"Very probably," said Paul, "but I don't notice these matters. I'm past that 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 the question. "At least, I--I heard so to-day." He felt the imprudence of such an admission as soon as he had made it.

"Very odd that you know her name if you never noticed her before," said the 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 is directed to you by name."

"It's easily explained, my dear sir," said Paul; "easily explained. I've no doubt she's heard it somewhere. At least, I never told her; it is not likely. I do a.s.sure you I'm as much distressed and shocked by this affair as you can be yourself. I am indeed. I don't know what girls are coming to nowadays."

"Do you expect me to believe that you are perfectly innocent?" said the Doctor.

"Yes, I do," said Mr. Bult.i.tude. "I can't prevent fast young ladies from sending me notes. Why, she might have sent _you_ one!"

"We won't go into hypothetical cases," said the Doctor, not relishing the 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, especially as you tell me you never encouraged these--these overtures, and my Dulcie, I am bound to say, confirms your statement that it was all the other young lady's doing. But if I had had any proof that you had begun or responded to her--hem--advances, nothing could have saved you from a severe flogging at the very least--so be careful for the future."

"Ah!" said Paul rather feebly, quite overwhelmed by the narrowness of his escape. Then with a desperate effort he found courage to add, "May I--ah--take advantage of this--this restored cordiality to--to--in fact to make a brief personal explanation? It--it's what I've been trying to tell you for a long time, ever since I first came, only you never will hear me out. It's highly important. You've no notion how serious it is!"

"There's something about you this term, Richard Bult.i.tude," said the Doctor slowly, "that I confess I don't understand. This obstinacy is unusual in a boy of your age, and if you really have a mystery it may be as well to have it out and have done with it. But I can't be annoyed with it now. Come to me after supper to-night, and I shall be willing to hear anything you may have to say."

Paul was too overcome at this unexpected favour to speak his thanks. He got 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 set them for the day, were sitting in the schoolroom, after a somewhat chilly dinner of cold beef, cold tarts, and cold water, pa.s.sing the time with that description of literature known as "Sunday reading."

And here, at the risk of being guilty of a digression, I must pause to record my admiration for this exceedingly happy form of compromise, which is, I think, peculiar to the British and, to a certain extent, the American nations.

It has many developments; ranging from the mild Transatlantic compound of cookery and camp-meetings, to the semi-novel, redeemed and chastened by an arrangement which sandwiches a sermon or a biblical lecture between each chapter of the story--a great convenience for the race of skippers.

Then there are one or two ill.u.s.trated magazines which it is always allowable to read on the Sabbath without fear of rebuke from the strictest--though it is not quite easy to see why.

Open any one of the monthly numbers, and the chances are that you may possibly find at one part a neat little doctrinal essay by a literary bishop; the rest of the contents will consist of nothing more serious than a paper upon "c.o.c.kroaches and their habits" by an eminent savant; a description of foreign travel, done in a brilliant and wholly secular vein; and, further on again, an article on aesthetic furniture--while the balance of the number will be devoted to instalments of two thrilling novels by popular authors, whose theology is seldom their strongest point.

Oddly enough, too, when these very novels come out later in three-volume form, with the "mark of the beast" in the shape of a circulating library ticket upon them, they will be fortunate if they are not interdicted altogether by some of the serious families who take in the magazines as being "so suitable for Sundays."

Mr. Bult.i.tude, at all events, had reason to be grateful for this toleration, for in one of the bound volumes supplied to him he found a most interesting and delightfully unsectarian novel, which appealed to his tastes as a business man, for it was all about commerce and making fortunes by blockade-running; and though he was no novel reader as a rule, his mind was so relieved and set at rest by the prospect of seeing the end of his trouble at last, that he was able to occupy his mind with the fortunes of the hero.

He naturally detected technical errors here and there. But that pleased him, and he was becoming so deeply absorbed in the tale that he felt seriously annoyed when Chawner came softly up to the desk at which he was sitting, and sat down close to him, crossing his arms before him, and leaning forward upon them with his sallow face towards Paul.

"d.i.c.kie," he began, in a cautious, oily tone, "did I hear the Doctor say before dinner that he would hear anything you have to tell him after supper? Did I?"

"I really can't say, sir," said Paul; "if you were near the keyhole at the time, very likely you did."

"The door was open," said Chawner, "and I was in the cloak-room, so I heard, 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 what you're going to tell him. I know."

"Good heavens!" said Mr. Bult.i.tude, annoyed to find his secret in possession 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 told just yet; perhaps I mean to go up and tell him myself some other day. I want 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 you care 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--because it's so funny; and then, when you're quite tired of your sport, you'll go up and tell the Doctor my--my unhappy story yourself, eh? No, my friend; 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 pa.s.sion, d.i.c.kie," said Chawner; "it's Sunday. You'll have to let me go up instead of you--when I've frightened them a little more."

"Who do you mean by them, sir?" said Paul, growing puzzled.

"As if you didn't know! Oh, you're too clever for me, d.i.c.kie, I can see," sn.i.g.g.e.red Chawner.

"I tell you I don't know!" said Mr. Bult.i.tude. "Look here, Chawner--your confounded name is Chawner, isn't it?--there's a mistake somewhere, I'm sure of it. Listen to me. I'm not going to tell the Doctor what you think 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, d.i.c.kie; you won't betray yourself; but other people want to pay c.o.ker and Tipping out as well as you, and I say you must wait."

"I shan't say anything to affect anyone but myself," said Paul; "if you know all about it, you must know that--it won't interfere with your amus.e.m.e.nt that I can see."

"Yes, it will," said Chawner irritably, "it will--you mayn't mean to tell 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 go up till I give you leave."

"And who the dooce are you?" said Mr. Bult.i.tude, nettled at this a.s.sumption of authority. "How are you going to prevent me, may I ask?"

"S'sh! here's the Doctor," whispered Chawner hurriedly. "I'll tell you after tea. What am I doing out of my place, sir? Oh, I was only asking Bult.i.tude what was the collect for to-day, sir. Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany? thank you, Bult.i.tude."

And he glided back to his seat, leaving Paul in a state of vague uneasiness. Why did this fellow, with the infernal sly face and glib tongue, want to prevent him from righting himself with the world, and how could he possibly prevent him? It was absurd; he would take no notice of the young scoundrel--he would defy him.

But he could not banish the uneasy feeling; the cup had slipped so many times before at the critical moment that he could not be sure whose hand would be the next to jog his elbow. And so he went down to tea with renewed misgivings.

12. _Against Time_

"There is a kind of Followers likewise, which are dangerous, being indeed Espials; which enquire the Secrets of the House and beare Tales of them."--BACON.