Follow My leader Part 33

The hero's face brightened. There was a warmth in Aspinall's voice which touched the most sensitive side of his nature. d.i.c.k would have liked the ghost to be near to hear it.

"Should you say I've let myself be led astray, and made a mess of it here, at Templeton?"

"No, d.i.c.k, I don't think so," said the boy.

"What do you mean? _don't think_. Have I, or have I not?" demanded d.i.c.k.

It was a delicate position for the timorous small boy. He had had his misgivings about d.i.c.k, and seen a change in him, not, as he thought, for the better. But the idea of telling him so to his face was as much as his peace was worth. Yet he must either tell the truth, or a lie, and when it came to that, Aspinall could not help himself.

"You are the best friend I've got," said he, nervously, "and I'd give anything to be as brave as you; but--"

"Well, wire in," said d.i.c.k, tearing to bits one of Cresswell's quill pens with his teeth; "but what?"

"You're so good-natured," said Aspinall, "fellows make you do things you wouldn't do of your own accord."

"Who makes me do things?" demanded d.i.c.k, sternly.

"I don't know," pleaded the boy, feeling that this sort of tight-rope dancing was not in his line; "perhaps some of your friends in the Fourth and Fifth. But I may be all wrong."

"What do they make me do?" said d.i.c.k.

"They make you," said Aspinall, feeling that it was no use trying to keep his balance any longer, and that he might as well throw down his pole and tumble into the net; "they make you break rules and get into rows, d.i.c.k, because you see it goes down with them, and they cheer you for it. You wouldn't do that of your own accord."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't think you would," said the boy.

If any one had told Aspinall, ten minutes ago, he would be talking to d.i.c.k in this strain, he would have scouted the idea as a bit of chaff.

As it was, he could hardly believe he had said as much as he had, and waited, in an uncomfortable sort of way, for d.i.c.k's next remark.

"Oh! that's what you think, is it?"

"Please don't be angry," pleaded the boy, "you asked me."

"What about Heathcote?" demanded d.i.c.k, abruptly, after a pause.

"What do you mean, d.i.c.k?"

"I mean, is he making a mess of it, too?"

"Oh, d.i.c.k; I never said you were making a mess of it."

"Well, then, is Heathcote being led astray?"

"I don't know. He seems different; and talks funnily about things."

"Does what? I never heard Georgie talk funnily about things, and I've known him a good bit. Who's leading him astray? Am I?"

Poor Aspinall was on the tight-rope again, at the most ticklish part.

For he did think d.i.c.k was running Heathcote into mischief, unintentionally, no doubt, but still unmistakably, "Am I?" repeated d.i.c.k, rounding on his man, and fixing him with his eyes.

"Heathcote's not so strong-minded as you are, d.i.c.k, and when he sees you doing things, I fancy he thinks he can do them too. But he can't pull up like you, and so he gets into rows."

"Oh!" said d.i.c.k, returning to his quill pen, and completing its demolition. Then he pulled out the letter, and read it to himself again, and this time, instead of returning it to his pocket, twisted it up into a spill, and lit the gas with it.

"What should you say was the English of 'Dominat qui in se dominatur,'

young 'un," he asked, casually, when the operation was complete.

"Why, that's one of the mottoes in the Quad," said Aspinall, wondering what on earth this had to do with Heathcote's rows. "I always fancied it meant, 'He rules best, who knows how to rule himself.'"

"Which is the word for best," asked d.i.c.k, critically, rather pleased to have found a flaw in the motto.

"Oh, I suppose it's understood," said Aspinall.

"Why couldn't he say what he meant, straight out?" said d.i.c.k, waxing wondrous wroth at the motto-maker, "there's plenty of room in the Quad for an extra word."

Aspinall quite blushed at this small explosion, and somehow felt personally implicated in the defects of the motto.

"Perhaps I'm wrong," said he. "Perhaps it means a fellow can't rule at all, unless he can rule himself."

"That won't wash," said d.i.c.k, profoundly. "Where's the '_nisi_?' Never mind. Good-night, young Aspinall. I'm going to do my work here."

And Aspinall departed, a good deal exercised in his mind as to d.i.c.k's latest humour, but thankful, all the same, that he didn't appear desperately offended with the answers he had extorted to his very home questions.

d.i.c.k did not do much "swot" that evening. He couldn't get the ghost out of his head, nor the slovenly Latin prose of the old Templeton motto- writer.

"Qui in se dominatur." What Latin! d.i.c.k pulled down Cresswell's dictionary and looked up "se" and "dominatur," and wished he had the fellow there to tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself. Why, it might mean "who is ruled by his inside!" Perhaps it did mean that.

But no, d.i.c.k couldn't get out of the hobble he was in. He tried every way, but the right way. He denounced the ghost, he denounced Heathcote, he denounced the Latin grammar, but they always sent him back to where he started; until, finally, in sheer desperation, he had to denounce himself.

He was just beginning this congenial occupation, in as comfortable an att.i.tude as he could, in Cresswell's easy-chair, when the study door opened, and Braider entered.

"Hallo! You're here, are you?" said that youth. "Why ever didn't you come before? I told you to be in the Quad, and I'd call for you; didn't I? You've got in a nice mess!"

Here was another candid friend going to tell him he'd got into a mess!

"What mess? Who with?"

"Why, with the Club. They elected you by a close shave, and expected you'd come in. I yelled all over the place for you, and couldn't find you. So they thought you'd skulked, and were nearly going to take Culver after all, when I promised to find you, and bring you. They're waiting for you now."

"Awfully sorry, Braider," said d.i.c.k, in an embarra.s.sed way. "I can't come."

"Can't come, you a.s.s! What do you mean?"

This was just what d.i.c.k wanted. As long as Braider was civil, d.i.c.k had to be rational, but as soon as Braider began to threaten, d.i.c.k could let out a bit, and relieve his feelings.

"Look here! who are you calling an a.s.s?" said he, starting up.