TEDDY'S BANISHMENT
Teddy slipped in like a ghost. That is, as far as noise was concerned.
If he could also have had the other ghostly quality of being invisible,
it would have suited him to a dot.
He drew out his chair and was about to sit down, when his father lifted
his hand.
"Stop!" he said, and there was a tone in his voice that was not often
heard. "You don't sit down at this table to-night."
Teddy stared at him, mortified and abashed. With all eyes turned toward
him, he felt as though he would like to sink through the floor.
"I mean it," said his father. "Go straight to your room and stay there.
I'll have something to say to you later on. But before you go, I want
you to apologize to your Uncle Aaron for the danger you put him in this
afternoon."
Teddy turned toward his uncle, and the sour smile he saw on the latter's
thin lips made him almost hate his relative.
"Of course, I'm sorry," he blurted out sullenly. "I told him so, down at
the bridge. He knows well enough, that I didn't mean----"
"That will do now," interrupted his father. "There's no need of adding
impudence to your other faults."
Teddy took his hand from the back of the chair and started for the hall,
after one despairing glance at the table.
"But, Father----" ventured Fred.
"Wouldn't it be enough to make him go without dessert?" interposed Mrs.
Rushton. "Can't you let him have at least a piece of bread and butter?
The child's health, you know----"
"Well," hesitated Mr. Rushton. But he caught sight of the sarcastic grin
on Aaron's face.
"No," he went on more firmly, "he can't have a thing. It won't hurt his
health to go without his supper for once. No, nothing at all!"
"Except what Agnes or Fred may slip to him later on," put in Aaron, with
a disagreeable smile.
"Mansfield's wish is law in this house, and Fred would not go against
his father's will," answered Mrs. Rushton, with a coldness that for a
moment silenced her brother-in-law and wiped the smile from his face.
Old Martha, over in one corner, glowered with indignation.
"Cantankerous ole skinflint," she muttered under her breath. "Dey ain't
never nuffin' but trouble when dat man comes inter dis house. Sittin'
dere, stuffin' hisself, while dat po' lam' upstairs is starvin' ter def.
I on'y hopes one of dem chicken bones sticks in his froat. It'd be do
Lo'd's own jedgment on 'im."
But Martha's wishes were not realized, and Aaron finished his supper
without suffering from any visitation of Providence. In fact, he had
seldom enjoyed a meal more. It was one of Martha's best, and, to any one
that knew that good woman's ability in the culinary line, that meant a
great deal. Then, too, Teddy, was in disgrace, and the discomfort he had
suffered that afternoon was in a fair way to be atoned for. He was not
by any means willing to let it rest at that, and he figured on putting
another spoke in the wheel of that young man's fortunes.
But, if Aaron had enjoyed his meal, nobody else had.
Mr. Rushton was wondering whether he had not been too severe. Mrs.
Rushton, on the verge of tears, was sure he had. And Fred, who had been
thinking all the time of poor Teddy, agreed with her.
That morning, their home had been one of the happiest in Oldtown.
To-night, every inmate was thoroughly miserable, except their guest.
Why was it, Mrs. Rushton wondered, that trouble always came with Aaron?
Never had he come except to her regret, and never had he left without a
sigh of heartfelt relief on the part of every member of the family. He
was a shadow on the hearth, a spectre at the feast.
He was not without good qualities, and plenty of them. In the community
where he lived, he was highly respected. He was upright and
square-dealing, and nobody could say that Aaron Rushton had ever
wilfully done him a wrong.
But, though everybody esteemed him, there were few who really liked him.
His was not a nature to inspire affection. He was too rigid and severe.
The "milk of human kindness" had either been left out of his
composition, or, at best, it had changed to buttermilk. Whenever one
brushed against him, he was conscious of sharp edges. He was as full of
quills as the "fretful porcupine," and always ready to let them fly.
With young people especially, he had little sympathy. Although as far
apart as the poles in many things, he and Jed Muggs were absolutely at
one in this--their utter disapproval of boys.
Fred and Teddy had always felt in his presence that they ought to
apologize for being alive.
But, if Aaron did not go so far as that, he at least resented the fact
that they were so very much alive. Their noise offended him, and their
pranks irritated him. Their boisterousness got on his nerves.
The bringing up of the boys had always been a bone of contention between
Aaron and their parents. If their birth, in Aaron's view, had been a
misfortune, the way they were reared was nothing less than an outrage.
He never tired of storming at what he regarded as the lax and careless
way in which the boys were allowed to do largely as they pleased. He
magnified and distorted their boyish scrapes, until he had really
convinced himself that they were headed straight for destruction, unless
brought up with a round turn.
As a matter of fact, with all their faults, there were no finer boys in
Oldtown.
Mr. and Mrs. Rushton, although conscious that they were perhaps a little
too easy going, had always defended their methods good-naturedly. What
especially irritated Aaron was their calm assumption that he did not
know what he was talking about, because he had no children of his own,
and their sly thrusts at the perfection of "bachelors' children" made
him "froth at the mouth."
To-night, though, he had rather the advantage.
So he had been an old crank, had he? He hadn't known what he was talking
about! He had made too much of the boys' little foibles! Well, what did
they have to say now, now that through their younger son's
tomfoolishness, his pigheadedness, his criminal carelessness, his--there
were so many good words that Aaron hardly knew which to choose, but
lingered lovingly over them all--he had come within a hair's breadth of
causing his uncle's death. Perhaps now they'd listen to his opinions
with the respect they deserved.
The argument was with him for once, beyond a doubt. He had the whip
hand, and he fairly reveled in his opportunity. In his heart, he was
almost thankful to Teddy for having given him this advantage over the
parents.
They, on their part, were sad and mostly silent. They had really been
greatly shocked by the serious results that might have followed this
latest prank of Teddy's. They realized, however, the lack of malicious
motive behind the act, and they knew that Aaron was failing to take this
into account as much as he ought to have done.
They were at a disadvantage, too, from the fact that Aaron was their
guest, and Mr. Rushton's brother. If they defended Teddy too strongly,
it would seem to be making light of Aaron's danger and possible death.
So, with almost a clear field before him, their guest used his advantage
to the full, and rumbled on to his heart's content.
Mrs. Rushton, however, did what she could.
"You must admit, Aaron," she ventured, "that Teddy might have lied about
it, but didn't. He didn't let you think that somebody else had done it,
but owned up, even before you asked him. Give him that much credit,
anyway."
"Ye-e-s," admitted Aaron slowly. He was a truthful man himself, and
respected the quality in others.
"Yes," he repeated, "that was all right, as far as it went. But," he
went on, as though regretting his momentary weakness in making any
concession to a criminal of the deepest dye, "what good would his
telling the truth have done, if I'd been lying at the foot of the hill
with a broken neck? Answer me that."
As poor Mrs. Rushton could not think of any real benefit that could have
come to Aaron under such unfortunate conditions, she was forced to
abandon the attack, leaving the enemy in possession of the field.