"I Seem to have so many things to worry me," thought Frank. "Any one
would think that in a place like this without lessons or studies there
would be no unpleasantries; but as soon as I've got the better of one,
another comes to worry me."
This was in consequence of the invitation for the following Monday. His
mind was pretty well at ease about his confidential talk with his
father; but he was nervous and uncomfortable about the visit to the
club, and several times over he was on the point of getting leave to go
across to Sir Robert to ask his opinion as to whether he ought to go.
"I can't go and bother my mother about such a thing as that," he mused.
"I ought to be old enough now to be able to decide which is right and
which is wrong. Drew thinks and talks like a man, while it seems to me
that I'm almost a child compared to him.
"Well, let's try. Ought I to go, or ought I not? There can't be any
harm to me in going. There may be some friends of Drew's whom I shan't
like; but if there are I needn't go again. It's childish, when I want
to become more manly, to shrink from going into society, like a great
girl.--I'll go. If there's any harm in it, the harm is likely to be to
Drew, and--yes, of course; I could save him from getting into trouble.
"Then I ought to go," he said to himself decisively, and he felt at
ease, troubling himself little more about the matter, but going through
his extremely easy duties of waiting in the anteroom, bearing letters
and messages from one part of the Palace to the other, and generally
looking courtly as a royal page.
Then the Monday came, with Andrew Forbes in the highest of spirits, and
ready to chat about the country, his friend's life at Winchester, and to
make plans for running down to see them when his father and mother went
out of town.
"I don't believe you'd like it if you did come," said Frank.
"Oh yes, I should. Why not?"
"Because you'd find some of the lanes muddy, and the edges of the roads
full of brambles. You wouldn't care to see the bird's and squirrels and
hedgehogs, nor the fish in the river, nor the rabbits and hares."
"Why, those are all things that I am dying to see in their natural
places. I wish you would not think I am such a macaroni. Why, after
the way in which you have gone on about the country, isn't it natural
that I should want to see more of it?"
He kept on in this strain to such an extent that, instead of convincing
his companion, he overdid it, and set him wondering.
"I don't understand him a bit," he said to himself; "and I wish he
wouldn't keep on calling me my dear fellow and slapping me on the back.
I never saw him so wild and excitable before."
The lad's musings were interrupted to his great disgust by Andrew coming
behind him with the very act and words which had annoyed him. For he
started and turned angrily upon receiving a sounding slap between the
shoulders.
"Why, Frank, my dear fellow," cried Andrew, "what ails you? Hallo! eyes
flashing lightning and brow heavy with thunder. Has the gentle,
shepherd-like swain from the country got a temper of his own?"
"Of course I have," cried the boy angrily. "Why don't you let it lie
quiet, and not wake it up by doing that!"
"Is the temper like a surly dog, then?" cried Andrew, laughing
mockingly. "Will it bite?"
"Yes, if you tease it too much," snapped out Frank.
"Oh, horrible! You alarm me!" cried Andrew, bounding away in mock
dread.
"Don't be a fool!" cried Frank angrily; and the tone and gesture which
accompanied the request sobered Andrew in a moment, though his eyes
looked his surprise that the boy whom he patronised with something very
much like contempt could be roused up into showing so much strength of
mind.
"What's the matter, Frank boy?" he said quietly; "eaten something that
hasn't agreed with you?"
"No," said the boy sharply. "I haven't eaten it--I can't swallow it."
"Eh? What do you mean? What is it?"
"You," said Frank shortly.
"Oh!" said Andrew, raising his eyebrows a little and staring at him
hard; "and pray how is it you can't swallow me?"
"Because you will keep going on in this wild, stupid way, and treating
me as if I were some stupid boy whom you meant to make your butt."
"What, to-day?"
"Yes, and yesterday, and the day before that, and last week, and--and
ever since I've been here."
"Then why didn't you tell me of it if I did, like a gentleman should,
and not call me a fool?"
"I didn't; I said don't be a fool."
"Same thing. You insulted me."
"Well, you've insulted me dozens of times."
"And amongst gentlemen, sir," continued Andrew haughtily, and ignoring
the other's words, "these things mean a meeting. Gentlemen don't wear
swords for nothing. They have their honour to defend. Do you
understand?"
"Oh yes, I understand," said Frank warmly. "I haven't been behind the
trees in the big field at Winchester a dozen times perhaps without
knowing what that means."
"Pish!" said Andrew contemptuously; "schoolboys' squabbles settled with
fists. Black eyes, bruised knuckles, and cut lips."
"Well, schoolboys don't wear swords," cried Frank, who was by no means
quelled. "I learned fencing, and I dare say I could use mine properly.
I've fenced with my father in the holidays many a time."
"Then I shall send a friend to you, sir," said Andrew fiercely.
"You mean an enemy," said Frank grimly.
"A friend, sir--a friend," said Andrew haughtily; "and you can name your
own."
"No, I can't, and I shouldn't make such a fool of myself," cried Frank
defiantly.
"You are very free, sir, with your fools," cried Andrew. "Such language
as this is not fitted for the anteroom in the Palace."
"I suppose I may call myself a fool if I like."
"When you are alone, sir, if you think proper, but not in my presence.
Perhaps you will have the goodness to name your friend now; it will save
time and trouble."
Frank looked at his companion sharply.
"Then you mean to fight?"
"Yes, sir, I mean to chastise this insolence."
"They wouldn't let us cross swords within the Palace grounds."
"Pooh! No paltry excuses and evasions, sir," cried Andrew, in whose
thin cheeks a couple of red spots appeared. "Of course we could not
hold a meeting here. But there is the Park. I see, though. Big words,
and now the dog that was going to bite is putting his tail between his
legs, and is ready to run away."
"Is he?" said Frank sharply, and a curiously stubborn look came into his
face. "Don't you be too sure of that. But, anyhow, I'm not going to
cross swords with you in real earnest."
"I thought so. You are afraid that I should pink you."
"Who's afraid?"
"Bah!" cried Andrew contemptuously. "You are."
"Oh, am I?" growled Frank. "Look here; I'm sure my father wouldn't like
me to fight you with swords, whether you pinked me as you call it, or I
wounded you."
"Pish! Frank Gowan, you are a poltroon."
"Perhaps so; but look here, Andrew Forbes, you've often made me want to
hit you when you've been so bounceable and patronising. Now, we were
going to see your friend to-night--"
"We are going to see my friend to-night, sir. Even if gentlemen have an
affair, they keep their words."
"If they can, and are fit to show themselves. I'm not going to that
place with you this evening, though I had got leave to go out. You can
go afterwards if you like; but if you'll come anywhere you like, where
we shan't be stopped, I'll try and show you, big as you are, that I'm
not a coward."
"Very well. I dare say we can find a place. But your sword is shorter
than mine. You must wear my other one."
"Rubbish! I'm not going to fight with swords!" cried Frank.
"What! you mean pistols?"
"I mean fists."
In Honour's Cause.
"Pah! like schoolboys or people in the mob."
"I shan't fight with anything else," said Frank stubbornly.
"You shall, sir. Now, then, name your friend."
"Can't; he wouldn't go. He's such a hot, peppery fellow too."
"Then he is as big a coward as you are."
"Look here," said Frank, almost in a whisper. "I don't know so much as
you do about what we ought to do here, but I suppose it means a lot of
trouble; and if it does I can't help it, but if you call me a coward
again I'll hit you straight in the face."
"Coward then!" cried Andrew, in a sharp whisper. "Now hit me, if you
dare."
As he spoke he drew himself up to his full height, threw out his chest,
and folded his arms behind him.
Quick as thought Frank doubled his fist, and as he drew back his arm
raised his firm white knuckles to a level with his shoulder, and then
reason checked him, and he stood looking darkly into his fellow-page's
eyes.
"I knew it," cried the latter--"a coward; and your friend is worse than
you, or you wouldn't have chosen him."
"Oh! don't you abuse him," said Frank, with his face brightening; and
his eyes shone with the mirth which had suddenly taken the place of his
anger.
"What! do you dare to mock me?" cried Andrew.
"No; only it seemed so comic. You know, I've only had one friend since
I've been here. How could I ask you?"
For a _few_ moments Andrew stood gazing at him, as if hardly knowing how
to parry this verbal thrust, and then the look which had accompanied it
did its work.
"I say," he said, in an altered tone, "this is very absurd."
"Yes, isn't it?" said Frank. "I never thought we two were going to have
such a row."
"But you called me a fool."
"Didn't! But you did call me a coward. Ha--ha! and yourself too. But,
I say, Drew, you don't think I'm a coward, do you?"
Andrew made no reply.
"Because I don't think I am," continued Frank. "I always hated to have
to fight down yonder. And as soon as we began I always felt afraid of
hurting the boy I fought with; but directly he hit out and hurt me I
forgot everything, and I used to go on hammering away till I dropped,
and had to give in because he was too much for me, and I hadn't strength
to go on hammering any more. But somehow," he added thoughtfully, and
with simple sincerity in his tones, "I never even then felt as if I was
beaten, though of course I was."
"But you used to beat sometimes?" said Andrew quietly.
"Oh yes, often; I generally used to win. I've got such a hard head and
such bony knuckles. But, I say, you don't think I should be afraid to
fight, do you?"
"I'm sure you wouldn't be," cried Andrew, with animation, "and--and,
there I beg your pardon for treating you as I have and for calling you a
coward. It was a lie, Frank, and--will you shake hands?"
There was a rapid movement, and this time the boy's fist flew out, but
opened as it went and grasped the thin white hand extended toward him.
"I say, don't please; you hurt," said Andrew, screwing up his face.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried the boy. "I didn't mean to grip so hard.
I say, though, is it as the officers say to the soldiers?"
"What do you mean?" said Andrew wonderingly.
"As you were?"
"Of course. I'm sure our fathers never quarrelled and fought, and I
swear we never will."
"That's right," cried Frank.
"And I never felt as if I liked you half so much as I do now. Why,
Frank, old fellow, you seem as if you had suddenly grown a year older
since we began to quarrel."
"Do I?" said the boy, laughing. "I am glad. No, I don't think I am.
But, I say, we mustn't quarrel often then, for I shall grow old too
soon."
"I said we'd never quarrel again," said Andrew seriously; "and somehow
you are really a good deal older than I have thought. But, I say, we
must go and meet Mr Selby to-night."
"Oh yes, of course; and I shall always stand by and stop you in case you
turn peppery to any one else, and stop you from righting him."
"If it was in a right cause you would not."
"I shouldn't?"
"No; I believe you would help me, and be ready to draw on my behalf."
Frank turned to the speaker with a thoughtful, far-off look in his eyes,
as if he were gazing along the vista of the future at something
happening far away.
"I hope that will never come," he said quietly, "for when I used to
fight with my fists, as I said, I always forgot what I was about. How
would it be if I held a drawn sword?"
"You would use it as a gentleman, a soldier, and a man of honour
should," said Andrew warmly.
"Should I?" said Frank sadly.
"Yes, I am sure you would."