A Dog with a Bad Name Part 53

Percy waited to hear no more; he dashed down the stairs and shouted to Walker.

"Did you see Jeffreys go? Which way did he go?"

"I didn't see--"

"Come and help me look for him, he's sure to be about. Tell Appleby, do you hear? Raby, I say," he exclaimed, as his cousin appeared in the hall, "Jeff's been kicked out an hour ago! I'm going to find him!" and the poor lad, with a heart almost bursting, flung open the door and rushed out into the street.

Alas! it was a fool's errand, and he knew it. Still, he could not endure to do nothing.

After two weary hours he gave it up, and returned home dispirited and furious. Walker and Appleby had taken much less time to appreciate the uselessness of the search, and had returned an hour ago from a perfunctory walk round one or two neighbouring streets.

Our young Achilles, terrible in his wrath, would see no one, not even his mother, not even Raby. Once or twice that evening they heard the front door slam, and knew he once more was on the look-out. Mrs Rimbolt, alarmed at the storm which she had raised, already repented of her haste, and telegraphed to Mr Rimbolt to come to London.

Raby, bewildered and miserable, shut herself up in her room and was seen by no one. It was a wretched night for everybody; and when next morning Mrs Rimbolt, sitting down to breakfast, was met with the news that neither Master Percy nor Miss Raby wanted breakfast, she began to feel that the affair was being overdone.

When Mr Rimbolt arrived, though he concealed his feelings better, he was perhaps the most mortified of all at the wretched misadventure which during his absence had turned Jeffreys adrift beyond recall. He had known his secretary's secret, and had held it sacred even from his wife.

And watching Jeffreys' brave struggle to live down his bad name, he had grown to respect and even admire him, and to feel a personal interest in the ultimate success of his effort. Now, a miserable accident, which, had he been at home, could have been prevented by a word, had wrecked the work and the hopes of years, and put beyond Mr Rimbolt's power all further chance of helping it on.

About a week after Mr Rimbolt's return, when all but Percy were beginning to settle down again into a semblance of their old order of things, Raby knocked at her uncle's door and inquired if he was busy.

She looked happier than he had seen her since his return. The reason was easy to guess. The post had brought her a letter from her father.

"I thought you would like to see it," said she. "He has got leave at last, and expects to be home at the end of September. Will you read the letter?" added she, colouring; "there's something else in it I should like you to see."

The letter was chiefly about the prospects of coming home. Towards the close Lieutenant-Colonel Atherton (for he had got promotion) wrote:

"You ask me to tell you about poor Forrester and his family."

"He had no wife alive, and when he died did not know what had become of his only son. The boy was at school in England--Bolsover School--and met with an accident, caused, it is said, by the spite of a schoolfellow, which nearly killed him, and wholly crippled him. He was taken home to his grandmother's, but after she died he disappeared, and poor Forrester had been unable to hear anything about him. It is a sad story. I promised Forrester when I got home I would do what I could to find the boy and take care of him. You will help, won't you?"

Raby watched her uncle as he read the pa.s.sage, and then asked,--

"I asked father to tell me something about the Forresters, uncle, because some one--it was Mr Scarfe--had told me that he believed Captain Forrester was the father of an old schoolfellow of his at Bolsover who had a bad accident."

"Is that all he told you?" asked her uncle.

"No," said Raby, flus.h.i.+ng; "he told me that Mr Jeffreys had been the cause of the accident."

"That was so," said Mr Rimbolt. "Sit down, child, and I'll tell you all about it."

And her uncle told her what he had heard from Mr Frampton, and what Jeffreys had suffered in consequence; how he had struggled to atone for the past, and what hopes had been his as to the future. Raby's face glowed more and more as she listened. It was a different soldier's tale from what she was used to; but still it moved her pity and sympathy strangely.

"It's a sad story, as your father says," concluded Mr Rimbolt; "but the sadness does not all belong to young Forrester."

Raby's eyes sparkled.

"No, indeed," said she; "it is like s.h.i.+pwreck within sight of the harbour."

"We can only hope there may be some hand to save him even from these depths," said Mr Rimbolt; "for, from what I know of Jeffreys, he will find it hard now to keep his head above water. Of course, Raby, I have only told you this because you have heard the story from another point of view which does poor Jeffreys injustice."

"I am so grateful to you," said the girl.

Mr Rimbolt let her go without saying more. Even the man of books had eyes that could see; and Raby's face during this interview had told a tale of something more than casual sympathy.

The season dragged on, and nothing occurred to mend matters at Clarges Street. Percy moped and could settle down to nothing. He spurned his books, he neglected his horse, and gave up the river entirely. It was vain to reason or expostulate with him, and after a couple of months his parents marked with anxiety that the boy was really ill. Yet nothing would induce him to quit London. Even his father's offer to take him abroad for a few weeks did not tempt him.

Raby herself made the final appeal the day before they started.

"Percy, dear, won't you come for my sake?" said she.

"If I came for anybody I would for you," replied he, "but I can't."

"But I had so looked forward to you seeing father."

"I'll see him as soon as he gets to town."

"It will spoil my pleasure so much," said she. "I shall be miserable thinking of you."

"You're an awful brick, Raby; but don't bother about me. You'd all be ever so much more miserable if I came, and so should I."

"But what good can it do?" pleaded his cousin.

"I don't know--he might turn up. I might find him after all. If it hadn't been for your father coming, Raby--I'd have begged you to stay too. He'd be more likely to come if he knew _you_ were here."

Raby flushed. Between Percy and his cousin there was no hypocrisy.

"Oh, Percy," she said, "do you want to make me fifty times more miserable?" And she gave up further attempt to move him.

The travellers were away a month, during which time Percy kept his lonely vigil at Clarges Street. As the reader knows, it was useless.

Jeffreys was never near the place, and the lad, watching day after day, began slowly to lose hope.

But that month's experience was not wholly wasted. Memories of bygone talks with his friend, of good advice given, and quiet example unheeded at the time, crowded in on Percy's memory now; adding to his sense of loss, certainly, but reminding him that there was something else to be done than mope and fret.

What would Jeffreys have had him do? he often asked himself; and the answer was plain and direct--work. That had always been Jeffreys' cure for everything. That is what he would have done himself, and that is what Percy, chastened by his loss, made up his mind to now.

He got out his old books and his tools, and doggedly took up the work where he had left it. It was uphill, cheerless work, but he was better for it, and the memory of his lost friend became none the less dear for the relief it brought him.

Only one incident marked his solitary month at Clarges Street--that was a visit from Scarfe about a fortnight after the travellers had gone.

Percy had a very shrewd guess, although he had never heard it in so many words, who was responsible for Jeffreys' disgrace and dismissal; and that being so, it is not to be wondered at that his welcome of the visitor was not very cordial.

"Look here," said he, as Scarfe entered, and making no movement to return his greeting, "is it true you were the fellow who told mother about Jeff, and had him sent away from here?"

"My dear Percy--"

"I'm not your dear Percy! Did you tell mother that story about Jeffreys?"

"Why, Percy, you don't mean to say--"

"Shut up! You can Yes or No, can't you?"