by F. Anstey
9. _A Letter from Home_
"Here are a few of the unpleasantest words That ever blotted paper.... A letter, And every word in it a gaping wound." _Merchant of Venice._
If it were not that it was so absolutely essential to the interest ofthis story, I think I should almost prefer to draw a veil over thesufferings of Mr. Bultitude during the rest of that unhappy week atCrichton House; but it would only be false delicacy to do so.
Things went worse and worse with him. The real Dick in his mostobjectionable moods could never have contrived to render himself onequarter so disliked and suspected as his substitute was by the wholeschool--masters and boys.
It was in a great measure his own fault, too; for to an ordinary boy thelife there would not have had any intolerable hardships, if it held outno exceptional attractions. But he would not accommodate himself tocircumstances, and try, during his enforced stay, to get as muchinstruction and enjoyment as possible out of his new life.
Perhaps, in his position, it would be too much to expect such a thingand, at all events, it never even occurred to him to attempt it. Heconsumed himself instead with inward raging and chafing at his hard lot,and his utter powerlessness to break the spell which bound him.
Sometimes, indeed, he would resolve to bear it no longer, and wouldstart up impulsively to impart his misfortunes to some one in minorauthority--not the Doctor, he had given that up in resigned despair longsince. But as surely as ever he found himself coming to the point, thewords would stick fast in his throat, and he was only too thankful toget away, with his tale untold, on any frivolous pretext that firstsuggested itself.
This, of course, brought him into suspicion, for such conduct had theappearance of a systematic course of practical joking, and even the mostimpartial teachers will sometimes form an unfavourable opinion of aparticular boy on rather slender grounds, and then find freshconfirmation of it in his most insignificant actions.
As for the school generally, his scowls and his sullenness, hisdeficiency in the daring and impudence that had warmed their heartstowards Dick, and, above all, his strange knack of getting them intotrouble--for he seldom received what he considered an indignity withoutmaking a formal complaint--all this brought him as much hearty dislikeand contempt as, perhaps, the most unsympathetic boy ever earned sinceboarding-schools were first invented.
The only boy who still seemed to retain a secret tenderness for him, asthe Dick he had once looked up to and admired, was Jolland, whopersisted in believing, and in stating his belief, that this apparentchange of demeanour was a perverted kind of joke on Bultitude's part,which he would condescend to explain some day when it had gone farenough, and he wearied and annoyed Paul beyond endurance by perpetuallyurging him to abandon his ill-judged experiment and discover the pointof the jest.
But for Jolland's help, which he persevered in giving in spite of theopposition and unpopularity it brought upon himself, Mr. Bultitude wouldhave found it impossible to make any pretence of performing the tasksrequired of him.
He found himself expected, as a matter of course, to have a certainfamiliarity with Greek paradigms and German conversation scraps,propositions in Euclid and Latin gerunds, of all of which, having had astrict commercial education in his young days, he had not so much asheard before his metamorphosis. But by carefully copying Jolland'sexercises, and introducing enough mistakes of his own to supply thenecessary local colour, he was able to escape to a great degree thediscovery of his blank ignorance on all these subjects--an ignorancewhich would certainly have been put down as mere idleness and obstinacy.
But it will be readily believed that he lived in constant fear of suchdiscovery, and as it was, his dependence on a little scamp like hisson's friend was a sore humiliation to one who had naturally supposedhitherto that any knowledge he had not happened to acquire could only bemeretricious and useless.
He led a nightmare sort of existence for some days, until somethinghappened which roused him from his state of passive misery into one moreattempt at protest.
It was Saturday morning, and he had come down to breakfast, after beingknocked about as usual in the dormitory over night, with a dull wonderhow long this horrible state of things could possibly be going to last,when he saw on his plate a letter with the Paddington post-mark,addressed in a familiar hand--his daughter Barbara's.
For an instant his hopes rose high. Surely the impostor had been foundout at last, and the envelope would contain an urgent invitation to himto come back and resume his rights--an invitation which he might show tothe Doctor as his best apology.
But when he looked at the address, which was "Master Richard Bultitude,"he felt a misgiving. It was unlikely that Barbara would address him thusif she knew the truth; he hesitated before tearing it open.
Then he tried to persuade himself that of course she would have thesense to keep up appearances for his own sake on the outside of theletter, and he compelled himself to open the envelope with fingers thattrembled nervously.
The very first sentences scattered his faint expectations to the winds.He read on with staring eyes, till the room seemed to rock with him likea packet-boat and the sprawling school-girl handwriting, crossed andrecrossed on the thin paper, changed to letters of scorching flame. Butperhaps it will be better to give the letter in full, so that the readermay judge for himself whether it was calculated or not to soothe andencourage the exiled one.
Here it is:
"MY DEAREST DARLING DICK,--I hope you have not been expecting a letter from me before this, but I had such lots to tell you that I waited till I had time to tell it all at once. For I have such news for you! You can't think how pleased you will be when you hear it. Where shall I begin? I hardly know, for it still seems so funny and strange--almost like a dream--only I hope we shall never wake up.
"I think I must tell you anyhow, just as it comes. Well, ever since you went away, dear Father has been completely changed; you would hardly believe it unless you saw him. He is quite jolly and boyish--only fancy! and we are always telling him he is the biggest baby of us all, but it only makes him laugh. Once, you know, he would have been awfully angry if we had even hinted at it.
"Do you know, I really think that the real reason he was so cross and sharp with us that last week was because you were going away; for now the wrench of parting is over, he is quite light-hearted again. You know how he always hates showing his feelings.
"He is so altered now, you can't think. He has actually only once been up to the city since you left, and then he came home at four o'clock, and he seems to quite like to have us all about him. Generally he stays at home all the morning and plays at soldiers with baby in the dining-room. You would laugh to see him loading the cannons with real powder and shot, and he didn't care a bit when some of it made holes in the sideboard and smashed the looking-glass.
"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 close to? 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."
"P.S.--I nearly forgot to say that Uncle Duke came the other day and has stayed here ever since. He is going to make papa's fortune! I believe by a gold mine he knows about somewhere, and a steam tramway in Lapland. But I don't like him very much--he is so polite."
It would be nothing short of an insult to the reader's comprehension, ifI were to enter into an elaborate explanation of the effect this letterhad upon Mr. Bultitude. He took it in by degrees, trying to steady hisnerves at each additional item of poor Barbara's well-meant intelligenceby a sip at his tin-flavoured coffee. But when he came to thepostscript, in spite of its purport being mercifully broken to himgradually by the extreme difficulty of making it out from twoundercurrents of manuscript, he choked convulsively and spilt hiscoffee.
Dr. Grimstone visited this breach of etiquette with stern promptness."This conduct at table is disgraceful, sir--perfectlydisgraceful--unworthy of a civilised being. I have been a teacher ofyouth for many years, and never till now did I have the pain of seeing apupil of mine choke in his breakfast-cup with such deplorableill-breeding. It's pure greediness, sir, and you will have the goodnessto curb your indecent haste in consuming your food for the future. Yourexcellent father has frequently complained to me, with tears in hiseyes, of the impossibility of teaching you to behave at meals withcommon propriety!"
There was a faint chuckle along the tables, and several drank coffeewith studied elegance and self-repression either as a valuable exampleto Dick, or as a personal advertisement. But Paul was in no mood forreproof and instruction. He stood up in his excitement, flourishing hisletter wildly.
"Dr. Grimstone!" he said; "never mind my behaviour now. I've somethingto tell you. I can't bear it any longer. I must go home at once--atonce, sir!"
There was a general sensation at this, for his manner was peremptory andalmost dictatorial. Some thought he would get a licking on the strengthof it, and most hoped so. But the Doctor dismissed them to theplayground, keeping Paul back to be dealt with in privacy.
Mrs. Grimstone played nervously with her dry toast at the end of thetable, for she could not endure to see the boys in trouble and dreaded ascene, while Dulcie looked on with wide bright eyes.
"Now, sir," said the Doctor, looking up from his marmalade, "why mustyou go home at once?"
"I've just had a letter," stammered Paul.
"No one ill at home, I hope?"
"No, no," said Paul. "It's not that; it's worse! She doesn't know whathorrible things she tells me!"
"Who is 'she'?" said the Doctor--and Dulcie's eyes were larger still andher face paled.
"I decline to say," said Mr. Bultitude. It would have been absurd to say'my daughter,' and he had not presence of mind just then to transposethe relationships with neatness and success. "But indeed I am wantedmost badly!"
"What are you wanted for, pray?"
"Everything!" declared Paul; "it's all going to rack and ruin withoutme!"
"That's absurd," said the Doctor; "you're not such an importantindividual as all that, Bultitude. But let me see the letter."
Show him the letter--lay bare all those follies of Dick's, the burdenof which he might have to bear himself very shortly--never! Besides,what would be the use of it? It would be no argument in favour ofsending him home--rather the reverse--so Paul was obliged to say,"Excuse me, Dr. Grimstone, it is--ah--of a private nature. I don't feelat liberty to show it to anyone."
"Then, sir," said the Doctor, with some reason, "if you can't tell mewho or what it is that requires your presence at home, and decline toshow me the letter which would presumably give me some idea on thesubject, how do you expect that I am to listen to such a preposterousdemand--eh? Just tell me that!"
Once more would Paul have given worlds for the firmness and presence ofmind to state his case clearly and effectively; and he could hardly havehad a better opportunity, for schoolmasters cannot always be playing thetyrant, and the Doctor was, in spite of his attempts to be stern,secretly more amused than angry at what seemed a peculiarly precociouspiece of effrontery.
But Paul felt the dismal absurdity of his position. Nothing he had said,nothing he could say, short of the truth, would avail him, and the truthwas precisely what he felt most unable to tell. He hung his headresignedly, and held his tongue in confusion.
"Pooh!" said the Doctor at last; "let me have no more of thistomfoolery, Bultitude. It's getting to be a positive nuisance. Don'tcome to me with any more of these ridiculous stories, or some day Ishall be annoyed. There, go away, and be contented where you are, andtry to behave like other people."
"'Contented!'" muttered Paul, when out of hearing, as he went upstairsand through the empty schoolroom into the playground. "'Behave likeother people!' Ah, yes, I suppose I shall have to come to that in time.But that letter---- Everything upside down---- Bangle asked to meet acommon clown! That fellow Duke letting me in for gold-mines andtramways! It's all worse than I ever dreamed of; and I must stay hereand be 'contented!' It's--it's perfectly damnable!"
All through that morning his thoughts ran in the same doleful groove,until the time for work came to an end, and he found himself in theplayground, and free to indulge his melancholy for a few minutes insolitude; for the others were still loitering about in the schoolroom,and a glass outhouse originally intended for a conservatory, but nowdevoted to boots and slates, and the books liberally besmeared withgilt, and telling of the exploits of boy-heroes so beloved of boys.
Mr. Bultitude, only too delighted to get away from them for a littlewhile, was leaning against the parallel bars in dull despondency, whenhe heard a rustling in the laurel hedge which cut off the house gardenfrom the gravelled playground, and looking up, saw Dulcie slip throughthe shrubs and come towards him with an air of determination in herproud little face.
She looked prettier and daintier than ever in her grey hat and warm furtippet; but of course Paul was not of the age or in the mood to be muchaffected by such things--he turned his head pettishly away.
"It's no use doing that, Dick," she said: "I'm tired of sulking. Ishan't sulk any more till I have an explanation."
Paul made the sound generally written "Pshaw!"
"You ought to tell me everything. I will know it. Oh, Dick, you mighttell me! I always told you anything you wanted to know; and I let mammathink it was I broke the clock-shade last term, and you know you did it.And I want to know something so very badly!"
"It's no use coming to _me_, you know," said Paul. "I can't do anythingfor you."
"Yes, you can; you know you can!" said Dulcie impulsively. "You can tellme what was in that letter you had at breakfast--and you shall too!"
"What an inquisitive little girl you are," said Paul sententiously."It's not nice for little girls to be so inquisitive--it doesn't lookwell."
"I knew it!" cried Dulcie; "you don't want to tell me--because--becauseit's from that other horrid girl you like better than me. And youpromised to belong to me for ever and ever, and now it's all over! Sayit isn't! Oh, Dick, promis
e to give the other girl up. I'm sure she'snot a nice girl. She's written you an unkind letter; now hasn't she?"
"Upon my word," said Paul, "this is very forward; at your age too. Why,my Barbara----"
"Your Barbara! you dare to call her that? Oh, I knew I was right; I_will_ see that letter now. Give it me this instant!" said Dulcieimperiously; and Paul really felt almost afraid of her.
"No, no," he said, retreating a step or two, "it's all a mistake;there's nothing to get into such a passion about--there isn't indeed!And--don't cry--you're really a pretty little girl. I only wish I couldtell you everything; but you'd never believe me!"
"Oh, yes, I would, Dick!" protested Dulcie, only too willing to beconvinced of her boy-lover's constancy; "I'll believe anything, ifyou'll only tell me. And I'm sorry I was so angry. Sit down by me andtell me from the very beginning. I promise not to interrupt."
Paul thought for a moment. After all, why shouldn't he? It was muchpleasanter to tell his sorrows to her little ear and hear her childishwonder and pity than face her terrible father--he had tried that. Andthen she might tell her mother; and so his story might reach theDoctor's ears after all, without further effort on his part.
"Well," he said at last, "I think you're a good-natured little girl; youwon't laugh. Perhaps I will tell you!"
So he sat down on the bench by the wall, and Dulcie, quite happy againnow at this proof of good faith, nestled up against him confidingly,waiting for his first words with parted lips and eager sparkling eyes.
"Not many days ago," began Paul, "I was somebody very differentfrom----"
"Oh, indeed," said a jarring, sneering voice close by; "was you?" And helooked up and saw Tipping standing over him with a plainly hostileintent.
"Go away, Tipping," said Dulcie; "we don't want you. Dick is telling mea secret."
"He's very fond of telling, I know," retorted Tipping. "If you knew whata sneak he was you'd have nothing to do with him, Dulcie. I could tellyou things about him that----"
"He's not a sneak," said Dulcie. "Are you, Dick? Why don't you go,Tipping. Never mind what he says, Dick; go on as if he wasn't there. Idon't care what he says!"
It was a most unpleasant situation for Mr. Bultitude, but he did notlike to offend Tipping. "I--I think--some other time, perhaps," he saidnervously. "Not now."
"Ah, you're afraid to say what you were going to say now I'm here," saidthe amiable Tipping, nettled by Dulcie's little air of haughty disdain."You're a coward; you know you are. You pretend to think such a lot ofDulcie here, but you daren't fight!"
"Fight!" said Mr. Bultitude. "Eh, what for?"
"Why, for her, of course. You can't care much about her if you daren'tfight for her. I want to show her who's the best man of the two!"
"I don't want to be shown," wailed poor Dulcie piteously, clinging tothe reluctant Paul; "I know. Don't fight with him, Dick. I say you'renot to."
"Certainly not!" said Mr. Bultitude with great decision. "I shouldn'tthink of such a thing!" and he rose from the bench and was about to walkaway, when Tipping suddenly pulled off his coat and began to make sundrydemonstrations of a martial nature, such as dancing aggressively towardshis rival and clenching his fists.
By this time most of the other boys had come down into the playground,and were looking on with great interest. There was an element of romancein this promised combat which gave it additional attractions. It waslike one of the struggles between knightly champions in the Waverleynovels. Several of them would have fought till they couldn't see out oftheir eyes if it would have given them the least chance of obtainingfavour in Dulcie's sight, and they all envied Dick, who was the only boythat was not unmercifully snubbed by their capricious little princess.
Paul alone was blind to the splendour of his privileges. He examinedTipping carefully, as the latter was still assuming a hostile attitudeand chanting a sort of war-cry supposed to be an infallible incentive tostrife.
"Yah, you're afraid!" he sang very offensively. "I wouldn't be a funk!"
"Pooh!" said Paul at last; "go away, sir, go away!"
"Go away, eh?" jeered Tipping. "Who are you to tell me to go away? Goaway yourself!"
"Certainly," said Paul, only too happy to oblige. But he found himselfprevented by a ring of excited backers.
"Don't funk it, Dick!" cried some, forgetting recent ill-feeling in thenecessity for partisanship. "Go in and settle him as you did that lasttime. I'll second you. You can do it!"
"Don't hit each other in the face," pleaded Dulcie, who had got upon abench and was looking down into the ring--not, if the truth must betold, without a certain pleasurable excitement in the feeling that itwas all about her.
And now Mr. Bultitude discovered that he was seriously expected to fightthis great hulking boy, and that the sole reason for any disagreementwas an utterly unfounded jealousy respecting this little girl Dulcie. Hehad not a grain of chivalry in his disposition--chivalry being aneminently unpractical virtue--and naturally he saw no advantage inletting himself be mauled for the sake of a child younger than his owndaughter.
Dulcie's appeal enraged Tipping, who took it as addressed solely tohimself. "You ought to be glad to stick up for her," he said between histeeth. "I'll mash you for this--see if I don't!"
Paul thought he saw his way clear to disabuse Tipping of his mistakenidea. "Are you proposing," he asked politely, "to--to 'mash' me onaccount of that little girl there on the seat?"
"You'll soon see," growled Tipping. "Shut your head, and come on!"
"No, but I want to know," persisted Mr. Bultitude. "Because," he saidwith a sickly attempt at jocularity which delighted none, "you see, Idon't want to be mashed. I'm not a potato. If I understand you aright,you want to fight me because you think me likely to interfere with yourclaim to that little girl's--ah--affections?"
"That's it," said Tipping gruffly; "so you'd better waste no more wordsabout it, and come on."
"But I don't care about coming on," protested Paul earnestly. "It's alla mistake. I've no doubt she's a very nice little girl, but I assureyou, my good boy, I've no desire to stand in your way for one instant.She's nothing to me--nothing at all! I give her up to you. Take her,young fellow, with my blessing! There, now, that's all settledcomfortably--eh?"
He was just looking round with a self-satisfied and relieved air, whenhe began to be aware that his act of frank unselfishness was not as muchappreciated as it deserved. Tipping, indeed, looked baffled andirresolute for one moment, but a low murmur of disgust arose from thebystanders, and even Jolland declared that it was "too beastly mean."
As for Dulcie, she had been looking on incredulously at her champion'sunaccountable tardiness in coming to the point. But this publicrepudiation was too much for her. She gave a little low wail as sheheard the shameless words of recantation, and then, without a word,jumped lightly down from her bench and ran away to hide herselfsomewhere and cry.
Even Paul, though he knew that he had done nothing but what was strictlyright, and had acted purely in self-protection, felt unaccountablyashamed of himself as he saw this effect of his speech. But it was toolate now.