Chatterbox, 1905 Part 9

'Everard!' cried Mrs. Turton, directly I had finished breakfast two mornings after the above conversation, 'all the servants are very busy this morning, so you must make your own bed.'

If she had told me to stand on my head, I should not have felt more surprise.

'Don't you understand?' she demanded.

'Yes, Mrs. Turton.'

'Then why do you stand staring there? Please set about it at once.'

I went upstairs to the bedroom which I had occupied alone since the beginning of the holidays, and after staring at the bed for a few moments, I was about to strip off the clothes, when I heard a sn.i.g.g.e.r at the door.

'Hullo, Susan!' cried Augustus.

Darting to the dressing-table, I seized a hair-brush, and threw it at his head. Unfortunately it hit him on the forehead, making an ugly cut, and, of course, he at once went to show Mr. Turton, who came upstairs a few minutes later, by which time my bed was made--after a fas.h.i.+on.

'What was your reason for attacking my son?' demanded Mr. Turton.

'Well,' I answered, rather sullenly, I am afraid, for I was growing somewhat desperate, 'he should not be cheeky.'

'You will not leave this room until dinner-time,' he said, 'and your meal will consist of bread and water.'

I spent a miserable morning staring out of the window on to the garden and the fields beyond, without a book to pa.s.s the time, my only comfort being the sight of Augustus with a strip of court-plaster above his left eyebrow.

At half-past one a servant came to tell me to come down to dinner. Alone in the schoolroom, I at first determined to refuse my food, until hunger conquered my resolution, and I ate it every sc.r.a.p. Soon afterwards Mrs.

Turton entered, but she said nothing about Augustus's injury.

'You must not spend your time in idleness,' she exclaimed.

'There was not anything to do in my bedroom,' I answered.

'The house is being cleaned,' she said, 'and all the woodwork has to be washed. You may as well go down to the kitchen for a pail of hot water and begin with the wainscotting in the hall.'

'I'm not a servant!' I answered.

'Honest work is no disgrace to anybody,' she said. 'You must try to make yourself useful in every possible way, and be careful not to splash your jacket.'

Raging inwardly at my task, I only hesitated a few moments; then, going down to the kitchen, I asked the good-natured cook for a pail of water.

'I call it a shame!' she muttered. 'Things were different in Mr.

Windlesham's time. A shame I call it.'

'Oh, it doesn't matter,' I answered, feeling not a little embarra.s.sed by her sympathy.

She filled an iron pail at the boiler-tap, and, as I stood waiting, my thoughts flew back to earlier days at Acacia Road, and to Jane and her energetic manner of smacking the oilcloth. But I suppose my ideas had developed since those times, and certainly I felt this morning that I was being subjected to the lowest humiliation. However, I carried up the pail, slopping the water on the stairs at every step, with a scrubbing-brush in the other hand, and then I set to work. When once I had begun, I cannot pretend that I found the actual was.h.i.+ng of the wainscot particularly distasteful, although it seemed rather hard, after I had done my best, that Mrs. Turton should upbraid me for soiling my clothes.

It was perhaps a week later that the notion of running away definitely entered my mind. By that time I had cleaned a considerable portion of the woodwork of the house, lime-whitened a portion of an outside wall, filled several coal-scuttles, and swept the yard. My clothes were naturally not at the best at the end of the term; I had grown considerably since they were new, and now they were splashed with distemper and soiled with dirt. One Monday morning I noticed the absence of the boy who cleaned the boots and knives and forks, and remarked upon it to Augustus.

'You see we shall not want him now,' he answered, with one of his irritating sn.i.g.g.e.rs, and I fully understood the significance of his words. I try to do the Turtons no injustice, reminding myself that, to begin with, they were far from rich, and that they had lost the forty pounds or more which should have been paid for the last term's board and schooling. Moreover, they had not known me for some years, as the Windleshams had done; I was in their house, requiring food and shelter, and perhaps they could not reconcile their consciences to turning me out. So they determined to make me useful in the only possible way.

Already I had begun to wonder what would happen when Smythe and the other fellows came back after the holidays. One thing I knew for certain, and this was that Augustus would not fail to tell them how I had spent the time since they left; in fact, he had more than once hinted at their interest in my proceedings. The dismissal of the boot-boy made me more and more apprehensive that I should still continue to be degraded after the beginning of the term, while I felt humiliated by the conviction that, even in the present circ.u.mstances, Mr. and Mrs.

Turton were keeping me only on sufferance.

But this Monday morning brought me to a determination. I had finished breakfast, and was wondering what I should be set to do next, when Augustus opened the schoolroom door.

'Everard,' he said, 'you are to clean my boots.'

'Clean them yourself,' I retorted.

'I shall tell Father,' he exclaimed.

'Tell your mother, too, if you like,' I said.

He went to tell them, and a few minutes later Mr. Turton entered the room.

'Everard,' he said, 'I wish to speak to you.'

'Yes, sir,' I answered.

'You understand,' he continued, 'that I have no desire to say or do anything to hurt your feelings. I can quite sympathise with you, and I am grieved that this necessity has arisen. But the fact remains.'

'I am not going to clean Augustus's boots,' I answered.

'Do you think work is disgraceful to you?' he demanded.

'I am not going to clean Augustus's boots,' I insisted.

'You compel me to take harsh measures,' he said. 'I have no wish to take them, but I shall give orders that you have no food until you obey me.

You have to work for your living. I certainly cannot afford to keep you in idleness. You will go to your bedroom, and stay there until you clean the boots and bring them to my study.'

Looking back, I am never able to forgive myself for surrendering. Yet I did surrender, although not at once. I pa.s.sed Mr. Turton at the door and walked slowly upstairs, where I shut myself in the bedroom. Then and there I finally made up my mind. Without any definite scheme when I succeeded in reaching my destination, I determined to go to London. I did not possess a penny of money, but I had my silver watch and chain, which surely it must possible to sell.

The hundred-miles' walk caused me not the least alarm. I was strong and well, although I had grown thinner during the holidays; the weather was warm, and I reckoned on reaching my destination in about a week. As to what I should do on my arrival I had very little idea; but, for one thing, I thought I would try to find Rogers and ask his advice. I had read many books about boys who had gone to London without a penny in their pockets and made immense fortunes, from d.i.c.k Whittington downwards, and I saw every reason to believe that, in some wonderful way, I should be equally successful. At all events, I would go. I would put some clothing into a bundle, and then I would await a favourable opportunity and take my departure, for at the worst it seemed certain I should be safe from pursuit. Mr. and Mrs. Turton would be thankful enough to get me off their hands, although Augustus might miss me as his b.u.t.t.

The hours pa.s.sed very slowly in the bedroom, and, having breakfasted on bread and water, I began presently to feel more and more hungry.

'I will not clean Augustus's boots,' I repeated at intervals, and I tightened the strap behind my waistcoat. But, as the long afternoon began to wear away, and my hunger still increased, I sang to a different tune. 'What did it matter whether I cleaned the boots or not?' I asked myself, especially if I could succeed in finding Augustus alone in the garden for a few quiet minutes before I left the school. Anyhow, it would be the first and the last time. So, just after the clock struck seven, I opened my door, went down to the hall, and thence to the kitchen, and knocked at the door.

'Cook,' I said, 'where do you keep the boot-brushes?'

'In the coal-cellar, Master Everard,' she answered. 'I would have done them with pleasure, only Mrs. Turton forbid me.'

I went into the coal-cellar, took the brush and blacked the boots, and, oddly enough, I did not cease until I had made them s.h.i.+ne far more brightly than Augustus's boots had ever shone before. Then I took them in my right hand and carried them upstairs, knocked at the door of Mr.

Turton's study, and was told to enter.

'I have brought the boots,' I said.

'Ah,' answered Mr. Turton, 'I am glad you have come to a less unreasonable state of mind. You can go to the kitchen and ask Cook for some food.'

(_Continued on page 34._)