Peregrine's Progress Part 4

"Hum!" quoth my uncle Jervas, dropping his gla.s.s to tenderly stroke his somewhat too prominent chin.

"And might we humbly venture to enquire as to the condition?"

"Merely this, sir; so soon as Aunt Julia is freed of her incubus--so soon as I am gone--you will see to it she is not lonely. You will woo her, beginning at once, both together or turn about, because I would not have her--this best, this n.o.blest and most generous of women--forfeit anything of happiness on my account; because, having neither father nor mother that I ever remember, the love and reverence that should have been theirs I have given to her."

"Lord!" exclaimed my uncle George, clashing his spurs suddenly. "Lord love the lad--begad--oh, the dooce!"

As for uncle Jervas, forgetting his languor, he stood suddenly erect, frowning, his chin more aggressive than ever.

"You haven't been drinking, have you, Peregrine?" he demanded.

"No, sir!"

"Then you must be mad!"

"I think not, sir. Howbeit, I shall go!"

"Preposterousandamridiculous!" he exclaimed in a breath.

"Possibly, sir!" quoth I, squaring my shoulders resolutely. "But my mind is resolved--"

"Julia--your aunt, will never permit such tom-fool nonsense, boy!"

"I am determined, sir!" said I, folding my arms. "I go for her sake--her future happiness--"

"Happiness?" cried my uncle George, pulling at his whisker, "'t would break her heart, Perry; she'd grieve, boy, aye, begad she would--she'd grieve, as I say, and--grieve, d'ye see--"

"Then you must comfort her--you or Uncle Jervas, or both! Woo her, win her whoever can, only make her happy--that happiness she has denied herself for my sake, all these years. This you must do--it is for this I am about to sacrifice the joy of her companionship, the gentle quiet and luxury of home to pit myself, alone and friendless, against an alien world. This, my dear uncles," said I, finding myself not a little moved as I concluded, "this is my prayer, that, through one of you she may find a greater happiness than has ever been hers. .h.i.therto."

"Tush, boy!" murmured my uncle Jervas, lounging gracefully against the bal.u.s.trade of the terrace again, "Tush and fiddle-de-dee! If you have done with these heroics, let us get to our several beds like common-sense beings," and he yawned behind a white and languid hand.

His words stung me, I will own; but it was not so much these that wrought me to sudden, cold fury, as that contemptuous yawn. Even as I stood mute with righteous indignation, all my finer feelings thus wantonly outraged, he yawned again.

"Come, Peregrine," he mumbled sleepily, "come you in to bed, like a sensible lad."

"Uncle Jervas," said I, smiling up at him as contemptuously as possible, "I will see you d.a.m.ned first!"

"Good G.o.d!" exclaimed my uncle George, and letting go his whisker he fell back a step, staring down at me as if he had never seen me before in all his life. Uncle Jervas, on the contrary, regarded me silently awhile, then I saw his grim lips twitch suddenly and he broke into a peal of softly modulated laughter.

"Our sucking dove can roar, it seems, George--our lamb can bellow on occasion. On me soul, I begin to hope we were perhaps a trifle out in our estimation of him. There was an evil word very well meant and heartily expressed!" And he laughed again; then his long arm shot out, though whether to cuff or pat my head I do not know nor stayed to enquire, for, eluding that white hand, I vaulted nimbly over the bal.u.s.trade and, from the flower bed below, bowed to him with a flourish.

"Uncle Jervas," said I, "pray observe that I bow to your impertinence, by reason of your age; may G.o.d mend your manners, sir! Uncle George, farewell. Uncles both, heaven teach you to be some day more worthy my loved aunt Julia!" Saying which, I turned and strode resolutely away across the shadowy park, not a little pleased with myself.

I was close upon the gates that opened upon the high road when, turning for one last look at the great house that had been my home, I was amazed and somewhat disconcerted to find my two uncles hastening after me; hotfoot they came, at something betwixt walk and run, their long legs covering the ground with remarkable speed. Instinctively I began to back away and was deliberating whether or not to cast dignity to the winds and take to my heels outright, when my uncle George hailed me, and I saw he flourished a hat the which I recognised as my own.

"Hold hard a minute, Perry!" he called, spurs jingling with his haste.

"My good uncles," I called, "you are two to one--two very large, ponderous men; pray excuse me therefore if I keep my distance."

"My poor young dolt," quoth uncle Jervas a trifle breathlessly, "we merely desire a word with you--"

"Aye, just a word, Perry!" cried uncle George. "Besides, we've brought your hat and coat, d'ye see."

"You have no other purpose?" I enquired, maintaining my rearward movement.

"Dammit--no!" answered uncle Jervas.

"Word of honour!" cried uncle George.

At this I halted and suffered them to approach nearer.

"You do not meditate attempting the futility of force?" I demanded.

"We do not!" said uncle Jervas.

"Word of honour!" cried uncle George.

"On the contrary," continued uncle Jervas, handing me my silver-b.u.t.toned, frogged surtout, "I for one heartily concur and commend your decision in so far as concerns yourself--a trifle of hardship is good for youth and should benefit you amazingly, nephew--"

"B'gad, yes!" nodded uncle George. "Fine thing, hardship--if not too hard. So we thought it well to see that you did not go short of the--ah--needful, d'ye see."

"Needful, sir?" I enquired.

"Rhino, lad--c.h.i.n.k, my boy!"

"Ha, to be sure," sighed uncle Jervas, noting my bewilderment. "These coa.r.s.e metaphors are but empty sounds in your chaste ears, nephew--brother George is trying to say money. Do you happen to have a sufficiency of such dross about you, pray?" A search of my various pockets resulted in the discovery of one shilling and a groat.

"Precisely as I surmised," nodded my uncle Jervas, "having had your every possible want supplied hitherto, money is a sordid vulgarity you know little about, yet, if you persist in adventuring your precious person into the world of men and action, you will find money a somewhat useful adjunct. In this purse are some twelve guineas or so--" here he thrust the purse into the right-hand pocket of my coat.

"And six in this, Perry!" said uncle George, thrusting his purse into my left pocket.

"So here are eighteen-odd guineas," quoth uncle Jervas, "a paltry and most inadequate sum, perhaps, but these should last you a few days--with care, or at least until, wearying of hardship, you steal back into the silken lap of luxury."

"And look 'ee, Perry lad," added uncle George, clapping me on the shoulder and eyeing me a little anxiously, "come back soon, boy--soon, d'ye see--"

"He will, George, he will!" nodded uncle Jervas.

"He looks d.a.m.nably solitary, somehow, Jervas."

"And small, George."

"Sirs," said I, "for my lack of size, blame nature. As to loneliness--'my mind to me my kingdom is,' and one peopled by a thousand loved friends, or of what avail the reading of books?"

"Books? M--yes, precisely!" quoth my uncle George, ruffling up his thick curls and eyeing me askance. "But what are we to tell your aunt Julia?"

"Nothing, sir. At the first inn I stop at I will write her fully regarding my departure and future plans--"

"But--oh, curse it. Perry," exclaimed uncle George, fumbling for his whisker, "she'll be sure to blame us, aye, she will so, b'gad d'ye see--"

"Not when she reads my letter, sir. Indeed I feel--nay, I know that my absence will but serve to draw you nearer together, all three, and I look forward with a.s.sured hope to seeing her happily wedded to--to one or other of you when--when I return--"