Читать книгу Paid With Thanks - Major General John Hay Beith - Страница 6
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Shortly before six o’clock Uncle Tony presented himself at Middlefield, where he experienced no difficulty whatever in persuading his godson that it was time to come home.
Mr. Bagby, who had recently fished two india-rubber beetles out of the cream-jug, besides devoting some breathless moments to the stalking of a wasp which ultimately proved to be made of cotton-wool, surveyed the departing Denny and his escort with something like a sigh.
“Fancy getting a boy off one’s hands for three whole months,” he observed enviously. Then he turned to his wife.
“Look here, Constancia”—he had propounded this question before, invariably to his own discomfiture, but hope springs eternal—“why shouldn’t we send that little devil to school too?”
Mrs. Bagby shook her head mournfully.
“I could not bear it,” she said. “It would take all the sunshine out of the house. One day, perhaps, we will put his name down for some really nice school—but not yet. It would kill me.”
“Why not send him to Eaglescliffe,” suggested Mr. Bagby. “That’s a great school, if you like. Denny Cradock will be there too.”
“When my Leo goes to school,” replied Mrs. Bagby, swelling a little, “he must consort with boys of his own station. Denny Cradock is well enough here; but it might stand in Leo’s way if they went into a larger world together. You see, Denny is going to school as a sort of charity-boy, while our son will be paying his way.”
Mr. Bagby groaned softly, and acquiesced. It is useless to explain to an uneducated and purse-proud woman that open scholarships are not awarded by our public schools for sweet charity’s sake. So Mr. Bagby dropped the subject, as he always did, merely hoping that one day his son would over-reach himself.
And already the hour of deliverance was at hand. Even as they conversed, the Sunshine of the House was creeping stealthily up the staircase behind their backs, holding a battered pill-box in his hand. Though he did not know it, Lionel the Terrible was going to his Moscow.
At half-past seven Mrs. Bagby went upstairs to dress for dinner. No maid was visible, so the mistress, having rung the bell with some asperity, sat down before her dressing-table and began to take off her rings. While engaged in this task she became aware, through the reflection of her mirror, that the bed behind her did not present its usual smooth and unruffled appearance. She turned and subjected it to direct scrutiny.
The counterpane gave the impression of having been turned back and then replaced by someone unskilled in the art of bed-making. Almost exactly in the centre a small hump was noticeable.
Mrs. Bagby, shrewdly suspecting a fresh instance of the playfulness of her inventive son, decided at first to allow her maid to investigate the mystery. Then, curiosity proving too strong for her, she rose to her feet and cautiously turned back the bedclothes.
In the very heart of the bed, between the two sheets, she came upon a neat ring-fence, or zareba, some six inches in diameter, composed of two tortoise-shell side-combs. In the middle of the enclosure lay two beetles.
Mrs. Bagby, repressing a perfectly natural start of disgust, removed the combs and restored them to the dressing-table. Then a thought struck her. Should she call her husband? she wondered. For him the spectacle of his delicately nurtured wife removing india-rubber beetles from her bed with a nonchalant and indulgent smile would be a capital object lesson in the proper method of dealing with the pranks of a high-spirited and lovable child. Yes, she would summon him. No, he would probably be washing himself. She would take the beetles to him.
Certainly they were very life-like insects—almost as convincing as the pair that her son had left in the cream-jug.
She picked them up.
One of the beetles immediately fell out of her hand on to the bed, and scuttled in an agitated fashion under a lace-trimmed pillow. The other, without the slightest hesitation, ran straight up Mrs. Bagby’s sleeve.
2
Meanwhile, Denny and his godfather were walking home across the fields.
“Did you enjoy your party, Denny?” asked Uncle Tony.
“I had a jolly good tea.”
“Is that your only comment?”
Denny nodded.
“From that elliptical response I gather that Master Lionel was in form.”
“Yes. He was beastly rude to his mother and Miss Groves. I nearly scragged his head once or twice.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No.” Denny looked up and laughed. “Perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t try. He’s a stone heavier than I am.”
“Still, I know your mother will be pleased with you for going over to say good-bye. I hope, by the way, that you were rewarded in another quarter.”
Denny reddened.
“Oh, that’s just some rot of Joan’s,” he said; and then continued, as one anxious to change the subject:
“It was awfully decent of you to come over and walk home with me, Uncle Tony.”
“My dear Denny, don’t thank me. I am simply revelling in my newly-found privileges. For a crusty old bachelor to come home from the East after many years and find not only a long-lost niece, but a ready-made contingent of jolly grand-nephews and grand-nieces all waiting to make much of him and spoil him—well, I don’t require any thanks, thank you!”
“You aren’t old or crusty, really!” replied Denny politely.
“I am sixty-three, Denny; and as for crustiness—you ought to see me in my Club, bundling junior members out of my pet arm-chair and throwing chutney at the head waiter! Of course I am on my good behaviour here. Now, after this more than Oriental exchange of compliments, let me ask you something. Would you like me, or your mother, or both of us, to come with you to Eaglescliffe on Thursday, or would you rather go alone?”
“I’ll go alone,” replied Denny, speaking more boldly than he felt.
“I think you’re right. Head first, and no shivering on the brink—that’s the only way to tackle the unknown. There’s no blinking the fact, Denny, that leaving home and its intimacies and finding your feet in strange surroundings calls for a certain resolution. You’ll be up against a similar experience again and again during life—going up to the Varsity, or going to Sandhurst as a cadet, or walking into your regimental mess for the first time, or facing a row of supercilious fellow-clerks in an office; or, for that matter, tackling a week-end at a country house full of critical eyes and artificial complexions. It’s a prospect we have to anticipate all our lives. One gets hardened to it in time, and each experience is a little easier than the last. So when you go to school next week and feel like a strange cat at a dog show, as you will for a while, always remember that you have to begin some time, and that it is never going to be as difficult again.”
Denny took his godfather’s arm and squeezed it. He was nearly fourteen, but he was a very little boy in some ways.
“Of course,” continued Uncle Tony, divining that his godson was more in the mood to listen than to talk, “if your mother were to go down to Eaglescliffe with you she would make things considerably easier, in a way. She always does—always did. She would captivate the Head, and Mr. Keeley, and the Matron, and the Porter, and go away leaving every one as pleased with themselves as anything, and quite unwarrantably prepossessed in your favour. Then you would have to live all that down, and begin by yourself. No, I think you’re right to go alone. I’ll tell you what, though. Your mother and I will run up to town with you on Thursday and stand you lunch, and then we’ll see you off from Waterloo.”
“Thank you,” said Denny. Then came the confidence that had been trembling upon his lips for ten minutes.
“I’m afraid I shall do an awful lot of idiotic things at first—through not knowing.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
Denny looked up, surprised.
“Why?”
“Because every time we make what is known as a bloomer, we learn something. The man who sits back and never asks a foolish question never gets anywhere, under any circumstances. Denny, promise me something.”
“Rather, Uncle Tony!”
“At least half of this globe is peopled by folk whose chief joy in life is to impart information; so don’t disappoint them. They will teach you all you want to know, and gladly, for nothing, if you will let them. The failures of humanity are the people who were too proud and too shy to admit that they did not know; so nobody told them. It’s a terrible thing to go through life, or through a conversation, for that matter, looking intensely knowing, yet knowing nothing. Promise me that when you don’t know you won’t pretend that you do!”
“Righto! Uncle Tony,” replied Denny politely.
Uncle Tony surveyed his godson whimsically.
“Yes,” he said, “you’re right! Advice is what the old give to the young when they’re too decayed to profit by it themselves. This is an improving discourse from Great Uncle! But I promised to deliver it, and it’s nearly over. There’s one other thing. Don’t be ashamed of being enthusiastic. Affected indifference is the curse of our nation. Up to a point it’s all right; it fits in with our inborn hatred of advertisement. But we overdo it. When we fail in some cherished undertaking we pretend we don’t care; and when we succeed we pretend it was a fluke. That attitude has deluded many a gallant but simple soul into believing that nothing really matters. Well, everything matters. Keen, clear, clean! That’s the curler’s motto—and a pretty good one too, especially for people who are inclined to retire into their shell when snubbed or criticised—people like you and me. That’s all, I think, for the present. There is another topic, but it will keep—say, until you’re twenty-one ...
“You’ll enjoy Eaglescliffe, once the plunge is over. You won’t learn anything there, of course: English public schools are not conducted to that end. But if you acquire the habit of speaking the truth, obeying a legitimate order without arguing, and accepting responsibility as a matter of course—remember we’re an Imperial race—you’ll have graduated with honours. And if ever you find yourself at any time confronted with the question: ‘What would a gentleman do?’ allow me to direct your attention to the Fifteenth Psalm. Hallo, there’s Joan waiting for us. How she would laugh if she knew what we were talking about. Let us abandon these schoolboy confidences, and become cynical and witty for the benefit of the fair sex!”
