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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. Back To School |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. BACK TO SCHOOL I tried very hard not to meet Doctor Chowne when he next came over to our cottage, which was two days after the escape from drowning, for he was very frequently in confab with my father. They went into the little parlour, and so as to be out of the way I went into the cliff garden to watch the sea seated astride of one of the gates; but, as luck would have it, my father and the doctor came out to talk in the garden, and as there was no way of escape without facing them, I had to remain where I was and put on the boldest front I could. "Oh, you're there, are you, Mr Sep?" exclaimed the doctor grimly. "Yes, sir," I said. "That's right; I only wanted to ask a favour of you." "What is it, sir?" I said. "Oh, wait a minute and I'll tell you," said the doctor in his grimmest way. "It was only this. You see I'm a very busy man, twice as busy as I used to be since your father has taken to consulting me. What I want you to do is this--" He stopped short and stared at me till I grew uncomfortable. "This, my lad," he continued. "To save time, I want you to tell me when you are going to try next to kill my boy." "To kill Bob, sir?" "Yes, I want to be ready, as I've so little time to spare. I want to order mourning from Exeter, and to give orders for the funeral." "I--I don't understand you, sir," I stammered. "Not understand me, my lad! Why, I spoke plainly enough. You've tried to kill my Bob twice; third time never fails." "Doctor Chowne!" I exclaimed. "Your most humble servant, sir," he continued sarcastically. "I only wanted to add, that I should like you to do it as soon as you can, for he is costing me a great deal for clothes and boots." "There, there, Chowne," said my father, taking pity upon me, "boys will be boys. I daresay your chap was just as bad as mine, and old Uggleston's baby quite their equal." "They lead my Bob into all the mischief," cried the Doctor sharply. "Oh, no doubt, no doubt," said my father in his driest way. "And I should like to know as near as I can when it's to come to an end?" "There, there, never mind," said my father good-humouredly. "Give them another chance, and if they spoil these clothes we'll send into Bristol for some sail-cloth, and have 'em rigged out in that." "Sail-cloth!" cried the doctor, "old carpet you mean. That's the only thing for them." "Holidays will soon be over, Chowne, and we shall be rid of them." "Yes, that's a comfort," said the doctor; and, as he turned away, I looked appealingly at my father, who gave me a dry look, and taking it to mean that I might go, I slipped off and went in to Ripplemouth. I soon found Bob, sitting in a very ragged old suit, out of which he had grown two years before, and he looked so comical with his arms far through his sleeves, and his legs showing so long beneath his trouser bottoms, than I burst out laughing. "Yah! That's just like you," cried Bob viciously. "I never saw such a chap. Got plenty of clothes, and it don't matter to you; but look at me!" "Well, I was looking at you," I said. "What an old guy you are!" "Do you want me to hit you on the nose, Sep Duncan?" he said. "Why, of course not," I said. "I came over to play, not fight. Where are your Sunday clothes?" "Where are they?" snarled Bob, speaking as if I had touched him on a very sore spot. "Why, locked up in the surgery cupboard along with the 'natomy bones and the sticking-plaster roll." "What! Has your father locked them up?" "Yes, he has locked them up, and says he isn't going to run all over the country seeing patients to find me in clothes to lose--just as if I could help it." "But haven't you been measured for some more?" "Yes, but they won't be done yet, and father says I'm to go on wearing these the rest of the time I'm at home." I looked at him from top to toe as he stood before me, and it was of no use to try to keep my countenance. I could not, and the more I tried the more I seemed to be obliged to laugh. As for Bob he ground his teeth and clenched his hands, but this only made him look the more comic, and I threw myself in a chair and fairly roared, till he came at me like an angry bull; but as I made no resistance, only laughed, he lowered his fists. "I can't help it, Bob; I was obliged to laugh," I cried. "There, you may laugh at me now; but you do look so droll. Have you been out?" "Been out? In these? Of course I haven't. How can I? No: I'm a prisoner, and all the rest of my holiday time is going to be spoiled." "Oh, I say, don't talk like that, old boy," I cried. "Why didn't you keep the suit I lent you?" "I don't want to be dependent on you for old clothes," he said haughtily. "Well, I'd rather wear them than those you have on, Bob. Oh, I say, you do look rum!" "If you say that again I shall hit you," cried Bob fiercely. "Oh, very well, I won't say it," I said; "but I say, wouldn't you wear a suit of old Big's?" I said it quite seriously, but he regularly glared and seemed as if he were going to fly at me, but he neither moved nor spoke. "Never mind about your clothes," I said. "Big's sure to be over before long. Let's get out on the cliff, or down by the shore, or go hunting up in the moor, or something." "What, like this?" said Bob, getting up to turn round before me and show me how tight his clothes were. "Well, what does it matter?" I said. "Nobody will see us." "It isn't seeing you," he replied, "it's seeing me. No, I sha'n't go out till I get some clothes." Bob kept his word, and for the rest of the holidays when I went out it always used to be with Bigley Uggleston. But we did not neglect poor Bob, for we went to see him nearly every day, and played games with him in the garden, and finished the gooseberries, and began the apples, contriving to enjoy ourselves pretty well. As for the doctor, it was his way of dealing with his son, and I suppose he thought he was right; but it was very unpleasant, and kept poor Bob out of many a bit of enjoyment, those clothes being locked away. I said that Bob would not go out. I ought to have said, by daylight, for he used to go with us after dark down to the end of the tiny pier, where we sat with our legs swinging over the water, each holding a fishing-line and waiting for any fish that might be tempted to take the raw mussel stuck upon our hooks. But somehow that narrow escape of ours seemed to act like a damper upon the rest of our holidays, and I spent a good deal of my time with Bigley, watching the preparations made by the masons at the works in the Gap. We all declared that we were not sorry when one morning old Teggley Grey's cart stopped at our gate to take up my box. Bob Chowne's was already in, and he was sitting upon it, while Bigley was half-way up the slope leading over the moor waiting by the road-side with his. I said "Good-bye" to my father, who shook my hand warmly. "Learn all you can, Sep," he said, "and get to be a man, for you have a busy life before you, and before long I shall want you to help me." I climbed in, and old Teggley drew out the corners of his lips and grinned as if he was glad that Bob Chowne was so miserable. For Bob did not move, only sat with his hands supporting his face, staring down before him, bent, miserable, and dejected. "What's the matter, Bob?" I said, trying to be cheerful. "Got the toothache?" "Yes," he said sourly, "all over." "Get out! What is it? Father made you take some physic?" "Yes, pills. Verbum nasticusis, and bully draught after." "What! Has he been scolding you?" "Scolding me! He never does anything else. I sha'n't stand it much longer. I shall run off to sea and be a cabin-boy." "Hi, hi, hi!" "What are you laughing at?" snapped Bob, turning sharply upon old Teggley. "At you, Mars Bob Chowne, going for a cabin-boy." _Whop_! That last was a severe crack given to admonish the big bony horse old Teggley drove; but he was a merciful man to his beast, and always hit on the pad, the collar, or the shafts. "S'pose I like to go for a cabin-boy, 'tain't no business of yours, is it?" cried Bob snappishly. "Not a bit, my lad, not a bit. I'll take your sea-chest over to Barnstaple for you when you go." "No, you won't," grumbled Bob viciously, "for I won't have one." "Ahoy! Bigley," I shouted, looking out from under the tilt. "Hooray for school!" "Aha! Look at him--look at him!" shouted Bob, whose whole manner changed as soon as he saw Bigley's doleful face. "I say, old Grey, here's a little boy crying because he is going back to school." Bigley did not say anything, only gave Bob a reproachful glance as he handed his box up to the carrier, and then climbed in. "Gently, Mars Uggles'on," cried the old carrier, who seemed to consider that he had a right like other people to joke Bigley about his size; "gently, my lad, or you'll break the sharps. I didn't know I was going to have a two-horse load." "Look here, old Teggley Grey!" cried Bigley firing up; "if you say another word about my being so large, I'll pitch you out of the back of the cart, and drive into Barnstaple without you." "Do, Bigley, do," cried Bob in ecstasy. "Here, I'll hold the reins. Chuck him out." "Don't talk that way, Mars Bob Chowne," whined the old man. "You wouldn't like me to be hurt." "Oh, just wouldn't I!" cried Bob spitefully. "Pitch him overboard, Bigley, old boy, and hurt him as much as you can." "No, no, you wouldn't, Mars Bob Chowne. You wouldn't like me to have to be carried home on a wagon, and your father have to tend me for broken bones and such." "I tell you I would," cried Bob savagely; "and I hope you'll bite your tongue, and then you won't be so ready to ask questions. There!" "Me ask questions!" exclaimed the old carrier in an ill-used tone. "As if I ever did. Well, never mind, he'll know better some day." The old man sniffed several times quite severely, and sat bolt upright at the side of the cart, looking out at his horse's ears, and left us to ourselves. Bob's fit of melancholy was over, and he was ready to make remarks upon everything he saw; but neither Bigley nor I spoke, for we were intent upon something the latter told me. "I don't want to tell tales," he said to me in a low tone, "but father makes me miserable." "But do you think it is so bad as you say?" Bigley nodded. "He goes and sits on a stone with his spy-glass where he can see them, but they can't see him, and he stops there watching for hours everything they do, and comes back looking very serious and queer." "Well, what does it matter?" I said. "He won't hurt us. He can't, because he is my father's tenant, and if he did he'd have to go." "Don't talk like that, Sep," whispered Bigley. "It's bad enough now, and it would be worse then." "I say, what chaps you two are!" cried Bob Chowne. "Why don't you talk to a fellow?" No one answered, and Bob turned sulky and went and sat on the front of the cart, where he began to whistle. "What do you mean by being worse?" I said. Bigley shook his head. "I don't know; I can't say," he whispered. "I mean I don't want father to be very cross." "I say, Big," I whispered. "Your father really is a smuggler, isn't he?" Bigley looked sharply round to gaze at old Teggley Grey and Bob Chowne, creeping as he did so nearer to the tail-board of the cart, and I followed him. "I oughtn't to tell," he whispered back. "But you'll tell me. I won't say a word to a soul," I said. "Well, I don't know. I'm not sure, but--" Bigley paused, and looked round again before putting his lips close to my ear and whispering softly: "I think he is." "I'm sure of it," I whispered back; "and I know he goes out in his lugger to meet French boats and Dutch boats, and makes no end of money by smuggling." "Who told you that?" whispered Bigley fiercely. "Nobody. It's what everybody says of him. They all say that he'll be caught and hanged some day for it--hung in chains; but of course I hope he won't, Big, because of you." "It's all nonsense. It isn't true," said Bigley indignantly, "and those who talk that way are far more likely to be hung themselves. But I wish your father hadn't bought the Gap." "I don't," I said. "He had a right to buy it if he liked, and I don't see what business it is of your father. Why don't he attend to his fishing?" Bigley looked up at me sharply, to see if I had any hidden meaning. "He does attend to his fishing," he said angrily; "and if he hadn't been attending to his fishing he wouldn't have been out in his boat that day, and saved you from being drowned." I never liked Bigley half so well before as when he spoke up like that in defence of his father; but I was in a sour disappointed mood that day, because the holidays were over and I was going back to school, so I said something that was thoroughly ungenerous, and which I felt sorry for as I spoke. "Yes, he saved us all from being drowned, I suppose," I said; "but he hadn't been fishing, for there were no fish in the boat." "Just as if anybody could be sure of catching fish every time he went out," cried Bigley angrily. "There, you want to quarrel because you are miserable at having to go back to school, but I sha'n't. I hate it. Go and fall out with old Bob Chowne." This made me feel angry and I drew away from him, for it was trying to make out that I was as quarrelsome as Bob Chowne delighted to be. But I felt so horribly in fault directly after that I went back to my place and sat by him in silence. After a time the old carrier turned to us with a request that we would get out and give the horse a rest up the hill. We all obeyed, two of us jumping out over the tail-board, the other by the front, and leaping off the shaft. It was plain enough that the holidays were over, and that the joyous hearty spirit of the homeward-bound was there no more, for Bob Chowne took one side of the road in front of the horse, and the old carrier the other, while Bigley and I hung back behind and walked slowly after them on opposite sides after the fashion of those in front. Then came the stopping of the cart, and mounting again and descending a couple more times, before we reached Barnstaple, dull, low-spirited, and ready to find about a score of boys just back, and looking as doleful as we did ourselves. _ |
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