The Scarlet Feather Part 8

"Well, mother what luck with grandfather?" he cried anxiously, as he strode into the study. "I hear you've been up to the Hall. You are a brick to beard the old lion as you do."

"Yes, I've been lucky this time. I've screwed out some more for all of us--quite a large sum this time. I put forward unanswerable arguments--the expense of your outfit--our responsibilities--our debts, and all sorts of things, and then got your grandfather to include everything in one check. It's for five thousand."

She dropped her eyes nervously, and heard him catch his breath.

"Five thousand!"

"Not all for you, d.i.c.k," she hastened to add, "though your debts must be paid. There was a man here this morning to arrest you. At least, that was what he threatened; but they don't do such things, do they?"

"Arrest me?"

"Yes. It was an awful blow to your father."

"Arrest!" he groaned. "I feared it. But you've got five thousand. It'll save us all!"

"The check isn't cashed yet. Here it is."

He seized the little slip eagerly, his eyes glistening. It was his respite, and might mean the end of all their troubles.

"I really must pay all my smaller debts, mother," said d.i.c.k, as he looked down at the forged check. "You don't know what a mean hound I've felt in not being able to pay the smaller tradesmen, for they are more decent than the bigger people. Five thousand! Only think of it. What a brick the old man is, after all."

"How much do your debts amount to, d.i.c.k?" asked Mrs. Swinton, in some trepidation.

"I hardly know; but the ones which must be paid before I go will amount to a good many hundreds, I fear."

"Oh, d.i.c.k! I'm sorry, but need all be paid now? You see, the money is badly wanted for other things."

"Well, mother, I might not come back. I might be killed. And I'd like to feel that I'd left all straight at home."

"Don't, d.i.c.k, don't!" she sobbed, rising and flinging her arms about him.

She was much overwrought, and her tears fell fast. d.i.c.k embraced his beautiful mother, and kissed her with an affection that was almost lover-like.

"Mother, I really must pay up everyone before I go. You see, some of them look upon it as their last chance. They think that, if I once get out of the country, I shall never come back."

"But I was hoping to help your father. He's getting quite white with worry. Have you noticed how he has aged lately?"

"I don't wonder at it, mother. Look at the way he works, writing half the night, tearing all over the town during the day, doing the work of six men. If you could manage another fifteen hundred for me, mother, I could go away happy. Don't cry. You see, if I shouldn't come back--you've got Netty."

"What! Haven't you heard?" she asked. "Don't you know that Netty is going to leave us? Harry Bent proposed yesterday afternoon at the Ocklebournes'. He's going away, too--and you may neither of you come back."

"Hush, hush, mother! We're all leaving somebody behind, and we can't all come back. Don't let us talk of it. I'll run over and pay the check into my account, and then draw a little for everybody--something on account to keep them quiet."

He looked at it--the check--lovingly, and sighed with satisfaction.

"Since grandfather has turned up trumps, mother," d.i.c.k suggested, "it would only be decent of me to go up and thank him, wouldn't it? I've got to go up and say good-bye, anyway."

"No, d.i.c.k don't go," cried the guilty woman, nervously.

"But I must, mother. It won't do to give him any further excuses for fault-finding."

"If you go, say nothing about the money."

"But--"

"Just to please me, d.i.c.k. Thank him for the money he has given you, and say nothing about the amount. Don't remind him. He might relent, and--and stop the check or something of that sort."

"All right, mother." And d.i.c.k went off to the bank with the check, feeling that the world was a much-improved place.

On his return, he took a train to Asherton Hall, in order that he might thank his grandfather. There was no one about when he arrived, and he strode indoors, unannounced. As he reached the bedroom door, Mrs. Ripon was coming out, red in the face and spluttering with rage, arguing with Trimmer, the valet; and the old man's voice could be heard, raised to a high treble, querulously storming over the usual domestic trifles.

d.i.c.k stepped into the strange room, and saluted his relative.

"Good-afternoon, grandfather. I've called to see you to say good-bye," he said, cheerily.

"I don't want to see you, sir," snapped the old man, raising himself on his hands, and positively spitting the words out. His previous fit of anger flowed into the present interview like a stream temporarily dammed and released.

"I am going away to the war, grandfather, and I may never return."

"And a good job, too, sir--a good job, too."

d.i.c.k's teeth were hard set. The insult had to be endured.

"Don't come asking me for money, sir, because you won't get it."

"No, grandfather, I have enough, thank you. Your generosity has touched me, after your close-fis--your talks about economy, I mean."

"Generosity--eh?" snarled the spluttering old man. "No sarcasm, if you please. You insolent rascal!" He positively clawed the air, and his eyes gleamed. "I'll teach you your duty to your elders, sir. I've signed two checks for you. Do you think I'm going to be bled to death like a pig with its wizen slit?"

"I want no more money," cried the young man, hotly. "You know that perfectly well, grandfather."

"That's good news, then."

The old man subsided and collapsed into his pillows.

"I merely came to thank you, and to shake you by the hand. I am answering a patriotic call; and, if I fall in the war, you'll have no heir but my mother."

"Don't flatter yourself that you're my heir, sir. I'll have you know you're not, sir. No delusions. You need expect nothing from me."

d.i.c.k gave a despairing sigh, and turned away.

"Well, then, good-bye, grandfather. If I get shot--"

"Go and get shot, sir--and be d.a.m.ned to you!" cried the old man.

"You are in a bad temper, grandfather. I've said my adieu. You have always misunderstood and abused me. Good-bye. I'll offend you no longer."

The young man stalked out haughtily, and old Herresford collapsed again; but he tried to rally. His strength failed him. He leaned over the side of his bed, gasping from his outburst, and called faintly: