A Dog with a Bad Name Part 43

"Look here, ma," said Percy, terrifying his parent by the energy with which he sprang to his feet. "I'm jolly ill, and you'd be awfully sorry if I had a fit of coughing and brought up blood, wouldn't you? Well, I shall if you call Jeff a person again. Where _is_ Jeff, I say? I want Jeff. Why don't you tell him, Raby?"

After this, for a season at any rate, Percy was allowed to have his own way, and jeopardised his moral welfare by unrestricted intercourse with the "person" Jeffreys.

They spent their time not wholly unprofitably. For, besides a good deal of reading of history and cla.s.sics (for which Percy was rapidly developing a considerable taste), and a good deal of discussion on all sorts of topics, they were deep in constructing the model of a new kind of bookcase, designed by Percy, with some ingenious contrivances for keeping out dust and for marking, by means of automatic signals, the place of any book which should be taken from its shelf. This wonderful work of art promised to eclipse every bookcase ever invented. The only drawback to it was that it was too good. Percy insisted on introducing into it every "dodge" of which he was capable, and the poor model more than once threatened to collapse under the burden of its own ingenuity.

However, they stuck to it, and by dint of sacrificing a "dodge" here and a "dodge" there, they succeeded in producing a highly curious and not unworthy model, which Percy was most urgent that his father should forthwith adopt for his library, all the existing bookcases being sacrificed for firewood to make way for the new ones.

Mr Rimbolt diplomatically promised to give the matter his consideration, and consult authorities on the subject when next in London, and meanwhile was not unsparing in his compliments to the inventor and his coadjutor.

So the time pa.s.sed happily enough for Jeffreys, until about three weeks after the Scarfes' departure, when the following amiable letter reached him with the Oxford post-mark on the envelope:--

Christ Church, _February 20th_.

"Jeffreys,--You may have supposed that because I left Wildtree without showing you up in your proper character as a murderer and a hypocrite, that I have changed my opinions as to what is my duty to Mr Rimbolt and his family in this matter. It is not necessary for me to explain to you why I did not do it at once, especially after the blackguardly manner in which you acted on the last evening of my stay there. You being Mr Rimbolt's servant, I had to consider his convenience. I now write to say that you can spare me the unpleasant duty of informing the Wildtree household of what a miscreant they have in their midst by doing it yourself. If, after they know all, they choose to keep you on, there is nothing more to be said. You are welcome to the chance you will have of lying in order to whitewash yourself, but either I or you must tell what we know. Meanwhile I envy you the feelings with which I dare say you read of the death of poor young Forrester's father in Afghanistan. How your cowardly crime must have brightened his last hours!

"Yours,--

"E. Scarfe."

Jeffreys pitched this elegant specimen of polite Billingsgate contemptuously into the grate. He was not much a man of the world, but he could read through the lines of a poor performance like this.

Scarfe, for some reason or other, did not like to tell the Rimbolts himself, but he was most anxious they should know, and desired Jeffreys to do the dirty work himself. There was something almost amusing in the artlessness of the suggestion, and had the subject been less personally grievous, Jeffreys could have afforded to scoff at the whole business.

He sat down on the impulse of the moment and dashed off the following reply:--

"Dear Scarfe,--Would it not be a pity that your sense of duty should not have the satisfaction of doing its own work, instead of begging me to do it for you? I may be all you say, but I am not mean enough to rob you of so priceless a jewel as the good conscience of a man who has done his duty. So I respectfully decline your invitation, and am,--

"Yours,--

"J. Jeffreys."

Having relieved himself by writing it, he tore the note up, and tried to forget all about it.

But that was not quite so easy. Scarfe's part in the drama he could not forget, but the question faced him, not for the first time. Had he any right to be here, trusted, and by some of the family even respected?

Was he not sailing under false colours, and pretending to be something he was not?

True, he had been originally engaged as a librarian, a post in which character was accounted of less importance than scholarship and general proficiency. But he was more than a librarian now. Circ.u.mstances had made him the mentor and companion of a high-spirited, honest boy. Was it fair to Percy to keep a secret what would certainly shut the doors of Wildtree against him for ever? Was it fair to Mr Rimbolt to accept this new responsibility without a word? Was it fair to Raby, who would shrink from him with detestation, did she know the whole story?

Scarfe would have been amply satisfied had he been present to note the disquietude which ensued for some days after the arrival of his letter.

Jeffreys felt uncomfortable in his intercourse with Mr Rimbolt; he avoided Raby, and even with Percy he was often unaccountably reserved and pensive.

"What are you in the blues about?" demanded that quick-sighted young gentleman on the first day out of doors after his illness. "Are you sorry I'm all serene again?"

"Rather," said Jeffreys; "it's not been a bad time."

"No more it has; but I must say I don't mind feeling my legs under me.

I shall soon be ready for the top of Wild Pike again. But, I say, aren't you well? I expect you've been knocking yourself up over me?"

"Not a bit of it; I'm as well as anything." Percy, however, was not satisfied. He had a vague idea that young gentlemen in love were as a rule sickly, and by a simple process of reasoning he guessed that Jeffreys and Raby "had had a row." He therefore took an early opportunity of mentioning the matter to his cousin, greatly to that young lady's confusion.

"Raby, I say, look here!" he began, a day or two afterwards, as he and his cousin were walking together. "What makes you so jolly down on Jeff?"

"I down on Mr Jeffreys? What do you mean?"

"Well, he's so dismal, I'm certain he's eating his heart out about you!

Why don't you back him up? He's a good enough chap and no end of a brick, and say what you will, he meant to fish you out that day on the ice. He went off like a shot directly after the ice cracked."

"Percy, you ridiculous boy!" said Raby, biting her lips; "how can you talk such nonsense?"

"Oh! but he did," persisted the boy.

"I'm not talking about the ice," said she. "Mr Jeffreys and I are very good friends; chiefly on your account, too," added she, with a vague idea of qualifying her admission.

"Oh, ah, that won't wash, you know," said Percy. "Anyhow, it's nonsense you being so precious stiff with him; I'm sure he's as good as Scarfe."

"Percy, if you cannot talk sense," said Raby, nearly crying with vexation, "I shall not listen to you."

"Oh, all serene!" responded Percy. "Of course you're bound to make out it's all humbug, but I know better. Come, don't be in a rage, Raby; you forget I'm an invalid."

So they made it up on the spot, and Percy flattered himself he had done a great deal to make things right for Jeffreys.

Jeffreys, however, was still hara.s.sed by perplexity, and was gradually veering round to the conclusion that he must at all costs relieve his mind of his secret to Mr Rimbolt. He put the task off day after day, shrinking from the wrench of all the ties which made his life happy.

One day, however, finding himself alone with Mr Rimbolt in the library, he suddenly resolved then and there to speak out.

"Oh, Jeffreys," began Mr Rimbolt, "I am very anxious to get those books from the Wanley Abbey sale looked through and catalogued within the next few days if you can manage it. We all go up to London, you know, next week, and I should be glad to have all square before we start."

"I have no doubt they can all be gone through before then."

"I should like you to come to town, too," said Mr Rimbolt. "Percy sets great store by your companionship; besides which, there are some very important book sales coming on in which I shall want your help."

"I had been going to ask you--" began Jeffreys, feeling his temples throbbing like two steam-engines.

"Oh, by the way," interrupted Mr Rimbolt, taking a letter from his pocket, "did not you tell me you were at a school called Bolsover?"

"Yes," faltered Jeffreys, wondering what was coming.

"It's very odd. I have a letter from an old Oxford acquaintance of mine, called Frampton, who appears to be head-master there, and whom I have never heard of for about sixteen years. He is fond of books, and writes to ask if he may come and see the library. I've asked him to stay a night, and expect him here to-morrow. I dare say you will be glad to meet him. Perhaps he knows you are here?"

"No, I don't think so," said Jeffreys.

"Ah, then I dare say you will be glad to see one another again."

Jeffreys was considerably staggered by this unexpected announcement, but it relieved him of all present perplexity as to speaking to Mr Rimbolt of young Forrester. He would at least wait till Mr Frampton came, and put himself in his hands.

Mr Frampton came, as young and fresh as ever. He was taking a three days' run in the Lake country during a term holiday, and, determined to do and see all he could, had decided to visit his old college friend, and look over the now famous Wildtree library.

His surprise at meeting Jeffreys was very considerable; and at first it seemed to the quondam pupil that his old master was shy of him. This, however, was explained as soon as they were alone, and had to do with the seven pounds, which had burned holes in Mr Frampton's pockets ever since he received them, but which, not knowing Jeffreys' address, he had never been able to return.