Part 10 (2/2)

Obligations! That was a nice thing to preach to him.

”Would you mind not kicking the bed?” said Carl's thin, querulous voice.

”It makes it rather hard to concentrate.” This pet.i.tion, uttered in a studiedly polite tone, was accompanied by a dark look, which this time, however, Paul failed to see.

”Sorry,” said Paul, gruffly, and got up.

Now he began to walk the floor; but at length stopped at the window, pressing his face to the gla.s.s so that he could see something besides the reflection of his cousin's mouse-colored head, and monotonous rocking in his chair.

He peered out over the roofs of the town, up the street, all sleek and s.h.i.+ning with the rain, in the direction of the cross-roads at which he had stood, less than four hours ago. Why hadn't he taken the Other One, anyway? He had been perfectly free to choose-no one had been preaching Duty and all the rest of it to him then. He hadn't taken it, because he had been tired and hungry, and almost penniless-and lonely, too, and the farmer had turned up. Perhaps he had been a coward. It had led to the City, where, even if he were penniless, he would at least have been his own master, free to work according to his own ideas, and not Uncle Peter's.

”Would you mind not whistling!” snapped Carl. ”It's the most maddening sound. Hang it! I'm trying to study.”

Paul's mournful whistling stopped.

Baking pies! So that was to be his future, was it? Well, he still had something to say. It wasn't too late to take the other road yet. He'd walk a _thousand_ miles before he would let himself be trussed up in a canvas ap.r.o.n, and put to kneading dough for the rest of his days.

He glanced around for his cast off clothes, and saw them hanging, still dismally wet over a chair. But not even the cheerless prospect of a clammy s.h.i.+rt dampened his resolution. He began to fling off his dry clothing, sending collar, necktie, socks and shoes flying in all directions.

Presently Carl, aroused by the commotion, put down his book. Then he stared in astonishment, at the sight of his cousin rapidly climbing into the soaking, muddy garments. But he felt that it was not in keeping with the dignity he had a.s.sumed, to inquire into the reasons for this strange proceeding. All he said was,

”Would you mind not shaking that mud over my things?”

Without replying, Paul shouldered his ridiculous bundle, felt in his pocket to make sure that his quarter was still there, and marched out of the room, down the stairs, and to the door.

Then it occurred to him that this abrupt departure, without a word of farewell to anyone was rather a shabby way of returning the hospitality he had received, and he hesitated.

”Well, if I don't get out now, it'll mean a lot of argument and explanation. I could write a note.” But he had no paper, and he did not want to go back to Carl's room. So there he stood uneasily enough, wriggling in his damp clothes, and glancing uncertainly toward the closed door of the dining room behind which his uncle sat waiting for his decision. Overhead, he heard the low murmur of his aunt's voice, and the thudding of the twins' little bare feet as they romped and squealed in a pillow fight. Paul felt his resolution waver, and then anger at his own weakness steadied his determination. He opened the door, strode out, and pulled it to quietly behind him.

A wild gust of wind nearly robbed him of his breath, and made him stagger. The rain had gathered up its forces, and now came down in a solid sheet, swept this way and that by the wind.

”Whew!” Paul bent his head, and ploughed his way against it, without looking to the right or to the left. The branches groaned and tossed, creaking as if they were being torn from the trunks of the swaying trees.

Then all at once, with a crash a dead bough fell in front of him, missing him by not more than fifteen inches. Paul stopped. The very elements seemed opposed to his unmannerly flight, and again he hesitated, looked back, and saw the friendly, ruddy windows of the Bakery. Thirty miles in this tempest! He smiled sheepishly, and then frowned. His impetuousness had put him in a very ridiculous position.

His pride rebelled at the idea of returning, and with the thought of Carl's smothered amus.e.m.e.nt, came the memory of his cousin's inhospitable speech. On the other hand, he saw that it was no less absurd to follow up his plan of flight, and the streak of common sense underlying his hasty, high-handed nature told him that it was less foolish to go back and undertake the immediate problem that had been thrust upon him, than to plunge himself into the serious difficulties that his adventure would entail. And at length, inwardly raging at his own folly, he retraced his steps.

As the dining room door opened, Mr. Lambert looked up, started to remove his spectacles, and then with a start, adjusted them more accurately.

Paul, who had left his cap and bundle in the hall tried to stand in the shadow so that his clothes would not be noticed. After a short silence, Mr. Lambert preferring to observe nothing extraordinary in his nephew's appearance, folded up his spectacles, put them in the breast pocket of his frock coat and said, pleasantly,

”Well? What have you decided?”

Paul cleared his throat.

”I have decided-I have decided-” he finished by spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders.

”To undertake your-er-responsibilities?” prompted Mr. Lambert, as if he were administering an oath.

”To learn how to bake pies,” said Paul, feebly, and then mumbling some vague excuse he backed out of the room, leaving Mr. Lambert to indulge in a short chuckle.

<script>