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After several months, during which Horace had given up all his
limited spare time to the superintendence of the child's first
steps in knowledge, Sidney was judged to be sufficiently strong to
go to school, and it was arranged that he should attend the
Endowed School at the Wedgwood Institution. Horace accompanied him
thither on the opening day of the term--it was an inclement
morning in January--and left the young delicate sprig, apparently
joyous and content, to the care of his masters and the mercy of
his companions. But Sidney came home for dinner weeping--weeping
in spite of his new mortar-board cap, his new satchel, his new box
of compasses, and his new books. His mother kept him at home in
the afternoon, and by the evening another of those terrible
attacks had supervened. The doctor and Horace and Mrs Carpole once
more lost much precious sleep. The mysterious malady continued.
School was out of the question.
And when Sidney took the air, in charge of his mother, everybody
stopped to sympathize with him and to stroke his curls and call
him a poor dear, and also to commiserate Mrs Carpole. As for
Horace, Bursley tried to feel sorry for Horace, but it only
succeeded in showing Horace that it was hiding a sentiment of
indignation against him. Each friendly face as it passed Horace in
the street said, without words, 'There goes the youth who probably
ruined his young stepbrother's life. And through sheer obstinacy
too! He dropped the little darling in spite of warnings and
protests, and then fell on the top of him. Of course, he didn't do
it on purpose, but--'
The doctor mentioned Greatorex of Manchester, the celebrated brain
specialist. And Horace took Sidney to Manchester. They had to wait
an hour and a quarter to see Greatorex, his well-known consulting-
rooms in John Dalton Street being crowded with imperfect brains;
but their turn came at last, and they found themselves in
Greatorex's presence. Greatorex was a fat man, with the voice of a
thin man, who seemed to spend the whole of his career in the care
of his fingernails.
'Well, my little fellow,' said Greatorex, 'don't cry.' (For Sidney
was already crying.) And then to Horace, in a curt tone: 'What is
it?'
And Horace was obliged to humiliate himself and relate the
accident in detail, together with all that had subsequently
happened.
'Yes, yes, yes, yes!' Greatorex would punctuate the recital, and
when tired of 'yes' he would say 'Hum, hum, hum, hum!'
When he had said 'hum' seventy-two times he suddenly remarked that
his fee was three guineas, and told Horace to strengthen Sidney
all he could, not to work him too hard, and to bring him back in a
year's time.
Horace paid the money, Greatorex emitted a final 'hum', and then
the stepbrothers were whisked out by an expeditious footman. The
experience cost Horace over four pounds and the loss of a day's
time. And the worst was that Sidney had a violent attack that very
night.
School being impossible for him, Sidney had intermittent
instruction from professors of both sexes at home. But he learnt
practically nothing except the banjo. Horace had to buy him a
banjo: it cost the best part of a ten-pound note; still, Horace
could do no less. Sidney's stature grew rapidly; his general
health certainly improved, yet not completely; he always had a
fragile, interesting air. Moreover, his deafness did not
disappear: there were occasions when it was extremely pronounced.
And he was never quite safe from these attacks in the head. He
spent a month or six weeks each year in the expensive bracing
atmosphere of some seaside resort, and altogether he was decidedly
a heavy drain on Horace's resources. People were aware of this,
and they said that Horace ought to be happy that he was in a
position to spend money freely on his poor brother. Had not the
doctor predicted, before the catastrophe due to Horace's culpable
negligence, that Sidney would grow into a strong man, and that his
deafness would leave him? The truth was, one never knew the end of
those accidents in infancy! Further, was not Sidney's sad
condition slowly killing his mother? It was whispered about that,
since the disaster, Sidney had not been QUITE sound mentally. Was
not the mere suspicion of this enough to kill any mother?
And, as a fact, Mrs Carpole did die. She died of quinsy, doubtless
aggravated by Sidney's sad condition.
Not long afterwards Horace came into a small fortune from his
maternal grandfather. But poor Sidney did not come into any
fortune, and people somehow illogically inferred that Horace had
not behaved quite nicely in coming into a fortune while his
suffering invalid brother, whom he had so deeply harmed, came into
nothing. Even Horace had compunctions due to the visitations of a
similar idea. And with part of the fortune he bought a house with
a large garden up at Toft End, the highest hill of the hilly Five
Towns, so that Sidney might have the benefit of the air. He also
engaged a housekeeper and servants. With the remainder of the
fortune he obtained a partnership in the firm of earthenware
manufacturers for whom he had been acting as highly-paid manager.
Sidney reached the age of eighteen, and was most effective to look
upon, his bright hair being still curly, and his eyes a wondrous
blue, and his form elegant; and the question of Sidney's future
arose. His health was steadily on the up grade. The deafness had
quite disappeared. He had inclinations towards art, and had
already amused himself by painting some beautiful vases. So it was
settled that he should enter Horace's works on the art side, with
a view to becoming, ultimately, art director. Horace gave him
three pounds a week, in order that he might feel perfectly
independent, and, to the same end, Sidney paid Horace seven-and-
sixpence a week for board and lodging. But the change of life
upset the youth's health again. After only two visits to the works
he had a grave recurrence of the head-attacks, and he was solemnly
exhorted not to apply himself too closely to business. He
therefore took several half-holidays a week, and sometimes a whole
one. And even when he put in one of his full days he would arrive
at the works three hours after Horace, and restore the balance by
leaving an hour earlier. The entire town watched over him as a
mother watches over a son. The notion that he was not QUITE right
in the pate gradually died away, and everybody was thankful for
that, though it was feared an untimely grave might be his portion.
Read next: PART I - The Lion's Share: CHAPTER III
Read previous: PART I - The Lion's Share: CHAPTER I
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