"I say, Uncle Luke. Do you happen to be aware that it's jolly well
tiffin time--Hallo, Canon! Didn't know you were here. How are you?"
He who thus unceremoniously burst in upon them, in blissful ignorance of
the momentous matter under discussion and of course of how his own
fortunes had been balancing in the scale, was a goodly specimen of
English youth, tall, and well-hung, and athletic, but the bright frank
sunniness of his face, his straight open glance, and entirely unaffected
and therefore unspoiled manner rendered him goodly beyond the average.
Percival West and Hilary Blachland were both orphaned sons of two of Sir
Luke's sisters, and had been to him even as his own children. There was
a difference of many years between their ages, however, and their
characters were totally dissimilar, as we have heard set forth.
"Time for tiffin is it, Percy?" said Sir Luke, glancing at his
watch. "You see we old fogies haven't got your fine healthy
jackass-and-a-bundle-of-greens appetite. We must have overlooked it."
"I don't agree with you at all, Canterby," laughed the Canon. "I'll
answer for it. I feel uncommonly like beefsteaks, or anything that's
going. And what have you been doing with yourself, Percy?"
"Biking. Got ten miles out beyond Passmore since eleven o'clock. Oh,
bye-the-bye, Canon, I saw the Bishop in Passmore. He wanted you badly."
"Percy, speak the truth, sir," returned the Canon, with a solemn twinkle
in his eyes. "You said the Bishop wanted me badly? And--his Lordship
happens to be away!"
"Every word I said is solemn fact," replied Percival. "I saw the Bishop
in Passmore, but I didn't say to-day though. And there's no denying he
did want you badly. Eh, Canon?"
"You're a disrespectful rascal, chaffing your seniors, sir, and if I
were twenty years younger, I'd put on the gloves and take it out of
you."
"Come along in to tiffin, Canon, and take it out of that," rejoined
Percival with his light-hearted laugh, dropping his hand affectionately
on to the old man's shoulder. And the trio adjourned to the
dining-room.
Jerningham Lodge, Sir Luke Canterby's comfortable, not to say luxurious
establishment, was a roomy old house, standing within a walled park of
about a hundred and fifty acres. Old, without being ancient, it was
susceptible of being brought up to _fin-de-siecle_ ideas of comfort, and
the gardens and shrubberies were extensive and well kept. It had come
into his possession a good many years before, and soon after that he was
left a childless widower. Thus it came about that these two nephews of
his had found their home here.
The elder of the two, however, did not turn out entirely to the
satisfaction of his uncle.
"Hilary is such a confounded young rake," the latter used to say.
"He'll get himself into a most infernal mess one of these days."
Both dicta were true. Headstrong and susceptible, there was hardly ever
a time when Hilary Blachland was outside some entanglement: more than
once getting him into a serious scrape. Such, however, did not
invariably come to the ears of his uncle, though now and then they did,
and on one occasion Sir Luke found himself obliged to pay down a heavy
sum to keep an uncommonly awkward breach of promise case against his
nephew from coming into court. Hilary at last made Passmore too hot to
hold him, but the worst of it was that sooner or later the same held
good of everywhere else. Still, the infinity of trouble he gave him
notwithstanding, this scapegrace was the one of his two nephews for whom
Sir Luke had the softest place in his heart--but at last the climax
arrived, and the name of that climax was the name of the suit which we
have just heard Sir Luke mention. Therein Hilary _had_ got himself--as
his uncle had forcibly put it--"into a most infernal mess." His said
uncle, moreover, had found himself called upon to pay the somewhat heavy
damages and costs.
He need not have done so, of course. He might have left the scapegrace
to drag himself out of the mud he had got into. But, unlike many men
who have coined their own wealth, there was nothing close-fisted about
Sir Luke Canterby. He had disbursed the large sum with scarcely a
murmur--anything to close down the confounded scandal. But with Hilary
Blachland he was seriously angry and disgusted, and told him as much in
no halting terms. The other replied he had better go abroad--and the
sooner the better. So he took himself off--which, declared Sir Luke,
was the most sensible thing he had decided to do for some time. He
changed his mind though, on learning that Hilary had not gone alone,
and--missed him, as he put it to himself and his most intimate friend,
viz. Canon Lenthall, "like the very devil."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"By the way," said Percival when lunch was half through. "I brought out
a later paper from Passmore. Here it is," producing it from the pocket
of his Norfolk jacket. "Want to see it, uncle? Not much news, I
expect."
"Let's see the stock and share column," holding out one hand for the
paper, and fixing his glasses with the other. A glance up and down a
column, then a turning over of the sheet. Then a sudden, undisguised
start.
"God bless my soul! What's this?"
His hand shook as he held the news sheet, running his glance hastily
down it. "Why, that must be Hilary. There, Canon, read it out I can
hardly see--there--that paragraph."
The old priest took the paper. "`Trouble brewing in Mashonaland'? Is
that it? Yes? Well, here's what they say:--
"`Stirring times seem in store for our Chartered Company's pioneers in
their new Eldorado. It has been known that Lo Bengula's concession of
the mining rights in Mashonaland to that Company was very distasteful
to his people, and for some time past these have been manifesting
their displeasure in such wise as to show that it is only a question
of time when the settlers of Mashonaland will find themselves called
upon to vindicate their rights by force, against their truculent
neighbours. The last instance that we have seems to have happened
early in November, when an armed force of Matabele crossed into
Mashonaland, raiding and threatening at their own sweet will. Several
native servants in the employ of settlers were murdered in cold blood,
Lo Bengula's warriors asserting their right to carry on their
time-honoured pastime, declaring that the lives of these people were
not included in the concession; but so far they have refrained from
murdering Europeans. One specific example of the unbridled
aggressiveness of these savages is also to hand. The impi went to the
house of a man named Blachland, a trader and hunter residing near the
head waters of the Umnyati river. Two of his servants had got wind of
its approach, and after warning their master fled for their lives to
the bush. It appears however, that Blachland was ill with a bad
attack of fever, and too weak to move.'"
An exclamation from Percival and Sir Luke caused the reader to pause.
"Go on, Canon, go on," said the latter hurriedly.
"`It appears that the induna in charge of the impi was well known to
the sick man, and while he entered the house and engaged the latter in
conversation, his followers amused themselves by ransacking the
out-premises. Here they discovered two little Mashona boys,
Blachland's servants, who were hiding in terror. These were dragged
forth, and regardless of their shrieks for mercy, were ruthlessly
speared, the bloodthirsty savages roaring with delight as they tossed
the miserable little wretches to and fro among each other, on the
blades of their great assegais. Then they went away, leaving the
bleeding and mangled corpses lying in the gateway, and calling out to
the sick occupant of the place that the time for killing white people
had not come yet.
"`From there they proceeded to the camp of two prospectors named
Skelsey and Spence. The last-named was away, but Skelsey had got wind
of their coming and had promptly put his camp into a position of
defence--and prepared to give them a warm reception. When they
arrived he showed them his magazine rifle and revolver, and called out
to the induna in command that he was going to shoot until he hadn't a
cartridge left, if they advanced a step nearer. They did not appear
to relish the prospect, and drew off, uttering threats. Thus this
brave fellow saved the lives of his four scared and cowering Mashona
servants, who, however, showed their appreciation by deserting next
day.
"`Blachland, it is reported, is out of favour with Lo Bengula, who
recently ordered him out of his country for some reason or other,
while he was on a trading trip at Bulawayo.'"
Then followed some more comments on the insecurity of life and property
at the mercy of savage neighbours, and the necessity for prompt and
decided action, and the paragraph ended.
"I suppose there's no doubt about it being Hilary?" said Percival, when
the reader had stopped. "Blachland isn't such a common name, and he did
go out there as a trader or something. By Jove, wouldn't I like to be
with him!"
Both his seniors smiled. They were thinking his wish might soon be
realised.
"Down with fever, poor chap!" said Sir Luke. "But that up-country fever
isn't fatal, I've heard, not if men take proper care of themselves. He
ought to have a run home though. The voyage would soon set him on his
feet again."
"Rather!" echoed Percival, enthusiastically. "It would be grand to see
the dear old chap again."
"Well, perhaps we may, Percy, perhaps we may," rejoined his uncle,
rather excitedly. "How would you like to go over and fetch him?"
"Me? By George! I'd like it better than anything else in the world.
But--suppose he wouldn't come?"
"Of course he'd come. Why shouldn't he come?" testily answered Sir
Luke, to whom this afterthought was not a pleasant one. And the rest of
the time was spent in discussing this news from a far-away land.
"Strange, isn't it?" said Sir Luke, thereafter, Percival having gone out
of the room. "Just as we were talking over Hilary, and here this bit of
news comes right in upon us from outside. If Percy hadn't brought back
that paper we might never have heard it."
"Looks like an omen, doesn't it, Luke?" laughed the Canon. "Looks as if
he were to be instrumental in bringing Hilary back."
"I hope to Heaven he may. I say, Dick, old friend, I'm more than glad
you turned in here to-day, in time to make me put that abominable draft
in the fire."
"Will you walk back with me a little way, Percy?" said the Canon as he
was taking his leave, having refused Sir Luke's offer to send him back
on wheels.
"Why rather. Wait, I'll just get my bike. I can wheel it along, and
ride it back."
They passed down the village street together, nodding here and there to
an acquaintance, or acknowledging the salutation of a rustic. The
rector of the parish passed them on a bicycle, and the two professors of
rival creeds exchanged a cordial and friendly greeting, for somehow, no
one was anything other than friendly with Canon Lenthall. But it was
not until they had left the village behind and had gained the open
country that he began to discourse seriously with his younger friend as
to the matter of which both were thinking.
"Let me see. How long is it since you saw Hilary?" he began.
"Oh, about half a dozen years--just before he got into that--er--mess.
What a splendid chap he was, Canon. I've sometimes thought Uncle Luke
was a bit hard on him that time."
"You're quite wrong, Percy. Hard is the one thing your uncle could not
be. Why, he's the softest hearted man in existence."
"Yes, I know. But, does he really want me to go out there and hunt up
Hilary?"
"I believe so. As a matter of fact, we happened to be discussing that
very thing just before you came in. It was a strange coincidence that
you should unconsciously have brought the news you did."
Percival whistled. "Were you really? Strange indeed. Well, I'm on for
the scheme. It doesn't matter if I enter at the Temple now, or in six
or eight months' time--and, what an experience it'll be in the mean
time."
They were nearing Passmore, and the chimneys and spires of the town were
growing larger and larger in front of them--and already the haze of
smoke was dimming the bright green of the expanse of meadow between.
They had gained the wooden road-bridge, beneath which the sluggish water
ran oily between the black piers, and here the Canon paused.
"It will be a great thing if we can bring Hilary back to his uncle, so
that they are thoroughly reconciled. But Percy, my boy--remember that
so far, for all these years past you have been the first and only one
near him. How will you feel when you see another first--and to all
appearances of more consequence than yourself, as is natural in the case
of one who has long been away. Are you sure of yourself?"
But the young man burst into a free, frank and hearty laugh.
"Great Scot, Canon!" he cried merrily. "What sort of a bounder are you
trying to take me for? There's nothing I'd like so much as to see the
dear old chap back again."
The old priest gazed steadily at him for a moment, and felt greatly
relieved. The answer rang so spontaneous, so true.
"Well, I had that to say to you, and have said it. In fact I brought
you with me now on purpose to say it. Now, good-bye my boy, and God
bless you."