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Quicksilver; The Boy With No Skid To His Wheel, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 10. Dexter Is Very Sorry |
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_ CHAPTER TEN. DEXTER IS VERY SORRY Dexter walked into the doctor's study, and Helen came as rearguard behind. "Now, sir," said the doctor sternly, "I suppose you know that I'm very much displeased with you." "Yes, sir, of course you are," said the boy seriously. "I don't wonder at it." Dr Grayson bit his lip. "Are you going to cane me?" "Wait and see, sir. Now, first thing, you go up to your room and wash your hands, and dress yourself properly. Then come down to me." Dexter glanced at Helen, but she kept her eyes averted, and the boy went slowly out, keeping his gaze fixed upon her all the time. "A young scamp!" said the doctor, as soon as they were alone. "I'm afraid I shall have to send him back." Helen looked at him. "I expected him to be a little wild," continued the doctor; "but he is beyond bearing. What do you say, my dear? Too bad, is he not?" Helen was silent for a few moments. "It is too soon to say that, papa," she replied at last. "There is a great deal in the boy that is most distasteful, but, on the other hand, I cannot help liking the little fellow." "Yes; that's just it," cried the doctor. "I feel as if I should like to give him a sound thrashing, but, at the same time, I feel that I could not raise a hand against him. What's to be done? Shall I send him back, and choose another?" "No, no, papa. If you intend to adopt a boy, let us keep this one, and see what he turns out." Just then the bell rang for lunch, and a minute after Dexter came running down into the room, with a smile, as if nothing was the matter, shining out of his eyes. "I say, wasn't that the dinner-bell?" he cried. "I am so precious hungry." "And have you no apologies to make, sir? Aren't you sorry you were so mischievous, and broke the top of my vinery?" "Yes; I'm very sorry, sir; but it was that old chap's fault. He made me run and slip. I say, what would he have done if he had caught me?" "Punished you, or brought you in to me, sir. Now, then, I've been talking about sending you back to the workhouse. You are too mischievous for me." "Send me back!" "Yes, of course. I want a boy who will be good." "Well, I will." "So you said before, but you are not good. You are about as mischievous a young rascal as I ever saw in my life." "Yes, sir; that's what Mr Sibery used to say," replied the boy quietly. "I don't want to be." "Then why are you, sir?" The boy shook his head, and looked up at the doctor thoughtfully. "I suppose it's in me," he said. Helen bit her lip, and turned away, while her father gave his head a fierce rub, as if he was extremely vexed. "Shall you send me back, sir!" said Dexter at last; and his look was full of wistful appeal. "Well, I shall think about it," said the doctor. "I don't want to go," said the boy thoughtfully. "You don't want me to go, do you?" he continued, turning to Helen. "Here, the lunch is getting cold," said the doctor. "Come along." As he spoke he half-pushed Dexter before him, and pointed to a chair. The boy hesitated, but a sharp command from the doctor made him scuffle into his place, after which the grace was said, and the dinner commenced for Dexter--the lunch for his patron and friend. Roast fowl most delicately cooked, with a delicious sauce; in addition to that made with bread; and there was an ornamentation round the dish of tempting sausages. The odour from the steaming dishes was enough to have attracted any coarsely-fed workhouse boy, just as a flower, brings a bee from afar. Helen was helped to a couple of choice slices from the breast, and then the doctor, looking stern all the while, carved off the liver wing, with a fine long piece of juicy breast adhering, and laid it on a plate, with the biggest sausage, gravy, and sauce, Maria carrying the plate afterwards to Helen to be well supplied with vegetables. Then, according to custom, Maria departed with her nose in the air, and her bosom overcharged with indignant remonstrances, which she was going to let off at Mrs Millett. The meal was commenced in silence, Dexter taking up his knife and fork, and watching by turns the doctor and Helen, to see how they handled theirs. Then he cut the sausage in half, just as the doctor had cut his, and looked hard at him, but the doctor was gazing down at his plate and frowning. Dexter looked at Helen, but she was gazing at her father, and everything was very still in the dining-room, while from without, faintly heard, there came the rippling song of a lark, far away over the meadow across the river. That fowl smelt delicious, and looked good in the extreme, but Dexter laid down his knife and fork, and sat perfectly still. Helen saw everything, but she did not speak, and the annoyance she had felt began to diminish, for the boy was evidently suffering keenly. "Hallo!" said the doctor. "Don't you like chicken!" The boy started, and looked up at him with a troubled face. "I say, don't you like chicken, sir!" Dexter tried to answer, but the words would not come; and he sat there with the tears gathering in his eyes, though he tried hard to choke his emotion down. The doctor was very angry, and sadly disappointed; but he said no more, only went on with his lunch. "Eat your dinner," said Helen, after a time; and she leant over toward the boy, and whispered the words kindly. He gave her a quick, grateful look, but he could not speak. "Come, sir, eat your dinner," said the doctor at last. "Please, sir, I can't," the boy faltered. "Why not?" Dexter had to make another fight to keep down his tears before he could say-- "Please, sir, I never could eat my breakfast when I knew I was going to have the cane." The doctor grunted, frowned, and went on eating, while the boy directed a pitiful appealing look at Helen. "Yes," she said at last, "what do you want?" "May I go up to that place where I slept last night?" Helen glanced at her father, who nodded shortly, and went on with his dinner, while the required permission being given by Helen, the boy rose hastily, and hurried out of the room. Doctor Grayson was silent for a few minutes, and then he took a glass of sherry. "A young scoundrel!" he said. "It's not pleasant to have to say so, but I've made a mistake." "And are you going to give up your project, papa?" said Helen. "_No_," he thundered. "Certainly not. It's very awkward, for that bullet-headed drill-sergeant Hippetts will laugh at me, and say 'I told you so,' but I shall have to take the boy back." Helen was silent. "He told me I should," he continued; "but I would not believe him. The young dog's face attracted me. He looked so frank and ingenuous. But I'll soon pick out another. My theory is right, and if I have ten thousand obstacles, I'll carry it out, and prove to the world that I knew what I was at." Helen went on slowly with her lunch, thinking deeply the while. "Well?" said the doctor angrily, "why don't you speak? Are you triumphing over my first downfall!" Helen looked up at her father, and smiled reproachfully. "I was thinking about Dexter," she said softly. "A confounded ungrateful young dog! Taken him from that wretched place, clothed him, offered him a home of which he might be proud, and he turns upon me like that!" "It was the act of a high-spirited, mischievous boy," said Helen quietly. "Mischievous! I should think it was. Confound him! But I'll have no more of his tricks. Back he goes to the Union, and I'll have one without so much spirit." Helen continued her lunch, and the doctor went on with his, but only to turn pettishly upon his child. "I wish to goodness you'd say something, Helen," he cried. "It's so exasperating to have every one keeping silence like that." Helen looked up and smiled. "Yes, and that's just as aggravating," said the doctor. "Now you are laughing at me." "No, no; I was thinking very seriously about your project." "One which I mean to carry out, madam." "Of course, papa," said Helen quietly; "but I would not be damped at the outset." "What do you mean, Helen?" "I mean that I should not take that poor boy back to the life from which you have rescued him, just because he has displayed a few pranks, all due to the exuberance of his nature. Coming from such a place, and making such a change, he is sure to feel it strongly. He is, so to speak, bubbling over with excitement and--" "Here, stop a moment," said the doctor, in astonishment. "I give up. You had better write that book." "Not I, papa dear," said Helen, smiling. "And if you are really bent upon this experiment--" "And I am," said the doctor. "Nothing shall change me." "Then I think you have selected the very boy." "You do!" said the doctor excitedly. "Yes. He is just the wild little savage for you to reclaim." "But--but a little too bad, Helen?" "No, papa, I think not; and I think you are not justified in saying bad. I believe he is a very good boy." "You do?" "Yes; full of mischief as a boy can be, but very, very affectionate." "Yes. I think he is," assented the doctor. "I think he will be very teachable." "Humph!" "And it was plain to see that he was touched to the heart with grief at our anger." "Or is it all his artfulness!" "Oh no, papa! Certainly not that. The boy is frank and affectionate as can be." "Then you think it is possible to make a gentleman of him?" "If it is possible of any boy whom you could get from the Union, papa." "And you really think he is frank and tender-hearted?" Helen pointed to the boy's untouched plate. "And you would not exchange him for something a little more tractable?" "I don't think you could. I really begin to like the mischievous little fellow, and I believe that in a very short time we should see a great change." "You do?" "Yes; but of course we must be prepared for a great many more outbreaks of this kind." "Unless I stop them." "No, no, you must not stop them," said Helen quietly. "These little ebullitions must not be suppressed in that way--I mean with undue severity." "Then you really would not take--I mean send him back?" "No," said Helen. "I think, perhaps, I could help you in all this." "My dear Helen," cried the doctor eagerly. "My dear child, you don't know how pleased you make me. I felt that for your sake I must take him back." "For my sake?" exclaimed Helen. "Yes; that it was too bad to expose you to the petty annoyances and troubles likely to come from keeping him. But if you feel that you could put up with it till we have tamed him down--" Helen rose from her chair, and went behind her father's, to lay her hands upon his shoulders, when he took them in his, and crossed them upon his breast, so as to draw her face down over his shoulder. "My dear father," she said, as she laid her cheek against his, "I don't know--I cannot explain, but this boy seems to have won his way with me very strangely, and I should be deeply grieved if you sent him away." "My dear Helen, you've taken a load off my mind. There, go and fetch the poor fellow down. He wanted his dinner two hours ago, and he must be starved." Helen kissed her father's forehead, and went quietly up to Dexter's room, listened for a few moments, heard a low sob, and then, softly turning the handle of the door, she entered, to stand there, quite taken aback. The boy was crouched in a heap on the floor, sobbing silently, and with his breast heaving with the agony of spirit he suffered. For that she was prepared, but the tears rose in her eyes as she grasped another fact. There, neatly folded and arranged, just as the Union teaching had prompted him, were the clothes the boy had worn that day, even to the boots placed under the chair, upon which they lay, while the boy had taken out and dressed himself again in his old workhouse livery, his cap lying on the floor by his side. Helen crossed to him softly, bent over him, and laid her little white hand upon his head. The boy sprang to his feet as if he had felt a blow, and stood before her with one arm laid across his eyes, as, in shame for his tears, he bent his head. "Dexter," she said again, "what are you going to do?" "Going back again," he said hoarsely. "I'm such a bad un. They always said I was." "And is that the way to make yourself better?" "I can't help it," he said, half defiantly. "It's no use to try, and I'm going back." "To grieve me, and make me sorry that I have been mistaken?" "Yes," he said huskily, and with his arm still across his eyes. "I'm going back, and old Sibery may cut me to pieces," he added passionately. "I don't care." "Look up at me, Dexter," said Helen gently, as she laid her hand upon the boy's arm. "Tell me," she continued, "which will you do?--go back, or try to be a good boy, and do what you know I wish you to do, and stay!" He let her arm fall, gazed wildly in her eyes, and then caught her hand and dropped upon his knees, sobbing passionately. "I will try; I will try," he cried, as soon as he could speak. "Take me down to him, and let him cane me, and I won't cry out a bit. I'll take it all like Bill Jones does, and never make a sound, but don't, don't send me away." Helen Grayson softly sank upon her knees beside the boy, and took him in her arms to kiss him once upon the forehead. "There, Dexter," she said gently, as she rose. "Now bathe your eyes, dress yourself again, and come downstairs to me in the dining-room, as quickly as you can." Helen went to her own room for a few moments to bathe her own eyes, and wonder how it was that she should be so much moved, and in so short a time. The doctor was anxiously awaiting her return. "Well!" he said; "where is the young scamp!" "In his room," replied Helen, "and--" "Well--well!" said the doctor impatiently. "Oh no, father dear," said Helen quietly, but with more emotion in her voice than even she knew. "We must not send him back." Then she told what had passed, and the doctor nodded his head. "No," he said; "we must not send him back." Just then there was a knock at the door, and Maria entered to clear away. "Not yet, Maria," said Helen quietly. "Take that chicken back, and ask Mrs Millett to make it hot again." "And the vegetables, ma'am!" "Yes. I will ring when we want them." Maria took the various dishes away with a very ill grace, and dabbed them down on the kitchen table, almost hard enough to produce cracks, as she delivered her message to Mrs Millett, who looked annoyed. "You can do as you please, Mrs Millett," said Maria, giving herself a jerk as if a string inside her had been pulled; "but I'm a-going to look out for a new place." _ |
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