Augustus began the afternoon by a dastardly theft. Meeting a lady
of similar age and costume (three years and a short serge frock),
inordinately inflated by the possession of a small Union Jack, he
took it from her by silent force, and without the slightest change of
expression on his deadly serious countenance. When she had been reduced
to dismal shrieks on somebody’s doorstep, he marched into the Bank
and demanded a copper from the manager, who, finding him intimidating
to the last degree, hastily handed him the required sum from his own
pocket.
Larruppin’ Lyndesay’s car was standing empty in front of the “Bunch of
Acorns,” at the mercy of any marauder, and Augustus did not hesitate
a moment. Even at that age he had a cultivated taste in cars. He did
not require telling that the long, shining monster was of the best
of its kind, and therefore worthy in all respects of his attention.
Leaving the Bank with the air of a man who had paid in fully a quarter
of a million, he crossed the road, flag in hand, and climbed with some
difficulty into the front seat.
The manager came to his door to watch developments. A ribald crowd of
small boys gathered round the car, pointing out the awful penalties
certain to befall the offender when discovered; but Augustus, unmoved
as the soft spring sky above him, sat serenely on the padded seat,
swinging his small, bare legs, and clasping his pirated Jack tightly to
his bosom.
Larrupper came out presently, followed by an obsequious landlord. His
air of reckless cheerfulness seemed to have vanished completely; he
looked older and thinner, and his eyes were tired, like those of a man
who has kept anxious vigils.
“Well, good-day, Mr. Lionel!” the landlord was saying. “It’s fine
news that Mr. Christian’s going on all right. We’ve all been terribly
anxious. I’ll see about those siphons you ordered, sir, and--oh, great
snakes!”
He had caught sight of Augustus.
“If it isn’t that there limb of Satan, making free as usual with other
folks’ property! Excuse me, sir, I’ll soon get him out of this. He’s
the worst boy in the place!”
“Boy?” Larrupper queried, looking at the petticoat and the silken hair.
“Boy, sir; and worse than fifty boys together, for all he looks so
blessed saint-like. Now, Augustus, this ain’t _your_ car! You’ve got to
quit. Come along, now, like a good lad. Your ma’s wantin’ you.”
Augustus awaited his approach with complete indifference; only, when
the landlord’s nervous fingers closed round him, he opened his mouth to
such an appalling extent and with such alarming suggestiveness, that
the enemy dropped him like a live coal.
“He do yell that powerful, sir!” he explained apologetically. “You’ve
no idea! I’m feared to start him. Seems as if he would bust hisself, at
times.”
He made way for various other acquaintances of the interloper,
including the policeman, who tried both blandishment and coercion by
turn, only to be similarly baffled, watched by Larrupper, leaning
against the doorpost, with listless amusement.
“Wantin’ a ride, perhaps,” he observed at last. “Well, I’ve plenty of
time for loiterin’. I’ll take him out a mile or two, as he seems to
think the old ’bus worth patronisin’. Somebody tell his mother I’ll
look after him.”
From the tonneau he unearthed a fur rug and a muffler which he wound
round his small passenger; then, scattering the crowd, started the
engine, and climbed past Augustus into his seat.
“Happen he’ll want to get out when he feels hisself moving!” the
landlord remarked hopefully, but he did not know his man. Augustus sat
like a rock. If his face changed at all, it was merely to allow a faint
expression of pleasure to find place upon it. So he was carried away,
his curls fluttering in the wind of the car, his solemn eyes fixed
steadily in front of him.
Larrupper stopped after a short run and suggested return, but found
himself met by strong opposition. He went on again, pausing every
mile to say--“Shall we be goin’ back, now? Aren’t you gettin’ fed up,
old man? Mother will be missin’ you,----” only to have his remarks
contemptuously ignored, while the least attempt to turn the car was met
by the silent opening of the dreaded mouth.
Even touching insinuations to the effect that he was tired, that the
car was tired, that Augustus himself was tired, proved useless, and
presently he gave up the struggle. He drove on, immersed in his own
thoughts, his cap pulled gloomily to his eyes.
The long weeks in a house of sickness had left him weary both mentally
and physically, but he stayed doggedly at Crump, like a hound refusing
to leave its master’s door. His affection for Christian had struck
deeper roots during this terrible crisis, and though he could do
nothing for him, he insisted on stopping near him, worrying the nurses
with endless questions, and distracting both Nettie and Parker by
declining to eat. Occasionally he drifted up to Dockerneuk, and every
day he took bulletins to Kilne, but he could not fathom Deb’s attitude.
If he was late, she met him on the road, questioning him with a
fierceness that almost frightened him, but when his news was once told,
even at its worst, she had seemed curiously indifferent.
To-day, however, things were changed. To-day Christian had taken a big
stride, and Larrupper had seen him for the first time. The unwonted
tears still came to his eyes when he reviewed the greatness of his
relief, paired with the shock of meeting the faint shadow that was his
cousin. He had been very quiet in the sick-room, a perfect marvel of
restraint, the nurses had agreed, much as they would have agreed if a
Newfoundland’s tail had tactfully missed the china; but when he had got
himself somehow to Kilne, the restraint had vanished, and he had let
himself go. How was a chap to do otherwise when at last he saw the old
look in Deb’s eyes, and heard Roger Lyndesay, standing at his window,
say “Thank God!” as a man before a High Altar? Deb had put her hand on
his head and soothed him in the quaint, motherly way she kept for Larry
only, and for the first time he found himself able to tell her of his
other trouble that had taken the brightness out of the sun. He had been
too chilled by her strange aloofness to mention Verity before, but now
he gave her as much of the story as he loyally could, and Deborah’s
intuition told her the rest.
“You couldn’t expect to go on smoothly for ever, Larry,” she said
gently. “Life isn’t just full tide and a ripple before the wind. But
I think you’re treating this too seriously--I do indeed! Verity _is_
straight, whatever nonsense she may talk about herself; and in any
case, eleven o’clock at night isn’t a particularly clear-headed hour
for discussing a question of ethics. Verity’s very highly-strung, you
know, and she’s always a bundle of nerves after handling a village
team. Billy-boy would have sent most girls into shrieking hysterics!
You should have gone home and slept on it before saying anything. You
would both have been saner in the morning.”
“Even the mornin’ couldn’t alter facts!” Larrupper stuck to his point.
“She went out of her way to hurt a well-meanin’ chap like Grant,
playin’ him gently till he was gaspin’, an’ then pullin’ him neatly up
the bank. You can’t say that’s bein’ well brought up. An’ it’s no use
your tellin’ me that she didn’t mean it, because she assured me honest
injun that she _did_, an’ besides, I heard old Grant askin’ her myself.”
“My dear boy, Grant would have fallen in love with her in any case!”
Deb said cheerfully. “How could he help it--seeing her every day? _Any_
man would--especially with a housekeeper with a squint. Verity doesn’t
need to lay herself out to attract. She’s one of the most fascinating
people that walk. Grant’s fate was sealed from the moment he accepted
Cantacute.”
“Of course I’m not sayin’ he should have had the rotten cheek not to
like her,” Larry returned, “but I do think he’d never have got as
far as proposin’ if she hadn’t started in assistin’. Old Grant’s so
almighty honourable, an’ so amazin’ humble in his own eyes.”
“Pooh!” Deb shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I dare say he’s got his
share of vanity, like every other man--let’s hope so, anyhow. Of
course, I’m dreadfully sorry for the nice little thing, and he was a
perfect brick over that concert, but he’ll recover all right when once
you’ve got Verity safely at Arevar. After all, he’s only known her a
very short time, and he was certain to fall in love with _somebody_.
People who don’t get enough to eat are always star-gazing after
something. Privation destroys their sense of proportion. Anyhow, it’s
perfectly absurd to talk as though Verity had committed a crime. Look
at all she’s done for Cantacute! It was only likely she should rebel
when he tried to take the lead. A woman has only one natural weapon,
Larry--you can’t expect her to fight on your particular lines. You may
not like it, but for that you must blame the Power that made her. I
wonder how far _your_ superiority would get you without brute force to
back you up in a hole! I think you’re a pig to be hard on Verity. Who
was it said he’d be waiting to console her when she discovered that
life wasn’t all beer and skittles? You’ve a short memory, my friend. I
don’t believe you love her one atom, so now you know my candid opinion
and can go away home!”
“I _do_! But she led him on----” Larry repeated doggedly, whereupon she
took him by the shoulders and put him out.
“I’d shake you if such a thing were possible!” she said. “You’re an
ungrateful, hidebound heathen! Now, see here. You can run over to
Heron with these handkerchiefs, and if you dare to come back without
making your peace with Verity, you needn’t show your face at Kilne
again. Oh, Larry, Larry!” her voice followed him to the gate, as he
went obediently. “Just be thankful she’s alive and loves you--not lying
crushed under a cruel tree or broken to bits by a clumsy brute! How
much would you care _then_ for a dozen misguided Pierrot parsons?”
But it was not until he was close at Crump once more that the true
inwardness of this speech dawned upon him.
Well, he and the handkerchiefs were on their way to Heron, but Heaven
alone knew what he would do when he got there. Not apologise, anyhow.
He might be a stupid sort of chap, but at least he knew what was
straight an’ what wasn’t, an’ he couldn’t say it was all my eye an’
Betty Martin when he was still blushin’ over what she’d done. It was a
sickenin’ business an’ very tryin’--tiresome, old Savaury would say.
He was passing Tasser at the time, and round the bend he came on
Savaury himself, industriously sprinkling the March dust with a large
watering-can. He was so astonished that he pulled up dead, or Savaury
would certainly not have recognised him, with his cap on his nose and a
companion of such tender years at his side.
“Where on earth did you pick that up?” he exclaimed, in his amazement
allowing the watering-can to expend itself upon his own boots. “And
where the dickens are you taking it, either?”
“I didn’t pick it up,” Larry answered gloomily. “It picked _me_ up.
And I’m not takin’ it. It’s takin’ itself. I’m allowed in the car on
sufferance, merely because I know a bit about drivin’. I say, hadn’t
you better be goin’ in an’ changin’ your boots?”
Savaury passed the insinuation scornfully, though he moved the can,
and put the question to which Larry had already grown so used. “How is
Christian?” he asked.
“Oh, gettin’ a move on at last, thanks very much! I saw him this
mornin’ for a few minutes. A bit gone to seed, of course, but they
tell me they’ll soon have him bloomin’. Had a narrow shave of goin’
out--poor old Laker!”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Savaury was obviously relieved. “Very glad! It’s
so tiresome when one’s friends are ill. One quivers every time the
bell rings. And Petronilla’s always coming in with false reports. She
collects them in the village--like measles. I haven’t had a meal in
peace since the poor young thing was damaged. One was never sure when
one might have to jump up and pull down the blinds.”
“I’ll wring your neck if you don’t stop jawin’, you callous little
blighter!” Larry flung at him, leaning forward threateningly, and
Savaury went pink and looked haughty; then came closer and put a hand
on the car, his tone changing.
“That’s all right, my dear boy. It’s only my tiresome way of putting
things. I’m more glad than I can say that he’s better. He’s a good lad,
and he’d be a loss to Crump.”
“If you’d seen him, this mornin’, as white as washin’ an’ as thin as a
window!” poor Larry got out with difficulty. “I don’t feel like jokin’
about it yet.”
“I’m not joking, Lionel. If I talk nonsense, it’s because I’m so
exceedingly relieved. I’ve known Christian since he was a little
blue-eyed morsel afraid to open his mouth before his mother. I used
to be terribly sorry for him--he seemed so lonely. He was always glad
to get away from Crump, and--I’ll tell you something--one day I stole
him! We had him at Tasser all day, Petronilla and I, and he played
with all Petronilla’s account-books, and had a steeple-chase over the
drawing-room furniture, and an auction of the old prints and the china.
We’ve a broken bit of Dresden in a glass case, that we still call
‘Christian’s Catastrophe.’ Petronilla won’t have it thrown away. I’m
very glad for Petronilla’s sake that the boy’s improving. Perhaps now I
shall be able to get her to sleep without having to count sheep for her
all night.”
“Have you seen Verity lately?” he added, stepping back. “_She’s_ been
weighing on my mind, too--she looks so depressed and--to tell the
truth--_cross_. I offered to send her a song, the other day, and she
actually said she hated music, and never wanted to sing a note again.
So tiresome when quite nice young people grow up ill-tempered and rude!”
“Perhaps she wasn’t feelin’ well,” Larrupper replied, his old loyalty
driving him to her defence. “I’m goin’ over to see her, now. No
message, I suppose?”
“Oh, my love, of course. My love!” Savaury responded loftily. “At least
she’s never refused that, _yet_, though there’s no knowing what she’ll
come to. And you can bring hers back--if you’ve any to spare!”
He smiled joyfully as Larry coloured to the eyes, convinced that with
him lay the clue to Verity’s “tiresome” behaviour, and sprinkled a
shower of blessing as the car moved forward. Then he went in to tell
Petronilla about Christian.
Augustus had sat still as the Sphinx through this interview, and
indeed Larry had forgotten him completely, until a finely-modelled
little hand crept presently into his line of vision, and planted firm
little fingers on the steering-wheel. He found himself staring at it
as if fascinated--it was so soft and round, so dimpled, and so--small.
The arm peeping from the muffler was soft and round too; it seemed
ridiculous that it should ever grow an iron bunch of muscle like his
own, handle a heavy car, or send a man to destruction by a wrestler’s
chip. Yet Laker had been such another as this mite--Savaury remembered
him, and had cherished an old pot for his sake; even he himself,
even _he_ had been a lovable little child once. It was queer how the
little beggars got round you, how out of proportion they made other
things appear, the little petty things which seemed so huge when you
brooded about them in your silly head. It was good for a man to have
to look after one of them--stopped him worrying about his own idiotic
troubles. It would be jolly to have one always at hand, he thought.
They were so attractive, too. That absurd arm--he was ashamed to find
himself wanting to stoop his head and put his lips to it. The fierce
ache in his heart lessened. Something tolerant and tender stirred in
his breast. Perhaps he _had_ been hard on Verity, after all. Savaury
had said she was cross, and that was a sure sign she was unhappy. It
was no use telling himself that she deserved to be--the fact that she
was miserable hurt him none the less. What had the frantic tragedy
been about, after all? Old Grant? Well, why in Hades shouldn’t old
Grant dree his weird like every other earth-bound brute? It was cruel
to think that Verity might be acutely unhappy. Why, she might even be
crying! His foot went to the accelerator. He had never seen her cry for
herself. It didn’t bear thinking of. Oh, why hadn’t he spoken to her
more gently! She was only a little thing, and so dear. There was nobody
like her in the whole world.
Rattling up to Heron door, he saw Verity on the lawn, and checked by
the big beech. When she recognised him she turned and walked quickly
away; and then just as quickly turned and walked back again. Augustus’
expression changed definitely; this time in the direction of annoyance.
“Mother is downstairs, if you would like to see her,” she said
politely. “Is that your latest thing in mascots? I hope the Cruelty man
isn’t on your track?”
“You’re a bit insultin’,” Larry observed distantly. “This trustin’
gentleman commandeered the car in Crump. He’s not takin’ any harm at
present, though I dare say he’d like a piece of cake or somethin’,
wouldn’t you, old man? I’ve brought you a note from Debbie an’ a rather
squabby thing in parcels.”
“Oh, the handkerchiefs, I suppose? All right. I’ll fetch the kiddie
some cake. Don’t trouble to get out unless you’re going in. Just throw
them over.”
“I’m not in the habit of throwin’ things either to or at ladies,” Larry
replied rather stiffly, climbing out. “An’ now I come to think of it,
you haven’t asked any charmin’ questions about Christian.”
“I don’t need to. I cycled to Crump, this morning, to inquire, and had
quite a long talk with Mrs. Stanley. We’ve sent over every day, of
course. I’m so delighted he’s on the right road, at last.”
“You came away without lettin’ me know?” Larry asked incredulously.
“You were actually in Crump, talkin’ to Nettie, without so much as
askin’ to see me? I must say you have a fetchin’ friendly way of doin’
things!”
“Well, but, Larry, one doesn’t call at a house for bulletins, and ask
to see a man who really ought to be living somewhere else altogether.
Besides,” she went on, in a lower tone, “I wasn’t sure you would care
to meet me. I knew--Lionel--wouldn’t, anyhow.”
“Lionel wants shootin’!” Larrupper observed thickly, very red and
embarrassed, kicking the front tyre nervously. “It’s all been Lionel’s
muddlin’ from beginnin’ to end--the grousin’, interferin’ blighter! He
gets attacks of thinkin’ he knows better than anybody else, an’ starts
makin’ himself a blatant, rampin’ nuisance. I’ve brought him over by
the scruff of his neck to lick your boots; but of course, as I keep
tellin’ him, he can’t expect to find you very forgivin’. Still, there’s
just the chance you’ll stretch the hand of blessin’ on Larry’s account.
Larry’s an ass, but he’s very well-meanin’, an’ if you can see your way
to lookin’ over things for his sake, I’ll promise you that skunk Lionel
shan’t ever get rampin’ round any more. I hope you’ll think it over,
an’ give us both a chance.”
There was a long pause; and then, just as she made an effort to
speak, Augustus, reaching too far in a vain endeavour to persuade the
steering-wheel to continue his journey, fell heavily to the floor.
Larrupper spun round on the instant and snatched him up, taking him in
his arms and soothing him with a skill very surprising in a young man
whose solicitude had hitherto been mainly expended upon motors. Verity
listened in amazement to nursery endearments apparently quite at home
on his lips, and a faint smile, first amused and then tender, came to
her own. This was certainly Larry in a new light.
“I’ll fetch the cake,” she remarked, turning hastily to the house, and
added, “Poor little man!” as Augustus resumed his seat, stooping to
kiss his tear-stained cheek. He looked so like a newly-escaped cherub,
with his solemn eyes and curling hair.
But Augustus hated women. He liked men-things with strong arms that
could hold you without hurting you, and send shining monsters along
the road at a deliriously exciting speed. Glancing at her stolidly, he
lifted a chubby hand and slapped her face. The next moment she was in
Larrupper’s arms, with her injured cheek against his coat. Augustus
stared solemnly at the gravel.
* * * * *
“Seems almost as if he’d been sent on purpose,” Larry observed
presently, when at last they found time to attend to him again, “though
I’m not sayin’ he has a very elegant way of mendin’ things. Still, it’s
not for Larry Lyndesay to be findin’ fault with the gods. Run along in
for the grub, darlin’. It’s astonishin’ how we keep forgettin’ the poor
little chap!”
“Old Savaury sent you his love,” he went on, when she came out again.
“The dear old fuss-bird was soothin’ the dust with a sprinkler. He
seemed hurt in his mind because you’d given up singin’. You might write
askin’ for a song or two--he’s worth cultivatin’. How’s Billy-boy?” he
added suddenly, stooping to start his engine.
“He came and apologised. He was--oh, Larry!--almost broken-hearted.
I--what a heartless wretch I’ve been!”
“You’re my sweet sweetin’,” Larry answered tenderly, “an’ that’s all
you need get botherin’ about at present. I must take this blusterin’
pirate home to his mother, but I’m comin’ back this evenin’, so don’t
you go runnin’ to church or any nonsense of that kind. An’ when we’ve
settled our own future moorin’s, we’ll see what we can do for Debbie
an’ old Laker.”
“I’m very much afraid we can’t do anything,” Verity said sadly.
“There’s something there I don’t understand, and the only person who is
in the least likely to know is most certainly not in the least likely
to help. I mean Mr. Callander.”
“Why not, old dear?”
“Because he’s in love with Deborah himself.”
Larry whistled with understanding as he scrambled to his seat.
“So there’s another broken heart goin’ beggin’?” he observed
cheerfully. “It’s gettin’ to be quite the fashion, isn’t it, darlin’?
I’m sure I hope it’s consolin’ to old Grant!”
“Oh, Larry!” Verity smiled reproachfully, and went round to bid
Augustus good-bye.
“Shake hands, Mr. Cupid!” she coaxed. And Augustus shook hands.
* * * * *
The car whirred back through Crump to the pink-washed house, where the
passenger actually allowed himself to be discharged without demur. His
mother, murmuring embarrassed thanks, was at a loss to understand why
Mr. Lionel should regard her erring son so tenderly. “You’ll be the
death of me!” she remarked despairingly, as the car slid away. And for
the first time that afternoon, Augustus smiled.