Vice Versa Part 31

It was a strange sensation on entering to see the image of what he had so lately been standing by the mantelpiece. It gave a shock to his sense of his own ident.i.ty. It seemed so impossible that that stout substantial frame could really contain d.i.c.k. For an instant he was totally at a loss for words, and stood pale and speechless in the presence of his unprincipled son.

d.i.c.k on his side seemed at least as much embarra.s.sed. He giggled uneasily, and made a sheepish offer to shake hands, which was indignantly declined.

As Paul looked he saw distinctly that his son's fraudulent imitation of his father's personal appearance had become deteriorated in many respects since that unhappy night when he had last seen it. It was then a copy, faultlessly accurate in every detail. It was now almost a caricature, a libel!

The complexion was nearly sallow, with the exception of the nose, which had rather deepened in colour. The skin was loose and flabby, and the eyes dull and a little bloodshot. But perhaps the greatest alteration was in the dress. d.i.c.k wore an old light tweed shooting-coat of his, and a pair of loose trousers of blue serge; while, instead of the formally tied black neckcloth his father had worn for a quarter of a century, he had a large scarf round his neck of some crude and gaudy colour; and the conventional chimney-pot hat had been discarded for a shabby old wide-brimmed felt wideawake.

Altogether, it was by no means the costume which a British merchant, with any self-respect whatever, would select, even for a country visit.

And thus they met, as perhaps never, since this world was first set spinning down the ringing grooves of change, met father and son before!

14. _An Error of Judgment_

"The Survivors.h.i.+p of a worthy Man in his Son is a Pleasure scarce inferior to the Hopes of the Continuance of his own Life."

_Spectator._

"Du bist ein Knabe--sei es immerhin Und fahre fort, den Frohlichen zu spielen."

SCHILLER, _Don Carlos_.

Paul was the first to break a very awkward silence. "You young scoundrel!" he said, with suppressed rage. "What the devil do you mean by laughing like that? It's no laughing matter, let me tell you, sir, for one of us!"

"I can't help laughing," said d.i.c.k; "you do look so queer!"

"Queer! I may well look queer. I tell you that I have never, never in my whole life, spent such a perfectly infernal week as this last!"

"Ah!" observed d.i.c.k, "I thought you wouldn't find it _all_ jam! And yet you seemed to be enjoying yourself, too," he said with a grin, "from that letter you wrote."

"What made you come here? Couldn't you be content with your miserable victory, without coming down to crow and jeer at me?"

"It isn't that," said d.i.c.k. "I--I thought I should like to see the fellows, and find out how you were getting on, you know." These, however, were not his only and his princ.i.p.al motives. He had come down to get a sight of Dulcie.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Bult.i.tude, with ponderous sarcasm, "you'll be delighted to hear that I'm getting on uncommonly well--oh, uncommonly!

Your high-spirited young friends batter me to sleep with slippers on most nights, and, as a general thing, kick me about during the day like a confounded football! And last night, sir, I was going to be expelled; and this morning I'm forgiven, and sentenced to be soundly flogged before the whole school! It was just about to take place as you came in; and I've every reason to believe it is merely postponed!"

"I say, though," said d.i.c.k, "you must have been going it rather, you know. I've never been expelled. Has Chawner been sneaking again? What have you been up to?"

"Nothing. I solemnly swear--nothing! They're finding out things you've done, and thras.h.i.+ng _me_."

"Well," said d.i.c.k soothingly, "you'll work them all off during the term, I daresay. There aren't many really bad ones. I suppose he's seen my name cut on his writing-table?"

"No; not that I'm aware of," said Paul.

"Oh, he'd let you hear of it if he had!" said d.i.c.k. "It's good for a swis.h.i.+ng, that is. But, after all, what's a swis.h.i.+ng? I never cared for a swis.h.i.+ng."

"But I do care, sir. I care very much, and, I tell you, I won't stand it. I can't! d.i.c.k," he said abruptly as a sudden hope seized him. "You, you haven't come down here to say you're tired of your folly, have you?

Do you want to give it up?"

"Rather not," said d.i.c.k. "Why should I? No school, no lessons, nothing to do but amuse myself, eat and drink what I like, and lots of money.

It's not likely, you know."

"Have you ever thought that you're bringing yourself within reach of the law, sir?" said Paul, trying to frighten him. "Perhaps you don't know that there's an offence known as 'false personation with intent to defraud,' and that it's a felony. That's what you're doing at this moment, sir!"

"Not any more than you are!" retorted d.i.c.k. "I never began it. I had as much right to wish to be you as you had to wish to be me. You're just what you said you wanted to be, so you can't complain."

"It's useless to argue with you, I see," said Paul. "And you've no feelings. But I'll warn you of one thing. Whether that is my body or not you've fraudulently taken possession of, I don't know; if it is not, it is very like mine, and I tell you this about it. The sort of life you're leading it, sir, will very soon make an end of you, if you don't take care. Do you think that a const.i.tution at my age can stand sweet wines and pastry, and late hours? Why, you'll be laid up with gout in another day or two. Don't tell me, sir. I know you're suffering from indigestion at this very minute. I can see your liver (it may be _my_ liver for anything I know) is out of order. I can see it in your eyes."

d.i.c.k was a little alarmed at this, but he soon said: "Well, and if I am seedy, I can get Barbara to take the stone and wish me all right again, can't I? That's easy enough, I suppose."

"Oh, easy enough!" said Paul, with a suppressed groan. "But, d.i.c.k, you don't go up to Mincing Lane in that suit and that hat? Don't tell me you do that!"

"When I do go up, I wear them," said d.i.c.k composedly. "Why not? It's a roomy suit, and I hate a great topper on my head; I've had enough of that here on Sundays. But it's slow up at your office. The chaps there aren't half up to any larks. I made a first-rate b.o.o.by-trap, though, one day for an old yellow buffer who came in to see you. He _was_ in a bait when he found the waste-paper basket on his head!"

"What was his name?" said Paul, with forced calm.

"Something like 'Sh.e.l.ls.' He said he was a very old friend of mine, and I told him he lied."

"Sh.e.l.lack--my Canton correspondent--a man I was anxious to be of use to when he came over!" moaned Mr. Bult.i.tude. "Miserable young cub, you don't know what mischief you've done!"

"Well, it won't matter much to you now," said d.i.c.k; "you're out of it all."

"Do you--do you mean to keep me out of it for ever, then?" asked Paul.

"As long as ever I can!" returned d.i.c.k frankly. "It will be rather interesting to see what sort of a fellow you'll grow into--if you ever do grow. Perhaps you will always be like that, you know. This magic is a rum thing to meddle with."

This suggestion almost maddened Paul. He made one stride forward, and faced his son with blazing eyes. "Do you think I will put up with it?"

he said, between his teeth. "Do you suppose I shall stand calmly by and see you degrading and ruining me? I may never be my old self again, but I don't mean to play into your hands for all that. You can't always keep me here, and wherever I go I'll tell my tale. I know you, you clumsy rogue, you haven't the sense to play your part with common intelligence now. You would betray yourself directly I challenged you to deny my story.... You know you would.... You couldn't face me for five minutes.

By Gad! I'll do it now. I'll expose you before the Doctor--before the whole school. You shall see if you can dispose of me quite so easily as you imagine!"

d.i.c.k had started back at first in unmistakable alarm at this unexpected defiance, probably feeling his self-possession unequal to such a test; but, when Paul had finished, he said doggedly: "Well, you can do it if you choose, I suppose. I can't stop you. But I don't see what good it would do."

"It would show people you were an impudent impostor, sir," said Paul sternly, going to the door as if to call the Doctor, though he shrank secretly from so extreme and dangerous a measure.

There was a hesitation in his manner, in spite of the firmness of his words, which d.i.c.k was not likely to miss. "Stop!" he said. "Before you call them in, just listen to me for a minute. Do you see this?" And, opening his coat, he pulled out from his waistcoat pocket one end of his watch-chain. Hanging to it, attached by a cheap gilt fastening of some sort, was a small grey tablet. Paul knew it at once--it was the Garuda Stone. "You know it, I see," said d.i.c.k, as Paul was about to move towards him--with what object he scarcely knew himself. "Don't trouble to come any closer. Well, I give you fair warning. You can make things very nasty for me if you like. I can't help that--but, if you do--if you try to score off me in any way, now or at any time--if you don't keep it up when the Doctor comes in--I tell you what I shall do. I shall go straight home and find young Roly. I shall give him this stone, and just tell him to say some wish after me. I don't believe there are many things it can't do, and all I can say is--if you find yourself and all this jolly old school (except Dulcie) taken off somewhere and stuck down all at once thousands of miles away on a desolate island, or see yourself turned into a Red Indian, or, or a cabhorse, you'll have yourself to thank for it--that's all. Now you can have them all up and fire away."

"No," said Paul, in a broken voice, for, wild as the threat was, he could not afford to despise it after his experiences of the stone's power, "I--I was joking, d.i.c.k; at least I didn't mean it. I know of course I'm helpless. It's a sad thing for a father to say, but you've got the best of it.... I give in ... I won't interfere with you. There's only one thing I ask. You won't try any more experiments with that miserable stone.... You'll promise me that, at least?"

"Yes," said d.i.c.k: "it's all right. I'll play fair. As long as you behave yourself and back me up I won't touch it. I only want to stay as I am. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't lose it?" said Paul anxiously. "Couldn't you lock it up? that fastening doesn't look very safe."

"It will do well enough," said d.i.c.k. "I got it done at the watchmaker's round the corner, for sixpence. But I'll have a stronger ring put in somewhere, if I think of it."

There was a pause, in which the conversation seemed about to flag hopelessly, but at last d.i.c.k said, almost as if he felt some compunction for his present unfilial att.i.tude: "Now, you know, it's much better to take things quietly. It can't be altered now, can it? And it's not such bad fun being a boy after all--for some things. You'll get into it by-and-by, you see if you don't, and be as jolly as a sandboy. We shall get along all right together, too. I shan't be hard on you. It isn't my fault that you happen to be at this particular school--you chose it! And after this term you can go to any other school you like--Eton or Rugby, or anywhere. I don't mind the expense. Of, if you'd rather, you can have a private tutor. And I'll buy you a pony, and you can ride in the Row.

You shall have a much better time of it than I ever had, as long as you let me go on my own way."