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Quicksilver; The Boy With No Skid To His Wheel, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 9. A Release |
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_ CHAPTER NINE. A RELEASE "Glad you've come, sir," said the old gardener, telling a tremendous fib. "Got one on 'em at last." "Got one of them?" cried the doctor. "Why--" "O papa dear! look!" cried Helen. "One of them nippers as is always stealing our fruit," continued Dan'l. "Why, Dexter," cried the doctor; "you there!" He stared wildly at the boy, who, with his legs kicking to and fro in the vinery in search of support, looked down from the roof of the building like a sculptured cherub, with arms instead of wings. "Yes, it's all right," said the boy coolly. "Ain't much on it broken," while Dan'l stared and scratched his head, as he felt that he had made some mistake. "You wicked boy!" cried Helen, with a good deal of excitement. "How did you get in such a position!" "I couldn't help it," said Dexter. "He chivied me all along the top o' the wall with that great stick, and there's another chap t'other side. He was at me too." "Is this true, Copestake!" cried the doctor angrily. "Well, yes, sir; I s'pose it is," said the gardener. "Me and Peter see him a-cuttin' his capers atop o' that wall, and when we told him to come down, he wouldn't, and fell through our vinery." "Who was going to come down when you was hitting at him with that big stick?" said Dexter indignantly. "You had no business atop of our wall," said the gardener stoutly. "And now look at the mischief you've done." "Tut--tut--tut--tut!" ejaculated the doctor. "Please, sir, I didn't know as he was any one you knew." "No, no, of course not," said the doctor pettishly. "Tut--tut--tut! Dear me! dear me!" "I say, ain't some one coming to help me down?" said Dexter, in an ill-used tone. "Yes, yes, of course," said the doctor. "Keep still, sir, or you'll cut yourself." "I have cut myself, and it's a-bleeding," said the boy. "Look here, if one of you goes inside this place, and holds up that big long prop, I can put my foot in the fork at the end, and climb up again." "Get a ladder quickly, Copestake, and call the groom." "Yes, sir," said Dan'l; and he went off grumbling, while the doctor seized the prop, and went into the vinery. "Are you much hurt, Dexter?" said Helen sympathisingly. "I d'know," he replied. "It hurts a bit. I slipped, and went through." "Now, sir, keep your legs still," cried the doctor from inside, as he raised the prop. "All right," said the boy, and the next moment one of his feet rested in the fork of the ash prop; but, though the prisoner struggled, and the doctor pushed, there was no result. "I wants some one to lend a hand up here," said Dexter. "If I try I shall break some more glass. Is that old chap coming back-- him as poked me!" "Yes, yes," cried Helen. "Keep still; there's a good boy." "No, I ain't," he said, smiling down at her in the most ludicrous way. "I ain't a good boy. I wish I was. Will he give it me very much?" He tapped with his hand on the glass, as he pointed down at the doctor, who was still supporting the boy's foot with the prop. Helen did not reply, for the simple reason that she did not know what to say; and the boy, feeling bound, was making a fresh struggle to free himself, when Dan'l came in sight, round the end of the house, with a light ladder, and just behind him came Peter, with a board used when glass was being repaired. "Here they come," said Dexter, watching the approach eagerly. "I am glad. It's beginning to hurt ever so." Dan'l laid the ladder against the vinery at some distance from the front, so that it should lie upon the roof at the same angle, and then, holding it steady, Peter, who was grinning largely, mounted with the board, which he placed across the rafters, so that he could kneel down, and, taking hold of Dexter, who clasped his hands about his neck, he bodily drew him out, and would have carried him down had the boy not preferred to get down by himself. As he reached the foot of the ladder the doctor was standing ready for him, armed with the clothes-prop, which he held in his hand, as if it were a weapon intended for punishment. The boy looked up in the stern face before him, and the doctor put on a tremendous frown. "Please, sir, I'm very sorry, sir," said Dexter. "You young rascal!" began the doctor, seizing his arm. "Oh, I say, please, sir, don't hit a fellow with a thing like that." "Bah!" ejaculated the doctor, throwing down the prop, which fell on the grass with a loud thud. "Copestake!--Peter!--take those things away, and send for the glazier to put in those squares. Here, Dexter; this way." The doctor strode away half a dozen steps, and then stopped and gazed down. "Where is your jacket, sir? and where are your boots?" "I tucked 'em under that tree there that lies on the grass," said the boy, pointing to a small cedar. "Fetch them out, sir." Dexter went toward the tree, and his first instinct was to make a dash and escape, anywhere, so as to avoid punishment, but as he stooped down and drew his articles of attire from beneath the broad frond-like branches, he caught sight of Helen's eyes fixed upon him, so full of trouble and amusement that he walked back, put his hand in the doctor's, and walked with him into the house. Helen followed, and as she passed through the window Dan'l turned to Peter with-- "I say, who is he?" "I dunno. Looks like a young invalid." "Ay, that's it," said the gardener. "Hair cut short, and looks very white. He's a young luneattic come for the governor to cure. Well, if that's going to be it, I shall resign my place." "Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Peter, who was moved to say it from the same feeling which induced the old woman to pray for long life to the tyrant--for fear they might get a worse to rule over them. "Doctor'll make him better. Rum-looking little chap." As they spoke, they were carrying the ladder and board round to the back of the house, and, in doing so, they had to pass the kitchen door, where Maria was standing. "See that game!" said Peter. "Oh yes. I saw him out of one of the bedroom windows." "Young patient, ain't he?" said Peter. "Patient! Why, he's a young workhouse boy as master's took a fancy to. I never see such games, for my part." Peter whistled, and the head-gardener repeated his determination to resign. "And he'll never get another gardener like me," he said. "That's a true word, Mr Copestake, sir," said Peter seriously. And then to himself: "No, there never was another made like you, you old tyrant. I wish you would go, and then we should have a little peace." _ |
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