The day after we went fishing, and got fourteen trout, I had early
breakfast and rode Little Nell over to Harrisbridge and played pool with
Nate Golden, whose dad has the livery stable, all morning. We had dinner at
the inn, and when I got back it was nearly three o'clock. Tommy, the stable
boy, told me as I rode in that Twigg had left word he wanted to see me when
I got back. Well, I didn't want to see him. So I went in the kitchen way
and up the back stairs to my room. When I opened the door there was Twigg,
sitting in the rocker with the books all spread out on the center table.
"Hello," he said. "I'm making myself at home, you see. We're a bit late
with lessons, Raymond, so I thought we might have them up here; then we
won't interfere with your father's writing."
"I don't know 'em," I said.
"I'm afraid you haven't studied them. Never mind; when you get your boots
off we'll go over them together. Here, hold them up. There's no use
bothering with jacks when you've got some one to pull them off for you."
I let him do it. He sort of takes you by surprise sometimes and you don't
know just what to say or do. Afterwards I threw myself onto the bed and
lighted a cigarette. Twigg looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
"Don't smoke while lessons are going on, please," he said.
"Will if I like," I said.
"I'm afraid I can't have that."
"Well, if you don't like it you can lump it." But just the same I kept a
sharp eye on him.
"Well, you're the host up here," he answered calmly. "I suppose I must
consider that." Then what did he do but take out that reeking briar pipe of
his, ram it full of nasty strong tobacco and begin to smoke! "One thing at
a time, eh? We'll have a quiet smoke first and lessons afterwards. Tell me
what you've been doing."
"None of your darned business," I said warmly.
"I suppose it isn't." He took up a book, one of Marryat's, crossed his legs
and began to read. Gee! how that old pipe smelled! I laid on the bed and
watched him blowing big gray clouds out under the corner of his mustache.
When I'd smoked three cigarettes he looked over at me.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No, I'm not ready."
"Let me know when you are," he said. Then he filled the pipe again and went
on reading. After a bit I crawled off the bed. My head felt funny, and I
was almost choking with the smoke. He laid down the book and looked up at
me.
"Shall we begin?" he asked.
"I don't care what you do," I growled. "I'm going outdoors."
"Not yet," said he. He got up and locked the door and put the key in his
pocket. "You forget the lesson."
"You let me out, darn you!" I yelled. "I'm not going to study. You can keep
me here all night and I won't study. You see if I do!"
"Don't be silly," he said, just as though he were talking to a kid. "You
and I are going over those lessons if it takes to-night and to-morrow and
the rest of the week. When you're ready to begin let me know; I shan't ask
you again." And then he went back to that book.
After a while it began to get darkish. I went back to the bed and tried to
sleep, but I couldn't. I could have killed Twigg; but there wasn't any way
to do it. He kept on reading and smoking. About six o'clock he said:
"This is quite a yarn, isn't it? Somehow I never seemed to find time for
Marryat when I was a boy. You've read this, of course?"
"Yes," I muttered.
"Like it?"
"Yes."
"What's your favorite book?"
"I dunno; Froissart, I guess."
"Yes, that's a good one. Ever read 'Treasure Island'?"
"No; who's it by?"
"Stevenson; know him at all?"
"Did he write 'Tower of London' and those things?"
"No, he didn't. He wrote 'Kidnapped' and 'The Black Arrow' and 'David
Balfour,' and a lot of other bully ones."
"'Kidnapped'?" I said. "I'd like to read that. It sounds fine."
"I'll get it for you, if you like."
"You needn't; if I want it I can get it myself, I guess."
"Certainly."
About seven I began to get awfully hungry. Twigg lighted the gas and filled
his pipe again. It made me feel sick and funny inside just to see him do
it.
"You stop smoking that smelly thing in my room," I said.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," he said. "Just remember, however, that it
was I who objected to smoking in the first place." He put his pipe down.
There was a knock at the door and Annie asked if we were there.
"Yes, all right," Twigg said. "Please tell Mr. Dale that Raymond and I are
going to do some studying before dinner, and ask him not to wait."
"It's a lie!" I yelled. "He's locked me in. You tell my father he's locked
me in, and won't let me have any dinner. Do you hear, Annie?"
"Yes, Mr. Raymond." It sounded as though she was giggling.
"You might leave some cold meat and a pitcher of milk on the sideboard,
Annie; enough for two," said Twigg. "If we get through by nine we'll look
for it."
"Very well, sir," she answered.
"You--you think you're smart, don't you?" I sobbed. "I'll--I'll get even
for this, you bet!"
I don't care! I was hungry, and the wretched old tobacco smoke made me feel
funny. You'd have cried, too. He made believe he didn't hear me.
"You're just a big, ugly bully! If I was bigger I'd smash your face! Do you
hear me?"
"Yes, my boy, and----"
"I'm not your boy! I hate you, you--you----"
"And let me remind you that you're wasting time." He took out his watch.
"It's now a quarter after seven. If we're not through up here by nine,
there'll be no dinner for either of us."
"Glad of it! Hope you'll starve to death. I'm--I'm not hungry. I had dinner
at Harrisbridge with Nate Golden."
"Who's Nate Golden?" he asked.
"None of your business. If he was here I'd get him to lick you!"
"Lucky for me he isn't here, eh?" Then he went back to reading. I got
hungrier and hungrier and had little pains inside me. I put a pillow over
my head so he wouldn't hear me crying. Then, after a long while I got up
and went to the table and took up a book. He didn't pay any attention. I
went back and sat on the bed for a minute. Then I took up the book again
and threw it down so it would make a noise. He looked around.
"Ah, Raymond," he said, "all ready? Suppose we start with the Latin!"
There wasn't any use not studying, because he didn't play fair. No man has
any right to starve you. So I studied some every day after that. Old
Gabbett, the chap I had before Twigg, used to shrug his shoulders when I
wouldn't study, and tell me I was a good-for-nothing and would live to be
hung. Then he'd go off to his room and let me alone. Browning, the chap
before old Gab, used to get jolly mad and throw books at me, and swear to
beat the band. I used to swear back and call him Sissy. He was a Sissy; he
was about nineteen and didn't have any mustache or muscle, and he couldn't
do a thing except study and play patience. It was rather good fun, though,
getting him mad; it was mighty easy, too. But Twigg was different from any
of them. When he wasn't putting it onto me he wasn't such a bad sort--for a
tutor.
Anyhow, he wasn't a Sissy. He could catch fish and ride fine, and he could
beat me at target shooting with a .32 rifle. He told me one day that he was
stroke on his crew for two years. I guess that's where he got his big
shoulders and muscles. You ought to see his muscles. We went in swimming
one day and I saw them. I'll bet he was the strongest chap up our way.
After he had been there a couple of weeks he went to the city again; and I
read his diary. But there wasn't anything in it about me except one thing
which he had written on June 15th. It said:
"R.'s propensity for eavesdropping and similar ungentlemanly actions
renders it unadvisable to write anything here that I do not want read by
others. Were it not for the aforesaid propensity and one or two lesser
faults I could like the boy immensely. I have hopes, however, that when he
realizes how contemptible and petty these things are he will cease doing
them. He told me once that his favorite book was Froissart. I wonder if he
thinks Froissart was ever guilty of listening behind doors, spying into
others' diaries and swearing like a tough?"
Wonder how he knew?
* * * * *
Two days after he went to town I met him going out of the house with some
golf sticks. I went along with him to the meadow and watched him hitting
the little white ball. After a bit he let me try it. It wasn't easy,
though, you bet! But when I'd sort of got the hang of it I could hit them
right well. He said I did bully and if I liked I could help him lay out a
nine-hole course the next afternoon and we'd have some games. So we did. We
paced off the distances between the holes and put up sticks with bits of
white cloth on them. The housekeeper gave us an old sheet. And the next day
we played a game. Of course he beat me. But he said I would make a good
player if I tried hard and kept at it. After that we used to play almost
every day, if it wasn't too hot. Only if I didn't have my lessons good he
wouldn't play.
One day I got behind the stone wall--we called it Stoney Bunker--and
couldn't get out, and said "darn." And Twigg picked up the balls and
started back to the house.
"Golf's a gentleman's game, Raymond," he said. "We'll wait until yon get
your temper back."
That made me mad and I swore some more. And there wasn't any more golf for
nearly a week. He won't get mad, too; that's what makes it so beastly. It
got pretty hot the last of the month and there wasn't much to do except lay
around and read. We had lessons before breakfast sometimes while it was
nice and cool on the veranda; and in the forenoon we went swimming. One day
he asked if I wanted him to read to me. I said he could if he liked. I
wanted him to, but I didn't want him to know it. So we sat on the lawn and
he read "Kidnapped," the book he'd spoken about. It was a Scotch story and
simply great. After that when the afternoons were too hot for golf or
riding he'd read.
I forgot to say that dad went away about the middle of the month and stayed
a week, I guess.
"Hello," said Twigg, "where are you going?"
"Oh, just for a ride," I said. He was on the porch and so I pulled Little
Nell up alongside the rail.
"All right; wait a minute, and I'll go along. Do you mind?"
"She doesn't like to stand," I muttered.
"She won't have to long." He grabbed the railing and vaulted over onto the
drive, and I saw that he had his riding breeches and boots on.
"All right," I said. "I'll wait here."
He nodded and went over to the stables. When he was out of sight I jammed
Little Nell with the spurs and tore down the drive lickety-cut. I was going
over to Harrisbridge to see Nate Golden, but I didn't want to tell Twigg
because he was so cranky; always trying to keep me at home. It was Sunday
morning, and kind of cloudy and sultry. When I got to the road I turned
Nell to the right before I remembered that I'd be in sight of the house for
a quarter of a mile. But I wasn't going to turn back then, so I made for
the beginning of the woods as fast as Nell could make it. I knew it would
take Twigg two or three minutes to saddle Sultan, and by that time I could
be out of reach.
But Twigg is always doing things you don't expect him to. When I got to the
edge of the woods I looked toward the house and what did I see but Twigg on
Sultan trying to head me off by riding across the meadow. Just as I looked
Sultan took the panel fence with a rush, got over finely and came
thundering across the turf.
"All right," I said to myself. "If it's a race you're after you can have it
with me now!"
Through the woods the road is a bit soft and spongy in places and so I
pulled Nell down a little. Then came a long hill; and by the time I was on
top of that I could hear Sultan rushing along behind. I gave Nell her head
then, for it was a good, solid road and straight as a die for over a mile.
She hadn't been out of the stall for two days, and maybe she didn't tear
things up! Pretty soon I looked back. There was Twigg and Sultan just
coming up over the hill. They'd gained some. I touched Nell with the spur
and she laid back her ears and just flew! That mile didn't last long, I
tell you. When I got to the Fork I switched off to the left toward
Harrisbridge; it was dusty, and I was pretty sure Twigg wouldn't know which
way I'd gone. The road wound sharp to the left and I'd be out of sight
before Twigg reached the Fork. Two or three minutes later I pulled up a bit
and listened. I couldn't hear a sound. I chuckled and let Nell come down to
a trot, thinking, of course, Twigg had kept the right-hand road and was
humping it away toward Evan's Mills. Then I got to thinking about it and
somehow I kind of wished I hadn't been so darned smart. It seemed sort of
mean because I'd said I'd wait for him and I hadn't. You see, Twigg had
such fool ideas on some things, like keeping his word to you and all that.
I had half a mind to turn around and go back and look for him. But just
then I heard a crashing in the brush on the left and looked back and there
was Twigg and Sultan trotting through the woods toward the road. He'd cut
the corner on me! I made believe I didn't see him, and pretty soon he rode
up to the stone wall and jumped Sultan over into the road almost beside me.
"Well," he said, smiling, "you gave me quite a run!"
"Yes; but I knew Nell could beat that beast and so I slowed down."
"That's all right, then. I thought at first you were trying to give me the
slip, but I knew you'd said you'd wait and so I concluded you wanted some
fun."
"Yes," I said.
"This is the Harrisbridge road, isn't it?" he asked.
"It goes to lots of places."
"Harrisbridge among them?"
"Yes."
"Then we can keep on, eh? We might call on that friend of yours; what's his
name? Nate something?"
"Nate Golden," I muttered.
"That's it. I suppose he'd be at home?"
"He doesn't like swells," I said.
"Am I a swell?"
"Yes, you are."
"And he wouldn't like me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Oh, just because he wouldn't; that's why. I'm going back now."
"Very well; Harrisbridge some other day, Raymond."
We turned the nags and walked them back toward the country road. Nell was
puffing hard and Sultan was in a lather; he was a bit soft. Pretty soon
Twigg said:
"I'm going in to town to-morrow, Raymond; want to come along?"
"Yes," I said. Dad never would let me go to the city more than once in six
months.
"Good enough; glad to have you. I'm going to run out to college in the
afternoon to get some things from my trunk. Ever been out there?"