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Three Boys; or, the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 12. A Lesson From Max |
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_ CHAPTER TWELVE. A LESSON FROM MAX "Caught a twenty-two-pound salmon, eh?" said The Mackhai, looking up from a letter he was reading. "He thinks he caught it, father," said Kenneth, laughing; and, as they stood waiting in the dining-room, the boy related the adventure of the day, and how they had, after changing, gone for a long tramp across the mountain slope, and chased the hares. "Well, be civil to him, Ken. Remember we are gentlemen. And even if he is the son of a miserable shark of a lawyer, let his father learn that the Mackhais can do good for evil." Kenneth stared wonderingly in his father's face. "What does it all mean?" he thought, and he noted the lines of trouble and annoyance deepening as The Mackhai let his eye fall upon his letter once more. "My father must hate his father," thought Kenneth; "and he is too much of a gentleman to show his dislike to his son. Why does he have him here, then? A stupid, girlish muff of a fellow! One's obliged to laugh at him, poor beggar!" The Mackhai doubled up his letter angrily, and thrust it into his pocket. "Did that boy hear the gong?" he said peevishly. "I don't know, father. Shall I run up to his room?" "No, certainly not. Treat him as you would any other visitor, but you are not his gillie. Ring, and send Grant." The bell was touched: the butler entered directly. "The young gentleman is not down yet, sir." "Well, I know that," said his master sharply. "Go and tell him we are waiting dinner." The butler, as he turned, looked as if he would like to give notice to leave on the spot, but he said nothing, and left the room. "It is a gross want of courtesy!" muttered The Mackhai angrily. "Am I to be kept waiting by the son of a miserable pettifogging scoundrel of a London lawyer? The beginning of the end, Ken, I suppose!" he added bitterly. "I don't know what you mean, father." "Wait. You'll know quite soon enough, my boy. Too soon, I'm afraid, and then--" The door was thrown open by the butler with a flourish, and he stood back holding it wide for Max to enter, looking very thin and scraggy, in a glossy new evening suit, with tight patent leather boots, handkerchief in one hand, new white gloves in the other. The Mackhai's brow contracted, and Kenneth gave his left leg a kick with his right heel, so as to stop an inclination to laugh. "I--I have--I have not kept you waiting?" faltered Max. "Not very long," said The Mackhai coldly; "but we always sit down to meals directly the gong has sounded." The butler left the room. "I am very sorry," faltered Max; "but I got so wet for the second time to-day, that I thought I had better have a warm bath." "Indeed!" said The Mackhai coldly. "Oh my, what a molly!" muttered Kenneth. "My father told me to be careful," continued Max. "Pray follow out your father's advice," said The Mackhai, "and consider that you are quite at home here." "How jolly sarcastic father is!" thought Kenneth. "Thank you," said Max politely. "While this place is mine, I wish my guests to be quite at their ease," continued The Mackhai; "but you will excuse me for saying that we never dress for dinner." "No, I thought not," said Max confusedly; "but I made myself so wet, and my other suits were in the small portmanteau, and I've lost the key." That dinner was hot, but very cold, and Max felt exceedingly glad when it was over. His host tried to be polite, and asked questions about the salmon-catching, but Max spoke in a hesitating way, and as if he thought he was being laughed at, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that he ceased to hear his host's voice, and escaped from the stony gaze of the butler, who, under an aspect of the most profound respect, seemed to glare at the visitor with a virulent look of hatred. "They don't seem to like me at all down here," thought Max, as they rose from the table. "I wonder what's the matter," thought Kenneth. "I never saw father seem so severe before." Just then, looking very stern and out of temper, The Mackhai left the room, and Kenneth, after a moment's hesitation, went after him; but changed his mind directly, and returned to Max. "I beg your pardon," he said. "Father does not seem to be well." "I am sorry. I'm afraid he was put out because I kept you waiting." "Oh, never mind that. I say, we can't go out with you like that, and it's such a jolly night. I don't know, though, if you put on an ulster." "I think I would rather not go out any more tonight," said Max, hesitating. "All right. Then we'll go and have a game at billiards. Come along." This was more to Max's taste, and, after Grant had been summoned to help light the lamps, Kenneth shut the door, chuckling to himself about the big beating he was going to give the Londoner, who, instead of taking a cue, was gazing round the handsome billiard-room at the crossed claymores, targes, and heads of red deer, whose antlers formed rests for spears and specimens of weapons from all parts of the world. "Are those swords sharp?" asked Max. "Sharp? Yes, I should think they are. They're the claymores my ancestors used to handle to cut off the heads of the Macleods and Macdougals." "Used there to be much fighting then?" "Fighting? I should think there was. Every chief lived in a castle and had a galley, and they used to fill them half full of pipers and half full of fighting men, and go to war with their neighbours." "It must have been very terrible." "Not a bit of it. Very jolly--much better than living in these tame times. Come along; you break." Max played first, and handled his cue so easily that Kenneth stared. "Hallo!" he said, "you've played before." "Yes; we have a billiard-table at home." "Oh!" ejaculated Kenneth, and the big beating did not seem so near. Not that it proved to be more distant, only it was the other way on, for Max played quietly and respectably, keeping up a steady scoring, while Kenneth's idea seemed to be that the best way was to hit the balls hard, so that they might chance to go somewhere. This they did, but not so as to add to his score, and the consequence was that, when Max marked a hundred, Kenneth was only thirty-three. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, "I didn't know you could play like that." "I often have a game with my father," said Max. "He always gives me fifty out of a hundred, and he can beat me, but he lets me win sometimes." Kenneth whistled. "I say," he said, "your father must be a very clever man." "Yes," said Max, in a dull, quiet way, "I think he is very clever." "You don't seem very much pleased about it." "I'm afraid I'm very tired. It has been such a hard day." "Hard! that's nothing. You wait till your legs get trained, you won't think this a hard day." "I'm afraid I shan't be down here long enough for that." "Oh, you don't know. Let's have another game, and see if I can't beat you this time. Only, mind, none of your father's tricks." Max started and turned scarlet. "I mean, you will try." "Of course," said Max; "I don't think it would be fair not to try one's best." They played, and Kenneth came off worse. They played again, and he was worse still; while, after the fourth game, he threw down his cue pettishly. "It's of no use for me to play you. Why, you're a regular out-and-outer." "Nonsense! These strokes are easy enough. Let me show you. Look at the things you can do that I can't." "You show me how to make those strokes, and I'll show you everything I know." "I'll show you without making you promise that," said Max good-humouredly; and the rest of the evening was spent over the board, which they only quitted to say "good-night" and retire to their rooms; but Kenneth did not go to his until he had been to the butler's pantry, and then to the kitchen, which was empty, the servants having retired for the night, after banking up the fire with peat, which would go on smouldering and glowing for the rest of the night, and only want stirring in the morning to burst into a blaze. There was something very suspicious in Kenneth's movements as he crossed the kitchen in the faint glow, and a great tom-cat glowered at him as he stole away to the fireside and watched. At one moment it seemed as if Kenneth was going to the larder to make a raid upon the provisions, but he stopped short of that door, and stood listening, and started violently as a sudden sound smote his ear. It was the start of one troubled with a guilty conscience, for the sound was only a sharp tack made by the great clock, preliminary to its striking eleven. "How stupid!" muttered Kenneth; and then he started again, for he heard a door close rather loudly. "Father!" he muttered, and he ran to the entry and listened again, before going cautiously to the fire, where he suddenly made two or three snatches of a very suspicious character, and hurried out of the kitchen along a stone passage. Then all was silent about the place, save the lapping and splashing of the water among the rocks outside. _ |
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