St. Winifred's Part 26

He caught no more as the distance between them lessened, but he heard Jones bubbling over with a stupid giggle at some remark of Mackworth's about _glare-eyes_ being drawn by a _blind_ horse.

"How rude those fellows are, Ken," said Whalley; "what do they mean by it?"

"Dogs!" said Kenrick, stamping angrily, while his face was scarlet with rage.

"If they're trying to annoy you, Ken," said Whalley, who was a very gentle, popular boy, "don't give them the triumph of seeing that they succeed. They're only Varnish and White-Feather--we all know what _they're_ like."

"Dogs!" said Kenrick again; "I should like to pitch into them."

"Let's leave them, and go and sit by the river, Ken."

"No, Whalley. I'm sure they mean to insult me, and I want to hear how, and why."

There was no difficulty in doing this, for Jones and his ally were again approaching, and Jones was talking purposely loud.

"I never could bear the fellow; gives himself such airs."

"Yes; only fancy going to meet his friends in a hay-waggon! What a start! He! he! he!"

"It's such impudence in a low fellow like that..." and here Kenrick lost some words, for, as they pa.s.sed, Jones lowered his voice; but he heard, only too plainly, the words "father" and "dishonest parson"--the rest he could supply with fatal facility.

For half an instant he stood paralysed, his eyes burning with fury, but his face pale as ashes. The next second he sprang upon Jones, seized with both hands the collar of his coat, shook him, flung him violently to the ground, and kicked his hat, which had fallen off in the struggle, straight into the river.

"What the deuce do you mean by that?" asked Jones, picking himself up.

"I'll just give you--fifth-form, or no fifth-form--the best licking you ever had."

"You'll just not presume to lay upon him the tip of your finger," said Whalley, who was quite as big as Jones, and was very fond of Kenrick.

"Not for flinging me down and kicking my hat into the water?"

"No, Jones," said Whalley, quietly. "I don't know what you were talking about, but you clearly meant to insult him, from your manner."

"What's the row? what's up?" said a number of boys, who began to throng round.

"Only a plebeian splutter of rage from our well-bred friend there," said Mackworth, pointing contemptuously at Kenrick, who stood with dilated nostrils, still heaving with rage.

"But what about?"

"Heaven only knows _apropos_ of just nothing."

"You're a liar," said Kenrick impetuously. "You know that you told lies and insulted me; and if you say it again, I'll do the same again."

"Only try," said Jones, in a surly tone.

"Insulted you?" said Mackworth in bland accents. "We were talking about a dishonest parson, as far as I remember. Pray, are you a dishonest parson?"

"You'd better take care," said Kenrick with fierce energy.

"Take care of what? We didn't ask _you_ to listen to our conversation; listeners hear no--"

"Bosh!" interposed Whalley; "you know you were talking at the top of your voices, and we couldn't help hearing you."

"And what then? Mayn't we talk as loud as we like?--I a.s.sure you, on my word of honour," he said, turning to the group around them, "we didn't even mention Kenrick's name. We were merely talking about a certain dishonest parson who rode in hay-carts, when the fellow sprang on Jones like a tiger-cat. I'm sure, if he's any objection to our talking of such unpleasant people we won't do so in his hearing," said Mackworth, in an excess of venomous politeness.

"French Varnish," said Whalley, with honest contempt, moved beyond his wont with indignation, though he did not understand the cause of Kenrick's anger. "I wonder why Kenrick should even condescend to notice what such fellows as you and Jones say. Come along, Ken; you know what we all think about those two;" and, putting his arm in Kenrick's, he almost dragged him from the scene, while Jones and Mackworth (conscious that there was not a single other boy who would not condemn their conduct as infamous when they understood it) were not sorry to move off in another direction.

But when Whalley had taken Kenrick to a quiet place by the river side, and asked him "what had made him so furious?" he returned no answer, only hiding his face in his hands. He had indeed been cruelly insulted, wounded in his tenderest sensibilities; he felt that his best affections had been wantonly and violently lacerated. It made him more miserable than he had ever felt before, and he could not tolerate the wretched thought that his father's sad history, probably in some distorted form, had been, by some means or other, bruited about among unsympathising hearers, and made the common property of the school. He knew well indeed the natural delicacy of feeling which would prevent any other boy, except Jones or Mackworth, from ever alluding to it even in the remotest way. But that they should know at all the shameful charge which had broken his father's heart, and brought temporary suspicion and dishonour on his name, was gall and wormwood to him.

_Yet, by what possible means could, this have become known to them_?

Kenrick knew of one way only. He thought over what Jones had said. "A cart and blind horse--ah! I see; there is _only one person_ who could have told him about that. So, _Walter Evson_, you amuse yourself and Jones by making fun of our being poor, and by ridiculing what you saw in our house; a very good laugh you've all had over it in the dormitory, I've no doubt."

Kenrick did not know that Jones had seen them from the window of the railway-carriage, and that as he had been visiting an aunt at no great distance, he had heard there the particulars of Mr Kenrick's history.

He clutched angrily at the conclusion, that _Walter_ had betrayed him, and turned him into derision. Naturally pa.s.sionate, growing up during the wilful years of opening boyhood without a father's wise control, he did not stop to inquire, but leapt at once to a false and obstinate inference. "It must be so; it clearly _is_ so," he thought; "yet I could not have believed it of him;" and he burst into a flood of bitter and angry tears.

The fact was that Kenrick, though he would hardly have admitted it even to himself, was in a particularly ready mood to take offence. He had observed that Walter disapproved of his manner towards his mother, and his sensitive pride had already been ruffled by the fact that Walter had exercised the moral courage of pointing out, though in the most delicate and modest way, the brusquerie which he reprobated. At the time he had said little, but in reality this had made him very, very angry; and the more so because he was jealous enough to fancy that he now stood second only, or even third, in Walter's estimation, and that Power and Henderson had deposed him from the place which he once held as his chief friend; and that Walter had also usurped _his_ old place in _their_ affections. This displeased him greatly, for he was not one who could contentedly take the second place. He could not have had a more excellent companion than the manly and upright Whalley; but in his close intimacy with him he had rather hoped to pique Walter, and show him that his society was not indispensable to his happiness. But Walter's open and generous mind was quite incapable of understanding this unworthy motive, and with feelings far better trained than those of Kenrick, he never felt the slightest qualm of this small jealousy.

"Never mind, my dear fellow," said Whalley, patting him on the back; "why should you care so much because two _such_ fellows as White-feather and Varnish try to be impudent. I shouldn't care the snap of a finger for anything they could say."

"It isn't that, Whalley, it isn't that," said Kenrick proudly, drying his tears. "But how did those fellows know the things they were hinting at? Only one person ever heard them, and he must have betrayed them to laugh at me behind my back. It's _that_ that makes me miserable."

"But whom do you mean?"

"The excellent Evson," said Kenrick bitterly. "And mark me, Whalley, I'll never speak to him again."

"_Evson_," said Whalley, "I don't believe he's at all the fellow to do it. Are you certain?"

"Quite. No one else could know the things."

"But surely you'll ask him first?"

"It's no use," answered Kenrick, gloomily; "but I _will_, in order that he may understand that I have found him out."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP.

Everard, Everard, which was the truest, G.o.d in the future, and Time will show, Ne'er will I stoop to defence or excuses-- If you despise me--be it so!

But, my Everard, still (for I love you) This to the end my prayer shall be-- Ne'er may you be so sternly treated, Never be judged as you judge me.--F.

Kenrick did not happen to meet Walter during the remainder of that Sunday, because Walter was chiefly sitting in Mr Percival's room, but the next day, still nursing the smouldering fire of his anger, he determined to get the first opportunity he could of meeting him, in order that he might tax him with his supposed false friendship and breach of confidence.

Accordingly, when school was over next day, he went with Whalley to look for him in the playground. Walter was walking with Henderson, never dreaming that anything unpleasant was likely to happen. Henderson was the first to catch sight of them, and as he never saw Whalley without chaffing him in some ridiculous way or other--for Whalley's charming good humour made him a capital subject for a joke--he at once began, as might have been expected, to sing--

"O Whalley, Whalley up the bank, And Whalley, Whalley down the brae, And Whalley, Whalley, by yon burnside--"

whereupon his song was interrupted by Whalley's giving chase to him, which did not end till he had been led a dance half round the school buildings, while the ground was left clear for Kenrick's expostulations.