Johnny Ludlow Third Series Part 91

"Which you will not have," said the doctor: and he marched off d.i.c.ky.

"How cross you are with him, Arnold!" spoke his step-mother when the doctor came down again, leaving d.i.c.ky howling on his pillow for the top.

"It needs some one to be cross with him," observed Dr. Knox.

"He is only a little boy, remember."

"He is big enough and old enough to be checked and corrected--if it ever is to be done at all. I will see you to-morrow: I wish to have some conversation with you."

"About d.i.c.ky?" she hastily asked.

"About him and other things. Mina," he added in a low tone, as he pa.s.sed her on his way out, but I, being next to him, caught the words, "I did not like to see you at the gate with Captain Collinson at this hour. Do not let it occur again. Young maidens cannot be too modest."

And, at the reproof, Miss Mina coloured to the very roots of her hair.

II.

They sat in the small garden-room, its gla.s.s-doors open to the warm spring air. Mrs. Knox wore an untidy cotton gown, of a flaming crimson-and-white pattern, and her dark face looked hot and angry. Dr.

Knox, sitting behind the table, was being annoyed as much as he could be annoyed--and no one ever annoyed him but his step-mother--as the lines in his patient brow betrayed.

"It is for his own good that I suggest this; his welfare," urged Dr.

Knox. "Left to his own will much longer, he must not be. Therefore I say that he must be placed at school."

"You only propose it to thwart me," cried Mrs. Knox. "A fine expense it will be!"

"It will not be your expense. I pay his schooling now, and I shall pay it then. My father left me, young though I was, d.i.c.ky's guardian, and I must do this. I wonder you do not see that it will be the very best thing for d.i.c.ky. Every one but yourself sees that, as things are, the boy is being ruined."

Mrs. Knox looked sullenly through the open doors near which she sat; she tapped her foot impatiently upon the worn mat, lying on the threshold.

"I know you won't rest until you have carried your point and separated us, Arnold; it has been in your mind to do it this long while. And my boy is the only thing I care for in life."

"It is for d.i.c.ky's own best interest," reiterated Dr. Knox. "Of course he is dear to you; it would be unnatural if he were not; but you surely must wish to see him grow up a good and self-reliant man: not an idle and self-indulgent one."

"Why don't you say outright that your resolve is taken and nothing can alter it; that you are going to banish him to school to-morrow?"

"Not to-morrow, but he shall go at the half-quarter. The child will be ten times happier for it; believe that."

"Do you _really_ mean it?" she questioned, her black eyes flas.h.i.+ng fury at Arnold. "Will nothing deter you?"

"Nothing," he replied, in a low, firm tone. "I--bear with me a moment, mother--I cannot let d.i.c.ky run riot any longer. He is growing up the very incarnation of selfishness; he thinks the world was made for him alone; you and his sisters are only regarded by him as so many ministers to his pleasure. See how he treats you all. See how he treats the servants. Were I to allow this state of things to continue, how should I be fulfilling my obligation to my dead father?--my father and d.i.c.ky's."

"I will hear no more," spoke Mrs. Knox, possibly thinking the argument was getting too strong for her. "_I_ have wanted to speak to you, Arnold, and I may as well do it now. Things must be put on a different footing up here."

"What things?"

"Money matters. I cannot continue to do upon my small income."

Arnold Knox pa.s.sed his hand across his troubled brow, almost in despair.

Oh, what a weary subject this was! Not for long together did she ever give him rest from it.

"Your income is sufficient, mother; I am tired of saying it. It is between three and four hundred a-year; and you are free from house-rent."

"Why don't you remind me that the house is yours, and have done with it!" she cried, her voice harsh and croaking as a raven's.

"Well, it is mine," he said good-humouredly.

"Yes; and instead of settling it upon me when you married, you must needs settle it on your wife! Don't _you_ talk of selfishness, Arnold."

"My wife does not derive any benefit from it. It has made no difference to you."

"She would derive it, though, if you died. Where should I be then?"

"I am not going to die, I hope. Oh, mother, if you only knew how these discussions vex me!"

"Then you should show yourself generous."

"Generous!" he exclaimed, in a pained tone. And, goaded to it by his remembrance of what he had done for her in the present and in the past, he went on to speak more plainly than he had ever spoken yet. "Do you forget that a great portion of what you enjoy should, by right, be mine?

_Is_ mine!"

"Yours!" she scornfully said.

"Yes: mine. Not by legal right, but by moral. When my father died he left the whole of his property to you. Considerably more than the half of that property had been brought to him by my mother: some people might have thought that much should have descended to her son."

"He did not leave me the whole. You had a share of it."

"Not of the income. I had a sum of five hundred pounds left me, for a specific purpose--to complete my medical education. Mother, I have never grumbled at this; never. It was my father's will and pleasure that the whole should be yours, and that it should go to your children after you; and I am content to think that he did for the best; the house was obliged to come to me; it had been so settled at my mother's marriage; but you have continued to live in it, and I have not said you nay."

"It is like you to remind me of all this!"

"I could remind you of more," he rejoined, chafing at her unjust words, her resentful manner. "That for years I impoverished myself to help you to augment this income. Three parts of what I earned, before my partners.h.i.+p with Mr. Tamlyn, I gave to you."

"Well, I needed it. Do, for goodness' sake, let the past alone, if you can: where's the use of recalling it? Would you have us starve? Would you see me taken off to prison? And that's what it will come to, unless I can get some money to pay up with. That table-drawer that you've got your elbow on, is full of bills. I've not paid one for these six months."

"I cannot think what it is you do with your money!"

"Do with my money! Why, it goes in a hundred ways. How very ignorant you are, Arnold. Look at what dress costs, for myself and four girls! Look at what the soirees cost! We have to give all sorts of dishes now; lobster salads and raspberry creams, and all kinds of expensive things.

Madame St. Vincent introduced _that_."

"You must put down the soirees and the dress--if you cannot keep them within the bounds of your income."

"Thank you. Just as I had to put down the pony-carriage and James. How cruel you are, Arnold!"

"I hope I am not. I do not wish to be so."

"It will take two hundred pounds to set me straight; and I must have it from you, or from somebody else," avowed Mrs. Knox.

"You certainly cannot have it, or any portion of it, from me. My expenses are heavy now, and I have my own children coming on."