FEAR OF RIDICULE.
AFTER a drive of less than two miles, the boys arrived at Anderdon
Hull, and received a kindly welcome from Sir Hugh. They looked with
some awe and reverence on his tall, commanding figure; there was
something in his quick, decisive manner which impressed the minds of
his young guests, who, though they had often seen him before, had not
hitherto had an opportunity of conversing with him. His fine hall was
hung with banners, and adorned with old weapons and armour; and when
Sir Hugh pointed out arquebus and halberd, and talked of his ancestors,
and the battles in which they had fought, Willy silently decided in his
own mind that, Cœur de Lion must have looked like Sir Hugh.
A good deal of fear was, however, mixed with his admiration; he had
too frequent occasion to remark at dinner how his host's good-humoured
expression could in a moment change; the knight was domineering with
the servants, impatient and irritable, while the least opposition made
his dark eye flash, and the colour mount up even to his forehead. Tom
was more attracted by Ned Moncton, the son of Sir Hugh, a slight,
elegant youth, with less fire than his father, but a dry, sarcastic
manner about him, which made the smile of the one almost as much to be
feared as the frown of the other.
The conversation at table astonished the young Gores, and yet
they could not help feeling amused by it. Stories of hunting,
steeple-chases, betting, and gambling followed one another in rapid
succession. Sir Hugh talked loud, and filled his glass so often, that
Willy looked in wonder at the emptied bottle. When a story from the
knight concluded with an oath, Willy felt startled and looked at his
brother; but Tom was laughing aloud at the fun of the adventure, and
the young boy dared not show that he felt shocked.
When the meal was almost concluded, the boys were surprised by hearing
the heavy sound of a railway train, and then to see the long line of
carriages hurried on by the puffing engine, so near to the knight's
house, that they fancied that the windows rattled with the vibration.
Tom wondered that the line should pass so near, and thus a subject
was touched which roused all the fire in the spirit of their host.
He struck his fist on the table, upsetting a glass, and entered into
a loud excited account of all that he had done, and all that he had
wished to do, to prevent such an unheard-of annoyance—concluding, in
language with which I shall not soil my pages, by declaring that all
might have been well if it had not been for that fellow Manners, a
mean, sneaking attorney, who, added the knight with an oath, "shall
live to repent it yet!"
"Has Mr. Manners a nephew?" whispered Willy to Ned.
"Yes," replied Ned, with a contemptuous smile. "A poor apology for a
boy, a pitiful creature who drives about the lanes in a chaise drawn
by a donkey. As he has neither strength nor spirit to beat the beast,
it walks quietly along, cropping the thistles as it goes. I tried one
day with my dogs to improve the pace, and see if I could rouse the
miserable little fellow, who is as timid as a hare, to try a good blow
with one of his crutches. 'Twas lucky for him that he was near his
home; I never had such fun in my life."
Ned's laugh was but faintly echoed by Tom. Willy felt the blood mount
to his temples, but was silent.
"Now come, let us be off to the billiard-table," cried Ned, and
the boys quitted the dining-room. They both enjoyed the amusement
exceedingly, and Tom made one or two fortunate hits, which put him into
very high spirits. Then Ned showed them the curiosities of the house,
and amongst others some very old manuscripts, of the time of the war of
the Roses.
"How faint and brown the letters have become," observed Willy. "They
look like writing in milk!"
"In milk," exclaimed Ned. "Why, you could not see that at all, it would
be just the same colour as the paper."
"So it is," replied Willy. "You could not know that anything was
written, until you hold the paper to the fire."
"That's curious. I never heard of that before. It would be a capital
thing for a secret correspondence. Let's try it. I will ask Mrs.
Simmons for some milk, and see if you can make out what I write."
"Where are we to find a fire in midsummer?" observed Willy.
"Oh I go into the study there—there is wood ready laid, and matches you
will find on the mantelpiece."
"And paper?"
"There are plenty of old envelopes and scraps lying about; there—make
haste, I will be back before you can get up a blaze."
"Can you not find another piece of paper, Tom?" said Willy, as upon his
knees he was trying to coax up a flame. "This wood must be damp, it
will not burn."
"Here!" cried Tom, flinging him a handful. "How Sir Hugh throws his
papers about!"
"Have you looked into the envelopes to see that they are all empty?"
"Oh! They're empty enough," replied Tom carelessly. "There, that funny
green one has done the business. We shall have a brisk fire in a
moment!"
Ned now returned with a sheet of apparently blank paper, and with a
smile of curiosity spread it before the now flaming wood. Gradually
brown letters appeared on the surface, and Tom spelt out the words:
"Why is Percy Manners like a deal table?
He stands upon four legs, a heavy look wears,
And all that is put on him quietly bears."
"I say, Tom," cried Ned, after a hearty laugh—at his own poor wit, "I
think that your brother is so stupid that he does not see the joke!"
"No, I don't," muttered Willy, turning towards the window; then he
suddenly added, "I understand it, if you mean that, but—but—"
"Oh! I did not call for an explanation," cried Ned, with a little of
the temper of his father. "Maybe you had better keep your thoughts to
yourself. Tom, let us visit the kennel, you have not been there." And
flinging the paper into the fire, the youth quitted the apartment with
his companions.
[Illustration]