"Who is it?" said my father.
"Bigley Uggleston," I replied, feeling very awkward.
"Oh, come in, my lad," said my father quietly; and as I held the door
back for him to enter, it suddenly struck me what a frank,
handsome-looking fellow he had grown.
I felt more awkward still, for it seemed to me that I was going to
listen to some very unpleasant remarks about our companionship being
broken off; but to my surprise my father said quietly:
"Come after Sep?"
"Yes, sir. I thought if he was not busy--"
"Well, but he is," said my father smiling. "He was about to unpack that
box for me--I was just going to set him the task."
Bigley drew back, but my father said good-humouredly:
"Why don't you stop and help him?"
"May I, sir? I should like to."
"Go on, then, my lads. Take the lid off carefully, Sep. There is a
screw-driver in that cupboard."
I went eagerly to the cupboard and opened it, to give quite a start, for
there, hanging upon nails at the back, were the pistols and sword I had
remembered were absent from home.
I found the screw-driver in a sort of tool-chest, and as Bigley and I
took it in turns to draw the screws, my father cleared the table.
"Be careful," he said. "You can lay the things out here. I shall soon
be back."
He left us together, and, all eagerness now, I worked away at the
screws, which were very tight, and there were four on each side of the
lid, and others in the clamps, which had to be removed before the lid
could be raised.
"I am glad I came, Sep," said Bigley. "I was wondering why you hadn't
been down to me."
"Were you?" I said, feeling very uncomfortable.
"Yes. What's in the box?"
"I don't know," I said. "I thought it was blocks of metal, packed to
send away."
I hesitated before I said metal. I was going to say silver; but I felt,
after my father's words, as if I ought to be cautious.
"I believe I know what's inside," said my companion.
"Well, what?" I cried, as I tugged at another screw which refused to go
round.
"New tools for the mine."
"Why, of course!" I exclaimed. "Here: you go on. I can't manage this
screw. How stupid of me not to think of it!"
"There he goes!" said Bigley, giving the screw a good wrench. "How many
more are there? I see: these two."
He attacked them one after the other, talking the while.
"I wonder you don't know what's in the box," he said. "I thought your
father told you everything--so different to mine, who never says
anything to me."
"He does say a great deal to me, but he didn't tell me about the box."
"There, then!" cried Bigley, taking out the last screw and seating
himself suddenly upon the chest. "We've only got to lift the lid and
there we are. Who has first peep?"
"Oh, I don't care," I said laughing. "You can."
"Here goes, then!" cried Bigley. "Take care of the screws."
I swept them into a heap and placed them on the table as Bigley threw
open the lid, which worked upon two great hinges, and then removing some
coarse paper he drew back.
"You'd better unpack," he said. "Don't make a litter with the
shavings."
For as the paper was removed the box seemed to be full of very fine
brown shavings mixed with fine saw-dust.
I swept the shavings away and felt my hands touch a row of long parcels,
carefully wrapped in a peculiar-looking paper; and as I took them out,
and shook them free of the saw-dust, handing them one by one to Bigley
to place upon the table, my heart began to beat, and the blood flushed
into my cheeks.
"Why, they're not mining tools!" cried Bigley excitedly. "Whatever are
you going to do? They're swords."
"Yes," I said huskily; "they're swords--cutlasses."
"Why, you knew all the time!" cried Bigley.
"No; I did not," I said. "I had no idea."
"But how comical!" he cried. "What are you going to do with them?"
I did not answer, for all my thoughts of half an hour before seemed to
have rushed back, and I felt that I had been wondering why my father had
not done that which he really had; and, though Bigley evidently could
not realise the object of the weapons being there, it certainly seemed
to me that my father felt that there was danger in the air, and that he
meant to be prepared.
"What are you thinking about?" cried my companion. "Why don't you
speak?"
"I was thinking about the cutlasses," I said.
"Well, it is a surprise!" cried Bigley. "Oh, I know. Your father's an
old sea captain, and they say the French are coming. He's going to arm
some men as volunteers."
All this time I was handing out the wrapped-up weapons, as we supposed
them to be--as we felt they must be--and Bigley was arranging them upon
the table side by side.
"That's the end of those," I said, and Bigley counted them. Twelve.
"Twelve swords," he said. "I say, Sep, let's ask him to make us
volunteers too."
But I was unpacking the next things, and felt in no wise surprised by
their weight and shape, to which the brown paper lent itself pretty
clearly.
"Pistols!" cried Bigley, as I handed the first. "Oh, I say, Sep, do you
think there'll be any uniforms too?"
"No," I said, "not in a box like this. Here, catch hold!"