A Dog with a Bad Name Part 6

CHAPTER FOUR.

GONE AGAIN.

On the evening following Jeffreys' departure from Bolsover, a middle- aged, handsome gentleman was sitting in his comfortable study in the city of York, whistling pleasantly to himself.

The house in which he lived was a small one, yet roomy enough for an old bachelor. And what it wanted in size it made up for in the elegance and luxury of its furniture and adornments.

Mr Halgrove was evidently a connoisseur in the art of making himself comfortable. Everything about him was of the best, and bespoke not only a man of taste but a man of means. The books on the shelves--and where can you find any furniture to match a well-filled bookcase?--were well chosen and well bound. The pictures on the walls were all works of art and most tastefully hung. The knickknacks scattered about the room were ornamental as well as useful. Even the collie dog which lay luxuriously on the hearthrug with one eye half open was as beautiful as he was faithful.

Mr Halgrove whistled pleasantly to himself as he stirred his coffee and glanced down the columns of the London paper.

If you had looked over his shoulder, you would have come to the conclusion that Mr Halgrove's idea of what was interesting in a newspaper and your own by no means coincided.

He was, in fact, reading the money article, and running his eye skilfully among the mazes of the stocks and shares there reported.

Suddenly there was a ring at the hall door and a man's voice in the hall. Next moment the study door opened, and amid the frantic rejoicings of Julius, John Jeffreys walked into the presence of his guardian. He was haggard and travel-stained, and Mr Halgrove, in the midst of his astonishment, noticed that his boots were nearly in pieces.

Bolsover was fifty-five miles from York, and the roads were rough and stony. The guardian, whatever astonishment he felt at this unexpected apparition, gave no sign of it in his face, as he sat back in his chair and took several quiet whiffs of his weed before he addressed his visitor.

"Ah!" said he, "you've broken up early."

"No, sir," said Jeffreys. "Please may I have something to eat?"

"Help yourself to the bread and b.u.t.ter there," said Mr Halgrove, pointing to the remains of his own tea, "and see if you can squeeze anything out of the coffee-pot. If not, ring for some more hot water.

Lie down, Julius!"

Jeffreys ate the bread and b.u.t.ter ravenously, and drank what was left in the coffee-pot and milk-jug.

Mr Halgrove went on with his cigar, watching his ward curiously.

"The roads are rough for walking this time of the year," observed he.

"Yes," said Jeffreys; "I've walked all the way."

"Good exercise," said Mr Halgrove. "How long did it take you?"

"I left Bolsover at half-past four this morning."

Mr Halgrove looked at his watch.

"Fifteen hours--a fairly good pace," said he.

A silence ensued, during which time guardian and ward remained eyeing one another, the one curiously, the other anxiously.

"Why not sit down," said Mr Halgrove, when it became evident his ward was not going to open the conversation, "after your long walk?"

Jeffreys dropped heavily into the chair nearest to him and Julius came up and put his head between his knees.

"Do you often take country walks of this sort?" said the guardian.

"No, sir; I've run away from Bolsover."

Mr Halgrove raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed! Was it for the fun of the thing, or for any special reason?"

"It was because I have killed a boy," said Jeffreys hoa.r.s.ely.

It spoke volumes for Mr Halgrove's coolness that he took this alarming announcement without any sign of emotion.

"Have you?" said he. "And was that for fun, or for any special reason?"

"I didn't mean it; it was an accident," said Jeffreys.

"Is the story worth repeating?" asked the guardian, knocking the ash off the end of the cigar, and settling himself in his chair.

Jeffreys told the story in a blundering, mixed-up way, but quite clearly enough for Mr Halgrove.

"So you meant to run at him, though you didn't mean to kill him?" said he, when the narrative was ended.

"I did not mean to kill him," repeated the boy doggedly.

"Of course it would not occur to you that you were twice his size and weight, and that running over him meant--well manslaughter."

"I never thought it for a moment--not for a moment."

"Was the accident fatal, at once, may I ask?"

"No, sir; he was brought to the school insensible, and remained so for more than twelve hours. Then he became conscious, and seemed to be doing well."

"A temporary rally, I suppose?" observed the guardian.

Jeffreys' mouth worked uneasily, and his pale brow became overcast again.

"No, I believe if it hadn't been for me he might have recovered."

"Indeed," said the other, once more raising his eyebrows; "what further attention did you bestow on him--not poison, I hope?"

"No, but I went to his room in the middle of the night and startled him, and gave him a shock."

"Yes; playing bogey is liable to alarm invalids. I have always understood so," said Mr Halgrove drily.

"I didn't mean to startle him. I fancied he was asleep, and just wanted to see how he seemed to be getting on. No one would tell me a word about him," said Jeffreys miserably.

"And that killed him outright?"

"I'm afraid it must have," said Jeffreys. "The doctor had said the least shock would be fatal, and this was a very great shock."