Vice Versa Part 2

2. _A Grand Transformation Scene_

"Magnaque numinibus vota exaudita malignis."

Paul Bult.i.tude put on his gla.s.ses to examine the stone more carefully, for it was some time since he had last seen or thought about it. Then he looked up and said once more, "What use would a thing like this be to you?"

d.i.c.k would have considered it a very valuable prize indeed; he could have exhibited it to admiring friends--during lessons, of course, when it would prove a most agreeable distraction; he could have played with and fingered it incessantly, invented astonishing legends of its powers and virtues; and, at last, when he had grown tired of it, have bartered it for any more desirable article that might take his fancy. All these advantages were present to his mind in a vague shifting form, but he could not find either courage or words to explain them.

Consequently he only said awkwardly, "Oh, I don't know, I should like it."

"Well, any way," said Paul, "you certainly won't have it. It's worth keeping, whatever it is, as the only thing your uncle Marmaduke was ever known to give to anybody."

Marmaduke Paradine, his brother-in-law, was not a connection of whom he had much reason to feel particularly proud. One of those persons endowed with what are known as "insinuating manners and address," he had, after some futile attempts to enter the army, been sent out to Bombay as agent for a Manchester firm, and in that capacity had contrived to be mixed up in some more than shady transactions with rival exporters and native dealers up the country, which led to an unceremonious dismissal by his employers.

He had brought home the stone from India as a propitiatory token of remembrance, more portable and less expensive than the lacquered cabinets, bra.s.ses, stuffs and carved work which are expected from friends at such a distance, and he had been received with pardon and started once more, until certain other proceedings of his, shadier still, had obliged Paul to forbid him the house at Westbourne Terrace.

Since then little had been heard of him, and the reports which reached Mr. Bult.i.tude of his disreputable relative's connection with the promotion of a series of companies of the kind affected by the widow and curate, and exposed in money articles and law courts, gave him no desire to renew his acquaintance.

"Isn't it a talisman, though?" said d.i.c.k, rather unfortunately for any hopes he might have of persuading his father to entrust him with the coveted treasure.

"I'm sure I can't tell you," yawned Paul, "how do you mean?"

"I don't know, only Uncle Duke once said something about it. Barbara heard him tell mamma. I say, perhaps it's like the one in Scott, and cures people of things, though I don't think it's that sort of talisman either, because I tried it once on my chilblains, and it wasn't a bit of good. If you would only let me have it, perhaps I might find out, you know."

"You might," said his father drily, apparently not much influenced by this inducement, "but you won't have the chance. If it has a secret, I will find it out for myself" (he little knew how literally he was to be taken at his word), "and, by the way, there's your cab--at last."

There was a sound of wheels outside, and, as d.i.c.k heard them, he grew desperate in his extremity; a wish he had long secretly cherished unspoken, without ever hoping for courage to give it words, rose to his lips now; he got up and moved timidly towards his father.

"Father," he said, "there's something I want to say to you so much before I go. Do let me ask you now."

"Well, what is it?" said Paul. "Make haste, you haven't much time."

"It's this. I want you to--to let me leave Grimstone's at the end of the term."

Paul stared at him, angry and incredulous, "Let you leave Dr.

Grimstone's (oblige me by giving him his full t.i.tle when you speak of him)," he said slowly. "Why, what do you mean? It's an excellent school--never saw a better expressed prospectus in my life. And my old friend Bangle, Sir Benjamin Bangle, who's a member of the School Board, and ought to know something about schools, strongly recommended it--would have sent his own son there, if he hadn't entered him at Eton.

And when I pay for most of the extras for you too. Dancing, by Gad, and meat for breakfast. I'm sure I don't know what you would have."

"I'd like to go to Marlborough, or Harrow, or somewhere," whimpered d.i.c.k. "Jolland's going to Harrow at Easter. (Jolland's one of the fellows at Grimstone's--Dr. Grimstone's I mean.) And what does old Bangle know about it? He hasn't got to go there himself! And--and Grimstone's jolly enough to fellows he likes, but he doesn't like _me_--he's always sitting on me for something--and I hate some of the fellows there, and altogether it's beastly. Do let me leave! If you don't want me to go to a public school, I--I could stop at home and have a private tutor--like Joe Twitterley!"

"It's all ridiculous nonsense, I tell you," said Paul angrily, "ridiculous nonsense! And, once for all, I'll put a stop to it. I don't approve of public schools for boys like you, and, what's more, I can't afford it. As for private tutors, that's absurd! So you will just make up your mind to stay at Crichton House as long as I think proper to keep you there, and there's an end of that!"

At this final blow to all his hopes, d.i.c.k began to sob in a subdued hopeless kind of way, which was more than his father could bear. To do Paul justice, he had not meant to be quite so harsh when the boy was about to set out for school, and, a little ashamed of his irritation, he sought to justify his decision.

He chose to do this by delivering a short homily on the advantages of school, by which he might lead d.i.c.k to look on the matter in the calm light of reason and common sense, and commonplaces on the subject began to rise to the surface of his mind, from the rather muddy depths to which they had long since sunk.

He began to give d.i.c.k the benefit of all this stagnant wisdom, with a feeling of surprise as he went on, at his own powerful and original way of putting things.

"Now, you know, it's no use to cry like that," he began. "It's--ah--the usual thing for boys at school, I'm quite aware, to go about fancying they're very ill-used, and miserable, and all the rest of it, just as if people in my position had their sons educated out of spite! It's one of those petty troubles all boys have to go through. And you mark my words, my boy, when they go out into the world and have real trials to put up with, and grow middle-aged men, like me, why, they see what fools they've been, d.i.c.k; they see what fools they've been. All the--hum, the innocent games and delights of boyhood, and that sort of thing, you know--come back to them--and then they look back to those hours pa.s.sed at school as the happiest, aye, the very happiest time of their life!"

"Well," said d.i.c.k, "then I hope it won't be the happiest time in mine, that's all! And you may have been happy at the school you went to, perhaps, but I don't believe you would very much care about being a boy again like me, and going back to Grimstone's, you know you wouldn't!"

This put Paul on his mettle; he had warmed well to his subject, and could not let this open challenge pa.s.s unnoticed--it gave him such an opening for a cheap and easy effect.

He still had the stone in his hand as he sank back into his chair, smiling with a tolerant superiority.

"Perhaps you will believe me," he said, impressively, "when I tell you, old as I am and much as you envy me, I only wish, at this very moment, I could be a boy again, like you. Going back to school wouldn't make me unhappy, I can tell you."

It is so fatally easy to say more than we mean in the desire to make as strong an impression as possible. Well for most of us that--more fortunate than Mr. Bult.i.tude--we can generally do so without fear of being taken too strictly at our word.

As he spoke these unlucky words, he felt a slight shiver, followed by a curious shrinking sensation all over him. It was odd, too, but the arm-chair in which he sat seemed to have grown so much bigger all at once. He felt a pa.s.sing surprise, but concluded it must be fancy, and went on as comfortably as before.

"I should like it, my boy, but what's the good of wishing? I only mention it to prove that I was not speaking at random. I'm an old man and you're a young boy, and, that being so, why, of course--What the dooce are you giggling about?"

For d.i.c.k, after some seconds of half-frightened open-mouthed staring, had suddenly burst into a violent fit of almost hysterical giggling, which he seemed trying vainly to suppress.

This naturally annoyed Mr. Bult.i.tude, and he went on with immense dignity, "I--ah--I'm not aware that I've been saying anything particularly ridiculous. You seem to be amused?"

"Don't!" gasped d.i.c.k. "It, it isn't anything you're saying--it's, it's--oh, can't you feel any difference?"

"The sooner you go back to school the better!" said Paul angrily. "I wash my hands of you. When I do take the trouble to give you any advice, it's received with ridicule. You always were an ill-mannered little cub.

I've had quite enough of this. Leave the room, sir!"

The wheels must have belonged to some other cab, for none had stopped at the pavement as yet; but Mr. Bult.i.tude was justly indignant, and could stand the interview no longer. d.i.c.k, however, made no attempt to move; he remained there, choking and shaking with laughter, while his father sat stiffly on his chair, trying to ignore his son's unmannerly conduct, but only partially succeeding.

No one can calmly endure watching other people laughing at him like idiots, while he is left perfectly incapable of guessing what he has said or done to amuse them. Even when this is known, it requires a peculiarly keen sense of humour to see the point of a joke against oneself.

At last his patience gave out, and he said coldly, "Now, perhaps, if you are quite yourself again, you will be good enough to let me know what the joke is?"

d.i.c.k, looking flushed and half-ashamed, tried again and again to speak, but each time the attempt was too much for him. After a time he did succeed, but his voice was hoa.r.s.e and shaken with laughter as he spoke.

"Haven't you found it out yet? Go and look at yourself in the gla.s.s--it will make you roar!"

There was the usual narrow sheet of plate gla.s.s at the back of the sideboard, and to this Mr. Bult.i.tude walked, almost under protest, and with a cold dignity. It occurred to him that he might have a smudge on his face or something wrong with his collar and tie--something to account to some extent for his son's frivolous and insulting behaviour.

No suspicion of the terrible truth crossed his mind as yet.

Meanwhile d.i.c.k was looking on eagerly with a chuckle of antic.i.p.ation, as one who watches the dawning appreciation of an excellent joke.

But no sooner had Paul met the reflection in the gla.s.s than he started back in incredulous horror--then returned and stared again and again.

Surely, surely, this could not be he!

He had expected to see his own familiar portly bow-windowed presence there--but somehow, look as he would, the mirror insisted upon reflecting the figure of his son d.i.c.k. Could he possibly have become invisible and have lost the power of casting a reflection--or how was it that d.i.c.k, and only d.i.c.k, was to be seen there?

How was it, too, when he looked round, there was the boy still sitting there? It could not be d.i.c.k, evidently, that he saw in the gla.s.s.

Besides, the reflection opposite him moved when he moved, returned when he returned, copied his every gesture!