Only the Heat!
In one of the houses in Prospect Terrace there sat a family at early
breakfast. A nice family; the growing up sons and daughters loving and
obedient, the father and mother anxiously training them to good. It was
the Talbots. They had quitted their close residence in Pimlico, and
taken this in the healthy country district; having moved in at the
recent quarter. Mr. Talbot was a tall, spare man, rather absorbed in
cares; Mrs. Talbot a pleasant woman with a countenance and demeanour
serenely cheerful, imparting in some way an idea of peace. James, known
to you as Earl of Shrewsbury, was the eldest son. He was at the
breakfast table now, for this was the last day of the Easter holidays,
which he had been spending at home.
Yes, time had gone on at Orville, as it goes on with us all. April was
in, and the Easter holidays were now at an end. There was nothing much
to tell of the last term, no particular event to record. Mrs. Butter
overcame her fright in time, but not her anger; Tom Brabazon
disappeared again; the German master was patiently working; and George
Paradyne was battling with the school enmity, and bearing on his own
way in spite of circumstances. He would have done it less gallantly but
for the ever-constant, daily counsels of Mr. Henry. Over and over
again, but for that, the boy would have broken down, for the battle
against him waxed fierce and strong. The step taken by Sir Simon
Orville, in inviting Mrs. Paradyne and George to dinner on Christmas
Day, meant to be a healer of strife, turned out just the reverse.
Trace, powerless to rebel against it, concentrated his indignation
within him at the time, to let it loose on the head of the unhappy boy
later. Not in a violent way, not in any manner that could be taken hold
of: he was civil to Paradyne's face; but he so worked craftily on
others, that a regular cabal set in against George Paradyne. Mr. Henry,
so to say, bore the brunt for him. He soothed the insults, he talked
the boy's resentful spirit into peace, he cheered him bravely on, he
encouraged him to persevere and be patient. The Talbots were speaking
of this enmity as they sat at breakfast. James suddenly interposed with
a question to his father.
"Papa, shall you not be late?"
Mr. Talbot glanced at his watch and smiled. The idea of his son's
giving him a caution on the score; he, the most strictly punctual clerk
the bank possessed. "It's odd how a feeling of dislike does arise in
schools against a particular boy," he observed. "It was so in the
school I went to, I remember. There's sure to be good cause for it.
These instincts are generally to be trusted."
"Papa, what do you call instinct?"
"What do I call instinct?" repeated Mr. Talbot. "I should have thought
you were old enough, James, to know what instinct meant, without my
telling you."
James laughed. "Because I think in this case our instinct is _for_
Paradyne, instead of against him. I know mine is."
"Then why is he disliked?"
"Well, I don't know. There is something not square, I believe, known to
a few of the seniors only. The feeling against him is very strong."
Mr. Talbot rose, and put his watch in his pocket. He always breakfasted
with it on the table. "I don't understand it at all," he said; "but I
must be going now."
James went to the front door and opened it. Now that he had risen, you
could see James Talbot's height. He was already nearly six feet, almost
the tallest in the school. The boys were wont to say that the shots had
made his legs grow. Mr. Talbot walked away quickly, and a boy, wearing
the college cap, came up and accosted James at the door. At the same
moment Mrs. Talbot came out in a commotion.
"Oh, James, my letter! Papa was to have posted it in town. Run and give
it to him."
"Allow me," said the stranger, raising his trencher to Mrs. Talbot, and
taking the letter from her hand. She looked at him, and was struck with
the fine character of the attractive countenance—the open candour of
the large grey eyes.
"That's Paradyne," whispered James, watching him as he caught Mr.
Talbot.
"_That_ Paradyne! Then I am sure—"
But he had accomplished his mission, and was coming back again,
laughing at the haste he had made. "Mr. Talbot bade me say he did not
know there was any letter to take," he observed to Mrs. Talbot.
"No, I forgot to tell him. Thank you very much."
He lifted his cap to her again as he walked away, and she went in with
the earl.
"James," said Mrs. Talbot to her son, "you tell me that the school has
a prejudice against that boy?"
"Indeed it has. Something more than a prejudice. We are all against
him."
"And you motive—your reason, I should say?"
"I really don't know. The prejudice is there, and we all share in it,
and that's all."
"Oh, James! is it right?"
"Perhaps not. I have thought it not quite the thing all along; but one
must go with the stream. They are very poor, those Paradynes. Don't
look angry, mamma; I am not speaking it as a reproach."
"I hope not. I think a son of mine would scarcely do so. They cannot
well be poorer than we are."
"Yes, they are, a great deal. It is our education that keeps papa
poor—mine especially. I shall try to repay you for it some day, mother
mine. A vision comes over me now and again of gaining the Orville. I
should get to college then and all would be easy."
"You vain boy. The Orville will be for some one of your seniors, sir."
Talbot laughed. "Yes, I fear it is but a vision of dreamland. But oh,
mother,"—and his tone changed to solemn earnest,—"what a boon it would
be!"
"Tell me why you dislike George Paradyne," resumed Mrs. Talbot,
breaking the slight pause.
"I don't dislike, him. I like him in spite of all. One can't help
admiring him for his spirit; he throws off all our shafts so bravely.
He is one of the most generous, open fellows possible. I see you don't
understand, and I don't understand it myself. Few of us do. There's an
awful feeling about his going in for the Orville."
Mrs. Talbot gave it up as a bad job, and opened the book for the ten
minutes' reading to the children, never omitted in the house.
The Talbots had made some acquaintance in the place, and Mrs. Talbot
questioned Mrs. Gall and one or two more, what the dislike of George
Paradyne arose from. She felt more interested on the subject than she
could account for. But none were able to answer her. Mrs. Gall had
herself put the same query to her son, and nothing satisfactory came of
it.
As the term went on, the uncomfortable feeling in the school grew,
greater and greater. But there was little time for anything but study,
for the Oxford examination was approaching fast.
One hot Saturday afternoon, when the College had holiday, Mr. Henry
went to the railway station to inquire after an expected parcel of
books. Saturday afternoon was no holiday for him. He had three private
lessons to give in it. As he left the station, walking very fast to
keep his time at Mrs. Gall's, a sharp, sudden pain seized upon him. He
was leaning against the fence of the plantation, white and faint, when
Sir Simon Orville passed.
"Why, bless me, what's to do?" exclaimed that hearty gentleman. "Have
you been run over?"
Mr. Henry smiled: his colour was coming back again. He said something
about a sudden pain.
"Been eating green gooseberries?" asked the unsophisticated man. "I
caught young Dick buying a quart. He's crunching the lot."
"It took me here," said Mr. Henry, touching his left side. "It's gone
now."
"Why, that's near the heart; it couldn't have been there, I should
think," said Sir Simon, peering at him curiously. "Well, we are close
at home; come in to Pond Place and rest.
"Thank you, Sir Simon; I am all right now. I must go on quickly to my
pupils."
"I'll tell you what it is, sir; you are overworking yourself. That's my
opinion."
"Oh, no. Folks can't do too much at my age."
"That depends upon the amount of strength: I could have plodded on
night and day; you seem to get more of a lath than ever. What's the
reason you never will accept my hospitality? Got any dislike to
me?—taken up a prejudice? I know I'm a plain man, without education;
but you might put up with that."
"If I could only show you how I respect you, Sir Simon; if I could but
live to be of service to you!" was the impulsive answer. "But, indeed,
I can never get time for visiting: the little Galls are waiting for me
now."
And away he went through the plantation, leaving Sir Simon considerably
puzzled, as he had been before, at the earnestness of the words and
manner; for they seemed to imply more than was on the surface. That
afternoon, in the very midst of explaining to Master Fred Gall an
abstruse difficulty in the Latin grammar, Mr. Henry leaned back in his
chair and quietly fainted away. With a hullabaloo that might have been
heard at the distant college, the children threw open the door and
scattered away, pell-mell.
The noise brought forth Mrs. Gall and her eldest son; who had stepped
in at home, as he had the liberty to do on holidays. They took off his
neckcloth and brought him wine, and were very tender with him.
"Do forgive me," he murmured, in deep contrition for the trouble he was
causing. "The heat must have overpowered me; I have been walking fast."
Mrs. Gall would not hear of his continuing the lesson. She made him lie
on the sofa and rest. She and her children had grown to like him very
much; which the senior boy, in his prejudice, silently shrugged his
shoulders at. But there was something about him this afternoon, in his
transitory helplessness, his gratitude for the care shown, that
appealed to William Gall's better feelings and half won his heart. Mr.
Henry could not rest long; he had a German lesson to give at five
o'clock, and must go home first for the necessary books. When he went
out, Gall went with him, and offered his arm.
"You will walk all the better for it, Mr. Henry. Years back I used to
have fainting-fits myself, and know how they take the strength away."
Mr. Henry accepted it, and they walked on together. He had always liked
Gall: never a better head and heart _au fond_ than his. Leaning too
readily, perhaps, to the prejudices of the school he partially swayed;
but Mr. Henry allowed for that: others might have done it more
offensively. Gall had never taken an active part in the cabal against
young Paradyne, or in the contempt lavished on the German master; but
he had tacitly acquiesced in it.
Some of the boys happened to be in the quadrangle; and, to describe the
commotion when Gall passed arm-in-arm with the enemy—as Trace was in
the private habit of calling Mr. Henry—would be beyond any pen. Gall,
thoroughly independent always, vouchsafed a cool nod to the sea of
astonished faces, and continued his way. If anything could have daunted
him, it was the supercilious contempt on Bertie Loftus's handsome face:
anything that Gall did was sure to excite that, for there was no good
feeling between them. Bertie would have done the same thing himself for
Mr. Henry, or for any one else in case of need; but he lost sight of
that in his prejudice against Gall. Mr. Henry called for some coffee on
going in: coffee was his panacea for most ailments.
"You'll stay and take a cup with me," he said cordially, to Gall. "I
feel quite well now. It must have been the heat."
Mrs. Butter brought the coffee and some bread-and-butter, and the two
chatted together. Gall had never seen so much of Mr. Henry in all the
past months as in this one hour, and he felt ashamed for having turned
the cold shoulder on him.
"I hope I shall see more of you, Mr. Henry, than I have seen hitherto,"
he said, when he was shaking hands to leave. "Is there nothing I can do
for you? If there is, tell me. I hope you'll not have a renewal of
this."
"Thank you," replied Mr. Henry, looking straight at him with his
pleasant eyes. "I wish I could get you to alter one thing—the
persecution of young Paradyne."
"Well, it is too bad," observed Gall. "But I can't make the school like
Paradyne if they dislike him."
"Can you tell me _why_ they dislike him?" pointedly asked Mr. Henry:
for times and again it had struck him that the particulars of the
Liverpool business must have been privately circulated by Trace or
Loftus.
"No, that I can't," frankly answered Gall. "I have heard Trace hint at
some reason for dislike, but he never said what. Miss Brabazon asked me
about it once, but I did not learn anything. I think they are vexed
that he, a new fellow, should have his name down for the Orville
Exhibition."
"That should not cause them to persecute him."
"True. But, you see, when once a prejudice arises, it is not easy to
allay it."
"Did it ever occur to you to realize Paradyne's position to your own
mind?" asked Mr. Henry, "He is clever, generous, noble, forbearing;
wishing to live in amity with all; and yet he is subjected to this
cruel persecution: and for no cause that I can find out. Think it over,
Mr. Gall, at your leisure; and now goodbye, and thank you for your
company."
Mr. Henry sat back in his chair, listening to the senior boy's
departing footsteps. There were times when he felt utterly depressed,
as if every bit of spirit and energy had gone out of him. He was in a
false position at Orville College, and he knew it. Since the first day
of his entrance he had been fighting a battle with conscience; this of
itself, with his sensitive mind, was enough to wear him out; it needed
not his hard work added to it.
"I can't keep it up," he said to himself, as he rose, caught up some
books, and went out to give his lesson. "And it is not right I should.
Once the Oxford examination's over, the end shall come; and then, if I
have to leave the college, why, I must leave it. I'd rather be back at
Heidelberg."
Meanwhile Gall was walking slowly away, and "thinking over" the matter
in regard to Paradyne: not because Mr. Henry had desired him to do it,
but on his own score. Gall's was a just nature; he felt vexed with
himself for the past; angry with the school in general.
It was not an opportune moment for Loftus to meet him, with his
supercilious face, his still more supercilious words. In the middle of
the grass, near the gymnasium-ground, they encountered each other. The
under-current of enmity between these two was of long-standing, and
Gall at least had inwardly and bitterly resented it. What Loftus said
was never precisely known; some stinging taunt, reflecting on the "new
friendship," meaning little, perhaps; but the other was not in a mood
to bear it. The next moment, Gall had knocked him down.
He lay sprawling, the distinguished Loftus, his golden curls in contact
with the base earth, his handsome nose bleeding with the blow. Gall
stood erect, with compressed lips; the wondering boys were flocking up,
and Mother Butter's dog stood by, barking fiercely, as if it were a
raree-show.
Loftus rose. Whether he would have struck again was a question; he was
not deficient in personal bravery, rather the contrary, but these
elegant dandies rarely go in for blows. No opportunity was given one
way or the other, for Mr. Henry, hastening up, stepped between them.
"Move away," said Loftus to him. "What business is it of yours?"
"The business of authority," was Mr. Henry's answer, delivered with
calm decision. "So long as I hold the position of master here, I shall
act as such when need arises. Gentlemen,"—and he looked at both
equally—"there must be no more of this."
"You need not be alarmed on your friend's behalf," said Loftus, with an
ugly stress on the word "friend." "You, Gall,"—and he turned to
him—"shall answer to me for this, later."
They moved away in different directions, Gall one road, Loftus another,
Mr. Henry a third; and the astonished boys stood, looking after them
with a vacant stare, hardly able to believe that the transitory scene
had been real.