Part 4 (1/2)
”Then beware, Erebus--beware! You are young and possibly savory,” said Sir Maurice.
”You children had better go and get ready for dinner,” said Mrs.
Dangerfield.
The Twins went to the door. On the threshold Erebus turned and said: ”It's Mum he wants to crunch up--not me.”
The bolt shot, she fled through the door.
Sir Maurice looked at his sister and said softly:
”Oho! I see--heroism. That was what you wanted to consult me about.”
Then he laid his hand on her shoulder affectionately and added: ”It won't do, Anne--it won't do at all. I am convinced of it.”
”Do you think so?” said Mrs. Dangerfield in a tone in which disappointment and relief were very nicely blended.
”Think? I'm sure of it,” said Sir Maurice in a tone of complete conviction.
”But the children; he could do so much for the children,” pleaded Mrs.
Dangerfield.
”He could, but he wouldn't. That kind of bounder never does any one any good but himself. No, no; the children are right in calling him the Cruncher. He would just crunch you up; and it is a thousand times better for them to have an uncrunched mother than all the money that ever came out of pickles.”
”Well, you know best. You do understand these things,” said Mrs.
Dangerfield; and she sighed.
”I do understand Basters,” said Sir Maurice in a confident tone.
Mrs. Dangerfield ran up-stairs to dress, on the light feet of a girl; a weight oppressive, indeed, had been lifted from her spirit.
Dinner was a very bright and lively meal, though now and again a grave thoughtfulness clouded the spirits of Erebus. Once Sir Maurice asked her the cause of it. She only shook her head.
Captain Baster ate his dinner in a sizzling excitement: he knew that he had made a splendid first impression; he was burning to deepen it. But on his eager way back to Colet House, he walked warily, feeling before him with his stick for clotheslines. He came out of the dark lane into the broad turf road, which runs across the common to the house, with a strong sense of relief and became once more his hearty care-free self.
There was not enough light to display the jaunty air with which he walked in all its perfection; but there seemed to be light enough for more serious matters, for a stone struck him on the thigh with considerable force. He had barely finished the jump of pained surprise with which he greeted it, when another stone whizzed viciously past his head; then a third struck him on the shoulder.
With the appalling roar of a bull of Bashan the gallant officer dashed in the direction whence, he judged, the stones came. He was just in time to stop a singularly hard stone with his marble brow. Then he found a gorse-bush (by tripping over a root) a gorse-bush which seemed unwilling to release him from its stimulating, not to say p.r.i.c.kly, embrace. As he wallowed in it another stone found him, his ankle-bone.
He wrenched himself from the embrace of the gorse-bush, found his feet and realized that there was only one thing to do. He tore along the turf road to Colet House as hard as he could pelt. A stone struck the garden gate as he opened it. He did not pause to ring; he opened the front door, plunged heavily across the hall into the drawing-room. The Terror formed the center of a domestic scene; he was playing draughts with his Uncle Maurice.
Captain Baster glared at him with unbelieving eyes and gasped: ”I--I made sure it was that young whelp!”
This sudden violent entry of a bold but disheveled hussar produced a natural confusion; Mrs. Dangerfield, Sir Maurice and the Terror sprang to their feet, asking with one voice what had befallen him.
Captain Baster sank heavily on to a chair and instantly sprang up from it with a howl as he chanced on several tokens of the gorse-bush's clinging affection.
”I've been stoned--stoned by some hulking scoundrels on the common!” he cried; and he displayed the considerable b.u.mp rising on his marble brow.
Mrs. Dangerfield was full of concern and sympathy; Sir Maurice was cool, interested but cool; he did not blaze up into the pa.s.sionate indignation of a bosom friend.