Part 25 (1/2)
Purchase, not very lucidly, ”one could understand it.”
”I--I'm going to be ill,” wailed the wretched Calvin, with a spasmodic heave of the shoulders.
”Well,” his aunt commented grimly after a moment, ”you told the truth that time, anyway.”
Having conveyed him to the house and put him, with Susannah's help, to bed, Aunt Hannah went off to Myra's room, but descended after a few minutes in search of Mr. Sam, whom she found pacing the garden walk.
”Well?” he asked.
”I've told her the punishment--bread and water, and to keep her room all day. She says nothing against it, and I think she's sorry about the powder; but I can get no sense into her until her mind's set at rest about Clem.”
”What about him?”
”Why, the poor child's left behind at the school.”
”Is that all? Miss Marvin will bring him home, no doubt.”
”So I told her. But it seems she don't trust Miss Marvin--hates her, in fact.”
”The child must be crazed.”
”Couldn't you send Peter Benny?”
”Oh, certainly, if you wish it.” Mr. Sam went indoors to the counting-house, where Mr. Benny jumped up from his desk in alarm at sight of the bandages.
”Mercy on us, sir--you have met with an accident?”
”A trifle. Are you busy just now?”
Mr. Benny blushed. ”I might answer in your words sir--a trifle.
Indeed, I hope, sir, you will not think it a liberty; but the late Mr.
Rosewarne used very kindly to allow it when no business happened to be doing.”
His employer stared at him blankly.
”On birthdays and such occasions,” pursued Mr. Benny. ”And by the way, sir, might I ask you to favour me with the date of your birthday?
Your dear father's was the 28th of May.” Mr. Sam's stare lost its blankness, and became one of sharp suspicion.
”What have you to do with my birthday, pray?”
”Nothing, sir--nothing, unless it pleases you. Some of our best and greatest men, sir, as I am well aware--the late Duke of Wellington, for instance--have had a distaste for poetry; not that my verses deserve any such name.”
”Oh!” said Mr. Sam, his brow clearing, ”you were talking of verses?
I've no objection, so long as you don't ask me to read them.” He paused, as Mr. Benny's face lengthened dejectedly. ”I mean no reflection on yours, Benny.”
”I thank you, sir.”
”Shakespeare--and I am told you can't get better poetry than Shakespeare's--doesn't please me at all. I tried him once, on a friend's recommendation, and came on a pa.s.sage which I don't hesitate to call lascivious. I told my friend so, and advised him to be more careful in the reading he recommended. He was a minister of the gospel, too.