BACK AT SCHOOL.
It was a long time after they had, with many breaks, read Edgar's letter
to the end before Rupert and Madge could compose themselves sufficiently
to accompany their father into the drawing-room. They again broke down
when they met their mother; and it was not until Captain Clinton said,
"Come, we must all pull ourselves together and see what is to be done,
and talk the whole matter over calmly," that by a great effort they
recovered their composure. "Now, in the first place, we must try to find
Edgar. He has got twenty-four hours' start of us, but that is not very
much. I suppose you think, Rupert, that there is no doubt that he went
up to town by the night train."
"I have no doubt that he got away in time to do so, father; but of
course he might have gone by the down train, which passes through
Gloucester somewhere about the same time."
"I do not think it likely that he did that, Rupert. I should say he was
sure to go to London; that is almost always the goal people make for,
unless it is in the case of boys who want to go to sea, when they would
make for Liverpool or some other port. But I don't think Edgar was
likely to do that. I don't think he had any special fancy for the sea;
so we may assume that he has gone to London. What money had he?"
"He had that five-pound note you sent three days ago, father, to clear
off any ticks we had, and to pay our journey home. That is what he meant
when he said, 'I have taken the note, but I know you won't grudge it
me.' I think he had about a pound left--that is about what I had--and I
know when the note came he said that the money he had was enough to last
him to the end of the term. So he would have the five-pound note
untouched when he got to London, and if driven to it he could get, I
should think, six or seven pounds for his watch and chain."
"That would give him enough to keep him some little time. If he had been
a couple of years older I should say that he would probably enlist at
once, as you had both made up your minds to go into the army. But
although lads do enlist under the proper age, no recruiting officer or
doctor would pass him as being eighteen. The first thing to do will be
to advertise for him--in the first place to advertise offering a reward
for information as to his whereabouts, and in the second place
advertising to him direct, begging him to come home."
"But he would never come, father," Rupert said, looking at the letter,
which Captain Clinton still held in his hand.
"It would depend how we advertised. Suppose I were to say, 'Statement of
woman not believed; we are in as much doubt as before.'"
The others looked up in intense surprise.
"Oh, father, how could you say that?" Rupert exclaimed. "Oh, if we could
but say so! I should be quite, quite content to know that either of us
might be her son--that would not matter so much if we felt that you
loved us both equally; but how could you say so?"
"Because, Rupert," Captain Clinton said gravely, "I still think there is
great ground for doubt."
"Do you really, father? Oh, I am pleased! I think--yes, I am sure that I
could bear now to know that Edgar is your real son, and not I. It would
be so different to learn it from your lips, to know that you all love me
still, instead of hearing it in the dreadful way Edgar did. But how do
you doubt, father? It seemed to me from reading the letter so certain."
"Do you really doubt, Percy?" Mrs. Clinton asked.
"I do indeed, Lucy; and I will give you my reasons. In the first place,
this woman left India a few weeks after the affair. She certainly could
not have seen the children until we returned to England, and, so far as
we know, has never seen them since. If she has seen them, she never can
have spoken to them or come in any sort of contact with them, therefore
she cannot possibly have known which is which. When she saw them at
Cheltenham, and Rupert says that she was there more than a week, she met
them upon every possible occasion and stared hard at them. It is
evident, therefore, that she was for all that time doubtful. No doubt
she was doing what we used to do, trying to detect a resemblance. Now,
if we in all these years with the boys, constantly watching their ways
and listening to their voices, could detect no resemblance, it is
extremely improbable that she was able to do so from merely seeing them
a score of times walking in the streets. I do not say that it is
impossible she could have done so; I only say it is extremely
improbable; and I think it much more likely that, finding she could see
no resemblance whatever, she determined to speak to the first whom she
might happen to find alone."
"But there is the mark, father," Rupert said.
"Yes, there is the mark," Mrs. Clinton repeated.
"I did not know you had a mark, Rupert. I wonder we never noticed it,
Lucy."
"It is a very tiny one, father. I never noticed it myself--indeed I can
hardly see it before a glass, for it is rather at the back of the
shoulder--until Edgar noticed it one day. It is not larger than the head
of a good-sized pin. It is a little dark-brown mole. Perhaps it was
smaller and lighter when I was a baby; but it must have been there then,
or she would not have known about it."
"That is so, Rupert; but the mere fact that it is there does not in any
way prove that you are our son. Just see what Edgar says about it in his
letter. Remember the woman could not have known which of you boys had
the mark; and that she did not know, that is to say, that she had not
recognized the likeness, appears from Edgar's letter. This is what he
says: 'She said that one of us had a small mole on the shoulder. I knew
that Rupert had a tiny mole there; and she said that was the mark by
which she knew your son from hers.' Suppose Edgar had replied, 'Yes, I
have such a mark on my shoulder,' might she not have said, that is the
mark by which I can distinguish my son from that of Captain Clinton?"
The others were silent. Then Mrs. Clinton said, "You know, Percy, I do
not wish to prove that one more than the other of the boys is ours; but
naturally the woman would wish to benefit her own boy, and if it had
been her own boy who had the mark, why should she not have told Edgar
that she had made a mistake, and that it was Rupert who was her son?"
"I do not suppose, Lucy, that she cared in the slightest which was her
son; her main object, of course, was to extort money. Edgar does not say
anything at all about that; and of course at first she would try and
make out that she was ready to sacrifice herself for him, and would
scarcely say that she expected him to make her a handsome allowance when
he came into the property, but I have no doubt that was her motive.
Well, you see, she had already begun with Edgar. Suppose she said that
she had made a mistake, and Rupert was her son. Edgar would have gone in
and told him, and would probably have telegraphed to me, so that I could
get to Rupert before this woman saw him, and she would have known then
that her story would have been upset altogether. No court of law would
attach any weight to what she might say. She would have to stand
confessed as having been concerned in a gross fraud, and with having
lied at first; and unless she was in a position to produce corroborative
evidence to prove that her child had this mark, her word would go for
nothing.
"Now, I feel sure that she could produce no such evidence. The mark was
almost an invisible one, for it was never afterwards noticed. Had she
shown it to any of the women of her acquaintance, they would have come
forward when the change of children took place, and have pointed out
that the children could be easily distinguished, inasmuch as my child
had a peculiar mark. I feel sure that even her husband knew nothing
about this mark, for I don't believe he was a party to the fraud. He was
terribly upset by the whole business, and took to drink afterwards.
There were continual quarrels between his wife and himself, and she left
him and went to England. I believe if he could have pointed out which
was my child and which was his own, he would have done so.
"Certainly, I myself should have attached little or no weight to this
woman's story if she had come here with it. I should have turned her out
of the house, and have told her to go to a court if she dare and claim
the custody of her son. She must have known the weakness of her own
position, and as I say, having once opened the matter to Edgar, she
determined to stick to it, knowing that a boy taken thus on a sudden
would be likely to believe her, whereas if she said that you were her
son she would find you already prepared and probably have to confront me
too. So you see, Rupert, I can truthfully advertise--'Woman's story not
believed; we are in as much doubt as before; both are regarded by us as
our sons.'"
"I am glad, father!" Rupert exclaimed excitedly. "Oh! if Edgar had but
written to you first, instead of going straight away."
"It would have been better," Captain Clinton said, "but I cannot blame
him. I think it was natural that he should go as he did. He would have
thought that had he written to me it would have seemed as if he wanted
something from me, and anything would have seemed better to him than
that. However, we must set about doing something at once. I shall go by
the nine o'clock local to Swindon, and on by the night mail to town.
Then I shall set a detective at work. He may find out from the porters
if anyone noticed a lad arrive by the night mail this morning, and shall
draw up carefully-worded advertisements. I shall write to Mr.
River-Smith before I start. What would you like, Rupert--to go back
to-morrow, or to stay away until the end of the term? If you take my
advice, you will go back; it would be a pity for you to miss your
examinations."
"I don't think I could get through the examinations, father, with this
on my mind; besides, what should I say to the fellows about Edgar's
going away? You see, if we find him before next term begins, we need say
nothing about it."
"You would have to account for his having run away, Rupert, anyhow. I
think you had better go back, my boy, and tell the facts of the story.
There is not the slightest discredit in it, and it would be better for
Edgar himself that it should be known that he went under the influence
of a mistake than that all sorts of reasons should be assigned for his
absence. There will, of course, be no occasion to go into full details.
You would tell the story of the confusion that arose as to the children,
and say that Edgar had received some information which led him
erroneously to conclude that the problem was solved, and that he was not
my son, and that therefore he had run away so as to avoid receiving any
further benefits from the mistake that had been made."
"Perhaps that would be best, father. Indeed I don't know what I should
do if I were to stop here now with nothing to do but to worry about
him."
"I am sure it will be best, Rupert. I will tell your master you will
return to-morrow afternoon."
Captain Clinton went up to town by the night mail, and in the morning
went to a private detective's office. After giving particulars of
Edgar's age and appearance he went on: "As he had no luggage with him,
and there was nothing particular about his personal appearance, I
consider it altogether useless to search for him in London; but I think
it possible that he may try to enlist."
"Sixteen is too young for them to take him, unless he looks a good deal
older than he is."
"Yes, I quite see that. At the same time that is the only thing that
occurs to us as likely for him to try."
"Not likely to take to the sea, sir?"
"Not at all likely from what we know of his fancies. Still he might do
that for a couple of years with a view to enlisting afterwards."
"How about going to the States or Canada?"
"That again is quite possible."
"Had he money with him, sir?"
"He had about five pounds in his pocket, and a gold watch and chain
that he had only had a few months, and could, I should think, get seven
or eight pounds for; but I do not see what he could do to get his living
if he went abroad."
"No, sir; but then young gents always have a sort of fancy that they can
get on well out there, and if they do not mind what they turn to I fancy
that most of them can. Is he in any trouble, sir? You will excuse my
asking, but a young chap who gets into trouble generally acts in a
different sort of way to one who has gone out what we may call
venturesome."
"No, he has got into no trouble," Captain Clinton said. "He has gone
away under a misunderstanding, but there is nothing whatever to make him
wish to conceal himself beyond the fact that he will do all he can to
prevent my tracing him at present. Here are half a dozen of his photos.
If you want more I can get them struck off."
"I could do with another half-dozen," the man said. "I will send them
down to men who act with me at Southampton, Hull, Liverpool, Glasgow,
and Plymouth, and will send two or three abroad. He might cross over to
Bremen or Hamburg, a good many go that way now. I will look after the
recruiting offices here myself; but as he is only sixteen, and as you
say does not look older, I do not think there is a chance of his trying
that. No recruiting sergeant would take him up. No, sir; I should say
that if he has no friends he can go to, the chances are he will try to
ship for the States or Canada. But what are we to do if we find him?"
Captain Clinton had not thought of this.
"Of course," the man went on, "if you gave an authority for me to send
down to each of my agents, they could take steps to stop him."
"No," Captain Clinton said after a pause, during which he had been
thinking that as he could not swear that Edgar was his son, he was in
fact powerless in the matter. "No, I do not wish that done. I have no
idea whatever of coercing him. I want, if possible, to see him and
converse with him before he goes. If that is not possible, and if he is
not found until just as the ship is sailing, then I want your agent to
wire to me the name of the steamer in which he goes and the port to
which it sails. Then if there is a faster steamer going, I might be
there as soon as he is; if not, I should wish you to telegraph to a
private detective firm across the water, which I suppose you could do,
to have somebody to meet the steamer as she came in, and without his
knowing it to keep him under his eye until I arrive."
"I could manage all that, sir, easily enough. I will send off four of
the photographs at once to the ports and the others as soon as I get
them, and will go down with the other photograph to the recruiting
office and arrange with one of the sergeants engaged there to let me
know if he turns up, and will send a man down to the docks to watch the
ships there. I will send off the other photos directly I get them."
There was nothing else for Captain Clinton to do, but before he returned
home he wrote out a series of advertisements and left them at the
offices of the principal papers. They ran as follows:--"If E.C., who
left Cheltenham suddenly, will return home he will find that he has
acted under a misapprehension. The woman's story was untrustworthy. He
is still regarded as a son by P.C. and L.C." Having done this he drove
to Paddington, and went down by an afternoon train.
Rupert arrived at Cheltenham just as the others had sat down to tea.
"Hullo, Clinton! Back again, eh? Glad to see you."
Rupert nodded a reply to the greeting. His heart was too full to speak,
and he dropped into the seat he was accustomed to use, the others moving
up closely to make room for him. A significant glance passed between the
boys. They saw that Edgar was not with him, and guessed that there was
something wrong. There had been a good deal of wonder among them at the
Clintons' sudden disappearance, and although several of the boys had
seen Rupert go into his brother's dormitory none had seen Edgar, and
somehow or other it leaked out that Rupert had started in a cab to the
station alone. There had been a good deal of quiet talk among the
seniors about it. All agreed that there was something strange about the
matter, especially as Robert, when questioned on the subject, had
replied that Mr. River-Smith's orders were that he was to say nothing
about it. As a precautionary measure orders were given to the juniors
that no word about the Clintons' absence was to be said outside the
house.
After tea was over Rupert went up to Pinkerton.
"Pinkerton, I should like to have a talk with you and Easton and two or
three others--Skinner, and Mossop, and Templer--yes, and Scudamore."
"Just as you like, Clinton. Of course if you like to tell us anything we
shall be glad to hear it, but we all know that your brother was not the
sort of fellow to get into any dishonourable sort of scrape, and I can
promise you we shall ask no questions if you would rather keep the
matter altogether to yourself."
"No, I would rather tell you," Rupert said. "I know none of you would
think that Edgar would have done anything wrong, but all sorts of
stories are certain to go about, and I would rather that the truth of
the matter were known. You are the six head fellows of the house, and
when I have told you the story you can do as you like about its going
further."
"Well, if you go up to my study," Pinkerton said, "I will bring the
others up."
In three or four minutes the party were gathered there.
"Look here, Clinton," Easton said, "Pinkerton says he has told you that
we are all sure that, whatever this is all about, your brother has done
nothing he or you need be ashamed about. I should like to say the same
thing, and if it is painful for you to tell it do not say anything about
it. We shall be quite content to know that he has left, if he has
left--although I hope we shall see him again next term for some good
reason or other."
"No, I would rather tell it," Rupert said. "It is a curious story, and a
very unpleasant one for us, but there is nothing at all for us to be
ashamed about." And he went on to tell them the whole story, ending with
"You see, whether Edgar or I am the son of Captain Clinton, or of this
sergeant and his scheming wife, is more than we can say."
"It does not matter a bit to us," Easton said, breaking the silence of
surprise with which they had listened to the story. "We like you and
your brother for yourselves, and it does not matter a rap to us, nor as
far as I can see to anyone else, who your fathers and mothers were."
"I call it horribly hard lines for you both," Skinner put in; "deuced
hard lines, especially for your brother."
Pinkerton said: "By what you say Captain Clinton and his wife don't care
now which is their real son; one is real and the other adopted, and as
they regard you in the same light they don't even want to know which is
which. Well, now you know that, it seems to me you are all right anyhow.
You see your brother didn't know that, and when this woman told him she
was his mother, and that the whole thing had been a preconcerted plot on
her part, I can quite understand his going straight away. I think we
should all have done the same if we had had the same story told to us,
and had seen we were intended to be parties to a fraud of that sort.
Well, I am glad you told us, but I do not think there is any occasion
for the story to go further."
"Certainly not," Easton agreed, "it would do no good whatever; and of
course it would never be kept in the house, but would come to be the
talk of the whole school. All that need be said is that Clinton has told
us the reason of his brother leaving so suddenly, that we are all of
opinion that he acted perfectly rightly in doing so, and that nothing
more is to be said about the matter. We will each give Clinton our word
of honour not to give the slightest hint to anyone about it, or to say
that it is a curious story or anything of that sort, but just to stick
to it that we have heard all about it and are perfectly satisfied."
"That will certainly be the best plan," Pinkerton agreed; "but I think
it would be as well for us to say he has left for family reasons, and
that it is nothing in any way connected with himself, and that we hope
that he will be back again next term."
"Yes, we might say that," Easton agreed; "family reasons mean all sorts
of things, and anyone can take their choice out of them. Well, Clinton,
I shouldn't worry over this more than you can help. I daresay Edgar will
be found in a day or two. At any rate you may be sure that no harm has
come to him, or is likely to come to him. If he emigrates, or anything
of that sort, he is pretty safe to make his way, and I am sure that
whatever he is doing he will always be a gentleman and a good fellow."
"That he will," Mossop said cordially. "I hope we should all have done
as he has under the same circumstances, but it would be a big temptation
to some fellows to have the alternative of a good fortune and a nice
estate on one side, and of going out into the world and making your own
living how you can on the other."
There was a chorus of assent.
"Yes," Easton said, "it is very easy to say 'Do what is right and never
mind what comes of it;' but we should all find it very hard to follow it
in practice if we had a choice like that before us. Well, you tell your
brother when you hear of him, Clinton, that we all think better of him
than before, and that whether he is a sergeant's son or a captain's we
shall welcome him heartily back, and be proud to shake his hand."
And so it was settled, and to the great disappointment of the rest of
the house no clue was forthcoming as to the cause of Edgar Clinton
leaving so suddenly; but as the monitors and seniors all seemed
perfectly satisfied with what they had heard, it was evident to the
others that whatever the cause might be he was not to blame in the
matter.
During the short time that remained of the term Rupert got on better
than he had expected. While the examination was going on Easton invited
him to do his work in his private study, gave him his advice as to the
passages likely to be set, and coached him up in difficult points, and
he came out higher in his form than he had expected to do.
Three days before the school broke up Easton said: "Clinton, I have had
a letter from my father this morning, and he will be very glad if you
will come down to spend the holidays at our place. And so shall I. There
is very good hunting round us. My father has plenty of horses in his
stables, and I expect we shall be rather gay, for my brother comes of
age in the week after Christmas, and there is going to be a ball and so
on. I don't know how you feel about it, but I should say that it would
be better for you than being at home where everything will call your
brother to your mind, and your being there will make it worse for the
others."
"I am very much obliged to you, Easton; I should like it very much. I
will write off to the governor at once and hear what he says. They might
like to have me home, and possibly I might be useful in the search for
Edgar. As I have told you, I feel sure that he has enlisted. He would be
certain to change his name, and it would be no use anyone who did not
know him going to look at the recruits."
"But we agreed, Clinton, that no one would enlist him at his age, and he
is altogether too old to go as a band-boy."
"Yes, I know that; and that is what worries me more than anything. Still
I cannot help thinking that he will try some how to get into the army.
If he can't, I believe he will do anything he can to get a living until
they enlist him."
"I don't think he can anyhow pass as eighteen, Clinton. If it was for
anything else he might get up with false moustache or something; but
you see he has got to pass a strict examination by a surgeon. I have
heard that lots of fellows do enlist under age, but then some fellows
look a good bit older than they are. I don't believe any doctor would be
humbugged into believing that Edgar is anything like eighteen."
"Well, I will write to my father this afternoon and hear what he says.
If he thinks I cannot do any good and they don't want me at home, I
shall be very pleased to come to you."
Captain Clinton's letter came by return of post. He said that he was
very pleased Rupert had had an invitation that would keep him away. "We
have received no news whatever of Edgar, and I don't think that it would
be of any use for you to join in the search for him. There is no saying
where he may have gone or what he may be doing. I agree with you that he
will most likely take any job that offers to keep him until he can
enlist. Arrangements have been made with one of the staff sergeants at
the head-quarters of recruiting in London to let us know if any young
fellow answering to Edgar's description comes up to be medically
examined. So we shall catch him if he presents himself there.
Unfortunately there are such a number of recruiting depôts all over the
country, that there is no saying where he may try to enlist--that is, if
he does try. However, at present there is certainly nothing you can do.
I should like to have you home, and your mother says she should like you
too, but I do think that for her sake it is better you should not come.
As long as you are away there is nothing to recall at every moment the
fact that Edgar has gone, whereas if you were here his absence would be
constantly be before her. She is quite ill with anxiety, and Dr.
Wilkinson agrees with me that change is most desirable. I am sure she
would not hear of going away if you were at home; it would give her a
good excuse for staying here; but when she hears that you are not coming
I think I may be able to persuade her to listen to Wilkinson's opinion,
and in that case I shall take her and Madge down to Nice at once. If I
can get her there by Christmas so much the better, for Christmas at home
would be terribly trying to us all. Once we are there, we can wander
about for two or three months in Italy or Spain, or across to Algeria or
Egypt--anything to distract her mind."
Accordingly Rupert accepted Easton's invitation, and went with him to
his father's in Leicestershire. Had it not been for the uncertainty
about Edgar he would have enjoyed his holidays greatly. Although he had
always joined to a certain extent in the chaff of his school-fellows at
Easton's care about his dress and little peculiarities of manner, he had
never shared in Skinner's prejudices against him, and always said that
he could do anything well that he chose to turn his hand to, and had
appreciated his readiness to do a kindness to anyone who really needed
it. It had been his turn now, and the friendly companionship of the
elder boy had been of the greatest value to him. Easton had never said
much in the way of sympathy, which indeed would have jarred Rupert's
feelings, but his kindness had said more than words could do; and
Rupert, as he looked back, felt ashamed at the thought that he had often
joined in a laugh about him.
At home the points that had seemed peculiar at school were unnoticeable.
The scrupulous attention to dress that had there been in strong contrast
to the general carelessness of the others in that respect, seemed but
natural in his own house, where there were a good many guests staying.
Rupert and Edgar had always been more particular at home than at school;
but Easton was the same, indeed Rupert thought that he was if anything
less particular now than he had been at River-Smith's.
A week after Christmas Rupert received a letter from his father, written
at Nice, saying that a letter from Edgar had been forwarded on from
home, and giving the brief words in which the lad said that he was well,
and that they might be under no uneasiness respecting him. "This does
not tell us much," Captain Clinton went on, "but we are very pleased,
inasmuch as it seems that Edgar does not mean altogether to drop out of
our sight, but will, we hope, write from time to time to let us know
that at any rate he is well. The letter has the London post-mark, but of
course that shows nothing; it may have been written anywhere and sent to
anyone--perhaps to a waiter at an hotel at which he stopped in London,
and with whom he had arranged to post any letters that he might inclose
to him. The letter has greatly cheered your mother, who, in spite of all
I could say, has hitherto had a dread that Edgar in his distress might
have done something rash. I have never thought so for an instant. I
trust that my two boys are not only too well principled, but too brave
to act a coward's part, whatever might befall them. Your mother, of
course, agreed with me in theory; but while she admitted that Edgar
would never if in his senses do such a thing, urged that his distress
might be so great that he would not be responsible for what he was
doing. Happily this morbid idea has been dissipated by the arrival of
the letter, and I have great hopes now that she will rouse herself, and
will shake off the state of silent brooding which has been causing me so
much anxiety. It was but this morning that we received the letter, and
already she looks brighter and more like herself than she has done since
you brought us the news of Edgar's disappearance."
This news enabled Rupert to enjoy the remainder of the holidays much
more than he had done the first fortnight. He and Edgar had both been
accustomed to ride since they had been children, and had in their
Christmas holidays for years accompanied their father to the hunting
field, at first upon ponies, but the previous winter on two light-weight
carrying horses he had bought specially for them. Mr. Easton had several
hunters, and Rupert, who was well mounted, thoroughly enjoyed the
hunting, and returned to school with his nerves braced up, ready for
work.
"I won't say anything against Easton again," Skinner said when he heard
from Rupert how pleasant his holidays had been made for him. "I noticed
how he took to you and made things smooth for you the last ten days of
the term, and I fully meant to tell him that I was sorry I had not
understood him better before; only, in the first place, I never happened
to have a good opportunity, and in the second place I don't know that I
ever tried to make one. However, I shall tell him now. It is not a
pleasant thing to be obliged to own that you have behaved badly, but it
is a good deal more unpleasant to feel it and not have the pluck to say
so."
Accordingly the next time Easton came into the senior study, Skinner
went up to him and said:
"Easton, I want to tell you that I am uncommonly sorry that I have set
myself against you because you have been more particular about your
dress and things than the rest of us, and because you did not seem as
keen as we were about football and things. I know that I have behaved
like an ass, and I should like to be friends now if you will let me."
"Certainly I will, Skinner," Easton said, taking the hand he held out.
"I don't know that it was altogether your fault. My people at home are
rather particular about our being tidy and that sort of thing, and when
I came here and some of you rather made fun of me about it, I think that
I stuck to it all the more because it annoyed you. I shall be going up
for Sandhurst this term, and I am very glad to be on good terms with all
you fellows before I leave; so don't let us say anything more about it."
And with another shake of the hands their agreement to be friends was
ratified.
The term between Christmas and Easter was always the dullest of the
year. The house matches at football were over. Although a game was
sometimes played, there was but a languid interest in it. Paper-chases
were the leading incident in the term, and there was a general looking
forward to spring weather, when cricket could begin and the teams
commence practice for the matches of the following term.
Easton was going up in the summer for the examination for the line. He
was not troubling himself specially about it; and indeed his getting in
was regarded as a certainty, for Mr. Southley had said that he would be
safe for the Indian Civil if he chose to try, and considered it a great
pity that he was going up for so comparatively an easy competition as
that for the line. He occasionally went for a walk with Rupert, and
while chatting with him frequently about Edgar, was continually urging
him not to let his thoughts dwell too much upon it, but to stick to his
work.
The watch at the various ports had long since been given up, for had
Edgar intended to emigrate he would certainly have done so very shortly
after his arrival in London, as his means would not have permitted him
to make any stay there.
"I think it is very thoughtful of Edgar," Easton said one day when
Rupert told him that he had heard from his father that another letter
had arrived. "So many fellows when they run away or emigrate, or
anything of that sort, drop writing altogether, and do not seem to give
a thought to the anxiety those at home are feeling for them. He is
evidently determined that he will go his own way and accept no help from
your people, and under the circumstances I can quite enter into his
feelings; but, you see, he does not wish them to be anxious or troubled
about him, and I don't think there is anything for you to worry about,
Clinton. He may be having a hardish time of it; still he is no doubt
getting his living somehow or other, and I don't know that it will do
him any harm.
"I think he is the sort of fellow to make his way in whatever line he
takes up, and though what he has learnt here may not be of much use to
him at the start, his having had a good education is sure to be of
advantage to him afterwards. A fellow who could hold his own in a tussle
such as we had with the Greenites last term can be trusted to make a
good fight in anything. At any rate it is of no use your worrying
yourself about him. You see, you will be going up in a year's time for
your examination for the line, and you will have to stick to it pretty
steadily if you are to get through at the first trial. It won't help
matters your worrying about him, and wherever he is and whatever he is
doing he is sure to keep his eye on the lists, and he will feel just as
much pleasure in seeing your name there as he would have done if he had
been here with you. So I should say, work steadily and play steadily.
You have a good chance of being in the college boat next term; that and
shooting will give you enough to do.
"It is no use sticking to it too hard. I was telling Skinner yesterday
he will regularly addle his brain if he keeps on grinding as he is doing
now. But it is of no use talking to Skinner; when his mind is set on a
thing he can think of nothing else. Last term it was football, now it is
reading. It must be an awful nuisance to be as energetic as he is. I
cannot see why he should not take life comfortably."
"He would say," Rupert laughed, "he cannot see why he should do things
by fits and starts as you do, Easton."
"Ah! but I do not do it on principle," Easton argued. "I am all for
taking it quietly, only sometimes one gets stirred up and has to throw
one's self into a thing. One does it, you know, but one feels it a
nuisance--an unfair wear and tear of the system."
"Your system does not seem to suffer seriously, Easton."
"No; but it might if one were called upon to do these things often. But
it is time for us to turn back, or we shall be late for tea."