
"No, he isn't," said Gilmore; "he's going to be on the look-out, for
Distie's sure to want to serve him out on the sly if he can."
"Coming with us?" said Vane.
"No, not this time, old chap," said Gilmore, smiling. "I'm going to be
merciful to your aunt and spare her."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll come when Aleck Macey stops away. He does eat at such a frightful
rate, that if two of us came your people would never have us in at the
Little Manor again."
Macey made an offer as if to throw something, but Gilmore did not see
it, for he had stepped close up to Vane and laid his hand upon his
shoulder.
"I'm going to stop with Distie. Don't take any notice of his temper.
I'm afraid he cannot help it. I'll stay and go about with him, as if
nothing had happened."
Vane nodded and went off with Macey, feeling as if he had never liked
Gilmore so much before; and then the little unpleasantry was forgotten
as they walked along from the rectory gates, passing, as they reached
the main road, a party of gipsies on their way to the next town with
their van and cart, both drawn by the most miserable specimens of the
four-legged creature known as horse imaginable, and followed by about
seven or eight more horses and ponies, all of which found time to crop a
little grass by the roadside as cart and van were dragged slowly along.
It was not an attractive-looking procession, but the gipsies themselves
seemed active and well, and the children riding or playing about the
vehicles appeared to be happy enough, and the swarthy, dark-eyed women,
both old and young, good-looking.
Just in front of the van, a big dark man of forty slouched along, with a
whip under his arm, and a black pipe in his mouth; and every now and
then he seemed to remember that he had the said whip, and took it in
hand, to give it a crack which sounded like a pistol shot, with the
result that the horse in the van threw up its head, which had hung down
toward the road, and the other skeleton-like creature in the cart threw
up its tail with a sharp whisk that disturbed the flies which appeared
to have already begun to make a meal upon its body, while the scattered
drove of ragged ponies and horses ceased cropping the roadside herbage,
and trotted on a few yards before beginning to eat again.
"They're going on to some fair," said Macey, as he looked curiously at
the horses. "I say, you wouldn't think anyone would buy such animals as
those."
"Want to buy a pony, young gentlemen?" said the man with the pipe,
sidling up to them.
"What for?" said Macey sharply. "Scarecrow? We're not farmers."
The man grinned.
"And we don't keep dogs," continued Macey. "Oh, I say, George, you have
got a pretty lot to-day."
The gipsy frowned and gave his whip a crack.
"Only want cleaning up, master," he said.
"Going to the fair?"
The man nodded and went on, for all this was said without the two lads
stopping; and directly after, driving a miserable halting pony which
could hardly get over the ground, a couple of big hulking lads of
sixteen or seventeen appeared some fifty yards away.
"Oh, I say, Vane," cried Macey; "there's that chap you licked last year.
You'll see how he'll smile at you."
"I should like to do it again," said Vane. "Look at them banging that
poor pony about. What a shame it seems!"
"Yes. You ought to invent a machine for doing away with such chaps as
these. They're no good," said Macey.
"Oh, you brute!--I say, don't the poor beggar's sides sound hollow!"
"Hollow! Yes," cried Vane indignantly; "they never feed them, and that
poor thing can't find time to graze."
"No. It will be a blessing for it when it's turned into leather and
glue."
"Go that side, and do as I do," whispered Vane; and they separated, and
took opposite sides of the road, as the two gipsy lads stared hard at
them, and as if to rouse their ire shouted at the wretched pony, and
banged its ribs.
What followed was quickly done. Vane snatched at one stick and twisted
it out of the lad's hand nearest to him Macey followed suit, and the
boys stared.
"It would serve you precious well right if I laid the stick about your
shoulders," cried Vane, breaking the ash sapling across his knee.
"Ditto, ditto," cried Macey doing the same, and expecting an attack.
The lads looked astonished for the moment, but instead of resenting the
act, trotted on after the pony, which had continued to advance; and, as
soon as they were at a safe distance, one of them turned, put his hand
to his mouth and shouted "yah!" while the other took out his knife and
flourished it.
"Soon cut two more," he cried.
"There!" said Macey, "deal of good you've done. The pony will only get
it worse, and that's another notch they've got against you."
"Pish!" said Vane, contemptuously.
"Yes, it's all very well to say pish; but suppose you come upon them
some day when I'm not with you. Gipsies never forget, and you see if
they don't serve you out."
Vane gave him a merry look, and Macey grinned.
"I hope you will always be with me to take care of me," said Vane.
"Do my best, old fellow--do my best, little man. I say, though, do you
mean me to come and have lunch?"
"It'll be dinner to-day," said Vane.
"But won't your people mind?"
"Mind! no. Uncle and aunt both said I was to ask you to come as often
as I liked. Uncle likes you."
"No; does he?"
"Yes; says you're such a rum fellow."
"Oh!"
Macey was silent after that "oh," and the silence lasted till they
reached the manor, for Vane was thinking deeply about the quarrel that
morning; but, as the former approached the house, he felt no misgivings
about his being welcome, the doctor, who was in the garden, coming
forward to welcome him warmly, and Mrs Lee, who heard the voices,
hastening out to join them.
Ten minutes later they were at table, where Macey proved himself a
pretty good trencherman till the plates were changed and Eliza brought
in a dish and placed it before her mistress.
"Hum!" said the doctor, "only one pudding and no sweets. Why, Macey,
they're behaving shabbily to you to-day."
Aunt Hannah looked puzzled, and Vane stared.
"Is there no tart or custard, Eliza?" asked the doctor.
"Yes, sir; both coming, sir," said the maid, who was very red in the
face.
"Then what have you there?"
Eliza made an unspellable noise in her throat, snatched off the cover
from the dish, and hurried out of the room.
"Dear me!" said the doctor putting on his glasses, and looking at the
dish in which, in the midst of a quantity of brownish sauce, there was a
little island of blackish scraps, at which Aunt Hannah gazed blankly,
spoon in hand.
"What is it, my dear?" continued the doctor.
"I'm afraid, dear, it is a dish of those fungi that Vane brought in this
morning."
"Oh, I see. You will try them, Macey?"
"Well, sir, I--"
"Of course he will, uncle. Have a taste, Aleck. Give him some, aunt."
Aunt Hannah placed a portion upon their visitor's plate, and Macey was
wonderfully polite--waiting for other people to be served before he
began.
"Oh, I say, aunt, take some too," cried Vane.
"Do you wish it, my dear? Well, I will;" and Aunt Hannah helped
herself, as the doctor began to turn his portion over; and Macey thought
of poisoning, doctors, and narrow escapes, as he trifled with the
contents of his plate.
"Humph!" said the doctor breaking a painful silence. "I'm afraid, Vane,
that cook has made a mistake."
"Mistake, sir?" cried Macey, eagerly; "then you think they are not
wholesome?"
"Decidedly not," said the doctor. "I suppose these are your
chanterelles, Vane."
"Don't look like 'em, uncle."
"No, my boy, they do not. I can't find any though," said the doctor, as
he turned over his portion with his fork. "No: I was wrong."
"They are not the chanterelles then, uncle?"
"Oh, yes, my boy, they are. I was afraid that Martha had had an
accident with the fungi, and had prepared a substitute from my old
shooting boots, but I can't see either eyelet or nail. Can you?"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Aunt Hannah to her nephew; "do, pray, ring, and
have them taken away. You really should not bring in such things to be
cooked."
"No, no: stop a moment," said the doctor, as Macey grinned with delight;
"let's see first whether there is anything eatable."
"It's all like bits of shrivelled crackling," said Vane, "only harder."
"Yes," said the doctor, "much. I'm afraid Martha did not like her job,
and she has cooked these too much. No," he added, after tasting, "this
is certainly not a success. Now for the tart--that is, if our young
friend Macey has quite finished his portion."
"I haven't begun, sir," said the visitor.
"Then we will wait."
"No, no, please sir, don't. I feel as if I couldn't eat a bit."
"And I as if they were not meant to eat," said the doctor, smiling.
"Never mind, Vane; we'll get aunt to cook the rest, or else you and I
will experimentalise over a spirit lamp in the workshop, eh?"
"Yes, uncle, and we'll have Macey there, and make him do all the tasting
for being so malicious."
"Tell me when it's to be," said Macey, grinning with delight at getting
rid of his plate; "and I'll arrange to be fetched home for a holiday."