BROUGHT TO BOOK
Edgar had heard the accusation his father had brought against Roger,
and he had noted the crimson flush which had spread over the latter's
countenance when his word had been disbelieved, and he was uneasily
conscious that there would have to be a day of reckoning between his
cousin and himself sooner or later. He knew he had been cowardly in
allowing his father to think Roger had joined him in cigarette smoking,
and he wished now he had not held his tongue upon the point.
"I must manage to square Roger, somehow," he thought, "but it won't be
easy. I could see he was awfully angry that father didn't believe him;
he's so very particular about telling the truth."
The two boys did not meet for several days, however; but one morning
Edgar was sent by his mother with a note to Mrs. Trent, inviting Polly
and Roger to spend the following afternoon at the Rookery. His heart
beat fast and unevenly as he stood on the doorsteps of his relations'
house in Princess Street and rang the bell, for he dreaded giving the
explanation he knew Roger would be certain to demand from him; but,
much to his relief of mind, when Louisa opened the door, she informed
him that his young cousins had gone out with Miss Trent and only his
aunt was at home. He was shown into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Trent
came to him; and whilst she was reading his mother's note, he watched
her, thinking how sweet and pretty she looked, for he always admired
and liked Aunt Mary.
Mrs. Trent promptly accepted the invitation for her children which her
sister-in-law's note contained, and she talked to the little boy for a
short while; but he seemed in a hurry to leave, so she did not detain
him long. The fact was, he was glad to have missed Roger, and wanted to
get away before his cousins' return.
Now, it so happened that Roger, coming out of a shop with his sister
and Cousin Becky, caught sight of Edgar, homeward bound, and pointed
him out to his companions.
"I want to speak to him particularly," he said. "May I run and overtake
him, Cousin Becky?"
"Do, my dear," she answered; "but Polly and I will not wait for you as
we have several more errands to execute."
Accordingly, Roger went after Edgar; but he only kept him in sight
and did not overtake him till he had left the town and turned into
the suburban road which led to the Rookery, then he ran up to him,
shouting: "Hi! Stop! Stop!"
Edgar started violently, for he had had no idea of the proximity of his
cousin; he glanced around with a somewhat alarmed expression on his
face as he said in a hurried tone:
"I've just come from Princess Street. You and Polly are to come to tea
with me to-morrow."
"Who says so?" Roger inquired bluntly.
"Aunt Mary. I took a note to her from mother."
"You'll like to come, won't you?" And Edgar regarded the other more
than a trifle anxiously.
"I don't know. Look here, Edgar! What did your father mean the other
day by saying I smoked, and why didn't you speak up for me? Had you
made out to him that I had been smoking cigarettes with you that
afternoon I was at the Rookery, when he and Aunt Janie were away?"
"No, on my honour I had not," was the emphatic response.
"Then, what did he mean?" Roger demanded. "He believed I had been
smoking. Did you know he thought so?"
"I—I—"
"Oh, speak out!" cried Roger, greatly irritated; "don't stammer like a
baby!"
"Well, don't get angry, then. You needn't look at me so—so furiously.
I've done nothing to injure you. It was like this. Father found out I'd
been smoking; at first I wouldn't own to it, but afterwards I did, and
he was awfully angry. But it was a Sunday, and mother stood up for me,
so there wasn't nearly such a row as I'd expected." Edgar paused for
a minute, then continued with heightened colour. "Of course, father
imagined, as you had been with me and there were several cigarettes
gone from the case—I'd taken them; I thought he wouldn't notice—that
you'd been smoking, too, and—and—"
"And you didn't tell him I hadn't?"
"No-o-o," Edgar was obliged to admit, "I—I didn't tell him one way or
the other."
"Why didn't you?" Roger was actually shaking with anger, the colour had
fled from his cheeks, and his eyes were alight with passion.
"Because—because father would have been angrier if he'd known you
hadn't smoked too," faltered Edgar. "Oh, Roger, I didn't tell a lie
about it, I only held my tongue."
"And let Uncle John believe that I—that I—"
Roger's voice failed him, so intense was his indignation. He had been
trying to keep his temper under control, but now it gained the mastery
over him, and, flinging himself upon Edgar, almost choking with rage,
he began to belabour him with his clenched fists. Edgar was no coward
physically, whatever he was morally, and he was on the defensive in a
moment. In a few minutes the two boys were engaged in a fierce fight,
and, being equally matched as to height and weight, there is no saying
how it might have terminated had not the sound of wheels warned the
combatants to desist. Panting and dishevelled, they stood aside to
allow the vehicle to pass; but, instead of doing so, it drew up,
and, looking to see the reason, Roger was shocked to see his aunt's
carriage, and his aunt herself in it with two lady visitors.
"Good gracious, boys!" cried Mrs. Marsh. "What is the meaning of this?
Edgar, what has happened? Why, my darling, you are covered in dust,
your clothes are torn, and —oh, surely you have not been fighting?
Roger, you naughty boy—"
"I am not more naughty than Edgar," interrupted Roger, "not nearly so
naughty if it comes to that, for I'm not a mean beast like he is." He
was far too angry to pick his words.
"How dare you use such language," began Mrs. Marsh, looking surprised
and shocked, for she had always considered her nephew a well-mannered
little boy, but he broke in again:
"We've been fighting," he said passionately, "and I began it, and if
you hadn't come up I'd have licked him. Of course you'll take his part,
Aunt Janie, you always do, but he knows he deserves a good thrashing.
I'll have nothing more to do with him, although he is my cousin, and I
won't go near the Rookery again."
"I suppose you've quarrelled," said Mrs. Marsh, glancing from her
visitors, who appeared highly entertained and evidently regarded the
scene in the light of a joke, to her son's downcast countenance. "What
have you fallen out about? How could you so far forget yourself, Edgar,
as to fight in the road?"
"You mustn't blame him for that, Aunt Janie," said Roger quickly, "for
I made him fight. I hit him first."
"But why?" questioned Mrs. Marsh, looking more and more mystified.
"I don't understand. Oh, I hope neither of you is much hurt! And, oh
dear—" with sudden alarm in her tone—"here comes your father, Edgar!
Oh, John," she proceeded as her husband came up, "do find out what has
happened to make the boys quarrel! They've been fighting."
"So I perceive," Mr. Marsh replied dryly; "you'd better drive on, my
dear, and I'll see to the youngsters. Now," he said sternly, as the
carriage passed on, "what have you two to say for yourselves? What is
the meaning of all this? I thought you were good friends."
"Friends!" echoed Roger in accents of deep disgust. "He's been no
friend to me, letting you believe I smoked with him when I never even
touched the cigarettes. I said I wouldn't tell he'd been smoking—it was
no business of mine—and I didn't, but I never thought he'd treat me so
shabbily. I've finished with him now," he continued bitterly, as he
brushed down his clothes with his hands and picked up his cap from the
dusty road, "and I'll never—"
"Stop!" commanded Mr. Marsh, "Don't make rash vows, Roger. Do you mean
to assert that you did not smoke with Edgar?"
"I did not," Roger answered firmly. "Ask him before me, and he'll tell
you the truth."
"What have you to say, Edgar?" Mr. Marsh looked anxiously at his son.
"Roger did not smoke with me, father," was the low-spoken response. "I
never said so."
"But you permitted me to think so. I am ashamed of you, Edgar. Roger,
my boy, I owe you an apology for doubting your word, you must forgive
me that I did not accept it," and Mr. Marsh laid his hand kindly on his
nephew's shoulder as he spoke. "Edgar owes you an apology, too, for his
cowardly and ungenerous treatment of you," he supplemented.
"Oh, it's all right, Uncle John, so long as you don't believe I told
you a lie," Roger said hurriedly. "I'll settle it with Edgar another
day."
"No, no, settle it now, and have done with it. I am quite satisfied you
told me the truth," and Mr. Marsh sighed as he glanced at his son, who
did not dare lift his shamed eyes from the ground, though he murmured a
few words of apology to his cousin.
After that, Mr. Marsh insisted that the two boys should shake hands,
which they did, reluctantly on Roger's part; and then he seized Edgar
by the arm, and marched him home in silence. Arrived at the Rookery,
Mr. Marsh took his son into the study, where Mrs. Marsh joined them,
anxious to learn the cause of the boys' quarrel. In a few words Mr.
Marsh explained everything to her; but when she would have tried to
excuse Edgar's conduct, he would not allow her to do so. "There is no
excuse for him," he said, "and he knows it. He has behaved in a false,
cowardly fashion towards his cousin, and I am heartily ashamed of him."
"I—I have been very unhappy about it," faltered Edgar; and there was
no doubt that he spoke the truth, for since the morning he had gone
primrose gathering with Polly and Roger his conscience had continually
pricked him. "And—and I don't believe Roger will ever forgive me; he
said he would never come to the Rookery again, and he's sure to keep
his word."
"What explanation shall I give our visitors as to the cause of the
disgraceful scene in the road?" asked Mrs. Marsh with a sigh.
"Tell them the truth—don't beat about the bush," advised her husband.
"Say Edgar was the one in fault."
"It is most unfortunate this has occurred, for I have asked Polly and
Roger to spend the afternoon here to-morrow," she said regretfully.
"Are they coming, Edgar?"
"Aunt Mary promised they should come, mother, but I don't suppose they
will now."
"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Marsh. "I will speak to their father and
tell him what has happened, and he will set things right. Roger has a
real grievance and has cause to be indignant, but I want him and Edgar
to be friends. Your brother is as straight as a line, Janie, and it
seems his son is the same. Now go to your visitors, my dear; I have a
few words to say to Edgar alone."
It astonished Edgar to see how deeply his conduct had affected Mr.
Marsh, who seemed more grieved than angry. That touched the little
boy, who was really much attached to the father who had always been
so indulgent to him, and he promised that he really would endeavour
to act as well as speak truly in the future. When, ten minutes later,
he left the study and ran upstairs to his bedroom to prepare for
luncheon—which, under the circumstances would be somewhat of an ordeal
that day—his eyes were blind with tears, and his father's parting words
rang again and again in his ears:
"Be true, my boy, whatever happens be true, and then I shall be able to
feel confidence in you. Don't ever again give me occasion to be ashamed
of my son."