The Eldest Son Part 49

"No, it didn't occur to me, and it wouldn't have occurred to you if you'd been in my place. I tell you I didn't ask for anything, except for enough to get married on. But when it came to having it chucked at me--well, if you want the plain truth, it happened to suit my book."

"Yes, I dare say it did. And what about Aunt Laura? You've been doing pretty well out of her too, haven't you?"

Humphrey flushed again. "Look here," he said, "I'm not going to talk to you any longer. You stand there sneering because you've got everything you want now, and you think you can amuse yourself by baiting me. I'm going upstairs, and you can do your sneering by yourself. Only I'll tell you this before I go. I'm going to play my hand, and I don't care whether I've got you up against me or not. I consider I've been precious badly treated. I'm encouraged to go and tell the Aldeburghs all sorts of things about what's going to be done for me when I'm married, and I come back and am told coolly that none of it's going to happen at all, and I'm to consider myself d----d lucky to get just enough to live on."

"Well, you're going to have a bit more than enough to live on, and you're welcome to it as far as I'm concerned. And the dower-house too--for a bit."

"Thanks very much. I'm likely to take that on--live in a house by your kind permission and get kicked out the moment you want it for yourself!"

"You won't get kicked out, as you call it, for two years at least. I should think that's good enough."

Humphrey threw a glance at him. He was standing, looking down on the carpet, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Look here," he said, looking up suddenly. "We've had enough of this.

I don't think you've acted straight, and I was bound to say so before I said anything else. And now I've said it, I've said it for the last time. Let's forget all about it. We've been pretty good pals up to now, and there's no reason why we shouldn't go on being good pals up to the end of the chapter."

Humphrey sat down and looked into the fire. "Perhaps I haven't behaved very well," he said slowly. "It's precious easy to behave well when you've got everything you want, as you've always had."

"It may be," said d.i.c.k. "Anyhow, you're not going to do so badly now.

If you haven't got all you want, you'll have a good slice of it."

There was silence between them for a time, and then Humphrey said, "If you don't want to quarrel, I'm hanged if I do. Only, I must confess I feel a bit sore. The way the governor swings round from one position to another's enough to make anybody sick. You've had a dose of it yourself; you know how you felt before you made it up with him."

d.i.c.k's self-esteem received nourishment from the recollection that he had not behaved in the same way as Humphrey had, but he did not bring forward the statement in that form. "It was awkward," he admitted.

"It made him think of doing things that he'd never thought of doing, and I don't think he'd any right to think of doing. That's why I haven't the slightest hesitation now in taking back whatever he may have made use of to offer to--to, well, let's say to you, as a means of getting his own way. They have always been looked on as coming to me eventually, and if this disturbance hadn't come about n.o.body would have thought of their being disposed of in any other way. So you're really no worse off than you were before; in fact, you're a good deal better off, and I'm quite agreeable, as far as it rests with me, that you should be. Can't you manage to settle it with yourself that what you're going to have is as much as you could have expected, and give up trying for the rest?"

"I dare say I can manage that feat," said Humphrey, "especially as I suppose I've got to. Still, when you look at it all round, there's a good deal of difference in my expectations and yours. Two thousand a year on the one side, and--well, I don't know what, but say ten thousand a year and a big property on the other."

"Oh, if you're going to kick against the law of primogeniture--!" said d.i.c.k. "Question is, would you kick at it if you happened to be the eldest son? If not, you oughtn't to bring it in."

Humphrey was silent. They had been talking quietly. Hostility had gone out of their talk, but friendliness had not yet come in.

d.i.c.k seated himself and began again. "Perhaps it isn't for me to say, now that I've got everything I want, but I do say it all the same, because I found it out when I didn't think I was going to have everything I wanted. Money isn't everything. If you have as much as you can live comfortably on, and something to do, you've just as much chance of happiness as the next fellow. 'Specially if you're going to marry the right woman."

"I dare say you're right," said Humphrey. "If you're disappointed of something you can always fall back on philosophy. But it's just because I am going to marry the right woman that I am disappointed.

I'd told her all sorts of things, and she was as ready as I was to chuck the fun we've both had in London and other places, and settle down here quietly."

"Well, my dear good chap!" exclaimed d.i.c.k. "If you looked upon it in that light, what on earth is there to grumble at if you're free now to live as you like, and anywhere you like? I don't know much about your young woman, but I should imagine she'd rather settle herself in London on a couple of thousand a year, which will give you enough to go about with too, than bury herself down here."

"I don't think you do know much about her," said Humphrey. "I believe the general opinion here is that I'm going to marry her without knowing much about her myself, though what I shall gain by it, considering that she hasn't got a _sou_, isn't quite clear. However, the general opinion happens to be wrong."

d.i.c.k felt a little uncomfortable. "She's the one girl in the world for you, eh?" he said lightly.

"That's about what it comes to. I know her mother's a fool; and she suffers by it. But she's quite different herself, and I know what a jolly good sort she is, if others don't."

d.i.c.k was touched. Humphrey's "poor thing but mine own" opinion of the girl he was going to marry was so different from the pride he felt in Virginia. "Well, old chap," he said, "we'll do our best to make her feel one of the family. We're not a bad lot, take us all round, and if she wants to, I dare say she'll get to like us. We ought to be able to have some fun together when we all meet. I like her all right--what I've seen of her--and now things have been more or less settled up I should like to see more of her, and so would Virginia. I believe in a family sticking together, even after they begin to marry off, and new-comers ought to get a warm welcome. You've been very decent to Virginia, and she likes you; and I should like to have an opportunity of ingratiating myself with Susan."

Humphrey was conquered by this. "You're a jolly good sort, d.i.c.k," he said. "I didn't know you were going to behave like that, or perhaps I wouldn't have behaved as I have done. I'm not proud of myself, exactly, now I look back on it, and if you'll forget all about it, as you said you were ready to do, I'll chuck the whole beastly business, and we'll go back to where we used to be."

"There won't be any difficulty about that, old boy," said d.i.c.k. "Peace and goodwill is all _I_ want, and we may as well have it all round."

CHAPTER x.x.x

MISS BIRD HEARS ALL ABOUT IT

The twins were meeting a train, but the train was late. They walked up and down the platform, by the side of which the station-master's arabis and aubrietia, primroses and daffodils, were making a fine show. It was the Thursday before Easter, which Miss Bird was coming to spend at Kencote, Miss Phipp having already departed for a week in lovely Lucerne; and the twins, out of the innumerable trains they had met, had never met one with greater pleasure. They had spent an arduous term with Miss Phipp, with whom they had established relations amicable on the whole, but not marked by the affection they had felt for Miss Bird; and although they had rather liked working hard, they had had enough of it for the present, and enough of Miss Phipp.

"I wish the train would hurry up. I do want to see the sweet old lamb," said Joan. "Let's ask Mr. Belper when it's coming."

The station-master, jovially respectful, told them that she was signalled, and they wouldn't have long to wait.

"But I think you ought to see that your trains are up to time," said Nancy. "Didn't you learn at school that punctuality was a virtue?"

"Ah! I see you want to have one of your jokes with me, miss," said the station-master. "I don't know what it's about, but, bless you, have your laugh. I like to see young ladies enjoying themselves."

"Thank you very much," said Joan. "But there's nothing to laugh at in a train being _always_ unpunctual. We want very much to see Miss Bird, who is coming, and you keep her on the line somewhere between here and Ganton. You ought to turn over a new leaf, and see that people don't get disappointed like that."

"Well, it isn't my fault, miss, and here she comes," said Mr. Belper, s.n.a.t.c.hing up a metal instrument in shape something between a sceptre and a door-sc.r.a.per and hurrying up the platform, as the engine fussed up the last incline and snorted itself to rest.

Miss Bird--diminutive, excited, voluble--cast herself out of her carriage and into the arms of the twins, who gave vent to their affection in a series of embraces that left her breathless and crumpled, but blissfully happy. "That will do Joan 'n' Nancy for the present," she said. "Let me get my things out and then we can have a nice long talk. Oh dear to find myself at Kencote again it is almost too good to be true the umbrella on the rack porter and the hat-box my precious pets how you have grown a brown box with 'E.B.' in the van and that is all. How do you do Mr. Belper you see I have come back again once more like a bad penny as they say and how is Mrs. Clinton darlings and your father and all I have _such_ a lot to hear that I'm sure we shall never leave off talking until I go away again."

"Precious lamb!" said Joan tenderly. "_You_ won't leave off talking, and I could listen to you for ever, like the brook. You're such a relief after Pipp."

"We didn't know when we were well off," said Nancy. "We often lie awake at night and cry for you."

They were now walking towards the booking-office. "But surely Miss Phipp isn't _cruel_ to you my pets Mrs. Clinton would never allow that oh my ticket Mr. Belper now I _know_ I put it somewhere here it is in my bag and I give up this half and retain the other, good-afternoon ah to see these nice horses again it is like coming home indeed I have not ridden in a private carriage since I left Kencote. _Good_-afternoon William I see you are still here and promoted to the box one more of the old faces."

Thus expressing her pleasure, Miss Bird got into the carriage and the twins after her, and they drove off.

"Well my pets," she began, "let me take a good look at you many's the time I've longed to set eyes on you, and you have not altered at all just a _trifle_ pale I do hope that you have not been working _too_ hard."

Joan and Nancy exchanged glances, and then heaved a simultaneous sigh.

They acted habitually so much in accord that the acceptance of an idea striking them simultaneously could be indicated by a look. "You were often unkind to us, Starling darling," said Joan plaintively, "although we've quite forgiven you for it; but in your most headstrong moments you were never actually cruel."

"Don't cry, Joan," said Nancy. "We have nearly three weeks' holiday, and with Starling here we shall be able to forget everything, and be as happy as possible."

Miss Bird's face showed perplexed horror. "But surely it isn't possible----" she began.

Nancy interrupted her. "I don't mind so much for myself, because I'm not so tender-hearted as Joan and don't feel things so much, and--oh, Starling darling, please don't press that arm."

She winced realistically, and Joan took her up immediately.

"Nancy, I wonder if there's time to get long sleeves put into our frocks for to-night. Mother will ask what the marks are, and we _can't_ tell her a lie, and if we tell her the truth---- Oh, Starling darling, _don't_ go away from us again. We can't _bear_ it any more;"

and she wept audibly on Miss Bird's inadequate shoulder.