"I can't, Mark."
"What? Why, you said you would."
"Yes, but I thought it meant lending you four or five pounds. I have no
more till my quarter comes round."
"Till your quarter comes round," sneered Mark; "anyone would think he
had his wages then. Here, no nonsense, Dick; you said you would help
me."
"I did, but I can't."
Mark made an angry gesture, but he mastered himself and turned to his
cousin.
"Look here, it doesn't mean money. Simpson knows that you'll have
Quailmere some day, and he said he wouldn't mind waiting if he had good
security. It only means putting your name to a bit of paper."
"Did Simpson suggest that?" said Richard.
"Of course he did, and it means making an end to the trouble. I shall
only have to go on paying the interest."
"Till Mr Simpson chooses to come down upon me and make me pay," said
Richard, with a laugh full of annoyance.
"No, he won't; he said he wouldn't. It's such a little sum, too--
nothing to you! Here, come on with me at once, and let's settle it."
Richard Frayne sat back in his chair, looking straight before him,
unconscious of the fact that his cousin was watching him narrowly, and
who now went on with forced gaiety--
"Wish I hadn't been such a fool as to keep it to myself. Here it has
been worrying my very life out for months, and made me as irritable as a
wasp. You are a good fellow, Dick! But, honour bright, I didn't like
to ask you."
Richard remained silent.
"There, don't think about it any more. Come on."
"But it wants thinking about, Mark."
"What nonsense! You don't know how easy these things are."
"I've often heard," said Richard, drily.
"Yes, of course you have," said Mark, with a feeble laugh. "There, put
me out of my misery, old chap. Sudden death, you know. Come on."
"No," said Richard, quietly. "I promised my poor father that I would
never put my name to paper in that way, and I never will."
"What?"
"You heard, Mark."
"Do you mean to tell me that, after what you have said, you will not
help me out of this bit of trouble?"
"No, I do not mean to tell you that. I want to help you."
"Then, come on."
"Yes, come on to Mr Draycott, and let's ask him what is to be done."
Mark Frayne leaped up from where he had rested in a sitting position
upon the keyboard of the piano, giving his hands a bang down on either
side, and producing fresh jangling discords, which seemed to fit with
the harsh, mocking laugh he uttered.
"Good boy!" he cried. "What an excellent son! That old cock-o'-wax,
the Admirable Crichton, was nowhere. You'd have beaten him into fits,
Dick. Go on, say something else; it does me good; only be gentle. I
couldn't bear to be made such a saint as you are all at once."
"Of course, I know it will be very painful for you," continued Richard,
gravely; "but it is the only thing you can do, and Draycott has over and
over again said to me, `If ever you find yourself in any trouble,
Frayne, forget that we are tutor and pupil, and come to me as a
friend.'"
"You miserable sneak!" growled Mark, in a hard, husky voice.
"No, I'm not; I'm your cousin, and I want to help you, Mark," said
Richard. "I spend so much time at the music that I know very little
about these money matters; but I do know that this fellow Simpson has
been working to get you under his thumb, and running up an account twice
as much as you justly owe him."
"Go on," said Mark, "preach away! I won't quarrel with you; because,
prig as you are, Dick, I don't believe you will refuse to help me. Look
here, it's only signing your name. Will you do it?"
"I'll give you all I've got, and undertake to let you have
three-quarters of my next allowance from the lawyers. I can't do any
more than that."
"Once more," said Mark, huskily, "will you help me?"
"I have told you," was the reply, "I'll lend you all I can scrape
together, or go with you straight to Mr Draycott."
"Once more," said Mark, with an ugly, vicious look in his eyes, "will
you come in to old Simpson's and sign?"
Richard Frayne sat looking firmly at his cousin, but made no reply.
"All right," said Mark, with a laugh; "then the game's up! I shall make
a bolt of it, and go to sea. No: every cad does that. I'll take my
dearly beloved, sanctified cousin for a model, and be very good and
saving. I won't waste all old Draycott's military teaching; it would be
a pity!"
"What do you mean?" cried Richard.
"To go over to Ratcham and take the shilling. Perhaps I shall rise from
the ranks."
"Go and think about what I've said, and come back when you get cool. I
won't go out all day, and--"
_Bang_, _rattle_, and a crash!
Mark Frayne had gone out and closed the door with so much violence that
the dragoon officer's helmet was shaken from the peg upon which it hung,
and fell, bringing with it the cavalry sabre.
Richard sprang from his chair to pick them up, a frown gathering upon
his face as he saw that an ugly dint had been made in the helmet which
resisted all his efforts to force it out.
Then he stood gazing down at it and the sabre, which he had raised and
carefully laid upon the table beneath where it had hung.
It was a fancy, he knew. He told himself that it was a silly piece of
superstition; but, all the same, a strange feeling troubled him; and it
seemed as if the fall of these old mementoes of the gallant officer, his
dead father, was a kind of portent of trouble to come--trouble and
disaster that would be brought about by his cousin.