My Trees in the Himalayas

by Ruskin Bond

  'We had such fun the other afternoon; we played at brigands—Papa and all of us. Papa had the upper conservatory for a robber-cave, and stood there keeping guard with your pop gun; and he wouldn't let the servants go by without a kiss, unless they showed a written pass from us! Miss McFadden called in the middle of it, but she said she wouldn't come in, as Papa seemed to be enjoying himself so. Boaler has given warning, but we can't think why. We have been out nearly every evening—once to Hengler's and once to the Christy Minstrels, and last night to the Pantomime, where papa was so pleased with the clown that he sent round afterwards and asked him to dine here on Sunday, when Sir Benjamin and Lady Bangle and Alderman Fishwick are coming. Won't it be jolly to see a clown so close? Should you think he'd come in his evening dress? Miss Mangnall has been given a month's holiday, because papa didn't like to see us always at lessons. Think of that!

  'We are going to have the whole house done up and refurnished at last. Papa chose the furniture for the drawing-room yesterday. It is all in yellow satin, which is rather bright, I think. I haven't seen the carpet yet, but it is to match the furniture; and there is a lovely hearthrug, with a lion-hunt worked on it.

  'But that isn't the best of it; we are going to have the big children's party after all! No one but children invited, and everyone to do exactly what they like. I wanted so much to have you home for it, but papa says it would only unsettle you and take you away from your work.

  'Had Dulcie forgotten you? I should like to see her so much. Now I really must leave off, as I am going to the Aquarium with papa. Mind you write me as good a letter as this is, if that old Doctor lets you. Minnie and Roly send love and kisses, and papa sends his kind regards, and I am to say he hopes you are settling down steadily to work.'

  'With best love, your affectionate sister,'

  'Barbara Bultitude.'

  ◆

  [Dulcie, mentioned in the letter, was the headmaster's daughter—between whom and Dick there had been a friendship, which Paul Bultitude of course could not continue. His troubles are complicated by a mischievous girl, who in church passes him a note, believing him to be the Dick of previous terms. The affair is discovered by the headmaster, who is about to punish the embarrassed Paul—when Dick, as Bultitude senior, visits the school.]

  And still the Doctor lingered. Some kindly suggested that he was 'waxing the cane.' But the more general opinion was that he had been detained by some visitor; for it appeared that (though Paul had not noticed it) several had heard a ring at the bell. The suspense was growing more and more unbearable.

  At last the door opened in a slow ominous manner, and the Doctor appeared. There was a visible change in his manner, however. The white heat of his indignation had died out: his expression was grave but distinctly softened—and he had nothing in his hand.

  'I want you outside, Bultitude,' he said; and Paul, still uncertain whether, the scene of his disgrace was only about to be shifted, or what else this might mean, followed him into the hall.

  'If anything can strike shame and confusion into your soul, Richard,' said the Doctor, when they were outside, 'it will be what I have to tell you now. Your unhappy father is here, in the dining-room.'

  Paul staggered. Had Dick, the brazen effrontery, to come here to taunt him in his slavery? What was the meaning of it? What should he say to him? He could not answer the Doctor but by a vacant stare.

  'I have not seen him yet,' said the Doctor. 'He has come at a most inopportune moment (here Mr Bultitude could not agree with him). I shall allow you to meet him first, and give you the opportunity of breaking your conduct to him. I know how it will wring his paternal heart,' and the Doctor shook his head sadly, and turned away.

  With a curious mixture of shame, anger and impatience, Paul turned the handle of the dining-room door. He was to meet Dick face to face once more. The final duel must be fought out between them here. Who would be the victor?

  It was a strange sensation on entering to see the image of what he had so lately been standing by the mantelpiece. It gave a shock to his sense of his own identity. It seemed so impossible that that stout substantial frame could really contain Dick. For an instant he was totally at a loss for words, and stood pale and speechless in the presence of his unprincipled son.

  Dick, on his side, seemed at least as much embarrassed. He giggled uneasily, and made a sheepish offer to shake hands, which was indignantly declined.

  As Paul looked he saw distinctly that his son's fraudulent imitation of his father's personal appearance had become deteriorated in many respects since that unhappy night when he had last seen it. It was then a copy, faultlessly accurate in every detail. It was now almost a caricature, a libel!

  The complexion was nearly sallow, with the exception of the nose, which had rather deepened in colour. The skin was loose and flabby, and the eyes dull and a little bloodshot. But, perhaps, the greatest alteration was in the dress. Dick wore an old light tweed shooting-coat of his, and a pair of loose trousers of blue serge; while, instead of the formally tied black neckcloth his father had worn for a quarter of a century, he had a large scarf round his neck of some crude and gaudy colour; and the conventional chimney-pot hat had been discarded for a shabby old wide-brimmed felt wide-awake.

  Altogether, it was by no means the costume which a British merchant, with any self-respect whatever, would select, even for a country visit.

  And thus they met, as perhaps never, since this world was first set spinning down the ringing grooves of change, met father and son before!

  Paul was the first to break a very awkward silence. 'You young scoundrel!' he said, with suppressed rage. 'What the devil do you mean by laughing like that? It's no laughing matter, let me tell you, sir, for one of us!'

  'I can't help laughing,' said Dick, 'you do look so queer!'

  'Queer! I may well look queer. I tell you that I have never, never in my whole life, spent such a perfectly infernal week as this last!'

  'Ah!' observed Dick, 'I thought you wouldn't find it all jam! And yet you seemed to be enjoying yourself, too,' he said with a grin, 'from that letter you wrote.'

  'What made you come here? Couldn't you be content with your miserable victory, without coming down to crow and jeer at me?'

  'It is not that,' said Dick. 'I—I thought I should like to see the fellows, and find out how you were getting on, you know.' These, however, were not his only and principal motives. He had come down to get a sight of Dulcie.

  'Well, sir,' said Mr Bultitude, with ponderous sarcasm, 'you'll be delighted to hear that I'm getting on uncommonly well—oh, uncommonly! Your high-spirited young friends batter me to sleep with slippers on most nights, and, as a general thing, kick me about during the day like a confounded football! And last night, sir, I was going to be expelled; and this morning I'm forgiven, and sentenced to be soundly flogged before the whole school! It was just about to take place as you came in; and I've every reason to believe it is merely postponed!'

  'I say, though,' said Dick, 'you must have been going it rather, you know. I've never been expelled. Has Chawner been sneaking again? What have you been up to?'

  'Nothing I solemnly swear—nothing! They're finding out things you've done, and thrashing me.'

  'Well,' said Dick soothingly, 'you'll work them all off during the term, I daresay. There aren't many really bad ones. I suppose he's seen my name cut on his writing table?'

  'No, not that I'm aware of,' said Paul.

  'Oh, he'd let you hear of it if he had!' said Dick. 'It's good for a whacking, that is. But, after all, what's a whacking? I never cared for a whacking.'

  'But I do care, sir. I care very much, and, I tell you, I won't stand it. I can't! Dick,' he said abruptly, as a sudden hope seized him. 'You, you haven't come down here to say you're tired of your folly, have you? Do you want to give it up?'

  'Rather not,' said Dick. 'Why should I? No school, no lessons, nothing to do but amuse myself, eat and drink what I like, and lots of money. It's not likely, you know
.'

  'Have you ever thought that you're bringing yourself within reach of the law, sir?' said Paul, trying to frighten him. 'Perhaps you don't know that there's an offence known as "false personation with intent to defraud," and that it's a felony. That's what you're doing at this moment, sir!'

  'Not any more than you are!' retorted Dick. 'I never began it. I had as much right to wish to be you, as you had to wish to be me. You're just what you said you wanted to be, so you can't complain.'

  'It's useless to argue with you, I see,' said Paul. 'And you've no feelings. But I'll warn you of one thing. Whether that is my body or not you've fraudulently taken possession of, I don't know; if it is not, it is very like mine, and I tell you this about it. The sort of life you're leading it, sir, will very soon make an end of you, if you don't take care. Do you think that a constitution at my age can stand sweet wines and pastry, and late hours? Why, you'll be laid up with gout in another day or two. Don't tell me, sir. I know you're suffering from indigestion at this very minute. I can see your liver (it may be my liver for anything I know) is out of order. I can see it in your eyes.'

  Dick was a little alarmed at this, but he soon said: 'Well, and if I am seedy, I can get Barbara to take the stone and wish me all right again. Can't I? That's easy enough, I suppose?'

  'Oh, easy enough!' said Paul, with a suppressed groan. 'But, Dick, you don't go up to Mincing Lane in that suit and that hat? Don't tell me you do that!'

  'When I do go up, I wear them,' said Dick composedly. 'Why not? It's a roomy suit, and I hate a great topper on my head; I've had enough of that here on Sundays. But it's slow up at your office. The chaps there aren't half up to any larks. I made a first-rate booby-trap, though, one day for an old yellow buffer who came in to see you. He was in a bait when he found the waste-paper basket on his head!'

  'What was his name?' said Paul, with forced calm.

  'Something like "Shells". He said he was a very old friend of mine, and I told him he lied.'

  'Shellack—my Canton correspondent—a man I was anxious to be of use to when he came over!' moaned Mr Multitude. 'Miserable young cub, you don't know what mischief you've done!'

  'Well, it won't matter much to you now,' said Dick; 'you're out of it all.'

  'Do you—do you mean to keep me out of it forever then?' asked Paul.

  'As long as I ever can!' returned Dick frankly. 'It will be rather interesting to see what sort of a fellow you'll grow into—if you ever do grow. Perhaps you will always be like that, you know. This magic is a rum thing to meddle with.'

  There was a pause, in which the conversation seemed about to flag hopelessly, but at last Dick said, almost as if he felt some compunction for his present unfilial attitude: 'Now, you know, it's much better to take things quietly. It can't be altered now, can it? And it's not such bad fun being a boy after all—for some things. You'll get into it by-and-by, you see if you don't, and be as jolly as a sand-boy. We shall get along all right together, too. I shan't be hard on you. It is not my fault that you happen to be at this particular school—you chose it! And after this term you can go to any other school you like—Eton or Rugby, or anywhere. I don't mind the expense. Or, if you'd rather, you can have a private tutor. And I'll buy you a pony, and you can ride in the Row. You shall have a much better time of it than I ever had, as long as you let me go on my own way.'

  But these dazzling bribes had no influence upon Mr Bultitude; nothing short of complete restitution would ever satisfy him, and he was too proud and too angry at his crushing defeat to even pretend to be in the least pacified.

  'I don't want your pony,' he said bitterly; 'I might as well have a white elephant, and I don't suppose I should enjoy myself much more at a public school than I do here. Let's have no humbug, sir. You're up and I'm down—there's no more to be said—I shall tell the Doctor nothing, but I warn you, if ever the time comes—'

  'Oh, of course,' said Dick, feeling tolerably secure, now he had disposed of the main difficulty. 'If you can turn me out, I suppose you will—that's only fair. I shall take care not to give you the chance. And, oh, I say, do you want any tin? How much have you got left?'

  Paul turned away his head, lest Dick should see the sudden exultation he knew it must betray, as he said, with an effort to appear unconcerned, 'I came away with exactly five shillings, and I haven't a penny now!'

  'I say,' said Dick, 'you are a fellow; you must have been going it. How did you get rid of it all in a week?'

  'It went, as far as I can understand,' said Mr Bultitude, 'in rabbits and mice. Some boys claimed it as money they paid you to get them, I believe.'

  'All your own fault,' said Dick, 'you would have them drowned. But you'd better have some tin to get along with. How much do you want? Will half-a-crown do?'

  'Half-a-crown is not much, Dick,' said his father, almost humbly.

  'It's—ahem—a handsome allowance for a young fellow like you,' said Dick, rather unkindly; 'but I haven't any half-crowns left. I must give you this, I suppose.'

  And he held out a sovereign, never dreaming what it signified to Paul, who clutched it with feelings too great for words, though gratitude was not a part of them, for was it not his own money?

  'And now look out,' said Dick, 'I hear Grim. Remember what I told you; keep it up.'

  Dr Grimstone came in with the air of a man who has a painful duty to perform; he started slightly as his eyes noted the change in his visitor's dress and appearance. 'I hope,' he began gravely, 'that your son has spared me the pain of going into the details of his misbehaviour; I wish I could give you a better report of him.'

  Dick was plainly, in spite of his altered circumstances, by no means at ease in the schoolmaster's presence; he stood, shifting from foot to foot on the hearthrug, turning extremely red and obstinately declining to raise his eyes from the ground.

  'Oh, ah,' he stammered at last, 'you were just going to whack him, weren't you, when I turned up, sir?'

  'I found myself forced,' said the Doctor, slightly shocked at this coarse way of putting things, 'to contemplate administering to him (for his ultimate benefit) a sharp corrective in the presence of his school-fellows. I distress you, I see, but the truth must be told. He has no doubt confessed his fault to you?'

  'No,' said Dick, 'he hasn't, though. What's he been up to now?'

  'I had hoped he would have been more open, more straightforward, when confronted with the father who has proved himself so often indulgent and anxious for his improvement; it would have been a more favourable symptom, I think. Well, I must tell you myself. I know too well what a shock it will be to your scrupulously sensitive moral code, my dear Mr Bultitude (Dick showed a painful inclination to giggle here); but I have to break to you the melancholy truth that I detected this unhappy boy in the act of conducting a secret and amorous correspondence with a young lady in a sacred edifice!'

  Dick whistled sharply: 'Oh, I say!' he cried, 'that's bad' (and he wagged his head reprovingly at his disgusted father, who longed to denounce his hypocrisy, but dared not); 'that's bad…he shouldn't do that sort of thing, you know, should he? At his age too…the young dog!'

  'This horror is what I should have expected from you,' said the Doctor (though he was in truth more than scandalized by the composure with which his announcement was received). Such boldness is indeed characteristic of the dog, an animal which, as you are aware, was with the ancients a synonym for shamelessness. No boy, however abandoned, should hear such words of unequivocal condemnation from a father's lips without a pang of shame!'

  Paul was only just able to control his rage by a great effort.

  'You're right there, sir,' said Dick; 'he ought to be well ragged for it…he'll break my heart, if he goes on like this, the young beggar. But we musn't be too hard on him, eh? After all, it's nature, you know, isn't it?'

  'I beg your pardon?' said Dr Grimstone very stiffly.

  'I mean,' explained Dick, with a perilous approach to digging the other in the ribs, 'we did much the same sor
t of thing in our time, eh? I'm sure I did—lots of times!'

  'I can't reproach myself on that head, Mr Bultitude; and permit me to say, that such a tone of treating the affair is apt to destroy the effect, the excellent moral effect, of your most impressively conveyed indignation just now. I merely give you a hint, you understand!'

  'Oh, ah,' said Dick, feeling that he had made a mistake, 'yes, I didn't mean that. But I say, you haven't given him a—a whopping yet, have you?'

  'I had just stepped out to procure a cane for that purpose,' said the Doctor, 'when your name was announced.'

  'Well, look here, you won't want to start again when I'm gone, will you?'

  'An ancient philosopher, my dear sir, was accustomed to postpone the correction of his slaves until the first glow of his indignation had passed away. He found then that he could—'

  'Lay it on with more science,' suggested Dick, while Paul writhed where he stood. 'Perhaps so, but you might forgive him now, don't you think? He won't do it again. If he goes writing any more love-letters, tell me, and I'll come and talk to him; but he's had a lesson, you know. Let him off this time.'

  'I have no right to resist such an entreaty,' said the Doctor, 'though I may be inclined myself to think that a few strokes would render the lesson more permanent. I must ask you to reconsider your plea for his pardon.'

  Paul heard this with indescribable anxiety; he had begun to feel tolerably sure that his evil hour was postponed sine die, but might not Dick be cruel and selfish enough to remain neutral, or even side with the enemy, in support of his assumed character?

  Luckily he was not. 'I'd rather let him off,' he said awkwardly; 'I don't approve of caning fellows myself. It never did me any good, I know, and I got enough of it to tell.'

  'Well, well, I yield. Richard, your father has interceded for you; and I cannot disregard his wishes, though I have my own view in the matter. You will hear no more of this disgraceful conduct, sir, unless you do something to recall it to my memory. Thank your father for his kindness, which you so little deserved, and take your leave of him.'