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The Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 32. Having It Out |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. HAVING IT OUT "Now," said Vane, after sitting, panting for a few minutes, "I came out to-day on purpose to find you, and ask you to shake hands. Glad I got here in time to help you. Shake hands, now." "No," said Distin, slowly; "I can't do that." "Nonsense! I say these two have got it. Why not?" "Because," said Distin, with almost a groan, "I'm not fit. My hands are not clean." "Wash 'em then, or never mind." "You know what I mean," said Distin. "What they said was true." Vane stared at him in astonishment. "Yes, it's quite true," said Distin, bitterly. "I've behaved like a blackguard." Just at that moment, the top gipsy began to struggle, and Vane gave him a tremendous clout on the ear. "Lie still or I'll knock your head off," he cried, fiercely. "You don't mean to say you set these two brutes to knock me about with sticks?" "Yes, he did," cried the top boy. "Yes, I did," said Distin, after making an effort as if to swallow something. "I paid them, and they have pestered me for money ever since. They sent to me to-day to come out to them, and I gave them more, but they were not satisfied and were knocking me about when you came." The lower prisoner now began to complain, and with cause, for his brother was lying across his chest, so that he had the weight of two to bear; but Vane reached down suddenly and placed his fist on the lad's nose, with a heavy grinding motion. "You dare to move, that's all," he growled, threateningly, and the lad drew a deep breath, and lay still, while Distin went on as if something within him were forcing this confession. "There," he said, "it's all over now. They've kept out of sight of the police all this time, and sent messages to me from where they were in hiding, and I've had to come and pay them. I've been like a slave to them, and they've degraded me till I've felt as if I couldn't bear it." "And all for what?" said Vane, angrily. "I never did you any harm." "I couldn't help it," said Distin. "I hated you, I suppose. I tell you, I've behaved like a blackguard, and I suppose I shall be punished for it, but I'd rather it was so than go on like I have lately." "Look here," cried Vane, savagely, and he raised himself up a little as if he were riding on horseback, and then nipped his human steed with his knees, and bumped himself down so heavily that both the gipsy lads yelled. "Yes, I meant to hurt you. I say, look here, I know what you both mean. You are going to try and heave me off, and run for it, but don't you try it, my lads, or it will be the worse for you. It's my turn this time, and you don't get away, so be still. Do you hear? Lie still!" Vane's voice sounded so deep and threatening that the lads lay perfectly quiescent, and Distin went on. "Better get out your handkerchief," he said, taking out his own, "and we'll tie their hands behind them, and march them to Bates' place." "You'll help me then?" said Vane. "Yes." "Might as well have helped me before, and then I shouldn't have been so knocked about." Distin shook his head, and began to roll up his pocket-handkerchief to form a cord. "There's no hurry," said Vane, thoughtfully. "I want a rest." The lowermost boy uttered a groan, for his imprisonment was painful. "Better let's get it over," said Distin, advancing and planting a foot on a prisoner who looked as if he were meditating an attempt to escape. "No hurry," said Vane, quietly, "you haven't been fighting and got pumped out. Besides, it wants thinking about. I don't quite understand it yet. I can't see why you should do what you did. It was so cowardly." "Don't I know all that," cried Distin, fiercely. "Hasn't it been eating into me? I'm supposed to be a gentleman, and I've acted toward you like a miserable cad, and disgraced myself forever. It's horrible and I want to get it over." "I don't," said Vane, slowly. "Can't you see how maddening it is. I've got to go with you to take these beasts--no, I will not call them that, for I tempted them with money to do it all, and they have turned and bitten me." "Yes: that was being hoist with your own petard, Mr Engineer," cried Vane, merrily. "Don't laugh at me," cried Distin with a stamp of the foot. "Can't you see how I'm degraded; how bitter a sting it was to see you, whom I tried to injure, come to my help. Isn't it all a judgment on me?" "Don't know," said Vane looking at him stolidly and then frowning and administering a sounding punch in the ribs to his restive seat, with the effect that there was another yell. "You make light of it," continued Distin, "for you cannot understand what I feel. I have, I say, to take these brutes up to the police--" "No, no," cried the two lads, piteously. "--And then go straight to Syme, and confess everything, and of course he'll expel me. Nice preparation for a college life; and what will they say at home?" "Yes," said Vane, echoing the other's words; "what will they say at home? You mean over in Trinidad?" Distin bowed his head, his nervous-looking face working from the anguish he felt, and his lower lip quivering with the mental agony and shame. "Trinidad's a long way off," said Vane, thoughtfully. "No place is far off now," cried Distin, passionately. "And if it were ten times as far, what then? Don't I know it? Do you think I can ever forget it all?" "No," said Vane; "you never will. I suppose it must have made you uncomfortable all along." "Don't--don't talk about it," cried Distin, piteously. "There, come along, you must be rested now." "Look here," cried one of the lads, shrilly; "if you tak' us up to Greytrop we'll tell all about it." Vane gave another bump. "What's the good of that, stupid," he said. "Mr Distin would tell first." "Yes," said the young fellow firmly; and as Vane looked at his determined countenance, he felt as if he had never liked him so well before; "I shall tell first. Come what may, Vane Lee, you shan't have it against me that I did not speak out openly. Now, come." "Not yet," said Vane, stubbornly. "I'm resting." There was a pause, and one of the gipsy lads began to snivel. "Oh, pray, good, kind gen'l'man, let us go this time, and we'll never do so any more. Do, please, good gen'l'man, let us go." "If you don't stop that miserable, pitiful, cowardly howling, you cur," cried Vane so savagely that the lad stared at him with his mouth open, "I'll gag that mouth of yours with moss. Lie still!" Vane literally yelled this last order at the lad, and the mouth shut with a snap, while its owner stared at him in dismay. "I only wish I could have you standing up and lying down too," cried Vane, "or that it wasn't cowardly to punch your wretched heads now you are down." There was another pause, during which the lowermost boy began to groan, but he ceased upon Vane giving a fresh bump. "I shall be obliged now, Mr Lee," said Distin, quickly, "by your helping to tie those two scoundrels." "No more a scoundrel than you are," said the lowermost boy fiercely; and Vane gave another bump. "Don't hurt him," said Distin. "He only spoke the truth. Come, let's turn this one over." Vane did not stir, but sat staring hard in Distin's face. "Look here," he said at last; "you mean what you say about the police and Mr Syme?" "Yes, of course." "And you understand what will follow?" Distin bowed as he drew his breath hard through his teeth. "You will not be able to stop at the rectory even if that busybody Bates doesn't carry it over to the magistrates." "I know everything," said Distin, firmly, and he drew a long breath now of relief. "I am set upon it, even if I never hold up my head again." "All right," said Vane in his peculiar, hard, stubborn way. "You've made up your mind; then I've made up mine." "What do you mean?" said Distin. "Wait and see," said Vane, shortly. "But I wish to get it over." "I know you do. But you're all right. Look at me, I can't see, but expect my face is all puffy; and look at my knuckles. These fellows have got heads like wood." "I am sorry, very sorry," said Distin, sadly; "but I want to make all the reparation I can." "Give me that handkerchief," said Vane sharply; and he snatched it from Distin's hand. "No, no, keep back. I'll do what there is to do. They're not fit to touch. Ah, would you!" The top boy had suddenly thrown up his head in an effort to free himself. But his forehead came in contact with Vane's fist and he dropped back with a groan. "Hurt, did it!" said Vane, bending down, and whispering a few words. Then aloud, as he rose. "Now, then, get up and let me tie your hands behind you." The lad rose slowly and painfully. "Turn round and put your hands behind you," cried Vane. The lad obeyed, and then as if shot from a bow he leaped over his prostrate brother with a loud whoop and dashed off among the trees. "No, no, it's of no use," cried Vane as Distin started in pursuit; "you might just as well try to catch a hare. Now you, sir, up with you." The second lad rose, groaning as if lame and helpless, turning his eyes piteously upon his captor; and then, quick as lightning, he too started off. "Loo, loo, loo!" shouted Vane, clapping his hands as if cheering on a greyhound. "I say, Distie, how the beggars can run." A defiant shout answered him, and Vane clapped his hands to his mouth and yelled: "Po-lice--if you ever come again." "Yah!" came back from the wood, and Distin cried, angrily: "You let them go on purpose." "Of course I did," said Vane. "Here's your handkerchief. You don't suppose I would take them up, and hand them over to the police, and let you lower yourself like you said, do you?" "Yes--yes," cried Distin, speaking like a hysterical girl. "I will tell everything now; how I was tempted, and how I fell." "Bother!" cried Vane, gruffly. "That isn't like an English lad should speak. You did me a cowardly, dirty trick, and you confessed to me that you were sorry for it. Do you think I'm such a mean beast that I want to take revenge upon you!" "But it is my duty--I feel bound--I must speak," cried Distin, in a choking voice. "Nonsense! It's all over. I'm the person injured, and I say I won't have another word said. I came out this afternoon to ask you to make friends, and to shake hands. There's mine, and let the past be dead." Vane stood holding out his hand, but it was not taken. "Do you hear?" he cried. "Shake hands." "I can't," groaned Distin, with a piteous look. "I told you before mine are not clean." "Mine are," said Vane, meaning, of course, metaphorically; "and perhaps--no, there is no perhaps--mine will clean yours." Vane took the young Creole's hand almost by force, and gave it a painful grip, releasing it at last for Distin to turn to the nearest tree, lay his arm upon the trunk, and then lean his forehead against it in silence. Vane stood looking at him, hesitating as to what he should say or do. Then, with a satisfied nod to himself, he said, cheerily: "I'm going down to the stream to have a wash. Come on soon." It was a bit of natural delicacy, and the sensitive lad, born in a tropic land, felt it as he stood there with his brain filled with bitterness and remorse, heaping self-reproaches upon himself, and more miserable than he had ever before been in his life. "I do believe he's crying," thought Vane, as he hurried out of the woodland shade, and down to the water's edge, where, kneeling down by a little crystal pool, he washed his stained and bleeding hands, and then began to bathe his face and temples. "Not quite so hot as I was," he muttered; "but, oh, what a mess I'm in! I shan't be fit to show myself, and must stop out till it's dark. What would poor aunt say if she saw me! Frighten her nearly into fits." He was scooping up the fresh, cool water, and holding it to his bruises, which pained him a good deal, but, in spite of all his sufferings, he burst into a hearty fit of laughter at last, and, as his eyes were closed, he did not notice that a shadow was cast over him, right on to the water. It was Distin, for he had come quietly down the bank, and was standing just behind him. "Are you laughing at me?" he said, bitterly. "Eh? You there?" cried Vane, raising his head. "No, I was grinning at the way those two fellows scuttled off. They made sure they were going to be in the lock-up to-night." "Where they ought to have been," said Distin. "Oh, I don't know. They're half-wild sort of fellows--very cunning, and all that sort of thing. I daresay I should have done as they did if I had been a gipsy. But, never mind that now. They'll keep away from Greythorpe for long enough to come." He began dabbing his face with his handkerchief, and looking merrily at Distin. "I say," he cried; "I didn't know I could fight like that. Is my face very queer?" "It is bruised and swollen," said Distin, with an effort. "I'm afraid it will be worse to-morrow." "So am I, but we can't help it. Never mind, it will be a bit of a holiday for me till the bruises don't show; and I can sit and think out something else. Come and see me sometimes." "I can't, Vane, I can't," cried Distin, wildly. "Do you think I have no feeling?" "Too much, I should say," cried Vane. "There, why don't you let it go? Uncle says life isn't long enough for people to quarrel or make enemies. That's all over; and, I say, I feel ever so much more comfortable now. Haven't got such a thing as a tumbler in your pocket, have you?" Distin looked in the bruised and battered face before him, wondering at the lad's levity, as Vane continued: "No, I suppose you haven't, and my silver cup is on the sideboard. Never mind: here goes. Just stand close to me, and shout if you see any leeches coming." As he spoke, he lay down on his chest, reaching over another clear portion of the stream. "I must drink like a horse," he cried; and, placing his lips to the surface, he took a long draught, rose, wiped his lips, drew a deep breath, and exclaimed, "Hah! That was good." Then he reeled, caught at the air, and would have fallen, but Distin seized him, and lowered him to the ground, where he lay, looking very ghastly, for a few minutes. "Only a bit giddy," he said, faintly. "It will soon go off." "I'll run and fetch help," cried Distin, excitedly. "Nonsense! What for? I'm getting better. There: that's it." He sat up, and, with Distin's help, struggled to his feet. "How stupid of me!" he said, with a faint laugh. "I suppose it was leaning over the water so long. I'm all right now." He made a brave effort, and the two lads walked toward the lane, but, before they had gone many yards, Vane reeled again. This time the vertigo was slighter, and, taking Distin's arm, he kept his feet. "Let's walk on," he said. "I daresay the buzzy noise and singing in my head will soon pass off." He was right: it did, and they progressed slowly till they reached the lane, where the walking was better, but Vane was still glad to retain Distin's help, and so it happened that, when they were about a mile from the rectory, Gilmore and Macey, who were in search of them, suddenly saw something which made them stare. "I say," cried Macey; "'tisn't real, is it? Wait till I've rubbed my eyes." "Why, they've made it up," cried Gilmore. "I say, Aleck, don't say a word." "Why not?" "I mean don't chaff them or Dis may go off like powder. You know what he is." "I won't speak a word, but, I say, it's Weathercock's doing. He has invented some decoction to charm creoles, and henceforth old Dis will be quite tame." As they drew nearer, Gilmore whispered: "They've been having it out." "Yes, and Weathercock has had an awful licking; look at his phiz." "No," said Gilmore. "Vane has licked; and it's just like him, he hasn't hit Dis in the face once. Don't notice it." "Not I." They were within speaking distance now; and Distin's sallow countenance showed two burning red spots in the cheeks. "Hullo!" cried Vane. "Come to meet us?" "Yes," said Gilmore; "we began to think you were lost." "Oh, no," said Vane, carelessly. "Been some distance and the time soon goes. I think I'll turn off here, and get home across the meadows. Good-evening, you two. Good-night, Dis, old chap." "Good-night," said Distin, huskily, as he took the bruised and slightly bleeding hand held out to him. Then turning away, he walked swiftly on. "Why, Vane, old boy," whispered Gilmore, "what's going on?" Vane must have read of Douglas Jerrold's smart reply, for he said, merrily: "I am; good-night," and he was gone. "I'm blest!" cried Macey; giving his leg a slap. "He has gone in back way so as not to be seen," cried Gilmore. "That's it," cried Macey, excitedly. "Well, of all the old Weathercocks that ever did show which way the wind blew--" He did not finish that sentence, but repeated his former words-- "I'm blest!" _ |
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