COLONEL ABINGER TAKES COMMAND
One misty morning, about three weeks after the picnic, Dick found
himself a prisoner in the quadrangle of Frobisher's Inn. He had risen to
catch an early train, but the gates were locked, and the porter in
charge had vanished from his box. Dick chafed, and tore round the Inn in
search of him. It was barely six o'clock; which is three hours after
midnight in London. The windows of the Inn had darkened one by one,
until for hours the black building had slept heavily with only one eye
open. Dick recognised the window, and saw Rob's shadow cast on its white
blind. He was standing there, looking up a little uneasily, when the
porter tramped into sight.
'Is Mr. Angus often as late as this?' Mary's brother paused to ask at
the gate.
'Why, sir,' the porter answered, 'I am on duty until eight o'clock, and
as likely as not he will still be sitting there when I go. His shadow up
there has become a sort of companion to me in the long nights, but I
sometimes wonder what has come over the gentleman of late.'
'He is busy, I suppose; that is all,' Dick said sharply.
The porter shook his head doubtfully, like one who knew the ways of
literary hands. He probably wrote himself.
'Mr. Angus only came in from his office at three o'clock,' he said, 'and
you would think he would have had enough of writing by that time. You
can see his arm going on the blind though yet, and it won't be out of
his common if he has another long walk before he goes to bed.'
'Does he walk so late as this?' asked Dick, to whom six in the morning
was an hour of the night.
'I never knew such a gentleman for walking,' replied the porter, 'and
when I open the gate to him he is off at six miles an hour. I can hear
the echo of his feet two or three streets off. He doesn't look as if he
did it for pleasure either.'
'What else would he do it for?'
'I can't say. He looks as if he wanted to run away from himself.'
Dick passed out, with a forced laugh. He knew that since saying good-bye
to Mary at Sunbury Station, Rob had hardly dared to stop working and
face the future. The only rest Rob got was when he was striding along
the great thoroughfares, where every one's life seemed to have a purpose
except his own. But it was only when he asked himself for what end he
worked that he stopped working. There were moments when he could not
believe that it was all over. He saw himself dead, and the world going
on as usual. When he read what he had written the night before, he
wondered how people could be interested in such matters. The editor of
the _Wire_ began to think of this stolid Scotsman every time there was a
hitch in the office, but Rob scarcely noticed that he was making
progress. It could only mean ten or twenty pounds more a month; and what
was that to a man who had only himself to think of, and had gathered a
library on twenty shillings a week? He bought some good cigars, however.
Dick, who was longing for his father's return from the Continent, so
that the responsibility for this miserable business might be transferred
to the colonel's shoulders, frequently went into Rob's rooms to comfort
him, but did not know how to do it. They sat silently on opposite sides
of the very hearthrug which Mary had once made a remark about--Rob had
looked interestedly at the rug after she went away--and each thought
that, but for the other's sake, he would rather be alone.
What Dick felt most keenly was Rob's increased regard for him. Rob never
spoke of the _Tawny Owl_ without an effort, but he showed that he
appreciated Dick's unspoken sympathy. If affairs could have righted
themselves in that way, Mary's brother would have preferred to be turned
with contumely out of Rob's rooms, where, as it was, and despite his
friendship for Rob, he seemed now to be only present on false pretences.
Dick was formally engaged to Nell now, but he tried at times to have no
patience with Rob. Perhaps he thought a little sadly in his own rooms
that to be engaged is not all the world.
Dick had hoped that the misunderstanding which parted Rob and Mary at
Sunbury would keep them apart without further intervention from him.
That was not to be. The next time he went to Molesey he was asked why he
had not brought Mr. Angus with him, and though it was not Mary who asked
the question, she stopped short on her way out of the saloon to hear his
answer.
'He did not seem to want to come,' Dick replied reluctantly.
'I know why Mr. Angus would not come with you,' Nell said to Dick when
they were alone; 'he thinks Mary is engaged to Sir Clement.'
'Nonsense,' said Dick.
'I am sure of it,' said Nell; 'you know we all thought so that day we
were up the river.'
'Then let him think so if he chooses,' Dick said harshly. 'It is no
affair of his.'
'Oh, it is!' Nell exclaimed. 'But I suppose it would never do, Dick?'
'What you are thinking of is quite out of the question,' replied Dick,
feeling that it was a cruel fate which compelled him to act a father's
part to Mary; 'and besides, Mary does not care for him like that. She
told me so herself.'
'Oh, but she does,' Nell replied, in a tone of conviction.
'Did she tell you so?'
'No, she said she didn't,' answered Nell, as if that made no difference.
'Well,' said Dick wearily, 'it is much better that Angus should not come
here again.'
Nevertheless, when Dick returned to London he carried in his pocket an
invitation to Rob to spend the following Saturday at the _Tawny Owl_. It
was a very nice note in Mary Abinger's handwriting, and Dick would have
liked to drop it over the Hungerfield Bridge. He gave it to Rob,
however, and stood on the defensive.
The note began, 'Dear Mr. Angus, Mrs. Meredith would be very pleased if
you could----'
The blood came to Rob's face as he saw the handwriting, but it went as
quickly.
'They ask me down next Saturday,' Rob said bluntly to Dick, 'but you
know why I can't go.'
'You had better come,' miserable Dick said, defying himself.
'She is to marry Dowton, is she not?' Rob asked, but with no life in his
voice.
Dick turned away his head, to leave the rest to fate.
'So, of course I must not go,' Rob continued bravely.
Dick did not dare to look him in the face, but Rob put his hand on the
shoulder of Mary's brother.
'I was a madman,' he said, 'to think that she could ever have cared for
me, but this will not interfere with our friendship, Abinger?'
'Surely not,' said Dick, taking Rob's hand.
It was one of those awful moments in men's lives when they allow, face
to face, that they like each other.
Rob concluded that Mrs. Meredith, knowing nothing of his attachment for
Mary, saw no reason why he should not return to the house-boat, and that
circumstances had compelled Mary to write the invitation. His blundering
honesty would not let him concoct a polite excuse for declining it, and
Mrs. Meredith took his answer amiss, while Nell dared not say what she
thought for fear of Dick. Mary read his note over once, and then went
for a solitary walk round the island. Rob saw her from the tow-path
where he had been prowling about for hours in hopes of catching a last
glimpse of her. Her face was shaded beneath her big straw hat, and no
baby-yacht, such as the Thames sports, ever glided down the river more
prettily than she tripped along the island path. Once her white frock
caught in a dilapidated seat, and she had to stoop to loosen it. Rob's
heart stopped beating for a moment just then. The way Mary extricated
herself was another revelation. He remembered having thought it
delightful that she seldom knew what day of the month it was, and having
looked on in an ecstasy while she searched for the pocket of her dress.
The day before Mrs. Meredith had not been able to find her pocket, and
Rob had thought it foolish of ladies not to wear their pockets where
they could be more easily got at.
Rob did not know it, but Mary saw him. She had but to beckon, and in
three minutes he would have been across the ferry. She gave no sign,
however, but sat dreamily on the ramshackle seat that patient anglers
have used until the Thames fishes must think seat and angler part of the
same vegetable. Though Mary would not for worlds have let him know that
she saw him, she did not mind his standing afar off and looking at her.
Once after that Rob started involuntarily for Molesey, but realising
what he was about by the time he reached Surbiton, he got out of the
train there and returned to London.
An uneasy feeling possessed Dick that Mary knew of the misunderstanding
which kept Rob away, and possibly even of her brother's share in
fostering it. If so, she was too proud to end it. He found that if he
mentioned Rob to her she did not answer a word. Nell's verbal
experiments in the same direction met with a similar fate, and every one
was glad when the colonel reappeared to take command.
Colonel Abinger was only in London for a few days, being on his way to
Glen Quharity, the tenant of which was already telegraphing him glorious
figures about the grouse. Mary was going too, and the Merediths were
shortly to return to Silchester.
'There is a Thrums man on this stair,' Dick said to his father one
afternoon in Frobisher's Inn, 'a particular friend of mine, though I
have treated him villainously.'
'Ah,' said the colonel, who had just come up from the house-boat, 'then
you might have him in, and make your difference up. Perhaps he could
give me some information about the shooting.'
'Possibly,' Dick said; 'but we have no difference to make up, because he
thinks me as honest as himself. You have met him, I believe.'
'What did you say his name was?'
'His name is Angus.'
'I can't recall any Angus.'
'Ah, you never knew him so well as Mary and I do.'
'Mary?' asked the colonel, looking up quickly.
'Yes,' said Dick. 'Do you remember a man from a Silchester paper who was
at the castle last Christmas?'
'What!' cried the colonel, 'an underbred, poaching fellow who----'
'Not at all,' said Dick, 'an excellent gentleman, who is to make his
mark here, and, as I have said, my very particular friend.'
'That fellow turned up again,' groaned the colonel.
'I have something more to tell you of him,' continued Dick
remorselessly. 'I have reason to believe, as we say on the Press when
hard up for copy, that he is in love with Mary.'
The colonel sprang from his seat. 'Be calm,' said Dick.
'I am calm,' cried the colonel, not saying another word, so fearful was
he of what Dick might tell him next.
'That would not, perhaps, so much matter,' Dick said, coming to rest at
the back of a chair, 'if it were not that Mary seems to have an equal
regard for him.'
Colonel Abinger's hands clutched the edge of the table, and it was not a
look of love he cast at Dick.
'If this be true,' he exclaimed, his voice breaking in agitation, 'I
shall never forgive you, Richard, never. But I don't believe it.'
Dick felt sorry for his father.
'It is a fact that has to be faced,' he said, more gently.
'Why, why, why, the man is a pauper!'
'Not a bit of it,' said Dick. 'He may be on the regular staff of the
_Wire_ any day now.'
'You dare to look me in the face, and tell me you have encouraged this,
this----' cried the colonel, choking in a rush of words.
'Quite the contrary,' Dick said; 'I have done more than I had any right
to do to put an end to it.'
'Then it is ended?'
'I can't say.'
'It shall be ended,' shouted the colonel, making the table groan under
his fist.
'In a manner,' Dick said, 'you are responsible for the whole affair. Do
you remember when you were at Glen Quharity two or three years ago
asking a parson called Rorrison, father of Rorrison the war
correspondent, to use his son's Press influence on behalf of a Thrums
man? Well, Angus is that man. Is it not strange how this has come
about?'
'It is enough to make me hate myself,' replied the irate colonel, though
it had not quite such an effect as that.
When his father had subsided a little, Dick told him of what had been
happening in England during the last month or two. There had been a
change of Government, but the chief event was the audacity of a plebeian
in casting his eyes on a patrician's daughter. What are politics when
the pipes in the bath-room burst?
'So you see,' Dick said in conclusion, 'I have acted the part of the
unrelenting parent fairly well, and I don't like it.'
'Had I been in your place,' replied the colonel, 'I would have acted it
a good deal better.'
'You would have told Angus that you considered him, upon the whole, the
meanest thing that crawls, and that if he came within a radius of five
miles of your daughter you would have the law of him? Yes; but that sort
of trespassing is not actionable nowadays; and besides, I don't know
what Mary might have said.'
'Trespassing!' echoed the colonel; 'I could have had the law of him for
trespassing nearly a year ago.'
'You mean that time you caught him fishing in the Dome? I only heard of
that at second-hand, but I have at least no doubt that he fished to some
effect.'
'He can fish,' admitted the colonel; 'I should like to know what flies
he used.'
Dick laughed.
'Angus,' he said, 'is a man with a natural aptitude for things. He does
not, I suspect, even make love like a beginner.'
'You are on his side, Richard.'
'It has not seemed like it so far, but, I confess, I have certainly had
enough of shuffling.'
'There will be no more shuffling,' said the colonel fiercely. 'I shall
see this man and tell him what I think of him. As for Mary----'
He paused.
'Yes,' said Dick, 'Mary is the difficulty. At present I cannot even tell
you what she is thinking of it all. Mary is the one person I could never
look in the face when I meditated an underhand action--I remember how
that sense of honour of hers used to annoy me when I was a boy--and so I
have not studied her countenance much of late.'
'She shall marry Dowton,' said the colonel decisively.
'It is probably a pity, but I don't think she will,' replied Dick. 'Of
course you can prevent her marrying Angus by simply refusing your
consent.'
'Yes, and I shall refuse it.'
'Though it should break her heart she will never complain,' said Dick,
'but it does seem a little hard on Mary that we should mar her life
rather than endure a disappointment ourselves.'
'You don't look at it in the proper light,' said the colonel, who, like
most persons, made the proper light himself; 'in saving her from this
man we do her the greatest kindness in our power.'
'Um,' said Dick, 'of course. That was how I put it to myself, but just
consider Angus calmly, and see what case we have against him.'
'He is not a gentleman,' said the colonel.
'He ought not to be, according to the proper light, but he is.'
'Pshaw!' the colonel exclaimed pettishly. 'He may have worked himself up
into some sort of position, like other discontented men of his class,
but he never had a father.'
'He says he had a very good one. Weigh him, if you like, against Dowton,
who is a good fellow in his way, but never, so far as I know, did an
honest day's work in his life. Dowton's whole existence has been devoted
to pleasure-seeking, while Angus has been climbing up ever since he was
born, and with a heavy load on his back, too, most of the time. If he
goes on as he is doing, he will have both a good income and a good
position shortly.'
'Dowton's position is made,' said the colonel.
'Exactly,' said Dick, 'and Angus is making his for himself. Whatever
other distinction we draw between them is a selfish one, and I question
if it does us much credit.'
'I have no doubt,' said the colonel, 'that Mary's pride will make her
see this matter as I do.'
'It will at least make her sacrifice herself for our pride, if you
insist on that.'
Mary's father loved her as he had loved her mother, though he liked to
have his own way with both of them. His voice broke a little as he
answered Dick.
'You have a poor opinion of your father, my boy,' he said. 'I think I
would endure a good deal if Mary were to be the happier for it.'
Dick felt a little ashamed of himself.
'Whatever I may say,' he answered, 'I have at least acted much as you
would have done yourself. Forgive me, father.'
The colonel looked up with a wan smile.
'Let us talk of your affairs rather, Richard,' he said. 'I have at least
nothing to say against Miss Meredith.'
Dick moved uncomfortably in his chair, and then stood up, thinking he
heard a knock at the door.
'Are you there, Abinger?' some one called out. 'I have something very
extraordinary to tell you.'
Dick looked at his father, and hesitated. 'It is Angus,' he said.
'Let him in,' said the colonel.