words, which Dick was not likely to miss. "Stop!" he said. "Before you
call them in, just listen to me for a minute. Do you see this?" And,
opening his coat, he pulled out from his waistcoat pocket one end of his
watch-chain. Hanging to it, attached by a cheap gilt fastening of some
sort, was a small grey tablet. Paul knew it at once--it was the Garuda
Stone. "You know it, I see," said Dick, as Paul was about to move
towards him--with what object he scarcely knew himself. "Don't trouble
to come any closer. Well, I give you fair warning. You can make things
very nasty for me if you like. I can't help that--but, if you do--if you
try to score off me in any way, now or at any time--if you don't keep it
up when the Doctor comes in--I tell you what I shall do. I shall go
straight home and find young Roly. I shall give him this stone, and just
tell him to say some wish after me. I don't believe there are many
things it can't do, and all I can say is--if you find yourself and all
this jolly old school (except Dulcie) taken off somewhere and stuck down
all at once thousands of miles away on a desolate island, or see
yourself turned into a Red Indian, or, or a cabhorse, you'll have
yourself to thank for it--that's all. Now you can have them all up and
fire away."
"No," said Paul, in a broken voice, for, wild as the threat was, he
could not afford to despise it after his experiences of the stone's
power, "I--I was joking, Dick; at least I didn't mean it. I know of
course I'm helpless. It's a sad thing for a father to say, but you've
got the best of it.... I give in ... I won't interfere with you. There's
only one thing I ask. You won't try any more experiments with that
miserable stone.... You'll promise me that, at least?"
"Yes," said Dick: "it's all right. I'll play fair. As long as you behave
yourself and back me up I won't touch it. I only want to stay as I am. I
don't want to hurt you."
"You won't lose it?" said Paul anxiously. "Couldn't you lock it up? that
fastening doesn't look very safe."
"It will do well enough," said Dick. "I got it done at the watchmaker's
round the corner, for sixpence. But I'll have a stronger ring put in
somewhere, if I think of it."
There was a pause, in which the conversation seemed about to flag
hopelessly, but at last Dick said, almost as if he felt some compunction
for his present unfilial attitude: "Now, you know, it's much better to
take things quietly. It can't be altered now, can it? And it's not such
bad fun being a boy after all--for some things. You'll get into it
by-and-by, you see if you don't, and be as jolly as a sandboy. We shall
get along all right together, too. I shan't be hard on you. It isn't my
fault that you happen to be at this particular school--you chose it! And
after this term you can go to any other school you like--Eton or Rugby,
or anywhere. I don't mind the expense. Of, if you'd rather, you can have
a private tutor. And I'll buy you a pony, and you can ride in the Row.
You shall have a much better time of it than I ever had, as long as you
let me go on my own way."
But these dazzling bribes had no influence upon Mr. Bultitude; nothing
short of complete restitution would ever satisfy him, and he was too
proud and too angry at his crushing defeat to even pretend to be in the
least pacified.
"I don't want your pony," he said bitterly; "I might as well have a
white elephant, and I don't suppose I should enjoy myself much more at a
public school than I do here. Let's have no humbug, sir. You're up and
I'm down--there's no more to be said--I shall tell the Doctor nothing,
but I warn you, if ever the time comes----"
"Oh, of course," said Dick, feeling tolerably secure, now he had
disposed of the main difficulty. "If you can turn me out, I suppose you
will--that's only fair. I shall take care not to give you the chance.
And, oh, I say, do you want any tin? How much have you got left?"
Paul turned away his head, lest Dick should see the sudden exultation he
knew it must betray, as he said, with an effort to appear unconcerned,
"I came away with exactly five shillings, and I haven't a penny now!"
"I say," said Dick, "you are a fellow; you must have been going it. How
did you get rid of it all in a week?"
"It went, as far as I can understand," said Mr. Bultitude, "in rabbits
and mice. Some boys claimed it as money they paid you to get them, I
believe."
"All your own fault," said Dick, "you would have them drowned. But you'd
better have some tin to get along with. How much do you want? Will
half-a-crown do?"
"Half-a-crown is not much, Dick," said his father, almost humbly.
"It's--ahem--a handsome allowance for a young fellow like you," said
Dick, rather unkindly; "but I haven't any half-crowns left. I must give
you this, I suppose."
And he held out a sovereign, never dreaming what it signified to Paul,
who clutched it with feelings too great for words, though gratitude was
not a part of them, for was it not his own money?
"And now look out," said Dick, "I hear Grim. Remember what I told you;
keep it up."
Dr. Grimstone came in with the air of a man who has a painful duty to
perform; he started slightly as his eye noted the change in his
visitor's dress and appearance. "I hope," he began gravely, "that your
son has spared me the pain of going into the details of his
misbehaviour; I wish I could give you a better report of him."
Dick was plainly, in spite of his altered circumstances, by no means at
ease in the schoolmaster's presence; he stood, shifting from foot to
foot on the hearth-rug, turning extremely red and obstinately declining
to raise his eyes from the ground.
"Oh, ah," he stammered at last, "you were just going to swish him,
weren't you, when I turned up, sir?"
"I found myself forced," said the Doctor, slightly shocked at this
coarse way of putting things, "forced to contemplate administering to
him (for his ultimate benefit) a sharp corrective in the presence of his
schoolfellows. I distress you, I see, but the truth must be told. He has
no doubt confessed his fault to you?"
"No," said Dick, "he hasn't though. What's he been up to now?"
"I had hoped he would have been more open, more straightforward, when
confronted with the father who has proved himself so often indulgent and
anxious for his improvement; it would have been a more favourable
symptom, I think. Well, I must tell you myself. I know too well what a
shock it will be to your scrupulously sensitive moral code, my dear Mr.
Bultitude" (Dick showed a painful inclination to giggle here); "but I
have to break to you the melancholy truth that I detected this unhappy
boy in the act of conducting a secret and amorous correspondence with a
young lady in a sacred edifice!"
Dick whistled sharply: "Oh, I say!" he cried, "that's bad" (and he
wagged his head reprovingly at his disgusted father, who longed to
denounce his hypocrisy, but dared not); "that's bad ... he shouldn't do
that sort of thing you know, should he? At his age too ... the young
dog!"
"This horror is what I should have expected from you," said the Doctor
(though he was in truth more than scandalised by the composure with
which his announcement was received). "Such boldness is indeed
characteristic of the dog, an animal which, as you are aware, was with
the ancients a synonym for shamelessness. No boy, however abandoned,
should hear such words of unequivocal condemnation from a father's lips
without a pang of shame!"
Paul was only just able to control his rage by a great effort.
"You're right there, sir," said Dick; "he ought to be well ragged for it
... he'll break my heart, if he goes on like this, the young beggar. But
we mustn't be too hard on him, eh? After all, it's nature, you know,
isn't it?"
"I beg your pardon?" said Dr. Grimstone very stiffly.
"I mean," explained Dick, with a perilous approach to digging the other
in the ribs, "we did much the same sort of thing in our time, eh? I'm
sure I did--lots of times!"
"I can't reproach myself on that head, Mr. Bultitude; and permit me to
say, that such a tone of treating the affair is apt to destroy the
effect, the excellent moral effect, of your most impressively conveyed
indignation just now. I merely give you a hint, you understand!"
"Oh, ah," said Dick, feeling that he had made a mistake, "yes, I didn't
mean that. But I say, you haven't given him a--a whopping yet, have
you?"
"I had just stepped out to procure a cane for that purpose," said the
Doctor, "when your name was announced."
"Well, look here, you won't want to start again when I'm gone, will
you?"
"An ancient philosopher, my dear sir, was accustomed to postpone the
correction of his slaves until the first glow of his indignation had
passed away. He found that he could----"
"Lay it on with more science," suggested Dick, while Paul writhed where
he stood. "Perhaps so, but you might forgive him now, don't you think?
he won't do it again. If he goes writing any more love-letters, tell me,
and I'll come and talk to him; but he's had a lesson, you know. Let him
off this time."
"I have no right to resist such an entreaty," said the Doctor, "though I
may be inclined myself to think that a few strokes would render the
lesson more permanent. I must ask you to reconsider your plea for his
pardon."
Paul heard this with indescribable anxiety; he had begun to feel
tolerably sure that his evil hour was postponed _sine die_, but might
not Dick be cruel and selfish enough to remain neutral, or even side
with the enemy, in support of his assumed character?
Luckily he was not. "I'd rather let him off," he said awkwardly; "I
don't approve of caning fellows myself. It never did me any good, I
know, and I got enough of it to tell."
"Well, well, I yield. Richard, your father has interceded for you; and I
cannot disregard his wishes, though I have my own view in the matter.
You will hear no more of this disgraceful conduct, sir, unless you do
something to recall it to my memory. Thank your father for his kindness,
which you so little deserved, and take your leave of him."
"Oh, there, it's all right!" said Dick; "he'll behave himself after
this, I know. And oh! I say, sir," he added hastily, "is--is Dulcie
anywhere about?"
"My daughter?" asked the Doctor. "Would you like to see her?"
"I shouldn't mind," said Dick, blushing furiously.
"I'm sorry to say she has gone out for a walk with her mother," said the
Doctor. "I'm afraid she cannot be back for some time. It's unfortunate."
Dick's face fell. "It doesn't matter," he muttered awkwardly. "She's
all right, I hope?"
"She is very seldom ailing, I'm happy to say; just now she is
particularly well, thank you."
"Oh, is she?" said Dick gloomily, probably disappointed to find that he
was so little missed, and not suspecting that his father had been
accepted as a substitute.
"Well, do you mind--could I see the fellows again for a minute or two--I
mean I should rather like to inspect the school, you know."
"See my boys? Certainly, my dear sir, by all means; this way," and he
took Dick out to the schoolroom--Paul following out of curiosity.
"You'll find us at our studies, you see," said the Doctor, as he opened
the first baize door. There was a suspicious hubbub and hum of voices
from within; but as they entered every boy was bent over his books with
the rapt absorption of the devoted student--an absorption that was the
direct effect of the sound the door-handle made in turning.
"Our workshop," said the Doctor airily, looking round. "My first form,
Mr. Bultitude. Some good workers here, and some idle ones."
Dick stood in the doorway, looking (if the truth must be told)
uncommonly foolish. He had wanted, in coming there, to enjoy the
contrast between the past and present--which accounts for a good many
visits of "old boys" to the scene of their education. But, confronted
with his former schoolfellows, he was seized at first with an utterly
unreasonable fear of detection.
The class behaved as classes usually do on such occasions. The good boys
smirked and the bad ones stared--the general expression being one of
uneasy curiosity. Dick said never a word, feeling strangely bashful and
nervous.
"This is Tipping, my head boy," touching that young gentleman on the
shoulder, and making him several degrees more uncomfortable. "I expect
solid results from Tipping some day."
"He looks as if his head was pretty solid," said Dick, who had once cut
his knuckles against it.
"My second boy, Biddlecomb. If he applies himself, he too will do me
credit in the world."
"How do, Biddlecomb?" said Dick. "I owe you ninepence--I mean--oh hang
it, here's a shilling for you! Hallo, Chawner!" he went on, gradually
overcoming his first nervousness, "how are you getting on, eh? Doing
much in the sneaking way lately?"
"You know him!" exclaimed the Doctor with naive surprise.
"No, no; I don't know him. I've heard of him, you know--heard of him!"
Chawner looked down his nose with a feeble attempt at a gratified
simper, while his neighbours giggled with furtive relish.
"Well," said Dick at last, after a long look at all the old familiar
objects, "I must be off, you know. Got some important business at home
this evening to look after. The fellows look very jolly and contented,
and all that sort of thing. Enough to make one want to be a boy again
almost, eh? Good-bye, you chaps--ahem, young gentlemen, I wish you good
morning!"
And he went out, leaving behind him the impression that "young
Bultitude's governor wasn't half such a bad old buffer."
He paused at the open front door, to which Paul and the Doctor had
accompanied him. "Good-bye," he said; "I wish I'd seen Dulcie. I should
like to see your daughter, sir; but it can't be helped. Good-bye; and
you," he added in a lower tone to his father, who was standing by,
inexpressibly pained and disgusted by his utter want of dignity, "you
mind what I told you. Don't try any games with me!"
And, as he skipped jauntily down the steps to the gateway, the Doctor
followed his unwieldy, oddly-dressed form with his eyes, and, inclining
his head gravely to Dick's sweeping wave of the hand, asked with a
compassionate tone in his voice. "You don't happen to know, Richard, my
boy, if your father has had any business troubles lately--anything to
disturb him?"
And Mr. Bultitude's feelings prevented him from making any intelligible
reply.
15. _The Rubicon_
"My three schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust--as I will adders fanged;
They bear the mandate."
Paul never quite knew how the remainder of that day passed at Crichton
House. He was ordered to join a class which was more or less engaged
with some kind of work: he had a hazy idea that it was Latin, though it
may have been Greek; but he was spared the necessity of taking any
active part in the proceedings, as Mr. Blinkhorn was not disposed to be
too exacting with a boy who in one short morning had endured a sentence
of expulsion, a lecture, the immediate prospect of a flogging, and a
paternal visit, and, as before, mercifully left him alone.
His classmates, however, did not show the same chivalrous delicacy; and
Paul had to suffer many unmannerly jests and gibes at his expense,
frequent and anxious inquiries as to the exact nature of his treatment
in the dining-room, with sundry highly imaginative versions of the same,
while there was much candid and unbiassed comment on the appearance and
conduct of himself and his son.
But he bore it unprotesting--or, rather, he scarcely noticed it; for all
his thoughts were now entirely taken up by one important subject--the
time and manner of his escape.
Thanks to Dick's thoughtless liberality, he had now ample funds to carry
him safely home. It was hardly likely that any more unexpected claims
could be brought against him now, particularly as he had no intention
of publishing his return to solvency. He might reasonably consider
himself in a position to make his escape at the very first favourable
opportunity.
When would that opportunity present itself? It must come soon. He could
not wait long for it. Any hour might yet see him pounced upon and
flogged heartily for some utterly unknown and unsuspected transgression;
or the golden key which would unlock his prison bars might be lost in
some unlucky moment; for his long series of reverses had made him loth
to trust to Fortune, even when she seemed to look smilingly once more
upon him.
Fortune's countenance is apt to be so alarmingly mobile with some
unfortunates.
But in spite of the new facilities given him for escape, and his strong
motives for taking advantage of them, he soon found to his utter dismay
that he shrank from committing himself to so daring and dangerous a
course, just as much as when he had tried to make a confidant of the
Doctor.
For, after all, could he be sure of himself? Would his ill-luck suffer
him to seize the one propitious moment, or would that fatal
self-distrust and doubt that had paralysed him for the past week seize
him again just at the crisis?
Suppose he did venture to take the first irrevocable step, could he rely
on himself to go through the rest of his hazardous enterprise? Was he
cool and wary enough? He dared not expect an uninterrupted run. Had he
ruses and expedients at command on any sudden check?
If he could not answer all these doubts favourably, was it not sheer
madness to take to flight at all?
He felt a dismal conviction that his success would have to depend, not
on his own cunning, but on the forbearance or blindness of others. The
slightest _contretemps_ must infallibly upset him altogether.
The fact was, he had all his life been engaged in the less eventful and
contentious branches of commerce. His will had seldom had to come in
contact with others, and when it did so, he had found means, being of a
prudent and cautious temperament, of avoiding disagreeable personal
consequences by timely compromises or judicious employment of delegates.
He had generally found his fellow-men ready to meet him reasonably as an
equal or a superior.
But now he must be prepared to see in everyone he met a possible enemy,
who would hand him over to the tyrant on the faintest suspicion. They
were spies to be baffled or disarmed, pursuers to be eluded. The
smallest slip in his account of himself would be enough to undo him.
No wonder that, as he thought over all this, his heart quailed within
him.
They say--the paradox-mongers say--that it requires a far higher degree
of moral courage for a soldier in action to leave the ranks under fire
and seek a less distinguished position towards the rear, than would
carry him on with the rest to charge a battery.
This may be true, though it might not prove a very valuable defence at a
court-martial; but, at all events, Mr. Bultitude found, when it came to
the point, that it was almost impossible for him to screw up his courage
to run away.
It is not a pleasant state, this indecision whether to stay passively
and risk the worst or avoid it by flight, and the worst of it is that,
whatever course is eventually forced upon us, it finds us equally
unprepared, and more liable from such indecision to bungle miserably in
the sequel.
Paul might never have gained heart to venture, but for an unpleasant
incident that took place during dinner and a discovery he made after it.
They happened to have a particularly unpopular pudding that day; a
pallid preparation of suet, with an infrequent currant or two embalmed
in it, and Paul was staring at his portion of this delicacy
disconsolately enough, wondering how he should contrive to consume and,
worse still, digest it, when his attention was caught by Jolland, who
sat directly opposite him.
That young gentleman, who evidently shared the general prejudice against
the currant pudding, was inviting Mr. Bultitude's attention to a little
contrivance of his own for getting rid of it, which consisted in
delicately shovelling the greater part of what was on his plate into a
large envelope held below the table to receive it.
This struck Paul as a heaven-sent method of avoiding the difficulty, and
he had just got the envelope which had held Barbara's letter out of his
pocket, intending to follow Jolland's example, when the Doctor's voice
made him start guiltily and replace the envelope in his pocket.
"Jolland," said the Doctor, "what have you got there?"
"An envelope, sir," explained Jolland, who had now got the remains of
his pudding safely bestowed.
"What is in that envelope?" said the Doctor, who happened to have been
watching him.
"In the envelope, sir? Pudding, sir," said Jolland, as if it were the
most natural thing in the world to send bulky portions of pudding by
post.
"And why did you place pudding in the envelope?" inquired the Doctor in
his deepest tone.
Jolland felt a difficulty in explaining that he had done so because he
wished to avoid eating it, and with a view to interring it later on in
the playground: he preferred silence.
"Shall I tell you why you did it, sir?" thundered the Doctor. "You did
it, because you were scheming to obtain a second portion--because you
did not feel yourself able to eat both portions at your leisure here,
and thought to put by a part to devour in secret at a future time. It's
a most painful exhibition of pure piggishness. There shall be no
pocketing at this table, sir. You will eat that pudding under my eye at
once, and you will stay in and write out French verbs for two days. That
will put an end to any more gorging in the garden for a time, at least."
Jolland seemed stupefied, though relieved, by the unexpected
construction put upon his conduct, as he gulped down the intercepted
fragments of pudding, while the rest diligently cleared their plates
with as much show of appreciation as they could muster.
Mr. Bultitude shuddered at this one more narrow escape. If he had been
detected--as he must have been in another instant--in smuggling pudding
in an envelope he might have incautiously betrayed his real motives, and
then, as the Doctor was morbidly sensitive concerning all complaints of
the fare he provided, he would have got into worse trouble than the
unfortunate Jolland, to say nothing of the humiliation of being detected
in such an act.
It was a solemn warning to him of the dangers he was exposed to hourly,
while he lingered within those walls; but his position was still more
strongly brought home to him by the terrible discovery he made shortly
afterwards.
He was alone in the schoolroom, for the others had all gone down into
the playground, except Jolland, who was confined in one of the
class-rooms below, when the thought came over him to test the truth of
Dick's hint about a name cut on the Doctor's writing-table.
He stole up to it guiltily, and, lifting the slanting desk which stood
there, examined the surface below. Dick had been perfectly correct.
There it was, glaringly fresh and distinct, not large but very deeply
cut and fearfully legible. "R. Bultitude." It might have been done that
day. Dick had probably performed it out of bravado, or under the
impression that he was not going to return after the holidays.
Paul dropped the desk over the fatal letters with a shudder. The
slightest accidental shifting of it must disclose them--nothing but a
miracle could have kept them concealed so long. When they did come to
light, he knew from what he had seen of the Doctor, that the act would
be considered as an outrage of the blackest and most desperate kind. He
would most unquestionably get a flogging for it!
He fetched a large pewter ink-pot, and tried nervously to blacken the
letters with the tip of a quill, to make them, if possible, rather less
obtrusive than they were. All in vain; they only stood out with more
startling vividness when picked out in black upon the brown-stained
deal. He felt very like a conscience-stricken murderer trying to hide a
corpse that _wouldn't_ be buried. He gave it up at last, having only
made a terrible mess with the ink.
That settled it. He must fly. The flogging must be avoided at all
hazards. If an opportunity delayed its coming, why, he must do without
the opportunity--he must make one. For good or ill, his mind was made up
now for immediate flight.