by F. Anstey
11. _A Day of Rest_
"There was a letter indeed to be intercepted by a man's father to do him good with him!"--_Every Man in his Humour._
"I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter, Sent to my son; nor leave t' admire the change Of manners, and the breeding of our youth Within the kingdom, since myself was one."--_Ibid._
Sunday came--a day which was to begin a new week for Mr. Bultitude, and,of course, for the rest of the Christian world as well. Whether thatweek would be better or worse than the one which had just passed away henaturally could not tell--it could hardly be much worse.
But the Sunday itself, he anticipated, without, however, any very firmgrounds for such an assumption, would be a day of brief but gratefulrespite; a day on which he might venture to claim much the same immunityas was enjoyed in former days by the insolvent; a day, in short, whichwould glide slowly by with the rather drowsy solemnity peculiar to theBritish sabbath as observed by all truly respectable persons.
And yet that very Sunday, could he have foreseen it, was destined to bethe most eventful day he had yet spent at Crichton House, where none hadproved wanting in incident. During the next twelve hours he was to passthrough every variety of unpleasant sensation. Embarrassment, suspense,fear, anxiety, dismay, and terror were to follow each other in rapidsuccession, and to wind up, strangely enough, with a delicious ecstasyof pure relief and happiness--a fatiguing programme for any middle-agedgentleman who had never cultivated his emotional faculties.
Let me try to tell how this came about. The getting-up bell rang an hourlater than on week-days, but the boys were expected to prepare certaintasks suitable for the day before they rose. Mr. Bultitude found that hewas required to learn by heart a hymn in which the rhymes "join" and"divine," "throne" and "crown," were so happily wedded that either mightconform to the other--a graceful concession to individual taste which isnot infrequent in this class of poetry. Trivial as such a task may seemin these days of School Boards, it gave him infinite trouble and mentalexertion, for he had not been called upon to commit anything of the kindto memory for many years, and after mastering that, there still remaineda long chronological list (the dates approximately computed) of theleading events before and immediately after the Deluge, which was to berepeated "without looking at the book."
While he was wrestling desperately with these, for he was determined, asI have said before, to do all in his power to keep himself out oftrouble, Mrs. Grimstone, in her morning wrapper, paid a visit to thedormitories and, in spite of all Paul's attempts to excuse himself,insisted upon pomatuming his hair--an indignity which he felt acutely.
"When she knows who I really am," he thought, "she'll be sorry she madesuch a point of it. If there's one thing upon earth I loathe more thananother, it's marrow-oil pomade!"
Then there was breakfast, at which Dr. Grimstone appeared, resplendentin glossy broadcloth, and dazzling shirt-front and semi-clerical whitetie, and after breakfast, an hour in the schoolroom, during which theboys (by the aid of repeated references to the text) wrote out "frommemory" the hymn they had learnt, while Paul managed somehow to stumblethrough his dates and events to the satisfaction of Mr. Tinkler, who, toincrease his popularity, made a point of being as easily satisfied withsuch repetitions as he decently could.
After that came the order to prepare for church. There was a generalrush to the little room with the shelves and bandboxes, where churchbooks were procured, and great-coats and tight kid gloves put on.
When they were almost ready the Doctor came in, wearing his blandest andmost paternal expression.
"A--it's a collection Sunday to-day, boys," he said. "Have you all gotyour threepenny-bits ready? I like to see my boys give cheerfully andliberally of their abundance. If any boy does not happen to have anysmall change, I can accommodate him if he comes to me."
And this he proceeded to do from a store he had with him of that mostconvenient coin--the chosen expression of a congregation'sgratitude--the common silver threepence, for the school occupied aprominent position in the church, and had acquired a great reputationamongst the churchwardens for the admirable uniformity with which oneyoung gentleman after another "put into the plate"; and this reputationthe Doctor was naturally anxious that they should maintain.
I am sorry to say that Mr. Bultitude, fearing lest he should be asked ifhe had the required sum about him, and thus his penniless conditionmight be discovered and bring him trouble, got behind the door at thebeginning of the money-changing transactions and remained there till itwas over--it seemed to him that it would be too paltry to be disgracedfor want of threepence.
Now, being thus completely furnished for their devotions, the schoolformed in couples in the hall and filed solemnly out for the march tochurch.
Mr. Bultitude walked nearly last with Jolland, whose facile nature hadalmost forgotten his friend's shortcomings on the previous day. He keptup a perpetual flow of chatter which, as he never stopped for an answer,permitted Paul to indulge his own thoughts unrestrained.
"Are you going to put your threepenny-bit in?" said Jolland; "I won't ifyou don't. Sometimes, you know, when the plate comes round, old Grimsquints down the pews to see we don't shirk. Then I put in sixpence.Have you done your hymn? I do hate a hymn. What's the use of learninghymns? They won't mark you for them, you know, in any exam. I ever heardof, and it can't save you the expense of a hymnbook unless you learntall the hymns in it, and that would take you years. Oh, I say, look!there's young Mutlow and his governor and mater. I wonder what Mutlow'sgovernor does? Mutlow says he's a 'gentleman' if you ask him, but Ibelieve he lies. See that fly driving past? Mother Grim" (the irreverentyouth always spoke of Mrs. Grimstone in this way) "and Dulcie are in it.I saw Dulcie look at you, Dick. It's a shame to treat her as you didyesterday. There's young Tom on the box; don't his ears stick outrummily? I wonder if the 'ugly family' will be at church to-day? Youknow the ugly family; all with their mouths open and their eyesgoggling, like a jolly old row of pantomime heads. And oh, Dick, supposeConnie Davenant's people have changed their pew--that'll be a sell foryou rather, won't it?"
"I don't understand you," said Mr. Bultitude stiffly; "and, if you don'tobject, I prefer not to be called upon to talk just now."
"Oh, all right!" said Jolland, "there aren't so many fellows who willtalk to you; but just as you please--I don't want to talk."
And so the pair walked on in silence; Jolland with his nose in the air,determined that after this he really must cut his former friend as theother fellows had done, since his devotion was appreciated so little,and Paul watching the ascending double line of tall chimney-pot hats asthey surged before him in regular movement, and feeling a dull wonder atfinding himself setting out to church in such ill-assorted company.
They entered the church, and Paul was sent down to the extreme end of apew next to the one reserved for the Doctor and his family. Dulcie wassitting there already on the other side of the partition; but she gaveno sign of having noticed his arrival, being apparently absorbed instudying the rose-window over the altar.
He sat down in his corner with a sense of rest and almost comfort,though the seat was not a cushioned one. He had the inoffensive Kiffinfor a neighbour, his chief tormentors were far away from him in one ofthe back pews, and here at least he thought no harm could come to him.He could allow himself safely to do what I am afraid he generally did dounder the circumstances--snatch a few intermittent but sweet periods ofdreamless slumber.
But, while the service was proceeding, Mr. Bultitude was suddenlyhorrified to observe that a young lady, who occupied a pew at rightangles to and touching that in which he sat, was deliberately makingfurtive signals to him in a most unmistakable manner.
She was a decidedly pretty girl of about fifteen, with merry and daringblue eyes and curling golden hair, and was accompanied by two smallbrothers (who shared the same book and dealt each other stealthy andvicious kicks throughout the service), and by her father, a stout,short-sighted old gentleman
in gold spectacles, who was perpetuallymaking the wrong responses in a loud and confident tone.
To be signalled to in a marked manner by a strange young lady of greatpersonal attractions might be a coveted distinction to other schoolboys,but it simply gave Mr. Bultitude cold thrills.
"I suppose _that's_ 'Connie Davenant,'" he thought, shocked beyondmeasure as she caught his eye and coughed demurely for about the fourthtime. "A very forward young person! I think somebody ought to speakseriously to her father."
"Good gracious! she's writing something on the flyleaf of herprayer-book," he said to himself presently. "I hope she's not going tosend it to _me_. I won't take it. She ought to be ashamed of herself!"
Miss Davenant was indeed busily engaged in pencilling something on ablank sheet of paper; and, having finished, she folded it deftly into acocked-hat, wrote a few words on the outside, and placed it between theleaves of her book.
Then, as the congregation rose for the Psalms, she gave a meaning glanceat the blushing and scandalised Mr. Bultitude and by dexterousmanagement of her prayer-book shot the little cocked-hat, as ifunconsciously, into the next pew.
By a very unfortunate miscalculation, however, the note missed itsproper object, and, clearing the partition, fluttered deliberately downon the floor by Dulcie's feet.
Paul saw this with alarm; he knew that at all hazards he must get thatmiserable note into his own possession and destroy it. It might have hisname somewhere about it; it might seriously compromise him.
So he took advantage of the noise the congregation made in repeating averse aloud (it was not a high church) to whisper to Dulcie: "LittleMiss Grimstone, excuse me, but there's a--a note in the pew down by yourfeet. I believe it's intended for me."
Dulcie had seen the whole affair and had been not a little puzzled byit, a clandestine correspondence being a new thing in her shortexperience; but she understood that in this golden-haired girl, herelder by several years, she saw her rival, for whom Dick had so baselyabandoned her yesterday, and she was old enough to feel the slight andthe sweetness of revenge.
So she held her head rather higher than usual, with her firm little chinprojecting wilfully, and waited for the next verse but one beforeretorting, "Little Master Bultitude, I know it is."
"Could you--can you manage to reach it?" whispered Paul entreatingly.
"Yes," said Dulcie, "I could."
"Then will you--when they sit down?"
"No," said Dulcie firmly, "I shan't."
The other girl, she noticed with satisfaction, had become aware of thesituation and was evidently uneasy. She looked as imploringly as shedared at remorseless little Dulcie, as if appealing to her not to gether into trouble; but Dulcie bent her eyes obstinately on her book andwould not see her.
If the letter had been addressed to any other boy in the school, shewould have done her best to shield the culprits; but this she could notbring herself to do here. She found a malicious pleasure in remainingabsolutely neutral, which of course was very wrong and ill-natured ofher.
Mr. Bultitude began now to be seriously alarmed. The fatal paper must beseen by some one in the Doctor's pew as soon as the congregation satdown again; and, if it reached the Doctor's hands, it was impossible tosay what misconstruction he might put upon it or what terribleconsequences might not follow.
He was innocent, perfectly innocent; but though the consciousness ofinnocence is frequently a great consolation, he felt that unless hecould imbue the Doctor with it as well, it would not save him from aflogging.
So he made one more desperate attempt to soften Dulcie's resolution:"Don't be a naughty little girl," he said, very injudiciously for hispurpose, "I tell you I must have it. You'll get me into a terrible messif you're not careful!"
But although Dulcie had been extremely well brought up, I regret to saythat the only answer she chose to make to this appeal was that slightcontortion of the features, which with a pretty girl is euphemised as a"_moue_," and with a plain one is called "making a face." When he saw ithe knew that all hope of changing her purpose must be abandoned.
Then they all sat down, and, as Paul had foreseen, there the whitecocked-hat lay on the dark pew-carpet, hideously distinct, with _billetdoux_ in every fold of it!
It could only be a question of time now. The curate was reading thefirst lesson for the day, but Mr. Bultitude heard not a verse of it. Hewas waiting with bated breath for the blow to fall.
It fell at last. Dulcie, either with the malevolent idea of hasteningthe crisis, or (which I prefer to believe for my own part) finding thather ex-lover's visible torments were too much for her desire ofvengeance, was softly moving a heavy hassock towards the guilty note.The movement caught her mother's eye, and in an instant the compromisingpaper was in her watchful hands.
She read it with incredulous horror, and handed it at once to theDoctor.
The golden-haired one saw it all without betraying herself by anyoutward confusion. She had probably had some experience in such matters,and felt tolerably certain of being able, at the worst, to manage theold gentleman in the gold spectacles. But she took an early opportunityof secretly conveying her contempt for the traitress Dulcie, whocontinued to meet her angry glances with the blandest unconsciousness.
Dr. Grimstone examined the cocked-hat through his double eyeglasses,with a heavy thunder-cloud gathering on his brows. When he had masteredit thoroughly, he bent forward and glared indignantly past his wife anddaughter for at least half a minute into the pew where Mr. Bultitude wascowering, until he felt that he was coming all to pieces under thepiercing gaze.
The service passed all too quickly after that. Paul sat down and stoodup almost unconsciously with the rest; but for the first time in hislife he could have wished the sermon many times longer.
The horror of his position quite petrified him. After all his prudentresolutions to keep out of mischief and to win the regard and confidenceof his gaoler by his good conduct, like the innocent convict in amelodrama, this came as nothing less than a catastrophe. He walked homein a truly dismal state of limp terror.
Fortunately for him none of the others seemed to have noticed hismisfortune, and Jolland made no further advances. But even the weathertended to increase his depression, for it was a bleak, cheerless day,with a bitter and searching wind sweeping the gritty roads whereyesterday's rain was turned to black ice in the ruts, and the sun shonewith a dull coppery glitter that had no warmth or geniality about it.
The nearer they came to Crichton House the more abjectly miserablebecame Mr. Bultitude's state of mind. It was as much as he could do tocrawl up the steps to the front door, and his knees positively clappedtogether when the Doctor, who had driven home, met them in the hall andsaid in a still grave voice, "Bultitude, when you have taken off yourcoat, I want you in the study."
He was as long about taking off his coat as he dared, but at last hewent trembling into the study, which he found empty. He remembered theroom well, with its ebony-framed etchings on the walls, bookcases andblue china over the draped mantelpiece, even to a large case ofelaborately carved Indian chessmen in bullock-carts and palanquins, onhorses and elephants, which stood in the window-recess. It was the veryroom to which he had been shown when he first called about sending hisson to the school. He had little thought then that the time would comewhen he would attend there for the purpose of being flogged; few thingswould have seemed less probable. Yet here he was.
But his train of thought was abruptly broken by the entrance of theDoctor. He marched solemnly in, holding out the offending missive. "Lookat this, sir!" he said, shaking it angrily before Paul's eyes. "Look atthis! what do you mean by receiving a flippant communication like thisin a sacred edifice? What do you mean by it?"
"I--I didn't receive it," said Paul, at his wits' end.
"Don't prevaricate with me, sir; you know well enough it was intendedfor you. Have the goodness to read it now, and tell me what you have tosay for yourself!"
Paul read it. It was a silly little school-
girl note, half slang andhalf sentiment, signed only with the initials C.D. "Well, sir?" said theDoctor.
"It's very forward and improper--very," said Paul; "but it's not myfault--I can't help it. I gave the girl no encouragement. I never sawher before in all my life!"
"To my own knowledge, Bultitude, she has sat in that pew regularly for ayear."
"Very probably," said Paul, "but I don't notice these matters. I'm pastthat sort of thing, my dear sir."
"What is her name? Come, sir, you know that."
"Connie Davenant," said Paul, taken unawares by the suddenness of thequestion. "At least, I--I heard so to-day." He felt the imprudence ofsuch an admission as soon as he had made it.
"Very odd that you know her name if you never noticed her before," saidthe Doctor.
"That young fellow--what's-his-name--Jolland told me," said Paul.
"Ah, but it's odder still that she knows yours, for I perceive it isdirected to you by name."
"It's easily explained, my dear sir," said Paul; "easily explained. I'veno doubt she's heard it somewhere. At least, I never told her; it is notlikely. I do assure you I'm as much distressed and shocked by thisaffair as you can be yourself. I am indeed. I don't know what girls arecoming to nowadays."
"Do you expect me to believe that you are perfectly innocent?" said theDoctor.
"Yes, I do," said Mr. Bultitude. "I can't prevent fast young ladies fromsending me notes. Why, she might have sent _you_ one!"
"We won't go into hypothetical cases," said the Doctor, not relishingthe war being carried into his own country; "she happened to prefer you.But, although your virtuous indignation seems to me a trifle overdone,sir, I don't see my way clear to punishing you on the facts, especiallyas you tell me you never encouraged these--these overtures, and myDulcie, I am bound to say, confirms your statement that it was all theother young lady's doing. But if I had had any proof that you had begunor responded to her--hem--advances, nothing could have saved you from asevere flogging at the very least--so be careful for the future."
"Ah!" said Paul rather feebly, quite overwhelmed by the narrowness ofhis escape. Then with a desperate effort he found courage to add, "MayI--ah--take advantage of this--this restored cordiality to--to--in factto make a brief personal explanation? It--it's what I've been trying totell you for a long time, ever since I first came, only you never willhear me out. It's highly important. You've no notion how serious it is!"
"There's something about you this term, Richard Bultitude," said theDoctor slowly, "that I confess I don't understand. This obstinacy isunusual in a boy of your age, and if you really have a mystery it may beas well to have it out and have done with it. But I can't be annoyedwith it now. Come to me after supper to-night, and I shall be willing tohear anything you may have to say."
Paul was too overcome at this unexpected favour to speak his thanks. Hegot away as soon as he could. His path was smoothed at last!
That afternoon the boys, or all of them who had disposed of the work setthem for the day, were sitting in the schoolroom, after a somewhatchilly dinner of cold beef, cold tarts, and cold water, passing the timewith that description of literature known as "Sunday reading."
And here, at the risk of being guilty of a digression, I must pause torecord my admiration for this exceedingly happy form of compromise,which is, I think, peculiar to the British and, to a certain extent, theAmerican nations.
It has many developments; ranging from the mild Transatlantic compoundof cookery and camp-meetings, to the semi-novel, redeemed and chastenedby an arrangement which sandwiches a sermon or a biblical lecturebetween each chapter of the story--a great convenience for the race ofskippers.
Then there are one or two illustrated magazines which it is alwaysallowable to read on the Sabbath without fear of rebuke from thestrictest--though it is not quite easy to see why.
Open any one of the monthly numbers, and the chances are that you maypossibly find at one part a neat little doctrinal essay by a literarybishop; the rest of the contents will consist of nothing more seriousthan a paper upon "cockroaches and their habits" by an eminent savant; adescription of foreign travel, done in a brilliant and wholly secularvein; and, further on again, an article on aesthetic furniture--while thebalance of the number will be devoted to instalments of two thrillingnovels by popular authors, whose theology is seldom their strongestpoint.
Oddly enough, too, when these very novels come out later in three-volumeform, with the "mark of the beast" in the shape of a circulating libraryticket upon them, they will be fortunate if they are not interdictedaltogether by some of the serious families who take in the magazines asbeing "so suitable for Sundays."
Mr. Bultitude, at all events, had reason to be grateful for thistoleration, for in one of the bound volumes supplied to him he found amost interesting and delightfully unsectarian novel, which appealed tohis tastes as a business man, for it was all about commerce and makingfortunes by blockade-running; and though he was no novel reader as arule, his mind was so relieved and set at rest by the prospect of seeingthe end of his trouble at last, that he was able to occupy his mind withthe fortunes of the hero.
He naturally detected technical errors here and there. But that pleasedhim, and he was becoming so deeply absorbed in the tale that he feltseriously annoyed when Chawner came softly up to the desk at which hewas sitting, and sat down close to him, crossing his arms before him,and leaning forward upon them with his sallow face towards Paul.
"Dickie," he began, in a cautious, oily tone, "did I hear the Doctor saybefore dinner that he would hear anything you have to tell him aftersupper? Did I?"
"I really can't say, sir," said Paul; "if you were near the keyhole atthe time, very likely you did."
"The door was open," said Chawner, "and I was in the cloak-room, so Iheard, and I want to know. What is it you're going to tell the Doctor?"
"Mind your own business, sir," said Paul sharply.
"It is my own business," said Chawner; "but I don't want to be told whatyou're going to tell him. I know."
"Good heavens!" said Mr. Bultitude, annoyed to find his secret inpossession of this boy of all others.
"Yes," repeated Chawner. "I know, and I tell you what--I won't have it!"
"Won't have it! and why?"
"Never mind why. Perhaps I don't choose that the Doctor shall be toldjust yet; perhaps I mean to go up and tell him myself some other day. Iwant to have a little more fun out of it before I've done."
"But--but," said Paul, "you young ghoul, do you mean to say that all youcare for is to see other people's sufferings?"
Chawner grinned maliciously. "Yes," he said suavely; "it amuses me."
"And so," said Paul, "you want to hold me back a little longer--becauseit's so funny; and then, when you're quite tired of your sport, you'llgo up and tell the Doctor my--my unhappy story yourself, eh? No, myfriend; I'd rather not tell him myself--but I'll be shot if I let _you_have a finger in it. I know my own interests better than that!"
"Don't get in a passion, Dickie," said Chawner; "it's Sunday. You'llhave to let me go up instead of you--when I've frightened them a littlemore."
"Who do you mean by them, sir?" said Paul, growing puzzled.
"As if you didn't know! Oh, you're too clever for me, Dickie, I cansee," sniggered Chawner.
"I tell you I don't know!" said Mr. Bultitude. "Look here, Chawner--yourconfounded name is Chawner, isn't it?--there's a mistake somewhere, I'msure of it. Listen to me. I'm not going to tell the Doctor what youthink I am!"
"What do I think you are going to tell him?"
"I haven't the slightest idea; but, whatever it is, you're wrong."
"Ah, you're too clever, Dickie; you won't betray yourself; but otherpeople want to pay Coker and Tipping out as well as you, and I say youmust wait."
"I shan't say anything to affect anyone but myself," said Paul; "if youknow all about it, you must know that--it won't interfere with youramusement that I can see."
"Yes, it will," said Chawne
r irritably, "it will--you mayn't mean totell of anyone but yourself; but directly Grimstone asks you questions,it all comes out. I know all about it. And, anyway, I forbid you to goup till I give you leave."
"And who the dooce are you?" said Mr. Bultitude, nettled at thisassumption of authority. "How are you going to prevent me, may I ask?"
"S'sh! here's the Doctor," whispered Chawner hurriedly. "I'll tell youafter tea. What am I doing out of my place, sir? Oh, I was only askingBultitude what was the collect for to-day, sir. Fourth Sunday after theEpiphany? thank you, Bultitude."
And he glided back to his seat, leaving Paul in a state of vagueuneasiness. Why did this fellow, with the infernal sly face and glibtongue, want to prevent him from righting himself with the world, andhow could he possibly prevent him? It was absurd; he would take nonotice of the young scoundrel--he would defy him.
But he could not banish the uneasy feeling; the cup had slipped so manytimes before at the critical moment that he could not be sure whose handwould be the next to jog his elbow. And so he went down to tea withrenewed misgivings.