Chapter 6. A Quicksilver Globule

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_ CHAPTER SIX. A QUICKSILVER GLOBULE

"Well, papa?" she said, looking into his face in a half-amused way.

"Well, Helen," said the doctor, taking her hand and drawing her to him; "about this boy?"

"Yes, dear. You have made up your mind to adopt and bring one up," she said, in a low tone which the lad could not hear.

"Yes," said the doctor, taking his tone from her, "to turn the raw material into the polished cultured article."

"But of course you will take this one back, and select another!"

"And pray why!" said the doctor sharply.

"I thought--I thought--" faltered Helen.

"Oh, nonsense! Better for proving my theory."

"Yes, papa, but--"

"A little wild and rough, that's all; boy-like; high-spirited; right stuff in him."

"No doubt, papa; but he is so very rough."

"Then we'll use plenty of sand-paper and make him smooth. Moral sand-paper. Capital boy, my dear. Had a deal of trouble in getting him--by George! the young wolf! He has finished that cake."

"Then you really mean to keep him, papa?" said Helen, glancing at the boy, where he sat diligently picking up a few crumbs and a currant which he had dropped.

"Mean to keep him? Now, my dear Helen, when did you ever know me undertake anything, and not carry it out!"

"Never, papa."

"Then I am not going to begin now. There is the boy."

"Yes, papa," said Helen rather sadly; "there is the boy."

"I mean to make him a gentleman, and I must ask you to help me with the poor orphan--"

"He is an orphan, then!" said Helen quickly.

"Yes. Son of some miserable tramp who died in the casual ward."

"How dreadful!" said Helen, glancing once more at the boy, who caught her eye, and smiled in a way which made his face light up, and illumined the sallow cheeks and dull white pinched look.

"Dreadful? Couldn't be better for my theory, my dear."

"Very well, papa," said Helen quietly; "I will help you all I can."

"I knew you would, my dear," said the doctor warmly; "and I prophesy that you will be proud of your work, and so shall I. Now, then, to begin," he added loudly.

"All in--all in--all in!" shouted the boy, jumping up like a grasshopper, and preparing to go through some fresh gymnastic feat.

"Ah! ah! Sit down, sir. How dare you!" shouted the doctor; and the boy dropped into his seat again, and sat like a mouse.

"There!" said the doctor softly; "there's obedience. Result of drilling. Now, then, what's the first thing? He must have some clothes."

"Oh yes; at once," said Helen.

"And, look here, my dear," said the doctor testily; "I never use anything of the kind myself, but you girls rub some stuff--pomade or cream--on your hair to make it grow, do you not?"

"Well, yes, papa."

"Then, for goodness' sake, let a double quantity be rubbed at once upon that poor boy's head. Really it is cut so short that he is hardly fit to be seen without a cap on."

"I'm afraid you will have to wait some time," said Helen, with a smile.

"Humph! yes, I suppose so," said the doctor gruffly. "That barber ought to be flogged. Couldn't put the boy in a wig, of course."

"O papa! no."

"Well, I said no," cried the doctor testily. "Must wait, I suppose; but we can make him look decent."

"Are you--are you going--" faltered Helen.

"Going? Going where!"

"Going to have him with us, papa, or to let him be with the servants?" said Helen rather nervously; but she regretted speaking the next moment.

"Now, my dear child, don't be absurd," cried the doctor. "How am I to prove my theory by taking the boy from the lowest station of society and making him, as I shall do, a gentleman, if I let him run wild with the servants!"

"I--I beg your pardon, papa."

"Humph! Granted. Now, what's to be done first? The boy is clean?"

"Oh yes."

"Can't improve him then, that way; but I want as soon as possible to get rid of that nasty, pasty, low-class pallor. One does not see it in poor people's children, as a rule, while these Union little ones always look sickly to me. You must feed him up, Helen."

"I have begun, papa," she said, smiling.

"Humph! Yes. Clothes. Yes; we must have some clothes, and--oh, by the way, I had forgotten. Here, my boy."

The lad jumped up with alacrity, and came to the doctor's side boldly-- looking keenly from one to the other.

"What did you say your name was!"

"Bed--Obed Coleby."

"Hah!" cried the doctor; "then we'll do away with that at once. Now, what shall we call you!"

"I d'know," said the boy, laughing. "Jack?"

"No, no," said the doctor thoughtfully, while Helen looked on rather amused at her father's intent manner, and the quick bird-like movements of their visitor.

For the boy, after watching the doctor for a few moments, grew tired, and finding himself unnoticed, dropped down on the carpet, took four pebbles from his pocket, laid them on the back of his right hand, and throwing them in the air, caught them separately by as many rapid snatches in the air.

"Do that again," cried the doctor, suddenly becoming interested.

The boy showed his white teeth, threw the stones in the air, and caught them again with the greatest ease.

"That's it, Helen, my dear," cried the doctor triumphantly. "Cleverness of the right hand--dexterity. Capital name."

"Capital name, papa?"

"Yes; Dexter! Good Latin sound. Fresh and uncommon. Dexter--Dex. Look here, sir. No more Obed. You shall be called Dexter."

"All right," said the boy.

"And if you behave yourself well, perhaps we shall shorten it into Dex."

"Dick's better," said the boy sharply.

"No, it is not, sir; Dex."

"Well, Dix, then," said the boy, throwing one stone up high enough to touch the ceiling, and in catching at it over-handed, failing to achieve his object, and striking it instead, so that it flew against the wall with a loud rap.

"Put those stones in your pocket, sir," cried the doctor to the boy, who ran and picked up the one which had fallen, looking rather abashed. "Another inch, and it would have gone through that glass."

"Yes. Wasn't it nigh!" cried the boy.

"Here, stop! Throw them out of that window."

The boy's brow clouded over.

"Let me give them to some one at the school; they're such nice round ones."

"I said, throw them out of the window, sir."

"All right," said the boy quickly; and he threw the pebbles into the garden.

"Now, then; look here, sir--or no," said the doctor less sternly. "Look here, my boy."

The doctor's manner influenced the little fellow directly, and he went up and laid his hand upon his patron's knee, looking brightly from face to face.

"Now, mind this: in future you are to be Dexter."

"All right: Dexter Coleby," said the boy.

"No, no, no, no!" cried the doctor testily. "Dexter Grayson; and don't keep on saying 'All right.'"

"All--"

The boy stopped short, and rubbed his nose with his cuff.

"Hah! First thing, my dear. Twelve pocket-handkerchiefs, and mark them 'Dexter Grayson.'"

"What? twelve handkerchies for me--all for me?"

"Yes, sir, all for you; and you are to use them. Never let me see you rub your nose with your cuff again."

The boy's mouth opened to say, "All right," but he checked himself.

"That's right!" cried the doctor. "I see you are teachable. You were going to say 'all right.'"

"You told me not to."

"I did; and I'm very pleased to find you did not do it."

"I say, shall I have to clean the knives?"

"No, no, no."

"Nor yet the boots and shoes?"

"No, boy; no."

"I shall have to fetch the water then, shan't I?"

"My good boy, nothing of the kind. You are going to live with us, and you are my adopted son," said the doctor rather pompously, while Helen sighed.

"Which?" queried the boy.

"Which what?" said the doctor.

"Which what you said?"

"I did not say anything, sir."

"Oh my! what a story!" cried the boy, appealing to Helen. "Didn't you hear him say I was to be his something son?"

"Adopted son," said the doctor severely; "and, look here, you must not speak to me in that way."

"All--" Dexter checked himself again, and he only stared.

"Now, you understand," said the doctor, after a few minutes' hesitation; "you are to be here like my son, and you may call me--yes, father, or papa."

"How rum!" said the boy, showing his white teeth with a remarkable want of reverence. "I say," he added, turning to Helen; "what am I to call you!"

Helen turned to her father for instructions, her brow wrinkling from amusement and vexation.

"Helen," said the doctor, in a decided tone. "We must have no half measures, my dear; I mean to carry out my plan in its entirety."

"Very well, papa," said Helen quietly; and then to herself, "It is only for a few days."

"Now, then," said the doctor, "clothes. Ring that bell, Dexter."

The boy ran so eagerly to the bell that he knocked over a light chair, and left it on the floor till he had rung.

"Oh, I say," he exclaimed; "they go over a deal easier than our forms."

"Never mind the forms now, Dexter. I want you to forget all about the old school."

"Forget it?" said the boy, with his white forehead puckering up.

"Yes, and all belonging to it. You are now going to be my son."

"But I shall want to go and see the boys sometimes."

"No, sir; you will not."

"But I must go and see Mother Curdley."

"Humph!" ejaculated the doctor. "Well, we shall see. Perhaps she will be allowed to come and see you."

"Hooray!" cried the boy excitedly; and turning to Helen he obtained possession of her hand. "I say, save her a bit of that cake."

"She shall have some cake, Dexter," said Helen kindly, for she could not help, in spite of her annoyance, again feeling pleased with the boy's remembrance of others.

"And I say," he cried, "when she does come, we'll have a ha'porth o' snuff screwed up in a bit o' paper, and--has he got any gin?"

"Hush, hush!" whispered Helen.

"But she's so fond of a drop," said the boy earnestly.

"And now," said the doctor; "the next thing is clothes. Ah, Maria, send Cribb to ask Mr Bleddan to come here directly."

"Yes, sir," said Maria; and after a glance at the boy she closed the door.

In less than a quarter of an hour Mr Bleddan, the tailor of Coleby, was there; and Dexter stood up feeling tickled and amused at being measured for some new clothes which the tailor said should be ready in a week.

"A week!" said the doctor; "but what am I to do now? The boy can't go like that."

"Ready-made, sir? I've plenty of new and fashionable suits exactly his size."

"Bring some," said the doctor laconically; "and shirts and stockings and boots. Everything he wants. Do you understand!"

Mr Bleddan perfectly understood, and Dexter stood with his eyes sparkling as he heard the list of upper and under garments, boots, caps, everything which the tailor and clothier considered necessary.

The moment the man had gone, Dexter made a dash to recommence his Ixion-like triumphal dance, but this time Helen caught his hand and stopped him.

"No, no, not here," she said quietly; and not in the least abashed, but in the most obedient way, the boy submitted.

"It was because I was so jolly glad: that's all."

"Hah!" said the doctor, smiling. "Now, I like that, Helen. Work with me, and all that roughness will soon pass away."

"I say, will that chap be long?" cried Dexter, running to the window and looking out. "Am I to have all those things for my own self, and may I wear 'em directly?"

"Look here, my lad; you shall have everything that's right and proper for you, if you are a good boy."

"Oh, I'll be a good boy--least I'll try to be. Shall you give me the cane if I ain't?"

"I--er--I don't quite know," said the doctor. "I hope you will not require it."

"Mr Sibery said I did, and he never knew a boy who wanted it worse, but it didn't do me no good at all."

"Well, never mind that now," said the doctor. "You will have to be very good, and never want the cane. You must learn to be a young gentleman."

"Young gentleman?" said Dexter, holding his head on one side like a bird. "One of them who wears black jackets, and turn-down collars, and tall hats, and plays at cricket all day? I shall like that."

"Humph! Something else but play cricket, I hope," said the doctor quietly. "Helen, my dear, I shall begin to make notes at once for my book, so you can take Dexter in hand, and try how he can read."

The doctor brought out a pocket-book and pencil, and Helen, after a moment's thought, went to a glass case, and took down an old gift-book presented to her when she was a little girl.

"Come here, Dexter," she said, "and let me hear you read."

The boy flushed with pleasure.

"Yes," he said. "I should like to read to you. May I kneel down and have the book on your knees!"

"Yes, if you like," said Helen, who felt that the boy was gaining upon her more and more: for, in spite of his coarseness, there was a frank, merry, innocent undercurrent that, she felt, might be brought to the surface, strengthened and utilised to drive the roughness away.

"Read here!" said the boy, opening the book at random. "Oh, here's a picture. What are these girls doing?"

"Leave the pictures till afterwards. Go on reading now."

"Here?"

"Yes; at the beginning of that chapter."

"I shall have to read it all, as there's no other boy here. We always stand up in a class at the House, and one boy reads one bit, and another boy goes on next, and then you're always losing your place, because it's such a long time before it comes round to your turn, and then old Sibery gives you the cane."

"Yes, yes; but go on," said Helen, with a feeling of despair concerning her father's _protege_.

Dexter began to read in a forced, unnatural voice, with a high-pitched unpleasant twang, and regardless of sense or stops--merely uttering the words one after the other, and making them all of the same value.

At the end of the second line Helen's face was a study. At the end of the fourth the doctor roared out--

"Stop! I cannot stand any more. Saw-sharpening or bag-pipes would be pleasant symphonies in comparison."

At that moment Maria entered.

"Lunch is on the table, if you please, sir."

"Ah, yes, lunch," said the doctor. "Did you put a knife and fork for Master Dexter?"

"For who, sir!" said Maria, staring.

"For Master Dexter here," said the doctor sharply. "Go and put them directly."

Maria ran down to her little pantry, and then attacked Mrs Millett.

"Master's going mad, I think," she said. "Why, he's actually going to have that boy at the table to lunch."

"Never!"

"It's a fact," cried Maria; "and I've come down for more knives and forks."

"And you'd better make haste and get 'em, then," said the housekeeper; "master's master, and he always will have his way."

Maria did make haste, and to her wonder and disgust Dexter was seated at the doctor's table in his workhouse clothes, gazing wonderingly round at everything: the plate, cruets, and sparkling glass taking up so much of his attention that for the moment he forgot the viands.

The sight of a hot leg of lamb, however, when the cover was removed, made him seize his knife and fork, and begin tapping with the handles on either side of his plate.

"Errum!" coughed the doctor. "Put that knife and fork down, Dexter, and wait."

The boy's hands went behind him directly, and there was silence till Maria had left the room, when the doctor began to carve, and turned to Helen--

"May I give you some lamb, my dear?"

"There, I knowed it was lamb," cried Dexter excitedly, "'cause it was so little. We never had no lamb at the House."

"Hush!" said the doctor quietly. "You must not talk like that."

"All right."

"Nor yet like that, Dexter. Now, then, may I send you some lamb!"

"May I say anything?" said the boy so earnestly that Helen could not contain her mirth, and the boy smiled pleasantly again.

"Of course you may, my boy," said the doctor. "Answer when you are spoken to, and try and be polite."

"Yes, sir, I will; I'll try so hard."

"Then may I send you some lamb!"

"Yes; twice as much as you give her. It does smell nice."

The doctor frowned a little, and then helped the boy pretty liberally.

"Oh, I say! Just look at the gravy," he cried. "Have you got plenty, Miss!"

"Oh yes, Dexter," said Helen. "May I--"

"Don't give it all to me, Mister," cried the boy. "Keep some for yourself. I hate a pig."

"Errum!" coughed the doctor, frowning. "Miss Grayson was going to ask if you would take some vegetables!"

"What? taters? No thankye, we got plenty o' them at the House," cried the boy; and he began cutting and devouring the lamb at a furious rate.

"Gently, gently!" cried the doctor. "You have neither bread nor salt."

"Get's plenty o' them at the House," cried the boy, with his mouth full; "and you'd better look sharp, too. The bell'll ring directly, and we shall have to--no it won't ring here, will it!" he said, looking from one to another.

"No, sir," said the doctor sternly; "and you must not eat like that. Watch how Miss Grayson eats her lunch, and try and imitate her."

The boy gave the doctor a sharp glance, and then, in a very praiseworthy manner, tried to partake of the savoury joint in a decent way.

But it was hard work for him. The well-cooked succulent meat was so toothsome that he longed to get to the end of it; and whenever he was not watching the doctor and his daughter he kept glancing at the dish, wondering whether he would be asked to have any more.

"What's that rum-looking stuff?" he said, as the doctor helped himself from a small tureen.

"Mint sauce, sir. Will you have some?"

"I don't know. Let's taste it."

The little sauce tureen was passed to him, and he raised the silver ladle, but instead of emptying it upon his plate he raised it to his lips, and drank with a loud, unpleasant noise, suggestive of the word _soup_.

The doctor was going to utter a reproof, but the sight of Helen's mirth checked him, and he laughed heartily as he saw the boy's face full of disgust.

"I don't like that," he said, pushing the tureen away. "It ain't good."

"But you should--"

"Don't correct him now, papa; you will spoil the poor boy's dinner," remonstrated Helen.

"He said it was lunch," said Dexter.

"Your dinner, sir, and our lunch," said the doctor. "There, try and behave as we do at the table, and keep your elbows off the cloth."

Dexter obeyed so quickly that he knocked a glass from the table, and on leaving his seat to pick it up he found that the foot was broken off.

The doctor started, and uttered a sharp ejaculation.

In an instant the boy shrank away into a corner, sobbing wildly.

"I couldn't help it. I couldn't help it, sir. Don't beat me, please. Don't beat me this time. I'll never do so any more."

"Bless my soul!" cried the doctor, jumping up hastily; and the boy uttered a wild cry, full of fear, and would have dashed out of the open window into the garden had not Helen caught him, the tears in her eyes, and her heart moved to pity as she read the boy's agony of spirit. In fact that one cry for mercy had done more for Dexter's future at the doctor's than a month's attempts at orderly conduct.

"Hush, hush!" said Helen gently, as she took his hands; and, with a look of horror in his eyes, the boy clung to her.

"I don't mind the cane sometimes," he whispered, "but don't let him beat me very much."

"Nonsense! nonsense!" said the doctor rather huskily. "I was not going to beat you."

"Please, sir, you looked as if you was," sobbed the boy.

"I only looked a little cross, because you were clumsy and broke that glass. But it was an accident."

"Yes, it was; it was," cried the boy, in a voice full of pleading, for the breakage had brought up the memory of an ugly day in his young career. "I wouldn't ha' done it, was it ever so; it's true as goodness I wouldn't."

"No, no, Maria, not yet," cried Helen hastily, as the door was opened. "We will ring."

Maria walked out again, and the boy clung to Helen as he sobbed.

"There, there," she said. "Papa is not cross. You broke the glass, and you have apologised. Come: sit down again."

If some one had told Helen Grayson two hours before that she would have done such a thing, she would have smiled incredulously, but somehow she felt moved to pity just then, and leading the boy back to his chair, she bent down and kissed his forehead.

In a moment Dexter's arms were about her neck, and he was clinging to her with passionate energy, sobbing now wildly, while the doctor got up and walked to the window for a few moments.

"There, there," said Helen gently, as she pressed the boy down into his seat, and kissed him once again, after seeing that her father's back was turned. "That's all over now. Come, papa."

The doctor came back, and as he was passing the back of the boy's chair, he raised his hand quickly, intending to pat him on the head.

The boy flinched like a frightened animal anticipating a blow.

"Why, bless my soul, Dexter! this will not do," he said huskily. "Here, give me your hand. There, there, my dear boy, you and I are to be the best of friends. Why, my dear Helen," he added in French, "they must have been terribly severe, for the little fellow to shrink like this."

The boy still sobbed as he laid his hand in the doctor's, and then the meal was resumed; but Dexter's appetite was gone. He could not finish the lamb, and it was only with difficulty that he managed a little rhubarb tart and custard.

"Why, what are you thinking about, Dexter!" said Helen after the lunch; and somehow her tone of voice seemed to indicate that she had forgotten all about the workhouse clothes.

"Will he send me back to the House?" the boy whispered hoarsely, but the doctor heard.

"No, no," he said quickly; and the boy seemed relieved.

That night about eleven, as she went up to bed, Helen Grayson went softly into a little white bedroom, where the boy's pale face lay in the full moonlight, and something sparkled.

"Poor child!" she said, in a voice full of pity; "he has been crying."

She was quite right, and as she bent over him, her presence must have influenced his dreams, for he uttered a low, soft sigh, and then smiled, while, forgetting everything now but the fact that this poor little waif of humanity had been stranded, as it were, at their home, she bent over him and kissed him.

Then she started, for she became aware of the fact that her father was at the door.

The next moment she was in his arms.

"Bless you, my darling!" he said. "This is like you. I took this up as a whim as well as a stubborn belief; but somehow that poor little ignorant fellow, with his rough ways, seems to be rousing warmer feelings towards him, and, please God, we'll make a man of him of whom we shall not be ashamed."

Poor Dexter had cried himself to sleep, feeling in his ignorant fashion that he had disgraced himself, and that the two harsh rulers were quite right,--that he was as bad as ever he could be; but circumstances were running in a way he little thought. _

Read next: Chapter 7. Taming The Wild

Read previous: Chapter 5. A "Reg'lar" Bad One

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