Part 22 (1/2)

There was a dead silence after these laconic remarks, broken at last by Wyatt drawing a long, deep breath and saying ”Ha!”--making it sound twice as long as ”Constantinople” uttered very slowly with a comma after each syllable.

Then d.i.c.k sighed, and said, ”Oh dear!”

”Yes,” said Wyatt, ”I was an awful young scamp when I was a boy.”

”Don't believe it,” said d.i.c.k shortly.

Wyatt turned upon him quickly, and sat looking him full in the eyes for a few moments, a pleased expression gathering in his big, manly face.

Then he reached out his hand and shook his young friend's hand.

”Thank ye, d.i.c.k,” he said, warmly. ”I like that. Does a fellow good.

But I was, you know.”

”I dare say you were thoughtless and got into sc.r.a.pes, played tricks, and that sort of thing; but you're such a big, honest, straightforward, manly sort of fellow, with the heart of a boy, that I can't believe you ever did anything very bad. I say, I beg your pardon, Wyatt,” added d.i.c.k hastily.

”What for?”

”Speaking out so freely, and saying you were like a boy.”

”I like it, I tell you. It's true enough. I'm big and old enough, but I don't feel so, d.i.c.k. Ever since you joined you seem to have been quite a companion.”

”You've treated me as if I were.”

”Of course I have. You see, we meet half-way. I'm a youngish sort of fellow, and you're a regular, thoughtful, old man kind of chap with plenty of brains. That's how it is, I suppose.”

d.i.c.k smiled.

”No,” said Wyatt thoughtfully; ”setting aside bits of mischief--pranks, you know--I don't think I ever did anything very bad; but the dear old governor was down upon me once for telling him a lie. He said it hurt him more than it did me when he gave me the thras.h.i.+ng, but I didn't believe it then. I do now, for if Bob Hanson is flogged, I believe honestly it will hurt me more than it does him.”

”Did your father ever thrash you again?” asked d.i.c.k, looking at his big friend anxiously.

”No,” said Wyatt, turning away his head and beginning to whistle a march very softly and solemnly.

”What a pity! And so you told him a lie?” said d.i.c.k sadly.

”No!” thundered out Wyatt.

”Ah! you didn't?” cried d.i.c.k, leaping up to lay his hand on Wyatt's shoulder. ”I am glad of that.”

”Thank ye, old man,” said Wyatt. ”It was all a big mistake. He thought I had.”

”But why didn't you tell him--why didn't you explain?”

”Stupid, proud, young fool,” said Wyatt gruffly.

”What a pity!” said d.i.c.k. ”But he soon knew, of course?”

”No,” said Wyatt slowly, ”he never knew. He came out here to India soon after in command of his regiment, and the next thing we heard--”