Paul. "Tell them to anyone you can get to believe you--tell the
crossing-sweeper and the policemen, tell your grandmother, tell the
horse-marines--it will amuse them. Only, you shall tell them on the
other side of my front door. Shall I call anyone to show you out?"
Paradine saw his game was really played out, and swaggered insolently to
the door: "Not on my account, I beg," he said. "Good-bye, Paul, my boy,
no more dissolving views. Good-bye, my young friend Richard, it was good
fun while it lasted, eh? like the Servian crown--always a pleasant
reminiscence! Good evening to you, Doctor. By the way, for educational
purposes let me recommend a 'Penang lawyer'--buy one as you go back for
the boys--just to show them you haven't forgotten them!"
And, having little luggage to impede him, the front door closed upon him
shortly afterwards--this time for ever.
When he had gone, Dick looked imploringly at his father and then at the
Doctor, who, until Paradine's parting words had lashed him into fury
again, had been examining the engravings on the walls with a studied
delicacy during the recent painful scene, and was now leaning against
the chimney-piece with his arms folded and a sepulchral gloom on his
brow.
"Richard," said Mr. Bultitude, in answer to the look, "you have not done
much to deserve consideration at my hands."
"Or at mine!" added the Doctor ominously.
"No," said Dick, "I know I haven't. I've been a brute. I deserve a jolly
good licking."
"You do," said his father, but in spite of his indignation, the
broken-down look of the boy, and the memory of his own sensations when
waiting to be caned that morning, moved him to pity. And then Dick had
shown some compunction in the billiard-room: he was not entirely lost to
feeling.
"Well," he said at last, "you've acted very wrongly. Because I thought
it best that you should not--ahem, leave your studies for this party,
you chose to disobey me and alarm your master by defying my orders and
coming home by stealth--that was your object, I presume?"
"Y--yes," said Dick, looking rather puzzled, but seeing that he was
expected to agree; "that was it."
"You know as well as I do what good cause I have to be angry; but, if I
consent to overlook your conduct this time, if I ask Dr. Grimstone to
overlook it too" (the Doctor made an inarticulate protest, while Dick
stared, incredulous), "will you undertake to behave better for the
future--will you?"
Dick's voice broke at this, and his eyes swam--he was effectually
conquered. "Oh, I will!" he cried, "I will, really. I never meant to go
so far when I began."
"Then, Dr. Grimstone," said Paul, "you will do me a great favour if you
will take no further notice of this. You see the boy is sorry, and I am
sure he will apologise to you amply for the grave slight he has done
you. And by the way--I should have mentioned it before--but he will have
to leave your care at the end of the term for a public school--I intend
to send him to Harrow, so he will require some additional preparation,
perhaps: I may leave that in your hands?"
Dr. Grimstone looked deeply offended, but he only said, "I will see to
that myself, my dear sir. I am sorry you did not tell me this earlier.
But, may I suggest that a large public school has its pitfalls for a
boy of your son's disposition? And I trust this leniency may not have
evil consequences, but I doubt it--I greatly doubt it."
As for Dick, he ran to his father, and hung gratefully on to his arm
with a remorseful hug, a thing he had never dared to do, or thought of
attempting, in his life till then.
"Dad," he said in a choked voice, "you're a brick! I don't deserve any
of it, but I'll never forget this as long as I live."
Mr. Bultitude too, felt something spring up in his heart which drew him
towards the boy in an altogether novel manner, but no one will say that
either was the worse for it.
"Well," he said mildly, "prove to me that I have made no mistake. Go
back to Crichton House now, work and play well, and try to keep out of
mischief for the rest of the term. I trust to you," he added, in a lower
tone, "while you remain at Market Rodwell, to keep my--my connection
with it a secret; you owe that at least to me. You may probably
have--ahem, some inconveniences to put up with--inconveniences you are
not prepared for. You must bear them as your punishment."
And soon afterwards a cab was called, and Dr. Grimstone prepared to
return to Market Rodwell, with the deserter, by the last train.
As Paul shook hands through the cab window with his prodigal son, he
repeated his warning. "Mind," he said, "_you_ have been at school all
this past week; you have run away to attend this party, you understand?
Good-bye, my boy, and here's something to put in your pocket, and
another for Jolland; but he need not know it comes from me." And when
Dick opened his hand afterwards, he found two half-sovereigns in it.
So the cab rolled away, and Paul went up to the drawing-room, where,
although he certainly allowed the fireworks on the balcony and in the
garden to languish forgotten on their sticks, he led all the other
revels up to an advanced hour with jovial _abandon_ quite worthy of
Dick, and none of his little guests ever suspected the change of host.
When it was all over, and the sleepy children had driven off, Paul sat
down in an easy chair by the bright fire which sparkled frostily in his
bedroom, to think gratefully over all the events of the day--events
which were beginning already to take an unreal and fantastic shape.
Bitterly as he had suffered, and in spite of the just anger and thirst
for revenge with which he had returned, I am glad to say he did not
regret the spirit of mildness that had stayed his hand when his hour of
triumph came.
His experiences, unpleasant as they had been, had had their advantages:
they had drawn him and his family closer together.
In his daughter Barbara, as she wished him good-night (knowing nothing,
of course, of the escape), he had suddenly become aware of a girlish
freshness and grace he had never looked for or cared to see before. Roly
after this, too, had a claim upon him he could never wish to forget, and
even with the graceless Dick there was a warmer and more natural feeling
on both sides--a strange result, no doubt, of such unfilial behaviour,
but so it was.
Mr. Bultitude would never after this consider his family as a set of
troublesome and thankless incumbrances; thanks to Dick's offices during
the interregnum, they would henceforth throw off their reserve and
constraint in their father's presence, and in so doing, open his eyes to
qualities of which he had hitherto been in contented ignorance.
* * * * *
It would be pleasanter perhaps to take leave of Mr. Bultitude thus, as
he sits by his bedroom fire in the first flush of supreme and unalloyed
content.
But I feel almost bound to point out a fact which few will find any
difficulty in accepting, namely, that, although the wrong had been
retrieved without scandal or exposure, for which Paul could not be too
thankful, there were many consequences which could not but survive it.
Neither father nor son found himself exactly in the same position as
before their exchange of characters.
It took Mr. Bultitude considerable time and trouble to repair all the
damage his son's boyish excesses had wrought both at Westbourne Terrace
and in the City. He found the discipline of his clerks' room and
counting-house sorely relaxed, and his office-boy in particular
attempted a tone towards him of such atrocious familiarity that he was
indignantly dismissed, much to his astonishment, the very first day. And
probably Paul will never quite clear himself of the cloud that hangs
over a man of business who, in the course of however well regulated a
career, is known to have been at least once "a little odd."
And his home, too, was distinctly demoralised: his cook was an artist,
unrivalled at soups and entrees; but he had to get rid of her
notwithstanding.
It was only too evident that she looked upon herself as the prospective
mistress of his household, and he did not feel called upon as a parent
to fulfil any expectations which Dick's youthful cupboard love had
unintentionally excited.
For some time, as fresh proof of Dick's extravagances came home to him,
Paul found it cost him no little effort to restrain a tendency to his
former bitterness and resentment, but he valued the new understanding
between himself and his son too highly to risk losing it again by any
open reproach, and so with each succeeding discovery the victory over
his feelings became easier.
As for Dick, he found the inconveniences at which his father had hinted
anything but imaginary, as will perhaps be easily understood.
It was an unpleasant shock to discover that in one short week his
father had contrived somehow to procure him a lasting unpopularity. He
was obviously looked upon by all, masters and boys, as a confirmed
coward and sneak. And although some of his companions could not fairly
reproach him on the latter score, the imputation was particularly
galling to Dick, who had always treated such practices with sturdy
contempt.
He was sorely tempted at times to right himself by declaring the real
state of the case; but he remembered his promise and his father's
unexpected clemency and his gratitude always kept him silent.
He never quite understood how it was that the whole school seemed to
have an impression that they could kick and assault him generally with
perfect impunity; but a few very unsuccessful experiments convinced them
that this was a popular error on their part.
Although, however, in everything else he did gradually succeed in
recovering all the ground his father had lost him, yet there was one
respect in which, I am sorry to say, he found all his efforts to
retrieve himself hopeless.
His little sweetheart, with the grey eyes and soft brown hair, cruelly
refused to have anything more to do with him. For Dulcie's pride had
been wounded by what she considered his shameless perfidy on that
memorable Saturday by the parallel bars; the last lingering traces of
affection had vanished before Paul's ingratitude on the following
Monday, and she never forgave him.
She did not even give him an opportunity of explaining himself, never by
word or sign up to the last day of the term showing that she was even
aware of his return. What was worse, in her resentment she transferred
her favour to Tipping, who became her humble slave for a too brief
period; after which he was found wanting in polish, and was
ignominiously thrown over for the shy new boy Kiffin, whose head Dick
found a certain melancholy pleasure in punching in consequence.
This was Dick's punishment, and a very real and heavy one he found it.
He is at Harrow now, where he is doing fairly well; but I think there
are moments even yet when Dulcie's charming little face, her pretty
confidences, and her chilling disdain, are remembered with something as
nearly resembling a heartache as a healthy unsentimental boy can allow
himself.
Perhaps, if some day he goes back once more to Crichton House "to see
the fellows," this time with the mysterious glamour of a great public
school about him, he may yet obtain forgiveness, for she is getting
horribly tired of Kiffin, who, to tell the truth, is something of a
milksop.
As for the Garuda Stone, I really cannot say what has become of it.
Perhaps it was dashed to pieces on the cobble-stones of the stables
behind the terrace, and a good thing too. Perhaps it was not, and is
still in existence, with all its dangerous powers as ready for use as
ever it was; and in that case the best I can wish my readers is, that
they may be mercifully preserved from finding it anywhere, or if they
are unfortunate enough to come upon it, that they may at least be more
careful with it than Mr. Paul Bultitude, by whose melancholy example I
trust they will take timely warning.
And with these very sincere wishes I beg to bid them a reluctant
farewell.