CHAPTER IV
CAKE MORNING
"Oh, bother! It's cake morning." Dot Waring turned from the Rectorybreakfast-table with a flourish of impatience. "And I do so want to hearall about it," she said. "You might have come down earlier, Ralph."
"My good sister," said the rector's son, helping himself largely to breadand honey, "consider yourself lucky that I have come down at all afterdancing half the night with Mrs. Damer, who is no light weight."
"You didn't, Ralph! I am quite sure you didn't! I'm not going to believeanything so absurd." Nevertheless she paused on her way to the door forfurther details.
"All right. I didn't," said Ralph complacently. "And Sir Giles didn't getdrunk as a lord and tumble about the ballroom, and yell comic--awfullycomic--songs, till someone hauled him off to the refreshment-room andfilled him up with whiskey till he could sing no more!"
"Oh, Ralph! Not really! How utterly beastly! Was Lady Carfax there?"
"She was at first, but she cleared out. I don't know where she went to."
"Oh, poor Lady Carfax! How horrid for her! Ralph, I--I could kickthat man!"
"So could I," said Ralph heartily, "if someone would kindly hold him forme. He is a drunken blackguard, and if he doesn't end in an asylum, Ishall never express a medical opinion again."
"P'r'aps he'll die of apoplexy first," said Dot vindictively.
"Whatever he dies of," said Ralph, "I shall attend his funeral with thegreatest pleasure. Hadn't you better go and make that cake? I shall wantit by tea-time."
"You are a pig!" the girl declared, pushing the sunny hair back from hergay young face. "Isn't Bertie late this morning? Perhaps he isn't coming.Dad won't be able to take him anyhow, for old Squinny is bad again andsent for him in a hurry."
"That wretched old humbug! That means more beef-tea, not approachingdissolution. Old Squinny will never dissolve in the ordinary way."
"Well, I must go." Dot reached the door and began to swing it to andfro, gathering impetus for departure. "By the way, was Bertie there?"she asked.
"Bertie who?"
"Bertie Errol, of course. Who else?"
"There are plenty of Berties in the world," remarked Ralph, helpinghimself again to bread and honey. "No, Bertram Errol was not present. ButNapoleon Errol was. It was he who so kindly shunted Mrs. Damer on to me._Nota bene_! Give Napoleon Errol a wide berth in future. He has the craftof a conjurer and the subtlety of a serpent. I believe he is a RedIndian, myself."
"Oh, Ralph, he isn't! He is as white as you are."
"He isn't white at all," Ralph declared, "outside or in. Outside he isthe colour of a mangold-wurzel, and inside he is as black as ink. Youwill never get that cake made if you don't go."
"Oh, bother!" Dot swung open the door for the last time, turned todepart, and then exclaimed in a very different tone, "Why, Bertie, sohere you are! We were just talking of you."
A straight, well-made youth, with a brown face that laughedgood-temperedly, was advancing through the hall.
"Hullo!" he said, halting at the doorway. "Awfully nice of you! What wereyou saying, I wonder? Hullo, Ralph! Only just down, you lazy beggar?Ought to be ashamed of yourself."
He stood, slapping his riding-boots with a switch, looking at Dot withthe direct eyes of good-fellowship. His eyes were clear and honest asa child's.
"Dad's away," said Dot. "He was sent for early this morning."
"Is he though? That means a holiday. What shall we do?"
"I don't know what you will do," said Dot. "I am going to bake cakes."
"I'll come and bake cakes too," said Bertie promptly. "I'm rather a swellat that. I can make fudge too, real American fudge, the most aristocraticthing on the market. It's a secret, of course, but I'll let you into it,if you'll promise not to tell."
"How do you know I can keep a secret?" laughed Dot, leading the way tothe kitchen.
"You would keep a promise," he said with conviction.
"If I made one," she threw back.
"I would trust you without," he declared.
"Very rash of you! I wonder if you are as trustworthy as that."
"My word is my bond--always," said Bertie.
She turned and looked at him critically. "Yes, I think it is," sheadmitted. "You are quite the honestest boy I ever met. They ought to havecalled you George Washington."
"You may if you like," said Bertie.
She laughed--her own inexpressibly gay laugh. "All right, George! Itsuits you perfectly. I always did think Bertie was a silly name. Whydidn't you go to the Hunt Ball last night?"
Bertie's merry face sobered. "My brother wasn't so well yesterday. I wasreading to him half the night. He couldn't sleep, and Tawny Hudson is nogood for that sort of thing."
The merriment went out of Dot's face too. It grew softer, older, morewomanly. "You are very good to your brother," she said.
He frowned abruptly. "Good to him! Great Scot! Why, he's miles too goodfor any of us. Don't ever class him with Nap or me! We're just ordinarysinners. But he--he's a king."
A queer little gleam that was not all mirth made Dot's eyes growbrighter. "I like you for saying that," she said.
"Why, of course I say it!" he protested. "It's true! He's the finest chapin the world, all true gold and not a grain of dross. That's how it is weall knock under to him. Even Nap does that, though he doesn't care atinker's curse for anyone else on this muddy little planet."
"You are awfully fond of him, aren't you?" said Dot sympathetically.
"Fond of Lucas! I'd die for him!" the boy declared with feeling. "He'sfather and brother and friend to me. There isn't anything I wouldn't dofor him. Did you ever hear how he came to be a cripple?"
"Never," said Dot.
"He was knocked down by an electric car," Bertie said, rushing throughthe story with headlong ardour, "trying to save his best girl's dog frombeing run over. He did save it, but he was frightfully hurt--paralysedfor months. It's years ago now. I was only a little shaver at the time.But I shall never forget it. He always was good to me, and I thought hewas done for."
"And the girl?" asked Dot rather breathlessly.
"Married an English nobleman," he rejoined, with a brevity that spokevolumes. "I say, what about those cakes? Hadn't we better begin?"
Dot turned her attention to the fire. "I should like to meet yourbrother," she remarked. "I've never spoken to a real flesh-and-blood heroin my life."
"Nothing easier," said Bertie promptly. "Come over and have tea. Comethis afternoon, you and Ralph."
But Dot hesitated in evident doubt. "I don't know what Dad wouldsay," she said.
"Oh, rats! He wouldn't mind. And my mother would be delighted. Come earlyand I'll show you the hunters. Nap has just bought a beauty. She's ablood mare, black as ink."
"Like Nap," said Dot absently; then in haste, "No, I didn't mean that. Iwasn't thinking."
Bertie was looking at her shrewdly. "What do you know about Nap?" hesaid.
She coloured deeply. "Nothing, nothing whatever. I only know himby sight."
"And you don't like him?"
"I--I think he looks rather wicked," she stammered.
Bertie grunted. "Do you think I look wicked too?"
"Of course I don't. No one could."
He laughed. "That's all right. You can think what you like of Nap.Everybody does. But even he is not all bad, you know."
"I'm sure he isn't. But--but--" Desperately Dot turned from the fire andfaced him. "I've got to say it, Bertie," she said rather piteously."Please don't be offended. You know I--I'm young. I don't know manypeople. And--and--though I would like to know your eldest brotherimmensely, I think I won't come to Baronmead if Nap is there. My fatherdoesn't want me to meet him--unless I am obliged."
She uttered the last words in evident distress. Bertie's face had grownquite serious, even stern. He was looking at her with a directness whichfor the first time in their acquaintance she found disconcerting.
He did not speak for several seconds. At length, "
How old are you?" hesaid abruptly.
"Eighteen," she murmured.
He continued to look at her speculatively. "Well," he said at length,speaking with something of a twang, "I guess your father knows what he'sabout, but it beats me to understand why he has me here to study. I guessI'd better shunt."
"Oh, please don't!" she said quickly. "It isn't you at all. It'sonly Nap."
"Damn Nap!" said Bertie, with some fervour. "Oh, does that shock you? Iforgot you were a parson's daughter. Well, it may be your father isright after all. Anyway, I shan't quarrel with him so long as he doesn'ttaboo me too."
"He won't do that," said Dot, with confidence. "He likes you."
Bertie's good-looking face began to smile again. "Well, I'm not ablackguard anyway," he said. "And I never shall be if you keep on beingkind to me. That's understood, is it? Then shake!"
They shook, and Dot realised with relief that the difficult subject wasdismissed.