Soldiers of the Queen Part 23

"Do you recollect who gave me that little silver locket?"

"Yes," he answered, with a pouting smile.

"Well, then, please to remember that you are always going to be my own boy, and so don't talk any more about such things as running away and enlisting."

"Yes, but what am I to do? Look at the difference between my chances and Val's."

"I think that a man's success often depends more on himself, and less on circ.u.mstances, than you imagine," she answered. "'To be born in a duck's nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird if it is hatched from a swan's egg.' That's what the story says that I used to tell the children."

Jack laughed, and shook his head. He was far from being convinced of the truth of this statement.

A few mornings later the usual harmony of the breakfast-table was disturbed by the arrival of a letter from Raymond Fosberton.

"He writes," said Miss Fenleigh, "to say that his father and mother are going away on a visit, and so he wants to come here for a few days."

The announcement was received with a chorus of groans.

"I wonder he has the cheek to come, after the way he treated us at Melchester," said Valentine; "I never wish to see him again."

Raymond did come, however, and instead of being at all abashed at the recollection of the termination of his tea-party, he was, if anything, more uppish than ever. It was only natural that he should make some reference to their adventure at the fair, and this he did by blaming Jack for not having made good his escape.

"Why didn't you run for it sooner, you duffer? You stood still there like a stuffed monkey, and wouldn't move till the man collared you."

"And you ran so far and so fast," retorted Jack, "that you couldn't get back to own up it was your doing, and save me from being expelled."

"Oh, go on! it isn't so bad as that," answered Raymond airily. "You ought to be jolly glad you're going to get out of that place. It's no good quarrelling over spilt milk.--Look here, will either of you do a chap a friendly turn? Can you lend me some money? I want a pound or two rather badly. Of course, I'd have got it from home, only the guv'nor's away."

Jack and Valentine shook their heads.

"Well, I wish you could," continued the other. "I'd give you a s.h.i.+lling in the pound interest, and pay you back for certain at the end of next month."

"I wonder how it is," said Jack to Valentine that evening as they were undressing, "that Raymond's always wanting money, and never seems to have any. His people are rich enough, and I should think they make him a good allowance."

"Of course they do," answered Valentine, "but he throws it away somehow; and he's the most selfish fellow in the world, and never spends a halfpenny on any one but himself."

Raymond was certainly no great addition to the party at Brenlands. His manners, one could well imagine, resembled those of the ferocious animal in the Fosberton crest, which capered on a sugar-stick with its tongue stuck out of its mouth, as though it were making faces at the world in general. He monopolized the conversation at table, voted croquet a bore, and spent most of his time lying under a tree smoking and reading a novel. He fell foul of Joe Crouch (who still came to do odd jobs in the garden) over some trifling matter, calling him an impudent blockhead, and telling Miss Fenleigh in a lofty manner that "he would never allow such a cheeky beggar to be hanging about the premises at Grenford."

"I am sick of the fellow," said Valentine to Helen that same evening.

"I wish he wouldn't come here during the holidays; it spoils the whole thing."

On the following day Raymond was destined to give his cousins still more reason for wis.h.i.+ng that he had not favoured Brenlands with a visit. At dinner he was full of a project for borrowing a gun, and having some target practice in the garden.

"I know a man living not far away who's got a nice, little, single-barrelled muzzle-loader. We might borrow it, and make some bullets, then stick up a piece of board against that hedge at the end of the long path, and have a regular shooting match."

"Oh, I don't want any guns here!" said Queen Mab. "I should be afraid that one of you might get hurt. You'd far better stick to your croquet."

"Yes," added Valentine. "It would be precious risky work firing bullets about in this garden with a muzzle-loader."

"Pooh! you're a nice chap to think of being a soldier, if you're afraid of letting off a gun!"

"Val knows a lot more about guns than you do," broke in Jack. "I suppose you think a thorn hedge and a bit of board would stop a bullet, you duffer!"

Raymond lost his temper, and the discussion was carried on in a manner which was more spirited than polite.

"Come, come," interposed Queen Mab, "I think we might change the subject. I'm sure Raymond won't want to borrow the gun if he knows it would make me nervous."

The meal was finished in silence. Anything so near a quarrel had never been known before at Brenlands, and proved very disturbing in what was usually such a peaceful atmosphere.

Jack sauntered out into the garden in no very tranquil frame of mind.

Joe Crouch was there, weeding. They had always been good friends ever since the pear incident, and something in Jack's mode of action on that occasion seemed to have gained for him an abiding corner in Crouch's respect and affections.

"Well, Joe, what's the news?"

"Nothing particular that I knows of, sir, but there--there was somethin' I had to tell you; somethin' about this 'ere young bloke who comes orderin' every one around, as if the place was his own."

"What's that?"

"Why, I'll tell you," continued Crouch, lowering his voice in a significant manner. "You remember, sir, you was askin' me this time last year about a man called Hanks, who'd come up to you wantin' money, and you didn't know 'ow he'd got to know you. Well, he's in jail now for stealing fowls; but I seen him a month or so back, and got to know all about the whole business."

The speaker paused to increase the interest of his story.

"Well, what was it?"

"D'you remember, sir, about two years agone you and Master Valentine and the young ladies went up the river to a place called Starncliff?

Well, Hanks said he saw you there, and that you set some one's rick afire. He wasn't sure which of you done it, but he had a word with Master Fosberton as you was comin' 'ome, and he told him it was you two had been smokin', but that you were his cousins, and he didn't want to get you into a row; so he said he'd give Hanks five s.h.i.+llings to hold his tongue, and promised he'd speak to you, and between you you'd make it up to something more, and that's why Hanks was always botherin' of you for money."

Jack's wrath, which had been quickly rising to boiling point during the recital of this narrative, now fairly bubbled over.

"What a lie!" he exclaimed. "What a mean cad the fellow is! Why, he set the rick on fire himself!"

"I just thought as much," said Joe.

"Yes, and that's not all. He knew we got into a row at school through the man talking to us; and then last summer, when the man was drunk, and met us in the road, he pretended he couldn't tell how it was the fellow knew our names!"

"Well, 'ere he is," interrupted Joe Crouch; "and if I was you, I'd just give him a bit of my mind!"

Raymond came sauntering across the lawn.

"I say," he exclaimed, "what a place this is! Fancy not being allowed to let off a gun. It's just what you might have expected from an old maid like Aunt Mabel, but I should have thought Valentine would have had more pluck. A fine sort of soldier he'll make--the milksop!"

Raymond Fosberton had for some time been running up an account in his cousin's bad books. This speech was the final entry, and caused Jack to demand an immediate settlement.

"Look here," he began, trembling with indignation, "don't you speak like that to me about Aunt Mab or Valentine, He's got a jolly sight more pluck than you have, you coward! If you want to begin calling names, I'll tell you yours--you're a liar and a sneak!"

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean what I say. I know all your little game, and it's no good your trying to keep it dark any longer. You told Hanks that Val and I had set that rick on fire, and so got us into a row through the man's speaking to us at Melchester. And last year, when we met him, you made out you didn't know why he should be always pestering us for money."