Part 38 (2/2)

”No. I didn't expect you would. I had counted on things being so different! Counted on a merry Christmas.”

d.i.c.k laughed as he said, thought of, a merry Christmas: the unpleasant, ironic laugh of a disappointed man. Just then he was as full of disappointment as he could well hold.

”I had gone in for a certain amount of accountancy too.”

Masters made the response with a little catch in his voice, which the a.s.sumed laugh could not disguise. He had stopped and was standing with his hand on d.i.c.k's shoulder.

”Do you remember that last time I held you like this, dear boy? I was so full of joy then, so blinded by it, to what I was doing, that you accused me of squeezing you to hurting point.” A sigh punctuated his speech. ”I don't feel like hurting you now.”

”Squeeze the life out of me, if it will be any relief to your feelings.”

d.i.c.k spoke gruffly. ”It's your life. I shouldn't be living at all if it were not for you.”

He was a good boy was d.i.c.k, with a heart in him; a heart in the right place. It grieved him to see even the suspicion of a tear in the eye of the friend he loved so well.

His own brown eyes looked into the author's with silent, dog-like fidelity and sympathy. Masters was not insensible to it. It was an eloquent silence; expressed far more to him than words could have done.

”I made a mistake, d.i.c.k; that's all. I suppose all of us do; the world seems so full of them.... And let this be the last of it, dear old man, will you? Don't recur to it ever again; please. The sore is fresh, and--and--I don't mind owning to you, it hurts. Please don't let us talk about it--ever again--please.”

d.i.c.k grasped the hand extended to him; held it in a long, tight grip.

Put his other hand on his companion's shoulder, and was about to speak.

Then felt that speech would be a failure; simply said gruffly:

”I'll see you in the morning, old man; I'll walk round. Good-night.”

Not another word pa.s.sed between them; a tight hand-grip and they parted.

Masters to his rooms, d.i.c.k homeward bound--a journey he made with the blood coursing through his veins at boiling point. He had more than a little of his sister's temper.

d.i.c.k was simply furious at the manner in which Mabel had treated Masters. He dared not trust himself to more talk that night. Just looked into the drawing-room at the bungalow, professed weariness, said a hurried good-night and retired to his room.

In the morning, Gracie offered strong evidence that she had a tongue in her head; was full of the return of Prince Charlie. She had heard of his arrival with delight; was running over with anxiety to see him.

Instinctively she felt that Uncle d.i.c.k was the ways and means. When she heard that he was going to call on Masters that morning, she emulated the limpet; he could not have shaken her off had he tried.

”Get your things on, Puss,” said d.i.c.k, as the breakfast things were being cleared away, ”and I'll take you round to see him.”

Miss Chantrelle professed the most acute astonishment. Not so much by what she said, but the way she acted. Wasn't Mr. Masters coming in to lunch?... Nor to dinner? Not at all that day?... Those carefully combed eyebrows of hers almost disappeared under her fringe--she was so surprised!

Gracie had scampered off and returned in full war-paint: best hat, best shoes, best coat and, crowning glory, new m.u.f.f! She did hope Prince Charlie would notice it and ask her all about it. But if he did not, she could tell him. That is one of the advantages of being very young.

When Gracie and d.i.c.k had gone out, Miss Chantrelle improved the opportunity with her hostess. Nearly drove that lady to the brink of madness by her anxiety to know if they had quarrelled; what it meant; why he wasn't coming, etc.

Mabel did not know; really, the matter was of little interest to her.

His presence made very little difference; she wondered Amy could bother about him.

That was what she was able to bring herself to say. But the effort was a big one; she was not a conspicuous success in lies of the top-notch kind.

Matters continued in this way. Things are not always what they seem; it was by no means a pleasant little party at Ivy Cottage. When at home--which was a very rare thing, for he spent most of his time at Masters' lodgings--d.i.c.k was sulky to the extreme of sullenness.

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