The Ffolliots of Redmarley Part 20

"Good-bye, old chap," Grantly called fondly as his late prop departed, "when I'm as heavy as you, you won't cop me so easy--eh, what?"

Eloquent took the boy firmly by the arm and led him in. His steps were uncertain and his speech was thick, but he was quite biddable, and br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with loving kindness for all the world.

Eloquent took him into the sitting-room and placed him in a large arm-chair. Grantly pushed his hair off his forehead and gazed about the room in rather bewildered fashion, at the round table strewn with papers, at the tray with a gla.s.s of milk and plate of sandwiches standing on the bare little sideboard, at his pale, f.a.gged host, who stood on the hearthrug looking down at him.

As he met Eloquent's stern gaze he smiled sweetly at him, and he was so like Mary when he smiled that Eloquent turned his eyes away in very shame. It seemed sacrilege even to think of her in connection with anything so degraded and disgusting as Grantly's state appeared to him at that moment. His Nonconformist conscience awoke and fairly shouted at him that he should have interfered to prevent the just retribution that had overtaken this miserable misguided boy . . . but he was her brother; he was the son of that gracious lady who was set as a fixed star in the firmament of his admirations; he could not hold back when there was a chance of saving him from this disgrace. For to be charged with being "drunk and disorderly" in the Police Court appeared to Eloquent just then as the lowest depths of ignominy.

"Now what in the world," he asked presently, "am I to do with you? You can't go home in that state."

"Bed, my dear chap, bed's what I'm for, . . . so sleepy, can hardly hold up my head . . . any shake-down'll do----"

Grantly's head fell back against the chair, and he closed his eyes in proof of his somnolence.

"All right," said Eloquent, "you come with me."

With some difficulty he got Grantly upstairs and into his own room.

Before the meeting he had told the servants they need not sit up for him; his own was the only other bed made up in the house. Grantly lay down upon it, muddy boots and all, and turned sideways with a sigh of satisfaction; but just before he settled off he opened his eyes and said warningly:

"I say, if I was you I wouldn't go about with young Rabbich--he's a wrong 'un--you may take it from me, he really is--he'll do you no good--Don't you be seen about with him."

"Thank you," Eloquent said dryly, "I will follow your advice."

"That's right," Grantly murmured, "never be 'bove taking advice."

And in another minute he was fast asleep. Eloquent covered him with a railway rug, thinking grimly the while that it seemed to have become his mission in life to cover up prostrated Ffolliots.

He went downstairs, made up the fire, and lay down on the hard sofa in his dining-room, and slept an intermittent feverish sleep, in which dreadful visions of Mary between two policemen, mingled with the declaration of the poll, which proclaimed Mr Brooke to have been elected member for Marlehouse by an enormous majority.

At six o'clock he got up. In half an hour his servants would be stirring, and Grantly must be got out of the house before they appeared.

He went to the kitchen, got a little teapot and cups, and made some tea. Then he went to rouse Grantly.

This was difficult, as he couldn't raise his voice very much because of the servants, and Grantly was sleeping heavily. At last, by a series of shakes and soft punches, he succeeded in making him open his eyes.

Eloquent had already turned up the gas, and the room was full of light.

There is a theory extant that a man shows his real character when he is suddenly aroused out of sleep. That if he is naturally surly, he will be surly then; if he is of an amiable disposition, he is good-natured then.

Grantly sat up with a start and swung his feet off the bed. "Mr Gallup," he said very gently, "I can't exactly remember what I'm doing here, but I do apologise."

"That's all right," Eloquent said awkwardly. "I thought perhaps you'd like to get home before the servants were about, and it's six o'clock.

Come and have a cup of tea."

"May I wash my face?" Grantly asked meekly.

This accomplished, he went downstairs and drank the cup of tea Eloquent had provided for him. His host lent him a bicycle and speeded him on his way. At the door Grantly paused to say in a mumbling voice: "I don't know, sir, why you've been so awfully decent to me, but will you remember this? that if ever I can do anything for you, it would be very generous of you to tell me--will you remember this?"

"I will remember," said Eloquent.

As Grantly rode away Eloquent was filled with self-reproach, for he had not said one word either of warning or rebuke, and he had been brought up to believe in the value of "the word in season."

Grantly pedalled as hard as he could through the dark deserted roads, and though his head was racking and he felt, as he put it, "like nothing on earth," he covered the five miles between Marlehouse and Redmarley in under half an hour. He went round to the side door and felt for the key, as he hoped to slip in without meeting any of the servants who were, he saw by stray lights, just astir.

That key was nowhere to be found.

He tried every pocket in his overcoat, his tail coat, his white waistcoat, his trousers, all in vain. That key was gone; lost!

There was nothing for it but to try Mary's window. Parker slept in her room, but Parker would never bark at any member of the family. All the bedroom windows at Redmarley were lattice, and Mary's, at the back of the house on the first floor, stood open about a foot.

"Parker," Grantly called softly, "Parker, old chap, rouse her up and ask her to let me in."

An old wistaria grew under the window with thick knotted stems.

Grantly climbed up this, and although it was very dark he was aware of something dimly white at the window. Parker, much longer in the leg than any well-bred fox-terrier has a right to be, was standing on his hind legs thrusting his head out in silent welcome.

"Go and rouse her up, old chap," Grantly whispered. "I want her to open the window wide enough for me to get through."

All the windows at the Manor House, open or shut, had patent catches that it was impossible to undo from the outside.

He heard Parker jump on Mary's bed and probably lick her face, then a sleepy "What is it, old dog, what's the matter?" and a soft movement as Mary raised herself on her elbow and switched on the light.

"Mary," in a penetrating whisper, "let me in, I've lost that confounded key."

In a moment Mary was over at the window, undid the catches, and Grantly scrambled through.

"Grantly!" Mary exclaimed. "What on earth is the matter? You look awful."

Grantly caught sight of himself in her long gla.s.s and agreed with her.

He was covered with mud from head to foot, his overcoat was torn, his white tie was gone, his beautiful smooth hair, with the neat ripple at the temples, stood on end in ragged locks; in fact he was as unlike the "Knut" of ordinary life as he could well be.

"Get into bed, Mary," he said, "you'll catch cold . . ."

Mary, looking very tall in her straight white nightgown, turned slowly and got into bed. "Now tell me," she said.

Grantly went and sat at the end of her bed and Parker joined him, cuddling up against him and trying to lick his face. It mattered nothing to Parker that he was ragged and dirty and disreputable; nothing that he might have committed any crime in the rogues' calendar.

He was one of the family, he was home, he had evidently been in trouble, he needed comfort, therefore Parker made much of him. Grantly felt this and was vaguely cheered.

"Now," said Mary again, and switched off the light; "you can have the eiderdown if you're cold."

"Well, if you must know," said Grantly, "we went to the Radical meeting and got chucked out."

"Who went? I thought you were dining with the Rabbiches."

"Not _the_ Rabbiches, _a_ Rabbich, and an insufferable bounder at that; but he gave us a jolly good dinner, champagne flowed."

"And you got drunk? Oh, Grantly!"

"Well, no; I shouldn't describe it thus crudely--like the Irishman, I prefer to say 'having drink taken.'"