CHAPTER XXXVIII.
HUGH JOHN'S BLIGHTED HEART.
On the first evening at home Hugh John put on his new straw hat withits becoming school ribbon of brown, white and blue, for he did notforget that Prissy had described Cissy Carter as "such a pretty girl."Now pretty girls are quite nice when they are jolly. What a romp hewould have, and even the stile would not be half bad.
He ran down to the landing-stage, having given his old bat and thirdbest fishing-rod to his brother to occupy his attention. Toady Lionwas in an unusually adoring frame of mind, chiefly owing to the newbat with the silver inscription which Hugh John had brought home withhim. If that were Toady Lion's attitude, how would it be with theenthusiastic Cissy Carter? She must be more than sixteen now. He likedgrown-up girls, he thought, so long as they were pretty. And Cissy waspretty, Prissy had distinctly said so.
The white punt bumped against the landing-stage, but the brown wasgone. However, he could see it at the other side, swaying against thenew pier which Mr. Davenant Carter had built opposite to that of WindyStandard. This was another improvement; you used to have to tie theboat to a bush of bog-myrtle and jump into wet squashy ground. Thereturned exile sculled over and tied up the punt to an iron ring.
Then with a high and joyous heart he started over the moor, taking thewell-beaten path towards Oaklands.
Suddenly, through the wood as it grew thinner and more birchy, he sawthe gleam of a white dress. Two girls were walking--no, not two girls,Prissy and a young lady.
"Oh hang!" said Hugh John to himself, "somebody that's stopping withthe Carters. She'll go taking up all Cissy's time, and I wanted to seesuch a lot of her."
The white dresses and summer hats walked composedly on.
"I tell you what," said Hugh John to himself, "I'll scoot through thewoods and give them a surprise."
And in five minutes he leaped from a bank into the road immediatelybefore the girls. Prissy gave a little scream, threw up her hands, andthen ran eagerly to him.
"Why, Hugh John," she cried, "have you really come? How could youfrighten us like that, you bad boy!"
And she kissed him--well, just as Prissy always did.
Meanwhile the young lady had turned partly away, and was pullingcarelessly at a leaf--as if such proceedings, if not exactlyoffensive, were nevertheless highly uninteresting.
"Cissy," called Priscilla at last, "won't you come and shake handswith Hugh John."
The girl turned slowly. She was robed in white linen belted with slimscarlet. The dress came quite down to the tops of her dainty boots.She held out her hand.
"How do you do--ah, Mr. Smith?" she said, with her fingers very muchextended indeed.
Hugh John gasped, and for a long moment found no word to say.
"Why, Cissy, how you've grown!" he cried at length. But observing nogleam of fellow-feeling in his quondam comrade's eyes, he addedsomewhat lamely, "I mean how do you do, Miss--Miss Carter?"
There was silence after this, as the three walked on together, Prissytalking valiantly in order to cover the long and distressful silences.Hugh John's usual bubbling river of speech was frozen upon his lips.He had a thousand things to tell, a thousand thousand to ask. But nowit did not seem worth while to speak of one. Why should a young ladylike this, with tan gloves half-way to her elbows and the shiniestshoes, with stockings of black silk striped with red, care to hearabout his wonderful bat for the three-figure score at cricket, or thefact that he had won the golf medal by doing the round in ninety-five?He had even thought of taking some credit (girls will suck in anythingyou tell them, you know) for his place in his class, which wasseventh. But he had intended to suppress the fact that the fifth formwas not a very large one at St. Salvator's.
But now he suddenly became conscious that these trivialities could notpossibly interest a young lady who talked about the Hunt Ball in somesuch fashion as this: "He is _such_ a nice partner, don't you know! Hedances--oh, like an angel, and the floor was--well, just perfection!"
Hugh John did not catch the name of this paragon; but he hated thebeast anyhow. He did not know that Cissy was only bragging about herbat, and cracking up her score at golf.
"Have you seen 'The White Lady of Avenel' at the Sobriety Theatre, Mr.Smith?" she said, suddenly turning to him.
"No," grunted Hugh John, "but I've seen the Drury Lane pantomime. Itwas prime!"
The next moment he was sorry he had said it. But the truth slipped outbefore he knew. For so little was Hugh John used to the society ofgrown-up big girls, that he did not know any better than to tell themthe truth.
"Ah, yes!" commented Cissy Carter condescendingly, "I used quite tolike going to pantomimes when I was a child!"
A slight and elegant young man, with a curling moustache turned up atthe ends, came towards them down the bank. He had grey-and-whitestriped trousers on, a dark cutaway coat, and a smart straw hat set onthe back of his head. He wore gloves and walked with a pretty cane.Hugh John loathed him on sight.
"Good-evening, Courtenay," said Cissy familiarly, "this is my friend,Prissy Smith, of whom you have heard me speak; and this is her brotherjust home from school!"
("What a beast! I hate him! Calls that a moustache, I daresay. Ha, ha!he should just see Ashwell Major's. And I can lick Ashwell Major withone hand!")
"Aw," said the young man with the cane, superciliously stroking hismaligned upper lip, "the preparatory school, I daresay--Lord, was atone once myself--beastly hole!"
("I don't doubt it, you look it," was Hugh John's mental note.) Aloudhe said, "Saint Salvator's is a ripping place. We beat Glen Fetto byan innings and ninety-one!"
Mr. Courtenay Carling took no notice. He was talking earnestly andconfidentially to his cousin. Hugh John had had enough of this.
"Come on, Priss," he said roughly, "let's go home."
Prissy was nothing loath. She was just aching to get him by himself,so that she might begin to burn incense at his manly shrine. She hadhad stacks of it ready, and the match laid for weeks and weeks.
"Good-night," said Cissy frigidly. Hugh John took hold of her daintygloved fingers as gingerly as if each had been a stinging nettle, anddropped them as quickly. Mr. Courtenay Carling paused in hisconversation just long enough to say over his shoulder,"Ah--ta-ta--got lots of pets to run round and see, I s'pose--rabbitsand guinea-pigs; used to keep 'em myself, you know, beastly things,ta-ta!"
And with Cissy by his side he moved off, alternately twirling hismoustache and glancing approvingly down at her. Cissy on her partnever once looked round, but kept poking her parasol into the plantsat the side of the road, as determinedly as if it had been the oldpike manufactured by the exiled king O'Donowitch. Such treatment couldnot have been at all good for such a miracle of silk and lace andcane; but somehow its owner did not seem to mind.
"What an awful brute!" burst out Hugh John, as soon as Prissy and hewere clear.
"Oh, how _can_ you say so!" said Prissy, much surprised; "why, everyone thinks him so nice. He has such lots of money, and is going tostand for Parliament--that is, if his uncle would only die, or havesomething happen to him!"
Her brother snorted, as if to convey his contempt for "everybody's"opinion on such a matter; but Prissy was too happy to care for aughtsave the fact that once more her dear Hugh John was safe at home.
"Do you know," she said lovingly, "I could not sleep last night forthinking of your coming! It is so splendid. There's the loveliest lotof roses being planted in the new potting house, and I've got a pearlnecklace to show you--such a beauty--and----"
Thus she rattled on, joyously ticking off all the things she had toshow him. She ran a little ahead to look at him, then ran as quicklyback to hug him. "Oh, you dear!" she exclaimed. And all the while theheart of the former valiant soldier sank deep and ever deeper into thesplit-new cricketing shoes he had been so proud of when he salliedforth to meet Cissy Carter by the stile.
"Come on," she cried presently, picking up her skirts. "I'm so excitedI don't know what to do. I can't ke
ep quiet. I believe I can race youyet, for all you're so big and have won a silver cricket bat. How Ishall love to see it! Come on, Hugh John, I'll race you to the gipsycamp for a pound of candy!"
But Hugh John did not want to race. He did not want _not_ to race. Hedid not want ever to do anything any more--only to fade away and die.His heart was cold and dead within him. He felt that he would neverknow happiness again. But he could not bear to disappoint Prissy thefirst night. Besides, he could easily enough beat her--he was sure ofthat. So he smiled indulgently and nodded acquiescence. He had nottold her that he had won the school mile handicap from scratch.
They started, and Hugh John began to run scientifically, as he hadbeen taught to do at school, keeping a little behind Prissy, ready tospurt at the last and win by a neck. Doubtless this would haveanswered splendidly, only that Prissy ran so fast. She did not knowanything about scientific sprinting, but she could run like the wind.So by the time they reached the Partan Burn she had completelyoutclassed Hugh John. With her skirts held high in her hand over sheflew like a bird; but her brother, jumping the least bit too soon,went splash into the shallows, sending the water ten feet into theair.
Like a shot Prissy was back, and reached a hand down to the vanquishedscientific athlete.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Hugh John," she said; "I ought to have told you ithad been widened. Don't let's race any more. I think I must havestarted too soon, and you'd have beaten me anyway. Here's the gipsycamp."
The world-weary exile looked about him. He had thought that at leastit might be some manly pleasure to see Billy Blythe once more, and trya round with the Bounding Brothers. After all, what did it matterabout girls? He had a twelve-bladed knife in his pocket which heintended for Billy, and he knew a trick of boxing--a feint with theright, and then an upward blow with the left, which he knew wouldinterest his friend.
But the tents were gone. The place where they had stood was green andunencumbered. Only an aged crone or two moved slowly about among thesmall thatched cottages. To one of these Hugh John addressed himself.
"Eh, master--Billy Blythe--why, he be 'listed for a sodger--acorp'ral they say he be, and may be sergeant by this time, shouldn'twonder. Eh, dearie, and the Boundin' Brothers--oh! ye mean thejoompin' lads. They're off wi' a circus in Ireland. Nowt left but meand my owd mon! Thank ye, sir, you be a gentleman born, as anybody cansee without the crossin' o' the hand."
Sadly Hugh John moved away, a still more blighted being. He leftPrissy at the white lodge-gate in order that she might go home to meetMr. Picton Smith on his return from the county town, where he had beenjudging the horses at an agricultural show. He would take a walkthrough the town, he said to himself, and perhaps he might meet someof his old enemies. He felt that above everything he would enjoy asharp tussle. After all what save valour was worth living for? Waittill he was a soldier, and came back in uniform with a sword by hisside and the scar of a wound on his forehead--would Cissy Carterdespise him then? He would show her! In the meantime he had learnedcertain tricks of fence which he would rather like to prove on thecountenances of his former foes.
So with renewed hope in his heart he took his way through the town ofEdam. The lamps were just being lighted, and Hugh John lounged alongthrough the early dusk with his hands in his pockets, looking out fora cause of offence. Presently he came upon a brilliantly lightedbuilding, into which young men and women were entering singly and inpairs.
A hanging lamp shone down upon a noticeboard. He had nothing betterto do. He stopped and read--
+--------------------------------------------------------+ | Edam Mutual Improvement Society. | | _SEASON_ 18-- | | | | _Hon. President._--Rev. Mr. BURNHAM. | | _Hon. Vice-President._--Mr. N. DONNAN. | | _Hon. Sec. and Treasurer._--Mr. NATHANIEL CUTHBERTSON. | | DEBATE TO-NIGHT. | | | | _Subject._--"Is the Pen mightier than the Sword?" | | _Affirmative._--Mr. N. DONNAN. | | _Negative._--Mr. BURNHAM. | | -------------------- | | ALL ARE CORDIALLY INVITED. | | _Bring your Hymn-books._ | +--------------------------------------------------------+
Hugh John did not accept the invitation, perhaps because he had nohymn-book. He only waited outside to hear Mr. N. Donnan's openingsentence. It ran thus: "All ages of the world's history have bornetestimony to the fact that peace is preferable to war, right to might,and the sweet still voice of Reason to the savage compulsions ofbrutal Force."
"Oh, hang!" ejaculated Hugh John, doubling his fist; "did you everhear such rot? I wish I could jolly well fetch Nipper Donnan one onthe nob!"
And he sauntered on till he came to the burying-ground of Edam'sancient abbey. He wandered aimlessly up the short avenue, stood at thegate a while, then kicked it open and went in. He clambered aboutamong the graves, stumbling over the grassy mounds till he came tothe tombs of his ancestors. At least they were not quite hisancestors, but the principle was the same. "There's nothing exclusiveabout me. I'll adopt them," said Hugh John to himself, as many anotherdistinguished person had done before him. They were in fact the tombsof the Lorraines, the ancient possessors and original architects ofthe Castle of Windy Standard, which he had spilt his best blood todefend. Well, it was to attack. But no matter.
He sat down and looked at the defaced and battered tombs in silence.Mighty thoughts coursed through his brain. His heart was filled fullto the brim with the sadness of mortality. Tears of hopelessresignation stood in his eyes. It was the end, the solemn end of all.Soon he, too, like them, would be lying low and quiet. He began to beconscious of a general fatal weakness of the system, a hollowness ofthe chest (or stomach), which showed that the end was near.
Ah, they would be sorry then--_she_ would be sorry! And after morningservice in church, they would come and stand by his grave andsay--_she_ would say, "He was young, but he lived nobly, though, alas!there was none to appreciate him. Ah, would that he were again alive!"Then they (she) would weep, yes, weep bitterly, and fling themselves(herself) upon the cold, cold ground. But all in vain. He (Hugh JohnPicton Smith, late hero) would lie still in death under that green sodand never say a word. No, not even if he could. Like Brer Fox, hewould lie low. At this point Hugh John was so moved that he put hisface down into his hands and sobbed.
A heavy clod of earth whizzed through the air and impacted itself witha thud upon the mourner's cheek, filling his ear with mud and sand,and informing him at the same instant that it carried a stoneconcealed somewhere about its person.
For though Nipper Donnan was now Vice-President of a MutualImprovement Association, and at that moment spreading himself in aperoration upon the advantages of universal goody-goodiness, he had,happily for society and Hugh John, left exceedingly capablesuccessors. The eternal Smoutchy was still very much alive, and stillan amateur of clods in the town of Edam.
That sod worked a complete and sudden cure in Hugh John.
He rose like a shot. Few and short were the prayers he said, but whatthese petitions lacked in length they made up for in fervency. Hepursued his assailant down the Mill Brae, clamoured after him roundthe Town-yards, finally cornered him at the Spital Port, punched hishead soundly--and felt better.
So that night the unfortunate young martyr to the flouts and scorns oflove, instead of occupying a clay-cold bier with his (adopted)ancestors in Edam Abbey graveyard, ate an excellent supper in the newhouse of Windy Standard, with three helpings of round-of-beef andvegetables to match. Then with an empty heart, but a full stomach, hebetook himself upstairs to his room, where presently Toady Lion cameto worship, and Prissy dropped in to see that all was well. She hadspread prettily worked covers of pink silk over his brushes and combs,an arrangement which the hero contem
plated with disgust.
He seized them, gathered them into a knot, and flung them into acorner.
"Oh, Hugh John!" cried Prissy, "how could you? And they took such along time to do!"
And there were the premonitions of April showers in the sensitivebarometer of Priscilla's eyes.
The brother was touched--as much, that is, as it is in the nature of abrother to be. But in the interests of discipline he could not giveway too completely.
"All right, Prissy," he said, "it was no end good of you. But really,you know, a fellow couldn't be expected to put up with these things.Why, they'd stick in your nails and tangle up all your traps so thatyou'd wish you were dead ten times a day, or else they'd make you say'Hang!' and things."
"Very well," said Prissy, with sweetest resignation, "then I will takethem for myself, but I did think you would have liked them!"
"Did you, Priss--you are a good sort!" said Hugh John, patting hissister on the cheek.
His sister felt that after such a demonstration of affection from himthere was little left to live for.
"Good-night, you dear," she said; "I'll wake you in the morning, andhave your bath ready for you at eight."
"Good old girl!" said Hugh John tolerantly, and went to bed, glad thathe had been so nice to Prissy about the brush-covers. Such a littlemakes a girl happy, you know.
Perhaps, all things being considered, it was for the good of ourhero's soul at this time that Cissy Carter was on hand to take some ofthe conceit out of him.