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Quicksilver; The Boy With No Skid To His Wheel, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 48. The Proof Of The Doctor's Theory |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. THE PROOF OF THE DOCTOR'S THEORY Three years, as every one knows, look like what they are--twenty-six thousand two hundred and eighty long hours from one side, and they look like nothing from the other. They had passed pleasantly and well, for the doctor had been so much pleased with his Isle of Wight house that he had taken it for three years, and transported there the whole of his household, excepting Dan'l, who was left in charge at Coleby. "You see, my dear," the doctor had said; "it's a mistake for Dexter to be at Coleby until he has gone through what we may call his caterpillar stage. We'll take him back a perfect--" "Insect, papa?" said Helen, smiling. "No, no. You understand what I mean." So Dexter did not see Coleby during those three years, in which he stayed his terms at a school where the principal did not break the spirit of backward and unruly boys. On the contrary, he managed to combine excellent teaching with the possession of plenty of animal spirits, and his new pupil gained credit, both at home and at the school. "Now," said the doctor, on the day of their return to the old home, as he ran his eye proudly over the sturdy manly-looking boy he was taking back; "I think I can show Sir James I'm right, eh, my dear?" Old Dan'l smiled a wonderful smile as Dexter went down the garden directly he got home. "Shake hands with you, my lad?" he said, in answer to an invitation; "why, I'm proud. What a fine un you have growed! But come and have a look round. I never had such a year for fruit before." Chuckling with satisfaction, the doctor was not content until he had brought Sir James and Lady Danby to the house to dinner, in company with their son, who had grown up into an exceedingly tall, thin, pale boy with a very supercilious smile. No allusion was made to the doctor's plan, but the dinner-party did not turn out a success, for the boys did not seem to get on together; and Sir James said in confidence to Lady Danby that night, precisely what Dr Grayson said to Helen-- "They never shall be companions if I can help it. I don't like that boy." Over the dessert, too, Sir James managed to upset Dexter's equanimity by an unlucky speech, which brought the colour to the boy's cheeks. "By the way, young fellow," he said, "I had that old friend of yours up before me, about a month ago, for the second time." Dexter looked at him with a troubled look, and Sir James went on, as he sipped his claret. "You know--Bob Dimsted. Terrible young blackguard. Always poaching. Good thing if they had a press-gang for the army, and such fellows as he were forced to serve." It was at breakfast the next morning that the doctor waited till Dexter had left the table, and then turned to Helen-- "I shall not forgive Danby that unkind remark," he said. "I could honestly do it now, and say, 'There, sir, I told you I could make a gentleman out of any material that I liked to select; and I've done it.' But no: I'll wait till Dexter has passed all his examinations at Sandhurst, and won his commission, and then--Yes, Maria--what is it!" "Letter, sir, from the Union," said Maria. "Humph! Dear me! What's this? Want me to turn guardian again, and I shall not. Eh, bless my heart! Well, well, I suppose we must." He passed the letter to Helen, and she read Mr Hippetts formal piece of diction, to the effect that one of the old inmates, a Mrs Curdley, was in a dying state, and she had several times asked to see the boy she had nursed--Obed Coleby. During the doctor's absence from the town the master had not felt that he could apply; but as Dr Grayson had returned, if he would not mind his adopted son visiting the poor old woman, who had been very kind to him as a child, it would be a Christian-like deed. "Yes; yes, of course, of course," said the doctor; and he called Dexter in. "Oh yes!" cried the lad, as he heard the request. "I remember all she did for me so well, and--and--I have never been to see her since." "My fault--my fault, my boy," said the doctor hastily. "There, we shall go and see her now." There were only two familiar faces for Dexter to encounter, first, namely, those of Mr Hippetts and the schoolmaster, both of whom expressed themselves as being proud to shake their old pupil's hand. Then they ascended to the infirmary, where the old nurse lay very comfortable and well cared for, and looking as if she might last for months. Her eyes lit up as she saw Dexter; and, when he approached, she held out her hand, and made him sit down beside her. "And growed such a fine chap!" she said, again and again. She had little more to say, beyond exacting a promise that he would come and see her once again, and when he was about to leave she put a small, dirty-looking, brown-paper packet in his hand. "There," she said. "I'd no business to, and he'd ha' took it away if he'd ha' known; but he didn't; and it's yours, for it was in your father's pocket when he come here and died." The "he" the poor old woman meant was the workhouse master, and the packet was opened in his presence, and found to contain a child's linen under-garment plainly marked--"Max Vanburgh, 12," and a child's highly-coloured toy picture-book, frayed and torn, and further disfigured by having been doubled in half and then doubled again, so that it would easily go in a man's pocket. It was the familiar old story of Little Red Riding-Hood, but the particular feature was an inscription upon the cover written in a delicate feminine hand--
"Yes, sir, I did," said Mr Hippetts, when he had a private interview with the doctor next day. "But it seems strange." "Very," said the doctor. Helen also agreed that it was very strange, and investigations followed, the result of which proved, beyond doubt, that Dexter Grayson, otherwise Obed Coleby, was really Maximilian Vanburgh, the son of Captain Vanburgh and Alice, his wife, both of whom died within two years of the day when, through the carelessness of a servant, the little fellow strayed away out through the gate and on to the high-road, where he was found far from home, crying, by the rough, tipsy scoundrel who passed that way. The little fellow's trouble appealed to what heart there was left in the man's breast, and he carried him on, miles away, careless as to whom he belonged to, and, day by day, further from the spot where the search was going on. The child amused him; and in his way he was kind to it, while the little fellow was of an age to take to any one who played with and petted him. Rewards and advertisements were vain, for they never reached the man's eyes, and his journeyings were on and on through a little-frequented part of the country, where it was nobody's business to ask a rough tramp how he came by the neglected-looking, ragged child, who clung to him affectionately enough. The little fellow was happy with him for quite three months, as comparison of dates proved, and what seemed strange became mere matter of fact--to wit, that Dexter was a gentleman by birth. All this took time to work out, but it was proved incontestably, the old nurse having saved all that the rough fellow had left of his little companion's belongings; and when everything was made plain, there was the fact that Dexter was an orphan, and that he had found a home that was all a boy could desire. "There, papa! what have you to say now?" said Helen to the doctor one day. "Say?" he said testily. "Danby will laugh at me when he knows, and declare my theory is absurd. I shall never finish that book." "But you will not try such an experiment again?" said Helen laughingly. Just then Dexter came in sight, bright, frank, and manly, and merrily whistling one of Helen's favourite airs. "No," said the doctor sharply; and then--"God bless him! Yes: if it was to be the making of such a boy as that!" [THE END] _ |
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