Part 47 (1/2)
”Apples _are_ fruit,” said Dexter.
”But I did not tell you to pick my choice pippins and throw them across the river to every blackguard boy you see.”
”But he hasn't got a beautiful garden like we have,” protested Dexter.
”What has that got to do with it, sir?” cried the doctor angrily. ”I don't grow fruit and keep gardeners on purpose to supply the wants of all the little rascals in the place.”
”He asked me to get him some apples, sir.”
”Asked you to get him some, indeed! Look here, sir; I've tried very hard to make you a decent boy by kindness, but it does no good. You were told not to a.s.sociate with that boy any more.”
”Please, sir, I didn't,” cried Dexter. ”I didn't, indeed, sir.”
”What? Why, I saw you talking to him, and giving him fruit.”
”Please, sir, I couldn't help it. I didn't 'sociate with him; he would come and 'sociate with me.”
”Bah!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the doctor.
”And he said if I didn't give him some apples and pears he'd come and stand in front of the windows here and shout 'workus' as loud as he could.”
”I shall have to send the police after him,” said the doctor fiercely; ”and as for you, sir, I've quite made up my mind what to do. Kind words are thrown away. I shall now purchase a cane--and use it.”
”Oh, I say, don't,” cried Dexter, giving himself a writhe, as he recalled sundry unpleasant interviews with Mr Sibery. ”It does hurt so, you don't know; and makes black marks on you afterwards, just as if it had been dipped in ink.”
Helen bent down over the work she had taken up.
”Don't?” said the doctor sharply. ”Then what am I to do, sir? Words are of no use. I did hope that you were going to be a better and more tractable boy.”
”Well, but ain't I?” said Dexter, looking puzzled, and rubbing his curly head.
”Better? No, sir; much worse.”
Dexter rubbed his head again thoughtfully.
”I haven't torn my clothes this week, and I haven't been down on my knees; and I haven't been on the top of the wall, and I did want to ever so badly.”
”No, Dexter; but you climbed right to the top of the big pear-tree,”
said Helen quickly; ”and it was a terribly dangerous thing to do.”
”Now you've begun at me!” said the boy in a lachrymose tone. ”I'm afraid I'm a regular bad one, and you'd better send me back again.”
The doctor looked at Helen, and she returned the glance with a very serious aspect, but there was a merry light in her eyes, as she saw her father's discomfiture.
He read her looks aright, and got up from his seat with an impatient e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
”I'm going out, my dear,” he said shortly.
”Are you going to get a cane!” cried Dexter excitedly. ”I say, don't, and I will try so hard to do what you want.”