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The Queen's Scarlet, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 31. Down In The Dumps |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. DOWN IN THE DUMPS It was in the hospital by the invalid's side. "Don't you look like that!" said Jerry. "I know how it is! You're getting better, and are able to think more. When you were ten times as bad, you never used to look so down and say you would never get right again!" Jerry looked at Brumpton as he delivered himself of this oracular speech, and the fat sergeant declared that he was right; but Dick did not believe either of them. "I've got some news for you, too." "Look here," said Brumpton. "I must be off. Stop with him as long as you can, Jerry Brigley.--I say, why don't you have your flute, and practise a bit?" Dick looked up from the easy-chair in which he lay back, and his eyes brightened; but they turned dull again, and he shook his head. As soon as the sergeant had gone, Dick spoke. "What is your news?" he said, feebly. "Shan't tell you, if you don't pluck up a bit! You ought to be well by now. Why, it is a whole blessed month since that unlucky night, and here have you been bad ever since with burning and fever; and it's been a wonder to me as nobody understood what you were talking about. You let the cat out of the bag lots of times, but I was the only one as understood the connundydrum." "Tell me your news," said Dick, wearily. Jerry picked up a bouquet standing in water, sniffed it, and set it down again, watching the patient furtively as he went on ignoring the question. "Here was Mr Lacey knocked up for a few days after his singeing, and gets right again, though his head of 'air is still orful to be'old; and it's on'y by cutting the other side so short as to make something like a match to the singed-off side where he was burnt that I made him able to go out when he got better. Soldiers do wear their hair pretty close, but his head looked quite indecent; and, as for his starshers, they're like a bit o' black toothbrush worn stumpy." "You said that you had some news," said Dick, angrily. "And then there's him as ought to ha' been the worst of all you three. He got burnt a deal, but it was mostly about the clothes. The padding in his uniform seemed to save him. I say--what are you going to do with yourself to-day?" "Nothing." "Let me give you a shampoo and a touch up." Dick shook his head impatiently, and lay back, a shadow of his former self. "You'd better!" "Don't worry me, Jerry! You said you had some news." "It's a letter," said the man, looking at him curiously. "A letter?" cried Dick, starting; but the interest he took was only momentary, and his eyes half-closed again. "Yes, a letter. I've had it two days, and didn't like to give it to you before." "Why not?" Jerry took a note from his breast, and held it so that the invalid could see first that it was not addressed, the envelope being blank; and then, slowly turning it round, so that Dick could see a crest stamped in colours upon the back. That had its effect, for a flush came into the invalid's hollow cheeks, and he glared at Jerry. "Where did you get that?" he cried. "He give it me." "Well?" "To give to you. I see him the day before yesterday, and he told me to come to his rooms, and asked me about the bandsman whom the fellows said saved three people, and what your name might be. Then he asked if it was you who pulled him out, and I said it was, feeling quite queer the while; for it seemed so strange that you should have saved his life after all as took place. Then he set down at his table, looking not a bit the worse, asked how you spell your name, and I told him Richard Smithson, and he wrote this and sent it by me." "Do you know what's in it?" Jerry nodded. "Then he recognised me?" "No--he don't even know that he ever see you." "But he seemed to know me at the ball." "Oh, no! he didn't know you. He thinks you're dead as dead." "But you say you know what is in that note?" "Oh, yes!" "You've read it?" "Not that." "What do you mean?" Jerry took a closely-folded newspaper from his pocket. "_Ratcham, Dolchester, and Froude Magnet_, sir--Richard Smithson," he read, and then doubling it closely, held it out, pointing to a paragraph. "My eyes swim. I don't understand what you mean, Jerry." "Shall I read it, sir?" "Yes." Jerry coughed and then began:-- "The Late Fire at the Barracks.--We understand that Lieutenant Sir Mark Frayne, of the 310th, has presented Smithson, the gallant young bandsman of the 205th Fusiliers, with a handsome cheque as a memento of his prowess daring the catastrophe after the military ball was nearly over. Smithson, we are glad to say, is convalescent." Dick's eyes contracted, and he stared hard at Jerry. "That's the way some folks do it. That's what they call advertising. Proper way. Never give anything till people's looking on, and if they won't see, put it in the paper, and then they'll read." "Open that envelope," said Dick, sharply, and Jerry obeyed, taking out slowly a sheet of paper, from which fell a cheque. "Shall I read, sir?" asked Jerry. "Yes," said Dick, in a more decisive way than he had displayed since the night of the ball. "'With Sir Mark Frayne's best wishes to the brave soldier who saved his life.' Sounds handsome, don't it? 'Messrs. Roots and Company, pay Richard Smithson, or order, Five Pounds.'" Jerry glanced at Dick, who lay back now, with his eyes closed, looking very stern. "It's too much," said Jerry. "Five pound! Fippence is about all his life's worth?" "Have you a box of matches?" "Yes; want a smoke, sir?" "Light a match." Jerry obeyed, struck a light, and held the cheque in one hand, the wax taper in the other. "Burn it," said Dick, shortly. "It's fi' pounds, sir; and you may want it." "Burn it!" cried Dick, sternly. "Well, it's your own, and you've a right to do as you like with it," said Jerry; and the thin scrap of paper was held to the flame, burned till the man's fingers were in danger, and then fell slowly to the floor as so much tinder. "That was your news, then?" "Not all of it." "What is it, then?" Jerry picked up the bunch of flowers, sniffed at it, and set it down again in the water. "She's a-coming." "What?" "That Miss Deane as sent these is coming in with Mr Lacey this afternoon." Dick rose up in his chair, staring excitedly. "She wanted to come ever so long ago, Mr Lacey said, and now he is going to bring her. Hadn't you better let me give you a shampoo, sir?" "Miss Deane coming here with the lieutenant--to this wretched place?" "Well, she ain't coming to see the place; she's a-coming to see you." "No, no, Jerry! Go and tell Mr Lacey she mustn't come." "Likely! Now just look here. You want to keep all about yourself quiet, and sits upon me when I says go to the colonel and out with it all, like a man--now don't you?" "Yes, yes. I'll wait my time," said Dick; and he added, softly, "If I live." "And then, as soon as things are a bit different to what you like, back you goes to the old style, and begins giving your orders. Now just fancy me going to the guvnor's quarters and saying to him, 'Hi! you, sir, you're not to bring Miss Deane to the horspittle to-day.' "'Who says so?' says he. "'Dick Smithson, Esquire.' "And then he says, 'You go and tell Dick Smithson he's a common soldier, and if he ever dares to send me such a message as that again, I'll report him to the colonel for insubordination'--that's the word, sir, 'insubordination.' I've picked up a deal since I've been in the army; and, as we used to learn at school--and precious little it was!--'positive insolence; comparytive, insubordination: s'perlative mutiny.'" "Yes, Jerry, you're right; I forget myself sometimes," sighed Dick. "Sometimes! Why, you've forgot yourself altogether. Come now, let me give you a spick up, and make you look a little more like old times. Now then, just a little shampoo." "No, no." "And the scissors put round your 'air a bit. Shave wouldn't hurt you neither." "I wish you wouldn't worry me, Jerry." "I won't worry you; only you can't see a lady as you are, you know-- Don't want to--keep your eyes shut, please--to see you a bit o' dandy, like Mr Lacey. Feel nice and cool, eh?" Dick nodded, and suffered Jerry to place his hands on each side of the basin of water planted upon his knees, so as to keep it steady. "Nothing like a soft sponge, cold water, and a bit o' scented soap-- those are Mr Lacey's--to comfort you up. Of course, it depends on the oppyrator. I've seen women soaping little kids and making 'em squirm and yell, when I've felt as I could ha' washed the poor little things and made 'em laugh all the time.--This is one of Mr Lacey's towels, too--he wouldn't mind me bringing 'em. I say, though, you are a deal better. Fortni't ago you'd have shrunk like if I'd touched you even as tender as that." "What's that--pomatum?" "Pomatum! As if I'd use pomatum to a gent's 'air or a private's either. No, that's a cream made from a prescription I gave a 'airdresser half a soverin' for. Violets is nothing to it in the way o' smell. I won't quite shampoo you to-day, but give you just an extra brush. You want freshening--that's all--and I don't want you to be tired. Have a shave?" "No, no; there's nothing to shave." "Nothing! call that nothing? Why, I've known gents to go and be shaved reg'lar with not half your beard. Well, I'll let you off for another day or two but I must touch up those finger-nails." Dick made a gesture, but it was all in vain. Almost before he knew it, Jerry had laid aside towel, brushes, and basin, and begun upon the nails, which he trimmed with wonderful dexterity, commenting the while on things in general. "Look here," he said: "if you want to keep things quiet, you'd better wear your hands in your pockets. Nobody as knows anything would believe your name's Smithson, if he sees your hands." "Why?" said Dick, who felt half-amused. "'Cause there's so much breed about your nails. 'Gift on the finger's sure to linger; gift on the thumb is sure to come.' Do you know he calls and sees Miss Deane and her aunt?" "Mr Lacey?--of course." "I didn't mean him. Lookers-on see most of the game. Wonder what Mr Lacey would say if I was to tell him all I know." "What do you mean?" "Oh, nothing, sir. I dunno what he'd say; but I think I know what he'd do--scrunch Mr Mark like a walnut in a door-hinge!" "Look here, I don't want to hear any scandal, Jerry. There, that will do! I'll give you a shilling as soon as I have one." "Thank ye; but don't. Keep it saved up for me, till I can say _sir_ to you proper. When are you going to begin?" The coming of the hospital attendant with Dick's dinner interrupted the conversation; and that afternoon, as he sat by the open window, with the bouquet of flowers before him and a book, there was a rustling of silk on the stairs--loud, heavy steps, quiet and light steps as well--and directly after the door was opened, and Lacey, looking proud and happy, ushered Miss Deane into the room. _ |
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